Meanwhile, At the Gaslight Brewery & Restaurant...

"Okay, Mel, I'll see you later."

"Wait, where do you think you're going?"

"I just finished my shift, Dan. I'm clocking out."

"No, you said you'd work a double today, remember?"

"Uh, no Dan. I never said that."

"You did. Thursday, September 19, you said you'd work a double shift to make up for your absence on the 4th."

"No no no. I would've put that in the calendar weeks in advance. I have a..."

"You SAID you'd put it in the calendar, too, but I guess you forgot to. Still, you have to work this double since you promised. Better get those apps to tables 5 and 8."

"What is happening here? You're saying I verbally promised to work when I never do that? Then this calendar which clearly doesn't have me on after 6pm is wrong for the very first time?"

"Table 5 has the artichoke dip and 8 gets the chicken skewers. Chop chop."

(mutters) "This fucking place, man."

An Imagined Conversation

"Oh, Dios mío, that was a long flight, José!"

"Yes, Pedro, but finally, here we are, hello America!"

"Uh, yeah. About that, guys..."

"Yes, Mister American in a suit?"
"The thing is, amigos, your host families ducked out of the commitment of hosting youse. Last minute, like, when you guys were in the air."
"¡Ay no! What are we going to do, José?"
"We are going to be destitute, Pedro!"
"No, it's cool, guys. On the way here to the airport, I posted a sign on the side of a random road in New Jersey advertising for anyone to become your host family for the month of July. I'm sure to get a bunch of responses."
"From who?"
"People who happen to drive by, I guess. People who like the Spanish."
"Mister American, this sounds like a very terrible idea!"
"No, it'll be fine, guys. Just you see how many...*cell phone rings*... Oh wait a minute, guys. Here's our first caller! Hello?"
(cell phone chatter)
"Yes, this is he. You called about the Spanish students?"
(cell phone chatter)
"Um, I guess both of them are pretty sexy if you think about it. What was your name, sir?"

Fresh.

Yesterday, Joel farted into a Ziploc bag to see if it would keep.

It did.

(pictured above, Tom W prepares himself for 40 days and 40 nights of ankle flooding)

Hey, EADJ, Put A Record On I Wanna Dance With My Baby

You can't make a tiger change its spots. You can't make a shark evolve more. And you can't make Joel eat more dick than he already does.

Two weeks ago a self-proclaimed "life coach" Jerry Fusili offered his services to Joel. He vowed to get Joel to tighten his buttocks, sculpt his abs and get the cock-eating muscles in his jaw to expand. Joel was reluctant but agreed.

Four days into a new regimen, Mr. Fusili had sculpted Joel's buttocks into the shape of a large, pale, hairy taco holder. Joel's abs were well-defined but soft in the middle. And Joel showed no marked improvement in his cock-eating skillz, which were by the way already excellent.

So on the fifth day Joel fired Jerry Fusili. They never even discussed a payment plan, so they parted ways with a deep kiss and a firm shake of their dongs.

(pictured above, the Bucktown Beanery is very mean with their cookie tags)