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Category Archives: hater fiction

By now you’ve heard the news that Jay Leno and NBC have decided to give the late-night talk show format a whirl in prime time. Most articles discussing this potential major change in television programming mention the possibility of enormous profits if this idea is successful. The costs of a talk-show are relatively low in the long run, especially when compared to dramas and sitcoms. If a show that cheap can make make huge profits in late night, imagine the potential earnings of prime-time ratings.

Inspired by a desperate network’s out-of-the-box thinking, the thought came across my mind that that our government, pretty strapped right now but having to spend even more on the strapped economy, could use a little cash infusion itself. Too bad the government can’t put on a profitable, entertaining, and informative show five nights a week and make easy cash.

Wait, why not?

I mean, Barack Obama is all over the airwaves anyway these days, appointing Cabinet members, offering up plans, telling the current President what he should do while reminding everyone that he’s not President yet, and of course, going “Rod who?”

In the interest of a new, more transparent government, and tax deductions for all participating advertisers, live from Washington, D.C., it’s Government Live! With President Barack Obama! (Sometimes, when the President needs a day off, you’ll get Joe Biden. Joe Biden will make a fine David Brenner or Garry Shandling for this generation.)

“But”, the skeptics out there are asking, “what the hell is Barack Obama going to talk about for an hour?” No worries. Like every well-designed show, we have a format all set up: fast-paced, entertaining, informative, and chock-full of opportunities for the people to learn. It’ll be like a civics class every night, except more fun! Check it out:

Segment 1 — What I’m doin’: Basically his monologue, where he pretty much tells the American people what he’s doing to fix the country. About five minutes. The goal is three minutes of explanation and information and two minutes of inspiration.

Segment 2 –The People’s Briefing: The President sits down, takes a load off, and sits down with someone from the government live via satellite, from the field, whether it’s the front lines of the war on terror or restructuring of the auto industry, where people can see results. Not to mention light banter, of course.

Segment 3 — The Big Idea: The evening’s main guest, usually a Congressman or Cabinet Member, comes on to discuss the big issue of the day. It’s a free-flowing conversation, hopefully designed to stimulate thought. Not to mention of course, embarrassing stories and wildly amusing anecdotes.

Segment 4 — Media Roundtable:Everyone loves pundits, but let’s see what we get when they get to punditize in front of the President himself. Sure, it might be awkward at first, but soon, we’ll be hoping for the kind of no-holds barred discussion of the issues you get on…um.. well…uh, it’ll be like a more formal “Around The Horn“.

Segment 5 — Haterade! : In the interest of equal time, this segment is devoted to the opposition. Some Republican comes on and tells you why these aren’t good ideas and what Ronald Reagan would do if he were still alive. Then, as all good American TV does, we rip off the British. Designated Hater of the Day gets a to ask the President three questions in the style of British Parliament : “Whare is the President getting all this money for these public works projects?! Does he hope to simply print it?” It’ll be confrontational, provide the show’s dramatic climax, and lead perfectly into…

Segment 6 — Musical guest: Because you always have to have a musical guest on a talk show. Period.

Segment 7 — 42 cents: In other words, the mailbag segment, where the President talks to the people. From a safe distance deep inside the White House, of course. A nice, snappy way to wrap up the show.

With that kind of setup, you won’t even know you’re watching a government informational program! And with the high ratings you’d undoudtedly get from a nation on edge, you could easily clear about a billion dollars a year! With that kind of money rolling we could easily put, like, a light, easily repairable scratch in the deficit!

Look, we gotta start somewhere. You got anything better, hater?

Wednesday, 12/3: Well Whiskey Friday breaks out his Calendar that he received last Christmas to make up his holiday calendar.

Friday 12/5: Promising to take it easy so he can do some much-needed Christmas shopping, Well Whiskey Friday claims he’s done after happy hour.

Saturday 12/6: Sure, he’s still out at midnight. Sunday’s a better day to go shopping for gifts anyway.

Later that day, he realizes it’s the last regular season day of college football. The sadness he feels in his heart is slowly replaced by Sierra Nevadas at Mulholland’s. The plan: ignore the ACC championship game (no bitterness here, GT lost to VT head to head, this isn’t the Big XII), enjoy a USC beatdown of UCLA (who needs time outs when you can have tradition) and hope Missouri upsets Oklahoma, so ‘SC and Texas can start sniping at each other again, this time off the field–the way college football ought to be!

