I got a new bed
It’s a pretty good lay
It’s got high thread count sheets
And the cutest green duvet

I got a new bed
One that will help me rest
Now there’s one bed for me
And another for a guest

It will help me sleep well
My back will never bruise
But when that alarm goes off
I totally hit the snooze

(I totally hit the snooze)

I got a new bed
It’s a nice size
It feels good on the skin
It’s okay on the eyes

I got a new bed
I’m pleased to announce
And although it’s pretty solid
I’d rather you not bounce

It’s fun to fall asleep now
Definitely not a chore
Too bad it can’t shut me up
When I start to snore

(When I start to snore)

(Guitar and saxophone jam)

I got a new bed
It fits about right
You can doze off to sleep
Or have a pillow fight

I got a new bed
It’s really quite soft
It helps me dream of Angelina
Being all Lara Croft

Now I’m not looking for attention
Don’t want you to shed a tear
But it’s fair to say
I’ll be eating ramen for a year

(I’ll be eating ramen for a year)

(Guitar and saxophone jam, repeat, fade out)

SHE: I’m not worried about going on a date with a guy I don’t know very well. I have a series of questions that tell me whether he’s a serial killer or not, and they’re proven to work.

ME: Like what?

SHE: Question #1: Have you ever tortured small animals or insects for fun?

ME: Good…

SHE: Question #2: Have you ever lived alone in a cabin in a land-locked state?

ME: ....

SHE: Question #3: Are you a serial killer?

ME: ...

SHE: ...

ME: ...and you say that this screening process is proven to work?

SHE: Absolutely. I am not dead.

The furniture delivery people just left my place.  Yesterday they gave me a delivery “window” from 8 a.m. to noon.

Okay, first of all, that is not a window. A window is 30 minutes. An hour tops.  Four hours is an entire glass ceiling.

Then, they arrived at 7:30 a.m. and called me incessantly.

A four hour window and you can’t even hit that?

They asked me where I wanted everything put.  I would have told them, but I doubt they would have been willing to comply given that my directions would have included a sensitive anatomical region.

Ever hear the expression “can’t hit the broad side of a barn”? I’m officially changing that up to “can’t even make it inside a furniture delivery window.”

The Eliot Spitzer situation has ignited the old controversy over whether prostitution ought to be legalized.  Although generally I side with individual choice in these matters, I am categorically against the legalization of prostitution.  I absolutely hate shopping for items such as clothes, furniture, and even groceries. Can you imagine how stressful it would be to enter a Prostitute Emporium?  The second you walked in the door, you’d be pounced on before the bell had even stopped jingling.

MADAME: Hello sir!  How may I help you today?

ME: Uh, I’m just looking.

MADAME: Here!  Try one!  It’s the only way to tell if it fits!

(She shoves me at a tall brunette.)

ME: Ooof.

BRUNETTE: You’re hot!

ME: I’m not buying you.

BRUNETTE: Then get off me.

MADAME: How about these two blondes? This one’s Inga, and this one’s Inga! They’re very cost effective.

INGA & INGA: Ja, hello!

ME: Um, I’ve had bad experience with cheap Swedish models. They were good when I was a student, but they’re difficult to assemble and fall apart easily.  Here, let me show you.

(to Inga & Inga)

Are you in this business because your father neglected you?  Do you secretly crave his love?  Is your profession a reflection of your own self loathing?

(Inga & Inga run off crying.)

MADAME: Well, that wasn’t a fair test. Our floor models are always a bit more fragile.

ME: Look, I’m really just browsing. I don’t need--

MADAME (looking me up and down): You’re a size small, aren’t you?

ME: HEY!

MADAME: Listen, this ain’t no library. You come in, you can browse for a bit, but eventually you gotta buy. If all you want to do is watch, find yourself a DVD.

ME: Well, look, I’m kind of looking for something special.

MADAME: We can do special. Just going to cost a bit extra.

ME: It’s...well, I’m looking for a woman about 5’7, light brown hair, glasses, educated, hopefully with a bit of a midwestern twang.  I need her to read this to me so I can...you see...well, here.

(I thrust a paper in her hand. She looks at it, reads):

MADAME: “Great work on the introductory paragraph!  Be sure to work on your transitions, and also support your thesis statements with secondary reference sources. Other than that, another sterling essay and you’re well on track to a very strong report card.”

ME: My seventh grade teacher.  I’d...I’d like one of your girls to read those comments to me. Over and over. 

MADAME: Hmmm. You’re sicker than I thought you were when you walked in here.

ME: Also, I’m willing to clean erasers.

MADAME: Okay.

(She picks up a microphone)

ME: Wait, wait, this place is crowded today, do you think you could be discreet about--

MADAME: HELLO, I NEED A SANDY HAIRED MIDWESTERN JUNIOR HIGH TEACHER WITH ERASER EXPERIENCE ON AISLE FIVE.

ME: Christ!

(My boss waves to me from across the room.)

BOSS: Good job, guy!  Personally, I’m just interested in being held!

ME: I’m outta here.

Can you imagine?  Let’s all work to keep this profession underground. Besides, I like the way it takes down a politician or two every few years.  Between prostitution, fraud, and illegal donations, I predict we won’t have any politicians left by the year 2019--and frankly, that’s a world worth bequeathing to our children.

For the second week in a row, I’m stuck in a hotel room for several days.  The shampoo in my bathroom is called “Clarifying Shampoo.” I have absolutely no idea what to make of this name. It sounds like something Dumbledore would use to ferret out his enemies.

Why do they bother to put art on hotel walls?  Does anyone really walk into the room and say “Oh, a nice sailboat, I feel like home”?  More often, I wake up completely disoriented and and a bland, framed dandelion swims in front of my vision. I can’t remember whether I’m in a hotel room or a nursing home, and I resolve to quickly consult my Clarifying Shampoo.

ME: How’s your daughter?

HE: Well, she’s undergoing a tough transition right now since she’s away from home for the first time.

ME: Really?

HE: Sure, she’s at college. So she’s undergoing a pretty dramatic separation from us. She feels upset a lot of the time, and although she’s making new friends, she often misses home and feels isolated in her new environment.

ME: Wow. She told you all of this?

HE: No, I read about it on her MySpace.