Work withUS!

Renaissance Urban Sportsman: You know, I’m just going to assume nothing has changed in your life unless you say otherwise.
Working Boy: That’s probably a good idea.
R.U.S: So.
W.B: So.
R.U.S: I hear you’ve joined a book club.
W.B: Oh yeah, we had our first meeting last night. It’s for the networking.
R.U.S: That sounds nice.
W.B: They served cupcakes at the first meeting.
R.U.S: How were they?
W.B: I didn’t have one. For some reason I can’t eat cupcakes anymore. I just don’t feel up to it.
R.U.S: Are there any girls there?
W.B: Oh yeah, married mostly.
R.U.S: I see. In that case, I don’t suppose I’ll be going with you any time soon.
W.B: Probably for the best. You’ve got an image to uphold and all.
R.U.S: So, what are you reading?
W.B: I don’t want to talk about it.
R.U.S: Oh let me guess…Hornsby? Eggers? Something with a stiletto heal on the cover?
W.B: I said I don’t want to talk about it!
R.U.S: Well what do you want to talk about?
W.B: Let’s see. Oh! I bought a big fuzzy sweater the other day.
R.U.S: That’s certainly warranted airing.
W.B: It’s red with flecks of blue in it. Very stylish.
R.U.S: Listen, W.B., shouldn’t you, you know, be getting out more. People are beginning to talk.
W.B: Who?! I want names!
R.U.S: Now calm down. It’s just that your friends are worried about you.
W.B: I don’t have any friends like that.
R.U.S: Acquaintances then.
W.B: Do you mean the mailman? I thought we were on pretty good terms.
R.U.S: I don’t mean the mailman. People are just starting to, you know, wonder about you. Take yesterday for example. Do you remember when you spilled that glass of whiskey all over your computer?
W.B: Um…no.
R.U.S: Really? Well, I guess you were pretty drunk.
W.B: I thought I quit drinking. You know, until the storm passes.
R.U.S: Quit drinking? You’ve been drinking a bottle of whiskey everyday for about a month now.
W.B: What? Impossible! Where are the empty bottles? The glorious drunken memories?
R.U.S: Oh my, I can’t believe I’m the one who has to tell you this. W.B., you get up every morning at 6. Have between 8 and 10 cupcakes and then go to the liquor store and buy a bottle. Then you drink it. Then you throw the bottle into the construction site next door and pass out until the next morning and do it all over again.
W.B: Really? Well that certainly does explain the dream I’ve been having a lot lately.
R.U.S: You mean the one where you walk to the liquor at night and buy a bottle of whiskey?
W.B: How did you know?
R.U.S: Because you “sleep walk” there every night at 7.
W.B: I see. And the part where I laugh it up with the liquor store man and we make plans to go fishing in the Northwoods?
R.U.S: Yeah, that’s actually a dream. You mostly just put crumbled bills at the register and then ask to use the bathroom.
W.B: Do they let me use the bathroom?
R.U.S: Not anymore. You, um, did some pretty bad stuff in there a couple of days ago.
W.B: Huh. And all this time I just thought I was going through whiskey withdrawal.
R.U.S: Nope. Just your basic massive hangover.
W.B: You’re blowing my mind right now, R.U.S. Wait. Am I drunk right now?
R.U.S: Oh yeah. And since we’re on the subject. That sweater you’re so proud of.
W.B: You mean this one.
R.U.S: Yeah. It’s a dead squirrel. You found last night on your way back from the liquor store.
W.B: Eww.

R.U.S. You might want to stop trying to iron out the wrinkles.

THe heat is ON!

Renaissance Urban Sportsman: Look at you! Look at you! You’re an Adonis of employment potential! Anyone would be happy to have you!
Working Boy (reaching for bottle of Pepto Bismol): You know it’s not even my fault.
R.U.S: What is?
W.B: The impossibility of employment. It’s not my fault.
R.U.S: Of course you’re right.
W.B: Seriously think about it. How do you get a job?
R.U.S: Charm. Charm, and being able to talk to the CEO about shared prep school memories. Of course that’s just what I’ve been made to understand by some poor disinherited acquaintances.
W.B: Why did I ever leave Exeter?! Sure they had started to let the Irish in, but it was still a pretty good school. My Latin tutor used to call me doe eyes and invite me over all the time!R
R.U.S: Yes, leaving Exeter was you’re one poor decision in all of your otherwise glorious life. It really is all about whom you know. Why just yesterday I was dining with Josephus and all we could talk about was all the people we knew. It was a smashing time.
W.B: Why didn’t you call me?! All I did yesterday was bake 4 pies to take my mind off of youtube.
R.U.S: Oh my.
W.B: That’s not the worst of it.
R.U.S: It can’t be any worse than that.
W.B.: Oh yes it can. I ate 3 of them by myself.
R.U.S: What happened to the fourth?
W.B: I don’t want to talk about it.
R.U.S: Come on, it’s just us here. What happened to that pie?
W.B: Well, you know how pies are so warm and moist and nonjudgmental.
R.U.S: Yes.
W.B: I wasn’t in my right mind, R.U.S? I don’t know what came over me.
R.U.S: Out with it man!
W.B: I used it for….badness.
R.U.S: Oh good heavens, you didn’t?!
W.B: I did.
R.U.S: Oh, Working Boy I think I’m going to be sick.
W.B: What else could I do?! What else could I do?!
R.U.S: Well, clearly not that.
W.B: But they’re so many of them! And if I could have trapped just one I would have someone to talk to you when you’re not around.
R.U.S: Wait, what? What are you talking about.
W.B: The cats, man! The 15 cats who live next door to me. I made a booby trap and used the pie for bate in hopes of catching one of the cats and forcing it to become my friend and confidant.
R.U.S: Oh yes of course….So, um, did you at least catch one.
W.B: Oh yeah. You know the orange one that has a boil on its nose?
R.U.S: Oh yes, old boil face.
W.B: Yeah, that's him. Well, he fell for the old pie under a box trap but when I pick him up to hug and kiss him and promise to love him forever he slashed my face, swiped the pie and jumped back over the fence.
R.U.S. The bastard.
W.B: Now I can’t even go outside because I know he told all the rest of them and they’re going to look at me all weird.
R.U.S: W.B. I wish there was some way to help you, but I’m not really good at that ‘doing unto others’ and other such droll business.
W.B: I don’t blame you R.U.S. It's cultural more than anything.
R.U.S: Why didn’t you just keep your other job? That way you could at least look people in the eye.
W.B: Yeah I miss that job like so much almost deadly poison.
R.U.S: Well what are you going to do now?
W.B: It’s hard to say really. I’ve thought about trying my hand at some kind of snitch business. You know, telling lies about people to get on t.v. and whatnot.
R.U.S: I like it.
W.B.: Thanks it took me 3 weeks to think of it. .... Say, what did you think I did with that 4th pie anyway?
R.U.S: Oh nothing at all. I think I've just been hanging out with Josephus too much. That guy's brain goes some weird places.