Sunday 12/7:He was going to go shopping, but he woke up too late on Sunday, and there’s no way he can go to Best Buy and make it back to the Turkey’s Nest in time for Ravens-Redskins battle of the Beltway! (When the bartender knows your name and hooks you up with PBR, you can talk yourself into any sporting event, really.)

Monday 12/8: New boss means midweek merriment must be kept to a minimum. All that sobriety makes it hard to shopping right after work, you know?

Thursday 12/11: The last ever Media Meshing, apparently. Well Whiskey Friday went to the first few and was even in a video on its behalf. Guess he has to go to the last one. He might even tell some people he has a blog this time.

Friday 12/12: If he can get up and not go “Shit! I’m going to have to call in!” Well Whiskey Friday is declaring victory.

Saturday 12/13: Big day: First of his two Secret Santa parties in the afternoon, a book exchange in the evening, and Santacon raging in the wee hours. If he had known that the day would be so busy, he likely would have not scheduled himself to give blood in the early afternoon. (Donate, things get desperate, especially this time of year. The holidays make people drunk-drivey and stabby.) Especially since Well Whiskey Friday still has bought no gifts. Can you say “iTunes Gift card”?

Sunday 12/14: By today he will have hoped to cheat on his fake, gambling-induced “fiancee”. Is deploying all tactics that do not make him into a Hookup Turkey. We hope.

After last night’s close shave, you would think I’d get on my December 16th Secret Santa. You would be wrong. Gotta catch Giants-Cowboys! When you wake up at 5 pm, shopping’s just not possible.

Tuesday 12/16:I’m sure work won’t be so busy that I won’t have time to stand in line at gift wrap and fight off shoppers and…forget it. Is giving someone a crisp $20 bill accompanied by some original poetry, a cool and different kind of gift, or does it make you Grandpa? Oh and he is vowing to violently destroy any cheesy Barack Obama merchandise he might receive. You’ve been warned, ironic giftmeisters.

Thursday 12/18: If he worked for a normal company, there would be some sort of holiday party. However, even during good economic times, the company party is scheduled during the summer because…well, it’s cheaper. But at least he doesn’t feel left out this year.

Saturday 12/20: College football is back! It’s minor bowl season! Who’s up for the Roady’s Truck Stops Humanitarian Bowl! No? But you can gamble on it. Oh yeah, now you’re interested!

Wednesday 12/24:A Festivus for the rest of us?

Well Whiskey Friday and his longtime pal continue a tradition like no other: drinking at Subway Inn on 60thand Lexington Avenue on Christmas Eve. (Technically it’s the 23rd, yes. I dare you to call Frank Costanza on Well Whiskey Friday.) The it’s off to downtown, where Jews and other assorted grinchesare partying the night away. At midnight of course, is the airing of grievances. Well and friends have coupled this tradition with modern technology to text everyone they know and let those people know precisely how they have been disappointed by them. (Well, not precisely, Well Whiskey Friday doesn’t have a full keyboard on his phone.)

Thursday 12/25: Jewish Christmas! Dim Sum, and in The Gang’s tradition, gay movie! I hear “Milk” is supposed to be excellent.

Friday 12/26:Hope your office had the good sense to close. Well’s does, meaning hair of the dog!

Sunday 12/28: Week 17 of the NFL. Head to your local sports bar like Well will to see history. That’s right, the totally defeated Detroit Lions will take the golden shower sombrero and go 0-16.

Monday 12/29:No actual work will be done as the day’s internet use will be devoted to “What are we doing on New Year’s?”

Wednesday 12/31: Either it’s a great compromise or it’s a great party as Well Whiskey Friday decides, as he usually does, that he’s tired of pressuring himself to make this some sort of special, memorable evening, and just decides the game plan is to throw drinks down at an alarming pace.

Thursday 1/1: Happy New Year! May 2009 be the start a new set of experiences, adventures, highlights, achievements, moments, and joys! A clean slate and a new start to the rest of your life. But before you start feeling too giddy, remember this: George Walker Bush: Still President. (courtesy of “The Daily Show”)

Doesn’t matter if Well Whiskey Friday overdid it on New Year’s Eve…the office is closed on Friday! Unless his liver says something, it won’t stop! Keep on living the dream, kids.

*All events subject to change due to illness, arrest, nipple-biting cold, or morning-after awkwardness.

abc wednesday!

