The Bobby Ayala

If you are a Seattle Mariners fan like me, you know who Bobby Ayala is. For those of you who aren't familiar (and also for my amusement) Bobby Ayala was a relief pitcher and occasional closer for Mariners back in the '90s and he sucked huge hairy sweaty donkey balls. When he came into a game, things got worse. Immediately. It was particularly painful to have an Ayala experience thrust upon you when the Mariners had a lead late in the game. The team would go through all this work to get a lead during the first seven or eight innings and then Ayala would come in and inevitably blow it. And he would typically blow it up like a volcano which always left me with a sour taste in my mouth. And also extremely pissed off that he just blew the entire night.


The reason I bring Ayala up is because a few years back my friend Hank and I were chatting and Hank tossed out the premise that Gin is the worst possible alcohol to take a shot of (I know you're not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition but I can't figure out any other way to word that sentence that doesn't make me sound like I'm from 200 years ago). We later agreed that the double shot of house Gin would be the ideal prescription to get someone to throw up at the tail end of a night of drinking.


This discussion led us to take the double shot of house Gin out for a couple test drives with a few drunken and chirpy friends. After a few laps the results were unequivocal and it was decided that it was full proof and a name was needed. By now you know that this kind of thing is right up my alley and I quickly came up with the official name: the Bobby Ayala.




The official definition of the Bobby Ayala: in the Seattle area a double shot of house Gin has come to be called The Bobby Ayala. Just as he used to ruin a perfectly good night of baseball entertainment, a liquid Bobby Ayala is sure to do the same for a nice night of drinking. It is almost guaranteed to end up on the sidewalk and is the perfect remedy for a slightly obnoxious drinking buddy.

9 x Awesome:

It's the middle of winter, the weather sucks, the economy REALLY sucks, I think we are at war with one or more countries or people or ideas or something, I got a flat tire on the freeway last week at 6:55am on the way to work (super fun), and to top it all off the rapidly improving Sonics are still hijacked and playing in Oklahoma City.

"So what's your point Jerk Store" you ask?

My point is that it's pretty easy to feel a little down right now. Since being down sucks balls, here are some things that are awesome and are sure to improve your attitude:

1. Play-doh - having a daughter has gotten me back into Play-doh and frankly I can't believe how awesome it is. To think it's been missing from my life for 20+ years saddens me. I also can't come up with a reason why we didn't have a big stash of Play-doh at our house in college. The thought of drunken Play-doh makes me giddy.
   
2. March Madness - it's only January, yet I'm already getting excited for the NCAA Tournament.
   
3. The Five Star Dump - this is a dump taken at work when you get the handicapped stall (star #1), the toilet paper has been put on correctly in an "over the top" fashion (star #2 and also a topic worthy of it's own post. Hmmm...), it's a nice comfortable and obviously diarrhea-less poo (star #3) and last but not least, you have a brand new Sports Guy column to read (star #4 plus a bonus star making it a vaunted 5 Star Dump). If you haven't experienced one, I could not recommend a Five Star Dump more highly.
   
4. The fact that Lloyd Free changed his name to World B. Free in 1980 - he was also an AWESOME basketball player averaging over 20 a game for his career peaking with a 30-4-4 season in 1979-80.
   
5. That I'm NOT an accountant this time of year.
   
6. Whiskey.
7. The Mariners offseason - we signed Chone Figgins, we traded for Cliff Lee, got rid of fat turd Carlos Silva (it doesn't even matter who we got for him but...) for Milton Bradley (who is a good player when healthy and not crazy), extended Franklin Gutierrez, traded for Casey Kotchman and re-signed Felix Hernandez. Now go get Ben Sheets and find another hitter and we may have a legit shot at the playoffs...which is nice.
   
8. Turd Ferguson
9. Laughing at farts - literally every single time I fart my daughter says, "daddy toot!" and then laughs hysterically. My wife then gets mad which makes us both laugh even harder. Farting is so funny. I also love the fact that babies think farting is hilarious which proves that farting is inherently funny.

A Great Text Message #2

I got the following text message from Sophomore this past weekend:

"The white man's firm grip on the quarterback position has to be a wonder of the world."

It's both well written and funny. Yet it brings up an interesting point. How is this possible? There have been a number of good to great black quarterbacks over the past 45 years and the number is growing - particularly at the college level. But the contrast is seen most clearly in the NFL where only Donovan McNabb is entrenched as a top flight quarterback over the past five to ten years. And how is it possible that only one black quarterback has led his team to a Super Bowl victory? I guess it isn't really that big of a statistical anomaly when you compare the number of white starting QB's to the number of back starting QB's over the past 45 years.

