The Daily Derenger

6/14/2002

Chicago is where it's at this weekend. The Cubs are playing the White Sox. Let me take this opportunity to put to rest the "I'm a Chicago fan" bullshit. When it comes to Chicago baseball, you are one or the other; this "I root for both teams" shit is absurd. That's what makes a fan and a rivalry legitimate. Sure you can be a Chicago fan when it comes to the other sports' teams in town like the Bears, Bulls, and Blackhawks. But when it comes to baseball, you either love 'em or hate 'em, the Sox or the Cubs. I will admit that I may hate the White Sox fans more than I hate the actual team. It's the way I was raised. We ate, drank, and slept Cubby blue. Since the Cubs haven't won the World Series since 1906, we've mostly bled Cubby blue though. I may have to change my thoughts though. My cousin, Todd Deininger, was drafted by the White Sox last week and signed a few days ago. He's now in Arizona beginning his professional career and wearing the enemy's colors. A family is now torn. Until he makes it to the big leagues, the Sox still suck. And rightly so. That way, Todd may be able to get traded away from those shitheads on the south side of Chicago.

6/13/2002

Miniature golf is a game of luck. I played last night and got beaten by a 13 year-old. It was my "girlfriend's" brother so I couldn't really beat his ass or curse up a storm. Rather, I had to take it like a man, bite my tounge, and pretend like I was having a good time. Kind of like prison. His 8 year-old sister was there so it was more like a family affair. We had just eaten dinner at their house with mom and dad. I wasn't able to be the crude and crass individual that I always am or that would be the topic of discussion at breakfast this morning.

On several occasions while golfing, the question "where's the hole" was asked. I mumbled to her brother, "When you find it, you'll know." He didn't hear me though. Thank God. Then the two kids were then told by their sister, my "girlfriend," to stop playing with their balls while others were playing. The 8 year-old girl said, "I don't have any balls Sissy." I thought that to be funnier and more appropriate than what I had in mind.

The sign for the golf place was located on the street near the 5th hole. It was in easy enough reach to alter some of the words. The 8 year-old would have freaked out for some reason if I would have changed the sign. She fears embarassment. She needs to see my act sometime then. The sign was going to read " USED ANAL BEADS FOR SALE." When I was 8, I would've just asked some questions instead. Times have changed though.

6/12/2002

As I've mentioned in previous "DD's," my friend Cyndi lives near the Manhole, a huge gay bar, in Chicago. Last week, her, I and Erin were walking back to her place around 10pm on a week night. None of us had ever been in the Manhole but had heard so many things about it. I had driven past the it a few times and saw nothing but gay men laden with leather from head to toe. Since this kind of sight was only seen around 3 or 4am, we didn't know what to expect. We went in to check it out. The place was as empty as the lines to see the latest Tom Greene movie. There was the bartender who was flaming like an Autumn bonfire along with one patron who was shedding similar heat. That's it.

Cyndi and Erin decided that it would be great for me to act like I was coming out of the closet. With slight reluctance and nothing else to do, I agreed to play their game. The girls introduced me as their gay friend and I snickered like the fag that I was. At that time, the bartender bought my first beer and also began pouring shots of 'Oatmeal Cookie' (he called it a 'Cocksucker with a splash of Goldschlager.' I prefered the cookie name though.). They were on the house as was the second round that followed shortly after. It was paying to be gay. Who knew?

There were about 8 TV's in the place, all of which had gay porn on. Really gay porn. Dicks-in-guy's-asses-and mouth's gay porn. I played it off as simply not being into that sort of thing. The bartender seemed to believe me. Until I asked if he could turn on the Cubs' game. I figured if I was going to watch someone go deep in the hole, it would be the Cubs' shortstop. Besides, I had had enough of Rusty making a hand-puppet out of Glen. Leave the poor guy alone already. But they had no access other than that of the VCR. We were stuck with the VHS version of 'Fistfuck Digest.' We left shortly thereafter.

6/11/2002

I attended my godson, Gary's, baseball game for the first time last week. He's 6 and in a tee-ball league. Amazingly, only one player needed to use the tee. I played in such a league when I was his age. Everyone needed the tee back then. Even the coaches. Some of them needed the tee to walk though. Gary's league has girls on the team, too. And they hit the ball better than some of the boys. I would have forced myself to eat a shit sandwich if a girl hit the ball better than me. Times have changed though. I guess we all can get along.

Gary's team is sponsored by a pizza place. After the game, the entire team and their fans, including me, had free pizza. I never had such luck. My sponsor's were a ladies' auxilery, a funeral home, and a roofing company among others. I could have gotten a casket, some nails and a ladder, and whatever could have been gotten at a ladies auxilery. When you're 6 there are few things better than pizza. Especially free pizza. (That was me, a 27 year-old comic who loves the free pizza though.) Well maybe video games and dirt gives pizza a run for its money.

6/10/2002

Shopping with a woman is nothing short of amazing. The things they look for in a purchase. "These shoes are great. They look awesome on me. I have so many outfits I could wear them with," said Erin. "Well how do they feel to walk in," I asked. "They're killing my feet but I don't care." Priceless, I guess.

They we headed in to Mikasa for some more funny. She was looking for stuff to furnish her new apartment and she loves that store. The cashier was one of the hottest chicks I had seen in quite some time. I had to stay away from her to avoid getting an erection that would knock over the display of wine glasses. (A guest at mine and Erin's place: "You've got quite a collection of wine glasses. Why so many?" "Scott got a boner.") She was shopping for such glasses though. She grabbed hold of a snifter and asked what I thought of it. "Snifter, I didn't even know her!"

We hit a bar last night just at last call. We were in time for a beer each. Then the time came to leave. I hate that time. Not because of the loss of drinking time, but because of the schmucks who yell "Hey folks it's time to leave." These guys are pathetic. They never get any attention. They were picked on as kids and are getting even by yelling their asses off at strangers. I will leave the bar. I don't need some 5-foot "bouncer-slash-pottery major" named Cameron shouting at me. Fuckin' jag-off.