I can't write today's column

Normally, I wouldn't stoop so low as to write a column about not being able to write a column. That's the amateur's cheap way of filling up gobs of empty space. Now poo jokes, that's the professional's answer to thrusting out an easy column.

You can also tell I'm a professional by my word usage. Instead of saying I was "churning" or "hammering" out another column, I said I was "thrusting" out another column. Sex sells, and people are more likely to read a column I've thrusted out than a column I've simply completed.

But I'm afraid I can't produce much of a column today, reader. I've sustained an injury during my daily activities that will keep me from writing. I'm not a man who takes a lot of days off, so you know something terrible has happened when I skip a column. And something terrible certainly did happen: I pulled my groin while training for the Special Olympics.

I know what you're thinking. "You're not special enough for the Special Olympics, Paul." Not true, reader. I seem to recall my mother telling me once when I was a boy that I was very special, and no one else was quite like me. Are you calling my mother a liar, reader? Take it back, you bastard!

Besides, nobody stopped me when I walked into the athlete entrance at the Special Olympics training ground. The security guards let me right in without any hassle. So while you may not think I'm special enough, reader, the security guards knew I was special without even checking my I.D. I offered to show it to them, but they giggled and said, "No, no! We can tell you belong here just by looking at you. Go right in."

I fit in well with the rest of my teammates: Gimpy Todd, Nervous Pete, Dirty Frank, Stinky Wilma, and the guy with the huge glasses. We were all a bit nervous being around new people, but after I played a practical joke on Nervous Pete by pushing him down a flight of stairs, we all had a good laugh and bonded.

Well, all of us except Nervous Pete. He seemed a little bitter. That's okay, though. I promised to buy him a unicorn for his next birthday, and he was happy as a school boy. He even ran around the locker room, shouting "Hooray!" and pretending to ride a unicorn. Go, Nervous Pete, go! Ride that unicorn!

I was really excited once we started training, mainly because I knew I could totally kick the crap out of all my teammates. I'm happy to report that I can run faster, jump higher, sit still longer, and complete basic math problems in less time than any of the other athletes on our Special Olympics training team. The only thing I'm not best at is smiling. Dirty Frank has the biggest smile of our group. I don't know how he does it, but that silly bastard just never seems to stop smiling!

We had many good times while training, though good times are not without equal amounts of bad times. My medical trouble came when we were learning how to throw the shotput. I've always thought of the shotput as an event fat people participate in, so I wasn't really paying attention when we were being told what to do. If I had been listening, I might have known I was standing in the throwing zone. If I hadn't stood in the throwing zone, the guy with the huge glasses probably wouldn't have been able to accidentally throw his shotput directly into my groin.

I'm referring to my injury as a "groin pull", but it was really more of a "groin crushing". That's okay, though. When the guy with the huge glasses went to take a shower after practice, I threw his glasses in the urinal. Now his face smells like old pee that's been sitting in an unflushed urinal for days.

Along with keeping me from writing today's column, my injury will also stop me from competing in the Special Olympics qualifying round this weekend. So I said a short, tearful goodbye to my teammates, and drove back home. Gimpy Todd will have to find someone else to tie his non-velcro shoes, and Stinky Wilma will have to find a new lover to have dirty, kinky sex with her.

Despite the sad ending to my Special Olympics training, I did have one last bit of fun before leaving. After giving Stinky Wilma a tongue kiss she'll never forget, I shook Nervous Pete's hand, told him unicorns were for girls, and shoved him down another flight of stairs. It's wonderful moments like those that make me wish I hadn't left. Sigh.

This drink's called an "Affair". I'm not sure why, but logic isn't really necessary when you're drinking, anyway. 1 part Strawberry schnapps 1 part Orange juice 1 part Cranberry juice 1 part Club soda Pour it all in together and mix it up good. Serve it to your married friend at a party, and then loudly shout to his wife across the room that "HE'S HAVING AN AFFAIR!" Drink archives

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Reader Comments

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thejerk@dailyramblings.com                                                         lmao      Apr 19, 2005 • 6:26am   I just found this website browsing.Who does this guy think he is the new male-gender for Sex in the City??????? Ramblin' Man      Nov 21, 2003 • 8:58pm   Come on, people! We're at 9.91! Vote, re-vote, and re-re-vote!

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