I’ve always wondered what the phrase “we made out like bandits” means.

Is it just that you kissed while wearing masks?

That could be fun, I guess…

Scott

Two friends. A coffee shop. One joins the other at a table. The sitter has a caramel latte, but asked the barista to check simply “coffee” on the cup label. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible. Don’t ask.”

“OK.”

“‘OK’ what?

“OK. I won’t ask.”

“Well, I didn’t really mean ‘don’t ask’ like ‘don’t ask.’ I meant it like ‘don’t ask,’ read ‘how frustrating.’”

“So, am I supposed to ask?”

“Not if you don’t want to, but I think it’s the considerate thing to do.”

“Then why would you tell me not to ask.”

“Because that’s just something people say. It’s like asking ‘how are you doing?’ when you’re really just saying ‘hello.’”

“So, the other day when we hung out and you asked how I was doing, you didn’t really want to know.”

“No. I meant it that time.”

“How am I supposed to know when you mean something and when you’re just humoring me.”

“Read between the lines.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on reading between the lines.”

“I don’t know. You just know these things.”

“Who does?”

“You, me, society. People. Are we in an Abbott and Costello routine?”

“We’re not that funny.”

“Right. Well, are you done with your caramel lat–”

“It’s coffee. Black coffee.”

“I forgot.”

“Well, I should go.”

“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Really? Or is that a ‘don’t ask’ slash ‘how are you?,’ ’see you tomorrow.’”

“It’s a ‘bite me’ see you tomorrow.”

Our original sitter walks off, leaving the late friend by himself. He dials a number on his cell phone.

“Hello. I just had the weirdest conversation with Tim. Don’t ask.

Through the cell phone:

“Hadn’t planned to…”

Scott

If you’re like me, and I’m sure that you are, you’re constantly thinking up names for your unborn children…you’re also constantly thinking up looks for your unknown wife, but that’s outside the scope of this Thought.

Naming your kids is tough. Of my 11 illegitimate children scattered throughout the continental United States (I have 11 more in Alaska and Hawaii and 37 in Guam…don’t ask…), I didn’t name a single one. Every time I came up with a name, I’d think of someone I knew with that name. Often, this led me to think “oh, man, I can’t name my kid after that loser” or “but if I name my kid Mark, my other brother Brian will be pissed” or “what the hell’s a Porter?” Needless to say, I hit many walls pursuing this course of naming. Then, while e-mailing with a friend, we hit upon a brilliant resource for baby names: types of liquor.

Stay with me here.

There are a number of powerful and manly names, as well as some delicate and feminine names, to be found behind your favorite bar. Beyond that, if you’re anything like me, and we’ve already established that you are (see opening sentence), you get around the whole problem of comparing these names to other people you know because after drinking you don’t remember ANYTHING. No memories = nothing to compare to.

So here are some names that my friend, who we’ll call Andrew Brent, and I came up with. For the sake of completeness I will use the last name “Brent” in all the names.

For boys:

Johnny Walker Brent. Clearly this kid is the life of the party. This name offers the extra benefit of built in nicknames, e.g. “Blue Label” and “Black Label.”

Jim Beam Brent - I didn’t love this one. Reminds me of Sun Beam Bread, which had a little girl on the wrapper. Nobody wants their son’s name to remind people of a little girl. Leads to playground beatdowns.

Jack Daniel(s) Brent. A “built Ford tough” kind of name. No one’s messing with Jack Daniel Brent. They might mess with Jack Daniels Brent because that “s” sounds sort of silly on the end of the middle name, but, hey, it’s worked for the Tennessee Sour Mash, so I’m not sure you can argue against it.

Jose Cuervo Brent. This works especially well if you marry a Mexican woman and want to give a little shoutout to her culture. Of course, no night involving tequila ever ends well, and I think this liquor tastes like feet. Obviously, this name’s a toss up.

Captain Morgan Brent. Talk about a commanding name. I mean, your kid’s already destined for military success. His name is Captain for Pete’s sake!

