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2:41 p.m. - 2003-01-05
Balls: Enough said.
Question: What's better than going to a saloon and drinking whiskey all night long?

Answer: Going to a saloon, drinking whiskey all night long AND finding a twenty-dollar bill on the ground near the bar.

I seem to find money a lot. I have some sort of internal money radar. I'll be in mid-conversation with somebody, and then my brain will detect money laying on the sidewalk half a mile away.

Usually I find one- and five-dollar bills. A twenty is always a nice catch.

I saw a guy drop a $100 poker chip once in Vegas, and like a dummy, I gave it back to him like a fucking good samaritan.

Don't ask me why I gave it back to him.

It was almost as if I had been unknowingly transported into a fucking afterschool special.

The trick when you spot money on the ground, is to quickly stand on it before anybody notices it's missing. There have been situations where I stood on some money while the person who dropped it was nearby...then they notice they dropped the money while you're standing on it, and they begin looking around on the ground for it.

"Shit, I just dropped $5. Can you help me find it?"

I usually have to say something like, "I don't see it anywhere. I'd help you look for it more, but for some reason I can't move my feet from this spot."

If they notice that you're standing on their money, they might call you an asshole or something....All you have to do at that point is tell them you don't know how their money got under your feet. The wind must've blown it under my shoes, you can tell them. Or you can say a ghost did it.

You can also get angry at them in return, to take blame off yourself, like: "Don't drop your money under my shoes again! These are new shoes. I don't want your filthy money touching my shoes."

But the twenty-dollar bill I found at the saloon was mine all mine. Nobody noticed.

Question: What's better than going to a saloon, drinking whiskey all night long, and finding a twenty-dollar bill on the ground?

Answer: Going to a saloon, drinking whiskey all night long, finding a twenty-dollar bill on the ground, and then five minutes later finding ANOTHER twenty-dollar bill on the ground.

That's right.

I had to check and make sure it wasn't the same twenty-dollar bill....like maybe I had dropped it.

It wasn't. It was different.

I found forty bucks total.

Some idiot had a hole in his pocket, I guess....But I wanted to marry the person, whoever he was.

He was my savior.

I went to the saloon with $43, drank four glasses of whiskey, and left with $63.

The only reason I drank four glasses of whiskey instead of 20 glasses of whiskey is because the saloon closes at 2 a.m., and I got there pretty late.

You know damn well I would've used all of the $40 on whiskey if I could have.

That $40 could have meant certain death for me, if time had permitted.

But, I made up for it.

I went to the local Mexican restaurant down the street from the saloon, where all the young kids go to eat after their stomachs have been filled with alcohol. I offered to buy three lovely ladies dinner. But they declined.

They did, however, say that I could buy them each a jumbo super ball. There's a 50-cent jumbo super ball machine near the counter. Two quarters go in, a jumbo super ball comes out. The kind of balls that bounce all over the fucking place and cause pure catastrophe during their bouncing spree until they eventually end up on a roof somewhere.

On afterthought, when the ladies said I could buy them each a jumbo super ball, I should've told them that I already had two jumbo super balls that they could share. But I didn't say that.

My mind was foggy from my money-high. I wanted to buy a money bin to swim around in like Uncle Scrooge.

So, the ladies sat down, and I told them I would get them each a jumbo super ball, which I did. The girls started bouncing the balls all over; throwing them across the Mexican restaurant.

But, then I decided to go one better. I got $5 in quarters, and proceeded to get a ball out of the machine, toss it into the crowd, get a ball out of the machine, toss it into the crowd.

13 balls total.

It was pure madness in the Mexican restaurant, as balls were being bounced all over the place. I sat down and ate. Anytime somebody asked for a ball, I would pull one out of my pocket and throw it their way.

I was the ball pimp.

It was the most times in one night that I ever heard a girl say to me, "Can I play with one of your balls?" It beat my previous record of zero.

I felt like a fucking hero. They should erect a statue of me in front of the Mexican restaurant. A statue of me bouncing my balls everywhere.

Money + whiskey + jumbo super balls = Fun

Let's see them make an afterschool special about that.

Also, at some point in the night, I remember a girl growling at me with a mouthful of food. Like a rabid bear. She put her face right next to mine, as if she was going to kiss me, and growled at me with a mouthful of Mexican slop.

I think it was a love growl, because she knew I was the jumbo super ball pimp. It might've been her way of telling me that she wanted one of the balls.

It was interesting, and I found it to be strangely sexy.

I wanted to stick my tongue in her mouthful of guacamole.

I should've put one of my balls in her mouth instead and told her to have fun with it.

And then, after that, I should've given her a jumbo super ball to play with.

 

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