Dateline...two weeks ago. I wake up on a Sunday morning to find my front yard looking like this.

So you know, we do not normally have 1) a water heater, 2) a traffic cone nor, 3) a 50-gallon barrell of oil in our front yard.

The questions of: Who put it there, why did they put it there, and just an all in general "what the fuck?" have still not been answered.

Here's what happened the night before:My roomate's girlfriend was celebrating her 21st birthday. Her and her sorority girls from Saint Louis University rented a party bus to take the group to a few bars around the StL. I was fortunate enough to get the invite. Unfortunatly, however, this "party bus" ended up just being a regular school bus and the only thing "party" about it was that you were allowed to can beers while aboard.

Now, I'm a rather simple man, and in theory, that sounds absolutely grand. But, I am also a weak man. A very weak man. A very, very weak man. A very, very, ve...well you get the idea.

I am a man who happens to get motion sick on occasion. And canning beers on a school bus most definitly qualifies as one of those occasions.

By the time we got to the first bar, I had to call up the reserves (my friend Cathy) to give me a ride to the next bar. For some reason, her Honda didn't make me quite as nauseus as the 1978 "Bluebird" school bus that was leaking as much diesel as it was burning. So I made it to the second bar and had a few beers...things were allright, but my stomach was still a little off. I decided to walk home (living in the biggest bar district in St. Louis does have it's advantages)

When I got home things were normal. I poured myself a glass of wine, put on the Killers album, and called it a night.

Apparently, during my slumber, all hell broke loose out front...Leaving my front yard looking like a sketch out of a Jeff Foxworthy video (not that I've ever seen one.)

The most remarkable part is that during the course of the next week, all of those pieces also dissapeared (one at a time) from the front yard.

Was this mearly just a prank aimed at making us scratch our heads? Because that's all it really did.

Or was it more sinister? Terrorists perhaps?

Granted, this isn't your normal terrorist attack, but when people leave random (and I mean random) things on your lawn, wouldn't you find that somewhat terrorizing? I know I do.

Just so you know, The Chicago (Baby) Bulls are 22 and 19 and currently in 6th place in the Eastern Confrence.

Consider me the official conductor of the (Baby) Bulls Bandwagon.

All Aboard!

Three more days. That's all I have left.

Three more days.

Three more days to what, you ask?

My number one New Years Resolution was, of course, to meet Burt Reynolds.

Number two: Do not make out with a random girl for one calendar month.

If I go three more days, I have completed my goal.

It took some work. A lot of me wearing a backwards hat. Me constantly wearing sweatshirts. Playing Golden Tee whenever possible. And just being a plain old jerk in front of girls.

Now, don't get me wrong...Random make outs are one of the greatest things ever (right next to good back rubs and Super Pretzels) but I've got a pretty healthy ego. It's bigger than a fucking Super Pretzel (God, I love Super Pretzels!) And every now and then my ego simply must be put in check. So I make myself no longer desirable to girls, leading to no random hookups, and eventually diminishing the size of my ego.

But, come next weekend...yes, Mardi Gras weekend...I'm back on the "make" hunt.

So, girls of the StL...don't say I didn't warn you.

Seacrest...out (I've always wanted to say that)

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