The NFL Draft is upon us tomorrow. A day to sit back and watch pseudo football. And I can't wait.
Screw trying to pick who is going to what team at what position. That is not my thing. If you enjoy it, power to you. Just not my thing. To me, the draft is like a getting a day of football in spring. A nice addition to baseball.
Plus it is a time to go sit my butt down at Hooters and stuff myself with beer and wings and shoot the shit with friends. We have been doing this for the last 4 or 5 years. I guess it is basically an excuse to drink a Saturday away while oggling boobies, eating wings and drinking beer.
My flavor of choice is the 911. Gotta be hot . Order them wet for an even hotter wing. We will also get some of the BBQ/911 combo that they will mix for us on request. This year, we may ask for the cooks to try and make the hottest wings they can once again.
A couple of years ago we did. The 911 just wasn't hot enough. So we asked the Hooter girl if the cooks can do anything to make them hotter. She gave us some lame story about how the night before a bachelor party was in and how they had asked for the same thing. The wings were way too hot for them to eat, so we should be careful for what we ask for. Ok, honey. Tell those hairnet wearing freaks to bring it on.
Oh, they tried. A plate of 25 wings was plopped down on the table, steaming hot. One guy took a whiff and had his eyes watering. The wings were a deep, brick red, encrusted with jalapeno peppers. You could see the pepper flakes on the wings and smell garlic. At first we were taken a bit back. They smelled hot. The Hooter girl looked on to see what would happen next. We each took and wing and dove in. They were hotter, but not blazing hot. Hooter girl asks how they are and we tell her they are good. We continue to dive in. She stands there amazed. After we have eaten about 10 of these, the waitress comes back and asks how we can eat them. The cooks are now looking at our table in amazement as well. They couldn't believe we were eating them either. Yeah, they were hotter, but pretty damn tasty. We polished them off and got more beer.
That is the other task for Draft Day. To get the beer cost higher than the food cost. We will eat a good number of wings. So we must drink a good amount of beer as well.
From the "Yes, the French still have no interest in a thriving economy" file, check out this story about how Chirac wants France to be bigger than Google. Apparently country pride is important to him as he once walked out on his own countryman's speech in front of the EU because he spoke English. So he wants to put France back on the map. How? He wants to put money into developing a bigger, better search engine all in the name of French pride. My favorite is the name. Quero. Latin for search. If French pride was so important, should the name of the project be in French?
So now that we have brought up the subject of hairy women...what a segue, eh? Can women go commando? I was thinking about this yesterday after reading Gambino give some timely tips for the ladies. Is going commando a gender specific term? It sounds like it is. If not, I think we need something for the women. Something dainty. For women to go commando, I propose we say they have gone Private Benjamin. Goldie must have kept herself properly groomed so it seems fitting.