Father What-a-waste
Daddy he once told me “Son, you be hard-workin man”
Mama she once told me “Son, you do the best you can”
But then one day I met a man who came to me and said
“Hard work good and hard work fine, but first take care of head”
Last night, as I was enjoying a cold beer in the shower, I asked myself, “Should I really be going out to a bar tonight?”
I pondered it for a moment, my legs still throbbing from the five miles I had just finished running, and I decided that I was too tough a drunk to be diswayed by a pair of throbbing legs. I'm hardcore! So I finished my beer then finished my shower. Then I started to get ready.
If you’ve never drunk a cocktail or two after a hard run, you might not yet understand the folly of this scene. I don’t know the bio-mechanics involved, but I do know that the last time I ran five miles and had a couple of drinks I was on the floor midway through my second Redbull-vodka. I mean I was straight fucked! Ask Bunny. She got to watch me drunkenly hit on a waitress and then stumble out to my car. AFTER TWO DRINKS! Incredible.
Maybe it’s the blood pumping at locomotive speed, sending the alcohol to your muscles that much quicker; maybe it’s the dehydration from the two gallons of sweat you just left back on the treadmill—who knows? The result is a very cheap drunk.
The beer I drank in the shower really started to hit me about the time I finished shaving. (Which was better than if it would have hit me when I began shaving. Shaving drunk is dangerous!) That’s when Ryan told me he planned to wear his “Ugliest Suit Ever” and, being a little drunk, I didn’t want to be upstaged by his ugly suit. So I tried to think of the goofiest outfit I could wear without breaking out the kilt or the Jedi robe. After a moment’s thought I responded, “Okay, I’ll wear my priest outfit.”
Don’t ask why I have a priest outfit, because it would really take a lot longer to explain than what I had intended to write here. Just accept the fact that I have a shirt with a Roman collar—which is really all you need to know. The black pants and black shoes are easy to find, no big story there. It’s that damn Clergy shirt that’s tough to come by...meeting defrocked priests in dark alleys and...I’ve already said too much.
I wish I could have been one of the groupies outside Java Joe’s watching a priest and a lounge singer walk up the sidewalk. We certainly turned a lot of mohawked heads. I was pretty sure it was because they’d never seen a priest quite as sexy as me. I mean, no offence to the real priests, but if they had chicks hounding them in high school and college, they just wouldn’t have been priests. No way. That’s probably the only reason I’m not a priest, in fact.
A couple of girls outside of The Lift were practically sucking back drool as I approached them. They asked if I was really a priest and I didn’t know what to say. Well, actually, I know what I wanted to say. I wanted to say “Yes!,” and I wanted to mean it. I wanted to pull out my ID and show them the ‘Fr.’ that preceded my name. It was a very strange feeling. I think I’ll blame it on the beer I had in the shower. Yeah—it had to be that beer in the shower.
We made our way into the bar and I tried to forget the episode with the two girls outside.
There were more girls inside who wanted to marvel at the sexiest priest in the world.
The first person who approached us was an overweight woman in her thirties. Now I would have preferred a sexy little 21-year-old Catholic schoolgirl. (You know those Catholic schoolgirls are all just dying to corrupt a priest. It's the most forbidden of forbidden fruit!) But, I was willing to test the waters with this behemoth. Surely the schoolgirls would be in shortly. Word that the sexiest priest in the world was at The Lift would reach them soon.
The behemoth turned out to be really nice and I thought she would be a good person to start testing my theory on. So, when she asked me the inevitable question, “Are you really a priest?” I replied, “Well, if I were really a priest, would I be the hottest priest you’ve ever seen?”
“No.”
“What?!?”
“Father Dan from Dallas Texas was the hottest priest I’ve ever seen. We used to call him ‘Father What-a-waste’. He was really hot.”
“...”
She went on to tell us that she had to undergo years of therapy after her college boyfriend—the love of her life—left her for God. “Well...” she corrected, “He left me for a man first. Then he left that guy for God.”
She wasn’t sure if her ex actually ever became a priest, and I really don’t want to know. Either way, I want to kill that fucker and Father Dan. DAMNIT! I was shot down by the fucking behemoth! And the sexy, 21-year-old Catholic schoolgirls never materialized.
So I hope everyone learns an important lesson from all of this: Don’t drink beer in the shower.
