Cause it's Friday night and there's going to be...

...another chick on my tip but it wonn't be you baby. Good times were had by all Friday.
Some quick stats:

1. Year until John Belmont knocks out Fro, this has been offered as a fact by John starting on November 5th 2005.
2. Number of patties on my burger at Denny's.
3. Number of people the waitresses could downsize their list of unattractive people at our table to.
4. My favorite number (you needed to know that).
5. o'clock a.m. the time we went to Denny's.
6. ish, the time I got home.

So there you go, after seconds of exhuastive research and twice as much time creative imbellishment you have the numbers for the night. Of course you will not get the number of spare tires Joe B. and I changed Friday night, nor the number of times I slapped the girl on the ass who was helping us, nor the number of excellent sexual innuendos I was able to make based on the common jargon and instruments used while changing a tire.

But I owe you the loyal reader more than that, and I've got some time to kill, so because I feel like it, you deserve it. The Belmonts were in town, and I bet in hind-sight they wish they weren't. The night started off innocently enough, I chided John for his horrible, horrible, horrible insistence on betting an easily visible bear trap, and then we went out. After a few glasses of gasoline at the dot's spot my intrepid band of travellers decided it best to venture out to Herkimer, so as to avoid as many scandalous hoes as I was sure would be encountered if we did otherwise.

So we went to the Albany St. Cafe, it would have been nice if they had a sign posted out front alluding to the boring people with sullen stares reunion which was being held inside, but they didn't. So we had some drinks and made small talk about the hookers we've seen there and then went to Pete's to go see Pete, and Linda, and her hooker friends. At this point you must understand we were curious, we being myself, Paul G, multiple Belmonts, the Cheech man, and Aaaaaaaaaaaaaandy. So the oddity that is free admission into Brownie's lured us there, along the way I berated some chick that yelled at me at Tony's Lounge once, and long story short I would rather pay five dollars to you, the loyal reader to kick me in the marbles than to the owner/operator of Brownie's in Herkimer. So we left.

Let's talk about awesome music, because that's what we listened to on the way from Herkimer back to Frankfort; Fabolous, I have a new-found respect for you and your fantastic lyrical stylings involving old throwback jerseys and grandmothers, kudos friend. Also a steady dose of West-Side Connection will get even the most inhibited among us pumped, so we were all pumped. The dart board in Tony's lounge was stellar Friday night, as much I cannot say about the people there, because let's be honest, some of them I hate immensely, and sometimes you gotta hate, but sometimes you just gotta play a little dart. So Paul Grates and I dispatched of the Brothers Twinn in fantastic fashion, they were not pleased.

The latter parts of the evening demanded a return to the dot spot, and some of the things I alluded to previously in the by the numbers section. The flat tire, the slapping on the ass of the girl helping to change the tire, the mussing of other girl's hair, and the ripping of the authentic Bon Jovi jeans that still another girl had on. Those are fun things I like to do, so I did them. Angela Grande and Sarah P. also made the trip over to the tack, some other hookers came as well, but left because sometimes hookers get disgruntled and leave, these things happen. But girls I barely know can be fun, if mostly because I haven't figured out what their major mental affliction is yet (they all have them) well; then I don't mind.

After a while everyone's favorite lady showed up at the tack, Eva Gamblor-ia. And she brought dice, so we shot a few rounds of it, in a socially acceptable fashion, that being with many insults and much stomping and bar slapping. Thankfully Eva had her eye on me, and daddy took home a couple nice pots. After Vic spotted the cops from his third story brownstone in the Bronx we decided we should probably go to Denny's, as the rush of gambling was still a rich musk about our persons.

So we went to Denny's, myself, the cheech man, the Belmonts Grimm, Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaandy, P.J., the Bird man, and Matt Bono, who we found straggling around outside; apparently he was hungry. After being seated and quickly becoming bored I deliberated with myself for five seconds about what the responsible thing would be to do in this situation; and being a sensible person I promptly demanded that the waitress identify from among us the least attractive person at the table. The waitresses initially found us all very attractive, being as she "only likes Italians and black guys" which is us to a t, but after much goading she was able to narrow her search down to a bottom three, or as I like to refer to them now, the Three Ugly-teers. Thankfully the names have been changed to protect the guilty, even though another equally sharp and thorough waitress was brought over and presented with the same question, and reached the same conclusion. The then offended parties were left with a dilemma, "should I be upset or happy that a Denny's waitress found me unattractive?" I have no answer for you Hans, nor for your brother the Doctah.

Saturday night sucked and didn't happen (girls are crazy)! I love you Friday, and Eva Gamblor-ia, and Jack Daniels, and Courtney the Denny's waitress.