Now you’re thinking, “but, Scott, what about some girls’ names?” Ask and ye shall receive, my friends: Peppermint Schnapps Brent. Given, your daughter will likely end up a stripper if this is her name, but everybody loves Peppermint Schnapps, especially in the winter time. With hot chocolate. Um, I’m not sure where I’m going with this one.

Stoli Vanilla Brent. Classy. Feminine. What everyone wants their daughter to be. That and chaste til she’s forty. At least that’s what I want my daughter to be.

Bacardi Limon Brent. Sweet with a bit of sour. This one will grow up sassy, and don’t you forget it.

Wild Turkey Brent. I don’t know. This “for girls” part of the Thought is hard.

Finally, there is but one name that trumps all others. This name could be used for a boy or girl, and whoever dons it will tower above all others in taste, classic beauty and advertising campaigns. It is, of course: ABSOLUT BRENT.

‘Nuff said.

It’s possible I spend too much time at bars…

Scott

So, as far as I know, I’ve never been a sleepwalker. I’ve been a liar, a cheat, a space cowboy, a drunk, a scholar, a gentleman, a pirate (for Halloween), and a bunch of other junk, but never a sleepwalker.

However, more than once, twice actually, in the past couple years I have woken up in the hallway outside my apartment after going to bed for the night.

Granted that each of these occasions involved the stray beer or two, but I wouldn’t say that I was drunk on either occasion. And, as noted above, I’ve been a drunk before, but it had never before led to me in my underwear looking at my locked door from the wrong side as it did in the two scenarios to be discussed below. Now, I always deadbolted my door and actually slept in a loft, so it must’ve been quite a production for me to wind up where I wound up.

The first time this issue arose I kept trying to wake myself up. I thought that I had to be dreaming. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It was winter, so I couldn’t walk to a store or anything to borrow a phone, as it was freezing…not that I would’ve known anyone’s number anyway because in these days of cell phone speed dialing, who needs to remember such things? My extra key was with a friend across town, and I didn’t have money to get a cab. The fact that there was snow on the ground, and I was barefoot is beside the point.

I noticed that there was a futon cushion in the hallway, and I remembered that my mom was coming to visit the next morning (but a few short hours away), so I briefly contemplated curling up in a ball and contracting some illness from the discarded mattress. Then it dawned on me: shoulder the door open. This only seems like a good idea at 5 in the morning when you’re half naked and freezing, but, hell, it works on TV and in the movies, so why not in this situation?

So I stepped up to the door and rammed it with my shoulder. Nothing. Once more, a loud thud, and I was in. The door opened! I was delighted…and then disturbed. Not only because sleep walking is very troubling, but also because I now knew that my apartment could be opened by throwing a body against it. Hmm…

I never really dealt with that issue, but the second time I awoke in the hallway I wasn’t as thrown off because I knew I could break back in. Knowledge is a funny thing because for some reason, despite repeated poundings, this time the door would not budge. Panic now returned. This time there was no futon cushion and no visit from Mom in the morning as a backup plan. Taking a few more shots at the door, I confirmed that I couldn’t get in…I also bruised my shoulder up right nice.

My only option was to knock on a neighbor’s door, borrow a phone and call a locksmith. Let me point out that it’s somewhere in the early morning hours, and my building ain’t the nicest. I decided to knock on the door of the little old lady with the little yappy dog that lived across the hall from me. She was a shut in, thus I knew she’d be home and not out clubbing. So, I, in my boxers, knocked on this woman’s door in the wee hours of the morning and proceeded to apologize profusely while at the same time asking to borrow her phone.

Thankfully, she obliged. She probably wasn’t worried because Yapster McWeinerdog was there to protect her in case shit went down.

After calling a locksmith, I waited in the hall for his arrival. For 10 minutes of work I handed over 200 smackeroos. Awesome.

“I thought it was only $75. That’s what they said on the phone.”

“That’s for opening the door. The rest is for me coming here at this hour.”

Not surprisingly, I didn’t really feel like I could disagree with his pricing scheme. It’s tough to get fired up when the choice is stand in the hallway in a t-shirt for an indeterminate amount of time OR get back in your apartment. I went with the latter.