Mama she once told me “Son, you do the best you can”
But then one day I met a man who came to me and said
“Hard work good and hard work fine, but first take care of head”
Last night, as I was enjoying a cold beer in the shower, I asked myself, “Should I really be going out to a bar tonight?”
I pondered it for a moment, my legs still throbbing from the five miles I had just finished running, and I decided that I was too tough a drunk to be diswayed by a pair of throbbing legs. I'm hardcore! So I finished my beer then finished my shower. Then I started to get ready.
If you’ve never drunk a cocktail or two after a hard run, you might not yet understand the folly of this scene. I don’t know the bio-mechanics involved, but I do know that the last time I ran five miles and had a couple of drinks I was on the floor midway through my second Redbull-vodka. I mean I was straight fucked! Ask Bunny. She got to watch me drunkenly hit on a waitress and then stumble out to my car. AFTER TWO DRINKS! Incredible.
Maybe it’s the blood pumping at locomotive speed, sending the alcohol to your muscles that much quicker; maybe it’s the dehydration from the two gallons of sweat you just left back on the treadmill—who knows? The result is a very cheap drunk.
The beer I drank in the shower really started to hit me about the time I finished shaving. (Which was better than if it would have hit me when I began shaving. Shaving drunk is dangerous!) That’s when Ryan told me he planned to wear his “Ugliest Suit Ever” and, being a little drunk, I didn’t want to be upstaged by his ugly suit. So I tried to think of the goofiest outfit I could wear without breaking out the kilt or the Jedi robe. After a moment’s thought I responded, “Okay, I’ll wear my priest outfit.”
Don’t ask why I have a priest outfit, because it would really take a lot longer to explain than what I had intended to write here. Just accept the fact that I have a shirt with a Roman collar—which is really all you need to know. The black pants and black shoes are easy to find, no big story there. It’s that damn Clergy shirt that’s tough to come by...meeting defrocked priests in dark alleys and...I’ve already said too much.
I wish I could have been one of the groupies outside Java Joe’s watching a priest and a lounge singer walk up the sidewalk. We certainly turned a lot of mohawked heads. I was pretty sure it was because they’d never seen a priest quite as sexy as me. I mean, no offence to the real priests, but if they had chicks hounding them in high school and college, they just wouldn’t have been priests. No way. That’s probably the only reason I’m not a priest, in fact.
A couple of girls outside of The Lift were practically sucking back drool as I approached them. They asked if I was really a priest and I didn’t know what to say. Well, actually, I know what I wanted to say. I wanted to say “Yes!,” and I wanted to mean it. I wanted to pull out my ID and show them the ‘Fr.’ that preceded my name. It was a very strange feeling. I think I’ll blame it on the beer I had in the shower. Yeah—it had to be that beer in the shower.
We made our way into the bar and I tried to forget the episode with the two girls outside.
There were more girls inside who wanted to marvel at the sexiest priest in the world.
The first person who approached us was an overweight woman in her thirties. Now I would have preferred a sexy little 21-year-old Catholic schoolgirl. (You know those Catholic schoolgirls are all just dying to corrupt a priest. It's the most forbidden of forbidden fruit!) But, I was willing to test the waters with this behemoth. Surely the schoolgirls would be in shortly. Word that the sexiest priest in the world was at The Lift would reach them soon.
The behemoth turned out to be really nice and I thought she would be a good person to start testing my theory on. So, when she asked me the inevitable question, “Are you really a priest?” I replied, “Well, if I were really a priest, would I be the hottest priest you’ve ever seen?”
“No.”
“What?!?”
“Father Dan from Dallas Texas was the hottest priest I’ve ever seen. We used to call him ‘Father What-a-waste’. He was really hot.”
“...”
She went on to tell us that she had to undergo years of therapy after her college boyfriend—the love of her life—left her for God. “Well...” she corrected, “He left me for a man first. Then he left that guy for God.”
She wasn’t sure if her ex actually ever became a priest, and I really don’t want to know. Either way, I want to kill that fucker and Father Dan. DAMNIT! I was shot down by the fucking behemoth! And the sexy, 21-year-old Catholic schoolgirls never materialized.
So I hope everyone learns an important lesson from all of this: Don’t drink beer in the shower.
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