These shows are being promoted like hell by the Mouse, for some reason, on the L train. I am pretty sure I have ridden in a car doing nothing but pimping these shows for ten to fourteen consecutive workdays. Having seen none of these programs, I can’t hate on them, only their promotion.

Wait, I’m Well Whiskey Friday, what am I saying?

I’m guessing there’s some kind of dead person in “Pushing Daisies”. Let’s hope it is not the writers of the program, or Chi McBride’s career. I couldn’t name the lead actors if they showed me government-issued ID, and I’ll bet it’s one of those shows where the guy and the girl thoroughly love each other but can never bone. Until they do. (see: Files, X.)

What can I say about “Dirty Sexy Money” that the title doesn’t give away? Except what the hell is Donald Sutherland doing in this crap? Not to mention Peter Krause? Or Blair Underwood? Lucy Liu has been reduced to this? When William Baldwin looks like he deserves to be on your show, you got problems.

“Private Practice” is a “Grey’s Anatomy” spinoff, meaning the only private practice you’ll really have to worry about on the show is whether the leading lady redhead prefers one guy at a time or has a rotation of strapping gentlemen callers.

abc wednesday! Premiering october 1st, check your local listings.

This was on my tumblr, but this seems more appropriate for this site, I thought…

I don’t mean to be a morbid asshole, but when President McCain gets elected in November (to the general shock and horror of many of you…), you know he’ll be alive for, like a year and a half, and then he’s going to croak, right? Then it’s President Palin, working grandma and leader of the free world. Then, hilarity ensues.

Look, it can’t not happen. The country that gave us the wacky sitcom can’t not have it’s first woman President under these circumstances! It’s so perfect for Julia Roberts’ TV comeback! And throw in the daughter with two kids: her new baby and her lunkheaded, hockey-playing, mullet-wearing husband! Perfect! You can’t ask this to be scripted any better.

“Black President” was fun for a while, but let’s face it, in most shows and movies with a black president, it usually means super-serious times, where looming danger is ahead (“24”, “Deep Impact”). I mean Russia is acting up, you never know what Al-Qaeda’s got planned, and I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t sleep on that crazy-ass Hugo Chavez down in Venezuela.

But with the Republicans protecting us from the terrorists and all, there’ll be nothing to worry about! Except when is Sarah Palin’s doofus son-in-law going to get a job? First dates! What the hell does the first husband do all day?

All these questions and more will be answered, say, sometime around September 2010…just in time for the new fall season!

Bryant and wife (I think)

So I was winding down a long day by reading the Washington Post’s website when I came across this article reviewing the fourth hour of the Today Show. According to reviewer Robin Givhan, the fourth hour of the show seems to be a throwback to the olden days when men worked and women stayed home and took care of the house. Not sure when that was, might have been 1957, coulda been 1987, whatever. Here was the real point for me:

they’re not on at 10 a.m.

There’s a fourth hour of the Today show?!

I guess I could see the reasoning to try and keep the show going as long as possible, the venerable broadcast institution is practically an ATM for NBC Universal. But really, what the hell are you going to put on? Of course there’s nothing but weight-loss crap and extreme makeovers! After four hours, you’re pretty much out of news.

So, instead of creating a brand new NBC morning show called, oh, I dunno, “Crap We Think Women Might Be Interested In Instead of News”, they take the “Today” brand name, shuffle Matt Lauer, Meredith Viera, and Al Roker off to safety and leave Ann Curry to interview women on their “relationship deal-breakers”?

I don’t get this TV business at all sometimes. Why would you dilute your best product and stretch it out beyond belief, when really, in actuality, you’ve just put on an entirely different program? I mean, why not have a second hour of “Meet the Press”, except in the second hour, Tim Russert leaves and Dan Abrams interviews a Hollywood celebrity?

(Using the same Tim Russert interview techniques, of course: “But Mr. Stallone, we’ll put up this graphic. You told GQ in March 1996: ‘I wouldn’t embarrass myself by playing Rocky and Rambo into my 60s.’ What changed your mind, your conspicuous lack of hits over the next ten years, or human growth hormone?”)

Or how about a second hour of “To Catch A Predator”, but we replace Chris Hansen with Keith Olbermann in “To Date a Douchebag”, where they use an actor to play a $10 Bud Select-swilling jackass with a popped collar, who lures some unsuspecting clueless female back to his place. When he leaves the living room for a second to see “if he has any box wine left”, Olbermann busts in and drops some science on the young lady.

