Smile Politely

Coulter gets lucky

Well, this is going to be a fun weekend. On Sunday I get to go to my first guy on guy wedding. I don’t know what to expect but I truly hope I don’t meet a cute boy or anything because it would probably piss my wife off to no end. I plan to spend the next 48 hours trying to come up with fun things to say during their first kiss as a married, or civil-unioned, couple.

I was thinking about, “Oh no he didn’t!” but that seems pretty easy. It would probably be funny to say, “Whoa, hold on, that’s two dudes up there. What the…” Still, I’ll probably just try not to cry, you know, so I don’t look like a total fairy or anything. Either way, let’s get it on.


It should come as no surprise that the whole “we may get a dog” possibility was short lived. We caved in and made a visit to the Champaign County Humane Society and promptly found our new guy. His name is Lucky. I suppose over the next few weeks we will find out if that name is fortuitous or ironic. So far though it’s been a regular carnival in our backyard.

First off, I should say that our humane society is a wonderful place. The people there were nice, helpful, conscientious, and easy to work with. There are a lot of dogs there, but I have to tell you, they were going pretty fast during the time we spent there. At least five or six dogs got adopted while we were checking in for a couple of days. If you’d like a dog, they got good ones. If you’d like to donate, I’m sure it would be welcome. If you’d like to go on a Mutt Strut on May 5th at Hessel Park, check out the website.

Anyways, we picked Lucky up on Friday evening and he and Louis were quickly dispatched to the back yard for a big game of grab ass and a bigger game of ass sniffing. They frothed and barreled into eat other for about three hours. It’s hard to tell if a dog has a concussion since they always have a goofy look on there face and can almost never tell how many fingers you’re holding up. We’re assuming they were deranged to begin with.

After a quick nap it was Saturday morning and it all started again. That evening I even built a fire in the fire pit in the backyard. This allowed me to stay warm and drink beer as they frolicked. I felt sort of like a caveman. I even sort of talked like one after the eighth beer. There was another quick nap before it was another day.

My friend, let’s just call him Matt, even brought his dog, Bones, over for a little threesome playtime in the backyard on Sunday. Within the first two minutes he was caught in a triangulation of crossfire not seen since the Kennedy assassination. He actually went down far faster than JFK and it really only took one shot, which is impressive. It’s really tough to keep oneself upright in the middle of a canine gang like that, but I must say there is a certain joy in seeing a buddy fall to the ground. I think it may be a fine time to go ahead and schedule some knee surgeries.

So, it’s all going swimmingly. Lucky has a vet appointment soon and he probably thinks it’s so they can put his testicles back on his body. He seems sort of aware they aren’t there anymore. Some day soon we hope it will all settle down. I fear that day won’t come for another fourteen years or so, however. Feel free to stop by and get a sound licking whenever you like. Don’t even knock. It will make it more exciting.


Well, if you picked Phil Humber as the first guy to pitch a perfect game of baseball this year, good for you Nostrrafreakingdamus. I doubt anyone saw that coming, including Phil Humber. I started watching the game at home and then decided I needed a little break so I headed downtown for a couple of beers. I really assumed his perfect game bid would be over before I got there for the fifth inning. It wasn’t and it never was.

There’s something about watching a game like that with other people that makes it sort of cool. If I would have been at home, whatever, I might have said “wow” to myself. At a bar though, all patrons are obliged to at least make a whooping noise, even if they weren’t a White Sox fan. I even did a shot, but that likely had nothing to do with the perfect game.

The worst, or possibly best, part was that it was a Saturday game with national announcers so Hawk Harrelson didn’t get to call it. I’m sure that poor bastard had been practicing that scenario all the damned time, in front of the mirror, in the car, during intercourse. All of a sudden the moment arrives and he has the day off. Personally, I didn’t miss him much, but it still sort of sucks.


  • It’s a good thing they didn’t send out scratch and sniff cards for that Voice show on TV. Christina Aguilera looks a little gamey.
  • Huber’s is finally supposed to be open on Sundays now and I haven’t even gone yet. I’ve wanted to go every Sunday up until now and couldn’t because they were closed, so apparently I don’t know what I want.

Buona sera, senorina, kiss me goodnight.

Related Articles