Only three things in this life are guaranteed: The longstanding obvious two are death and taxes; the other is that drunkards will make buffoonish asses of themselves at office holiday parties.
My boss threw us a Christmas party on a yacht after work on Friday, a DJ-danceable affair with an open bar and a look up the Statue of Liberty's dress, that strumpet. It's been a difficult last few months for most of my co-workers, so everyone got good and drunk pretty quickly, leading to a fairly raucous evening on New York's rivers.
Everyone managed to maintain an acceptable level of drunken behavior, except for the one married girl around my age that must've pinched my ass on the dance floor as few as seven and as many as 12 times. And we weren't even busting any moves together; she'd wait until her current partner got her close enough, and then she'd just reach out and lobster claw whichever buttock of mine to which she was closest. I mean, I've been known to handle my liquor poorly, and there was that one time I got all saucy and raped two couch cushions and a Dustbuster, but good god woman, keep it together out there.
Look, I'm no angel. When everyone went upstairs to check out Lady Liberty, did I break out into the loudest, most dead-on Neil Diamond impersonation in our company's storied history? Of course. Did I challenge the line of decency and change the lyrics to his America to ones about illegal Mexican immigrants crossing our borders without documentation and taking jobs that even blacks won't do? Of course.
But did I ever think about sexually harassing and groping a co-worker whilst trying to get my freaky groove on, as much as that slutty blonde intern in the strapless black dress who looks like she can take two cocks at once deserved it? Of course not, fancypants.
Because society has rules, and those rules are to be guarded by men with no need for a sore, red ass. My ass is often sore and red on the weekends (heyyyoooo!), but this pinching business just seemed pretty old-fashioned and completely foreign.
That episode was creepy, and not really all that flattering, despite the fact that she's a pretty cute chick. I guess that kind of forwardness only works on me if I'm not awkwardly drunk around the people I work closely with five days a week, and I'm pretty sure it only works if I know for sure the bathroom stalls can accomodate two people.
In other news from the weekend, Chad Pennington ruined my good time. And yet, I don't know a single Jets fan that thought we were actually gonna beat the 5-7 Buffalo Bills in the Meadowlands. You can change the culture of the team, Mangini, but you can't change the fans' depressingly realist attitude. Hey, at least we're not the Giants, which may make the playoffs or even win the horrid NFC East division, but would you really like to be a Big Blue fan right now? Eli's put together two nice games in a row, yet he still looks like a Special Olympics medal winner. Derr, coach.
Staying with football, Chipotle Bob e-mailed me on Thursday with some new prop bets about the Bengals' recent police troubles from a site called bodog.com. How prophetic, Bob...
1. Will a Cincinnati Bengal's player be arrested before the Superbowl? Yes +300 No -500
2. Which side of the ball will the Bengals next arrest come from? Offence -130 Defense -110
Congratulations Deltha O'Neal, by driving while intoxicated, you just became the eighth Bengal to be arrested this year, and you just made some gamblers very happy. So what's the story here, are all these guys so fucking bored in Ohio that they're lashing out?
How come Peter Frampton settled into Cincinatti very nicely but this team can't cool its jets? Is it because the Brit opened up a souvlaki joint called "Pita Frampton," or is it because he was never as cool as we thought in the first place? That's up to you to decide...
Slack Link of the Day: Here's a friendly tip for youse -- if you're crossing the border and you're about to face the Border Patrol, it may be best to hide the pot...and the alligator. I'd love to be cited for possession of marijuana and restricted wildlife one day.
Slack Business Move of the Day: In a decision that can only be filed under "classic," a South Korean telephone company is making its bills much easier to read, replacing jargon and tech-heavy words with everyday words, showing charges and rates in graph form. But what's the kicker? Starting this month, the telephone bill will now be called "Wonderful Letter." That's fucking awesome. Honey, get out my checkbook, this month's Wonderful Letter is here.
Slack Video of the Day: What an incredible weekend of Premiership action, including a Sunday morning dogfight between Don Fielder's Chelsea and Handstand/Zebra's Arsenal that blew away every single NFL game except for maybe Vince Young winning The Oiler Bowl. There were some absolutely unbelievable goals this weekend, just mindfuckingly ridiculous strikes from all over the pitch.
First, check out Michael Essien's "laser" that tied up the action at Stamford Bridge, then check out Matty Taylor's wonder strike that gave Portsmouth a 1-0 lead against Everton. And just because we love him dearly, here's a solid goal from Blackburn's Morten Gaaamst Pedersen. We'll see you in January, Gamst.
Oh, and if you're paying any attention, my Liverpool squad is back in third after walloping Wigan and Fulham in successive weekends. Since they scored four in the first half against Wigan and four in the second against Fulham, is there any doubt they're gonna score eight total against bottom-feeding Charlton this coming Saturday?
Slack Song of the Day: I've been catching the Wilco bug lately, so let's turn our attention to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot this morning -- Jesus, Etc., I'm the Man Who Loves You, and Heavy Metal Drummer.