Keith: So you really thought, and let me read this right, ‘would you like to come back to my place to see my gooch’ meant that this guy was going to give you a night of quality lovemaking? Honestly. Do you even know what a gooch is? And you were going to sleep with him?”

Clueless female: Uh, no….

Keith: We have you on tape calling in sick for work tomorrow.

Clueless female: Dammit! (runs out of apartment)

Keith: (voiceover) What she doesn’t know is that the girlfriends she abandoned at the club to go home with our ‘chump’ are waiting for her outside the apartment. They are drunk, and boy, are they pissed.

You know, on second thought, if the fourth hour of Today is stuff like this, I think I’d be interested….

Elliot Mess

Man, it’s too bad about Eliot Spitzer, getting busted for getting a little companionship while he was in DC talking to Congress and doing some business. I’m no high-powered politician (as far as you know), but having lots of money and an important job can get pretty damn stressful. Sometimes, a guy just needs to relax.

Yeah, so he’s already married. So what? It looks like dude’s been married a long time, and by now, no matter how much you love your wife, you have a pretty good idea of what she’ll go for in the sack and what she won’t. And sometimes, the really good stress relieving stuff is not stuff she wants to do. So you go to a pro, who’ll do the things that your wife won’t. Even if it’s not considered “safe”, you know you can throw in a an extra $1000 or so and she’ll gladly put her tongue there.

Pretty Woman

It’s just a shame with politicians that a man can’t just pay for a little ass play once in a while. Does the fact that a guy wants to give a pneumatic and nubile young stranger a reacharound make him any less able to deliver a balanced budget? I don’t think so. But this puritanical society of ours is just so obsessed with sex. So a guy likes to pay for some teabagging action from a top-heavy tranny. So what? What does that have to do with energy policy? Honestly!

Well, whatever your decision, Client Nine, I just want it out there that I’m a fellow traveler who understands (not because I am any sort of important politician–as far as you know) that sometimes blowing off steam means a blow job. Maybe someday this nation will grow up, leaving prostitutes and prostitution alone and get to focus on the real business of the American people. Until then, you walk with your head held high, there’s nothing to be ashamed over. Wiring a woman money for sex is probably as honest a relationship you will ever have, in politics or in love. And there’s nothing wrong with that, friend.

street hookers

As for me, well, I guess it’s back to driving my SUV down to the docks and seeking out a man named Slick. For now.

Well, today is February 14th! You know what that means! Mating Day!

Are you contributing to the survival of the human race by fucking? And not boning just to bone, but so that we can keep the human race alive, to keep the earth under our steady and sure direction? As you know, if we as humans do not procreate through the guise of romance, well, we’re looking at a takeover by the wolves. Knowing some people who have been raised by them, let me tell you, wolves are not qualified to be leading this planet. Sure they’ve got the killer instincts and the sharp teeth, but they lack our broader vision, sense of purpose, and plain old creativity.

Wolves!

So, if you haven’t sired and bred any children, today is the day to do something about that. Take the initiative. Use a pickup line. Write poetry. Offer to put your fingers in places that proper society pretends not to dream of. Get someone drunk. Do something so spectacular that it causes a display of genitalia without provocation. If you’re not going to do it for yourself, do it to stop the wolves, who will stop at nothing to take back this planet. Today they’re wandering into convenience stores, tomorrow they’ll be running ExxonMobil.

If you have already had children and are raising them in a family unit of some sort, it’s a good night not to forget where you came from with a fancy dinner, a gift, and doing other things you would ordinarily not even consider doing on a Thursday night. It is your reward for doing your part in the battle. But you must never forget its importance, so relive your young desperate romantic days, when mating was new to you, and take each other in the night. This is what we have over the wolves, who reproduce but can never remember the true pleasure of a well-thought out and schemed mating dance.

If you do no such thing, may you feel bad about the emptiness in your life caused by your failure to strike a blow (or give one) for the cause. Mope around, eat fatty foods, drink cheap, mass-market beer and watch bad Matthew McConaughey/Kate Hudson movies or second-tier sporting events, like hockey. That is what you deserve for letting the Earth down and leaving the human race at the hands of the wolves.

Wolf!

