Imaginary Conversations and Random Thoughts

Start with Part One. Then Part Two. And Part Three.

That’s right. Princess Wolfie decided a few cocktails were in order before dinner. So we met at the usual place, Princess Wolfie, Miss Judi and I. Miss Lola arrived later. It was one of the better cocktail hours.

First, Miss Judi and I got to trade some inappropriate jokes. And after a few of these, I lean over and ask if she wants to hear a dirty joke. Well what to my wondrous ears should appear? (If you can stand the cheesy rip off) Princess Wolfie, chipping in with “A white horse jumped in the mud.” Son of a bitch stole my line. (If you can stand another) I wouldn’t have believed it. Sure, it’s not exactly finishing each other’s sentences or anything, but still. This is the kind of thing I love about her. I laughed my hiney region off between false blusters of outrage that she ripped me off.

Second, Miss Judi must have skipped lunch, because she was a little tipsy for a while, a little funny, and a little vicious. Sort of like me when I become benevolent dictator. I’ve had an idea for a month or so that while I thought it would be fun, for some reason I felt stupid bringing it up. Remind me to psychoanalyze myself about that later. But I’ll take a chance here and there. So I lean over to Tipsy Miss Judi and whisper “Two words: Secret Santa.”

This definitely suited her fancy. She squealed with delight and I made a mental note to congratulate myself for some subtle art or other. She offered to host a Team Magnum Christmas Party (which you have to admit is a whole lot easier to type than Team Magnum Gift Exchange, Appetizers and Cocktail Hour) at her house later this week. Princess Wolfie is leaving town Friday, which makes Thursday the best we can do.

Third, at some point, somehow, Princess Wolfie had the brilliant idea of having a future Team Magnum Cocktail Hour at our local drinks, loud music, and topless dancers emporium. We shall call it TJ McBoobies. Thank goodness when I go to a strip club, I go to one three towns over. There would be no end to the crap I would take if we walked in there and various girls greeted me by name. Or by my undercover strip club patron name, Studs Hardbody. I can see it now.

Suitably Slutty Girl One: Ooooh! Studs, looking good!
Suitably Slutty Girl Two: Welcome back, Studs! We missed you!
SSG One and Two: Typical giggles and purrs.
SSG One and Two sort of rub up against me in that way that they do.
Me: Who are these girls? What are they talking about? (In an overly loud, ridiculous sort of tone. You know, like Seinfeld. Then again, this is more like something that would happen to Larry on Three‘s Company. Unfortunately, I look more like Larry than Jerry.)
Wait a half hour for Team Magnum to stop laughing.

Aaaaannnd . . . End of scene.

I would have written more of that wacky dream sequence, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the fact that by this point in the story I would have keeled over from three heart attacks and seven strokes. Interesting footnote to the story: Two years later, the AMA recommended that the three heart attack/seven stroke event be recognized as the symptoms necessary for a “Died of Embarrassment” entry on the death certificate.

Since I’m all clear in that regard, now I can look forward to seeing if anyone else is recognized there! How self-righteous we become. Ohhhhhh! And Miss Judi says the daughter of one of the secretaries at our office works at TJ McBoobies! I’ve met the son, but I haven’t met the daughter, so I wouldn’t recognize her anyway.

Next Up: The Drawing Of The Names.