Once he got me in, I had to grab a jacket and walk to the all night deli a block away to hit up an ATM. Sadly, I didn’t keep an “In Case of Sleepwalking” stash of cash at home. Maybe that’s something to consider going forward.

The next day, I bought the neighbor woman flowers and apologized again for the previous night’s craziness. She smiled and said…something. I couldn’t really understand her. But I like to think it was along the lines of, “No problem. Thanks for the flowers.”

Those are the only times that I sleepwalked…sleptwalked…slepwalked…no idea how you say that in the past tense. At least, they’re the only times that I remember.

I do ask you this: if I ever knock on your door early one morning in my pajamas and ask to borrow your phone. Please let me.

I’ll buy you flowers the next day. I promise…

Scott

I’m going to be moving soon. Trying to class up my furniture a bit, so I figured second hand would totally be the way to go. Accordingly, I checked out some of the listings on everybody’s favorite Internet swap meet: craigslist.

There, I saw the following:

Blue Plastic bowels with lid $5

Blue Metal bowels with lid $5

Now, it could just be me, but I think Internet shopping is getting out of hand. A couple years ago you wouldn’t have been able to get lidded bowels for such a great price. These days, just a couple mouse clicks, and you’ve got a colon with a cap. What a DEAL!!!

This is going to revolutionize the world we live in. For example, I’ve been crazy busy lately and could use an extra hand. Seems like it’ll be pretty easy to get an third arm on the cheap online somewhere.

Oh, and if you know anyone who’s in the market for a 27-year-old’s beer gut, let me know…

Scott

Never send a boy to do a man’s job. Unless the man’s job is to invent toys targeted at that boy’s age group.

No man is an island. Most are archipelagos. And there’s a dude in southwest Missouri who’s a land bridge.

$50 can go a long way. Especially if you fold it properly.

Sometimes, laughter is the best medicine. Other times, efavirenz, lamivudine and zidovudine in combination are a much better option.

Some men are born great. Others make themselves great. And then there are some that act like they were born great, but they’re just very cocky babies.

No news is good news. Except if you’re worried there might have been an apocalypse.

Porter

If I ever live in an igloo, I would have a strict policy that people would have to take their shoes off before coming in. It’s hell cleaning those things, and I would just have to put my foot down.

I would also not allow any penguins in my igloo. If you have an adorable pet penguin, and you’re visiting me, feel free to bring him. But he won’t be allowed in the igloo. If we want to go look at him, we can bundle up and go outside. But although penguins are cute, they are very dirty, and can often be very loud as well.

And there would be no food made of whale or seal meat in my igloo. I understand those sorts of things are traditional fare in areas where igloos are popular, and you might pick some up along the way on a lark, but I just can’t stomach eating any sea mammals. I did research projects on various sea mammals while in elementary school, and they really hold a special place in my heart. In addition, the briny smell of dried seal meat attracts penguins like rats.

No complaining about the cold either, or making little jokes about how cold it is. Yes, it’s a little cold inside igloos. Yes, I get it. And I’ll probably have heard it all at that point. You came all this way to see how I’m surviving out here, so can’t we talk about anything besides your inane comments about the temperature? Believe me, it’s a helluva lot warmer inside an igloo than outside in the bitter arctic wind, if you catch my drift.

Oh, and Jesus Christ, do not ask me if you can charge your cell phone and iPod. I won’t have plugs, you idiot! It’s an igloo! Do you often see power lines draped across the tundra? Do ya? Or, hey, maybe that was just another one of your hilarious jokes! Well done, Milton freakin’ Berle! I’m in stitches! Somebody call George Burns!

You know, come to think of it, I just don’t think I’d want you in my igloo at all, OK, Jack Benny? No, no, I’m sorry, I just think you couldn’t really handle it, and I’d rather not go through the God damn hassle. You can take your filthy boots and your flightless waterfowl and your narwhal jerky, and you can just beat it, Sid Caesar! You had the chance of a lifetime, but you ruined it, so think about that on your seven hour flight back, Ernie Kovacs!

Anyway, it probably doesn’t matter because I don’t think I’m going to ever live in an igloo. Winter jackets make me look fat.

Porter