In short, today is a day to celebrate! Fertility! Humankind! Defeat the wolves! Go bone somebody, even if it means unhappily lowering your standards and settling for second-rate treatment. Feel alive, and feel your contribution! Or feel dead, and feel the sting of a bucket of chicken wings and watching “Love, Actually”.

Last Sunday, after a day of helping out at the world-famous Amateur Female Jello Wrestling (If you went, you may have noticed me as “sleepy and indifferent door guy” or, if you were there early enough, “strong-looking guy in a tight sweater who keeps showing everyone the crack of his ass”), I decided to kick back and relax at Lit, where one of my favorite Sunday night activities (when I am not sensible enough to say, “Oh, I have work tomorrow”) is to go and sing some Rock ‘N Roll Karaoke.

At first, I was only going to do one song and go home, but the joint was kind of empty. After all, it was cold out, it had snowed a bit, and it was Sunday evening, which is sort of important if you are employed weekdays from nine to five.  But I was feeling like a drink, and feeling like a song.

Before I selected, someone made a very valid point: Next weekend was President’s Day Weekend. Which means next Sunday, there will be a pretty big crowd, and no matter what, it’ll probably be a good time. However, if you are “serious” about singing, there’s one slight disadvantage: More people means more singing, which means fewer chances, which means probably a more limited chance to express yourself through the words of other people’s songs. So it was a good night to expand your repertoire and workshop new material, if you will.

Normal hits on my list  (along with my sometime partner Juan, or, the duo known as “Long and Strong”) are “Jump Around” by House of Pain, “Wonderwall” by Oasis, “Mama Said Knock You Out” by LL Cool J, “Sex Bomb” by Tom Jones, and “Chocolate Salty Balls” by Chef of South Park.

But there’s always room for new material.

So without further adieu, here are the three new songs I “workshopped”, and some critiques from the judges of a pretty popular karaoke competition.

Suddenly, I want a Coke

Is She Really Going Out With Him” by Joe Jackson

Why I chose it: For some reason, it felt right, and spoke to the narcissistic hater in me. Okay, that is me.

Randy: You kind of talked instead of sang at some points, almost like rappin’ it. And I loved the fact that you gave it an edge by talking over the song by saying stuff like “Seriously what the fuck is she thinking?” and “That bitch must really like ugly guys!” You made it your own, dog.

Paula: Such a bitter song for such a sweet boy! Why are you so angry? But I liked it!

Simon:Not a bad performance, but an American Idol can’t can’t go around cursing and making a scene like he’s Ice Cube. If you want to stay in this competition, you’re going to have to clean up your act. Oh, and I hated the rapping.

Everybody Have Fun Tonight,” Wang Chung

Why I picked it: As I said to the DJ, “it’s so horrendous, it’s awesome”.

Randy: This is a bad choice of song for you, dog. I liked your energy and all, but you got too much bass in your voice, and your voice cracked a little at times. But you did get the crowd moving. I like that, dog.

Paula:That was soooo much more fun than your other song. I like that you showed your pop side. Nice job!

Simon:I like your performance and your energy, but that’s the totally wrong song for you. I don’t know how far you’re going to make it in this competition, you clearly have potential, but we can’t seem to bring it out of you. Oh, and can you lose the scarf? It’s kind of “Broadway”, if you know what I mean.

Me: (still sweating like Ruben Studdard walking up half a flight of stairs)Broadway? But this is my awesome Dr. Who scarf!

Simon: Yeah, because sci-fi ubergeeks buy records. What is wrong with you?

“Live and Let Die” sung in the style of Guns ‘N Roses. Of course the original is by Wings, which featured some dude named Paul McCartney, who was in this other band before this not all that hot Japanese chick who couldn’t sing busted it up.

Why I picked it: I’ve had success with Guns ‘N Roses Songs before, namely, “Mr. Brownstone”.

Randy: (standing) That was incredible, dog! You worked it! That’s what we’ve been waiting for!

Paula:Incredible! It’s like you melted cute Paul and angry Axl together and bam! It’s a Well Whiskey Friday song!

Simon: That was incredible and not “Broadway” at all! But I’m not sure America is ready for a rock Idol who curses and wears nerdy scarves. Still, you’ve finally impressed me a little.

Well, lots going on today in New York, as you know.