A Little Bird ToLD ME!

Throughout my life I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Well….let me step back. Throughout life, I’ve done things I’m really proud of but there have been lame individuals who have not understood how awesome the tasks actually were. For example, about a year ago I entertained gentlemen and rollicking times ensued.

<<<<<<<FLASHBACK>>>>>>

An Doof Ass: Sweet hallelujah, I’ve never had a better time.
Working Boy: Oh come now, you’re an illustrious academic whose star is on the rise.
A.D.A: Yes, this is true. I’m a god among non-gods in sweater vests and goatees.
W.B.: Clearly.
Decent Opinionated Fellow: You’re a real class act, as failure goes.
A.D.A: Buy me drinks! I grace you with my presence only when my parents buy me plane fair.
W.B.: You bore us all!
A.D.A: Here’s the thing. I’ve really classed up my scene. I have a social networking site now and eat mussels regularly.
W.B: I eat mussels three times a week.
A.D.A: Really? Tell me, W.B., what is a mussel?
W.B.: It’s a kind of cheese, duh.
A.D.A: Well I certainly feel better!
W.B.. and O.D.G: You’re a terrible lush bag.
A.D.A: Yes, but only for a little while longer.

The night progressed typical fashion. Women were shunned for their lack of refinement and A.D.A. was dragged away from both fat chicks and elderly.

W.B: Let us return to the Egyptian Cotton and highballs.
A.D.A: I’ve been to Egypt!
D.O.G: Shut up and drink your Irish car bomb.

Upon returning to the accommodations. A.D.A. passes out with a cigar in one hand and a glass of vodka in the other. His last words were “I’m going to kick this.”

The gentlemen then enjoy White Horse scotch and a discussion of investment opportunities in the Peru. The night lingers and they decide to raid A.D.A.’s luggage for potentially useful vestments for the upcoming cold. Slippers are found and placed in storage.

<<<A FEW WEEKS LATER>>>>>>

W.B.: Do you like your new slippers?
Elegant Sufficiency of Woman: Whatever. I hate you.
W.B.: But those slippers that were too small for a men’s feet, how are they one your women’s feet?
E.S.o.W: They're fine. Go buy me wine.
W.B.: The slippers are yours!

<<<<<<<<<<<<<YEARS LATER>>>>>>

Working Boy realizes the futility of his ways and becomes the Renaissance Urban Sportsman. One day, he’s going through bags of winter clothes for the impending chilly months.

R.U.S: What’s this? Why it’s the slippers I rightfully took from A.D.A. What a douche that small footed man/child is.
E.S.o.W: Where are my slippers?! It’s cold you pathetic waste of my trust fund.
R.U.S: Here they are precious. Wear them in good health, as your death will render me bankrupt.
E.S.o.W: Oh these slippers are wonderful! I shall wear them always.
R.U.S: Can I borrow 5 dollars for food?
E.S.o.W: Fuck you. By the way, these slippers ‘rock.’

fROM THE ASHES

Renaissance Urban Sportsman: Working Boy? Is that you?
Working Boy: Hey old man, what's new?
R.U.S: Nothing of course. What's with the limp?
W.B: Oh, I was injured in a naked women avalanche. You know how it goes.
R.U.S: Well, that's certainly something, but shouldn't you be working?
W.B: I gave it up. Too political.
R.U.S: Excellent news! Pull up a chair.
W.B: Thanks, so what are we going to do today?
R.U.S: Well, let's see....Oh, the Patches are back from Italy and there's a party at their flat. If you want, you can join me a Maury and Dick for dinner and talking a lot.
W.B: That sounds horribly wonderful.
R.U.S: Doesn't it though?