First, there’s tomorrow’s Giants parade. It starts at 11am, and the G-men, victors of the Super Bowl, will get their moment in the sun (figuratively speaking, if you believe the weather reports) down the Canyon of Heroes. I’m glad to see the city officially dropped the old policy of no parades for the local football teams because their stadium’s in New Jersey. Look, I understand why the West Side Stadium got killed. I was kind of for it, but it was a perfectly legit decision not to do it. (Although I have my doubts about the motivations and the political machinery that killed it.) But that means everyone needs to shut the hell up about whether the Giants (and Jets) are really a “New York” team because they play in New Jersey. We didn’t want to build a stadium, so that’s that. Mayor Bloomberg is acting accordingly and giving them a parade, because the Giants represent New York. They just go home to the suburbs at night.

Next up, there is something going on in town called Fashion Week. There are shows, I hear, featuring hideously expensive clothes and collections for the fall. I cop to knowing absolutely nothing about this, and as a guy who can barely keep his pants from ripping, I don’t think I’ll ever be. The closest I’ve ever come to displaying fashion sense is mocking the suits of Michael Irvin and Shannon Sharpe on NFL pregame shows. (I thought Fox announcer Joe Buck’s lavender tie was a little odd, to be honest.) But fashion people and their shows and their catty comments and their parties and their miles and miles of fabric are running around town all around you.

Finally, it’s Super Tuesday, where a large number of states will be holding their primaries and a few caucuses as we move closer to figuring out who will be our next president. Soon it’ll be a battle between a woman/a black guy vs. a sarcastic and cranky old guy/a Mormon/a former fat preacher endorsed by Chuck Norris. Either way, the next president of this country is going to be something a little bit different…okay, if it’s a Democrat, way different.

Unfortunately, I have this real job that will probably keep me away from much involvement in any of this. I am not registered with a party, so I don’t vote in  primaries…as I have always explained, I don’t like to join groups.  The parade starts at 11, and I have too much work to considering skipping out on it, and I have no connections to the fashion industry. Although if I ever met the men’s designer at H&M, I would like to shake his hand for forcing me back into the gym. I’m apparently not ready to give up my gay-style skinny fitting clothes just yet.

It’s too bad, because if you could involve all three in a story about a wet and unseasonably warm Tuesday in New York, that would be something. Maybe it can be done. After all, it’s not a far cry to think that maybe after drinking at a post-parade bar, your friend tells you about this party you can crash, and that there happen to be models there, so you find a way in, and not only do you see some of the models, you already see some of the Giants trying to pick up on ’em. But you don’t care, you still want an autograph, so you stroll up. But one of the Giants thinks you’re “salting the earth” and shoves you. Being that they’re huge guys, you can do nothing but slink over to the open bar, where you see some tall guy crying into his cell phone and holding a purse. As you order all the Grey Goose and soda you can get your hands on, you realize that it’s Tom Brady, and that he’s trying to drunk dial Bridget Moynahan because he just wants to hear his kid’s voice.

He may be the enemy, but you hate to see a guy in pain, so you walk up and give the guy a hug. At first he’s alarmed, but then he’s relieved, and he cries like he’s never cried before. Still being the good guys that you are, you tell him to man up, because Gisele is coming, and in Brazil, a crying man might as well be a dead one without a penis, and she can’t see him like this. Grateful for your help, he gives you passes to this ‘promotional event’ he was supposed to attend, but doesn’t have the heart to, he’ll just have to curl up in front of the TV with some Whole Foods his manservant better have picked up earlier in the day. And the manservant better have gotten a lot of gravy for that turkey meatloaf.

So you and your friend cab it to the far West Side, and you realize the address Tom gave you was to the Penthouse Club. You walk in and it’s a special event…it’s a Super Sexy Tuesday party, with television screens and strippers everywhere, hosted by…Bill Clinton! One of the partiers tells him he’s being sequestered here by Hillary’s campaign to make sure he doesn’t upstage his wife no matter what the outcome and to make sure he doesn’t say some douchey, race-card-type thing about Obama after his sixth Johnnie Walker Blue on the rocks. Clinton spots you and asks who you are, and you tell the whole Brady story, and Clinton curses Brady for Being a pussy because he was supposed to be his wingman tonight but Gisele has him whipped and beatdown like a mule on his grandmother’s farm. Clinton shrugs, but takes a liking to you, and before you know it, you’re all in the champagne room getting lap dances and drinking Moet straight from the bottle.

Hey! I’ve had stranger Tuesday nights.