Is there still so much racism out there that The Football Powers That Be still prefer white guys to be their QB? Or is it something else? The only logical thing I can come up with is the black guys are generally better athletes than white guys. And if you take a 6-4 white guy like Matt Ryan for example, he could never EVER play any other position in the NFL besides QB (and kicker or punter which, by the way, might be the single most racially lopsided job in the United States). Whereas if you take a 6-4 black guy like Donovan McNabb for example; he is a great athlete - period. And under different circumstances as a youngster you could realistically envision him being a quality receiver, safety or linebacker. This is the only explanation, besides racism, that I can come up with. When kids are young and start playing football the best athletes get put at positions that require the best athletes and the fat kids are linemen and the white guy with the good arm is quarterback. I don't know, this explanation is probably racist somehow in it's own right. Actually, is this whole topic reverse racism?

Awesomeness in Everett, WA - Part 69

This is a little obvious for my liking but it is so awesome that I have to share. I'm afraid any attempt I might make at commenting on this story will only detract from your wonderment. So just trust me when I tell you to click on this article and enjoy the latest sampling of why Everett is so awesome:

Are bikini baristas in Everett showing too much skin?

An Extra Wish

From time to time I'll overhear someone discussing what they would do if they had three wishes. Afterwards I always find myself thinking about this topic. That led me to wonder what I would do if I had an extra wish after establishing peace on earth, putting an end to suffering and making myself a super athlete. What if I had an extra wish? A wish that had no ramifications attached because you had already taken care of the important stuff. What would I wish for if I had an extra wish?

After discussing this at length with my buddy Ty* we officially decided on what we would wish for if we had an extra wish. The best extra wish we dreamt up is having a midget who followed you around wearing a backpack filled with tennis balls and every time you put your hand out the midget would put a tennis ball in your hand.

Go ahead and take a few moments to digest the pure genius behind this wish.

Since you are likely not as amused as you should be, I will elaborate. Having a midget around would almost certainly keep me, and basically anyone I encountered, in an outstanding mood because midgets are inherently funny. This aspect in itself almost makes the wish worthwhile. Then you also have to take into account that my midget would be the jolliest midget around. During my midget interview process "jolly" would be second on the list of qualifications right behind "midget" and just ahead of "good sense of humor." In addition to finding a jolly midget I would further his (I would obviously hire a male midget because he would find all of my inappropriate comments to be funny) jolliness by treating him really well. He'd be paid well, have plenty of vacation and he'd basically be my little hombre.

To make the wish truly glorious my midget would always wear a backpack filled with tennis balls. My midget's only responsibility aside from being a midget, jolly and funny would be to put a tennis ball in my hand whenever I put my hand out. I'm also quite sure my midget would rig up a contraption that dispensed tennis balls into his hand without having to take off the backpack to get more.

If you have absolutely no imagination and don't understand why my midget would give me a tennis ball then you need to find a quiet place and examine your life. I'm dead serious. If your mind isn't racing with awesome things you could do with a tennis ball in your hand then you need to find a quiet place and reflect on where you life is going. Perhaps you need to admit that you have a problem then make amends with the people you have been dragging down with your poopy pants attitude and lack of imagination.

The understated beauty of this wish is that tennis balls are the perfect ball for this wish. They don't hurt for more than a few seconds even if you get drilled, but you definitely know when you get hit with one. They don't dent cars, they don't typically break windows, dogs love them, they bounce (but not too much) and they are a nice size and weight for throwing.

To truly appreciate this wish you really need to picture the whole experience. First I'd see a situation that called for a tennis ball. Say, for example I'm playing golf with Wilson. We are on the sixth hole and I put my hand out. My midget quietly walks over, jumps up and drops a tennis ball in my hand (I'm laughing a little already just picturing this). Wilson finishes off his fifth Busch Light and prepares to hit his shot. Then just as he gets his club to the top of his swing I nail him in the back with the tennis ball. My midget laughs hysterically because Wilson shanks his shot under the trees followed by me and my midget "high" fiving. Now the other golfers are laughing as well. And then even Wilson joins in the laughter because my midget is laughing so hard that he's rolling around on the ground.

And that's just the first idea that came to mind.

Since this is so fun I'm going to start a list of things I would do with a midget placed tennis ball in my hands so I'll just toss a few ideas out there:

• In addition to my midget I would likely have a pack of loyal dogs following me everywhere because I every time I'd come across a dog I would throw a tennis ball for it to fetch (this would also weed out all the lame, non-fetching dogs...which is an added bonus I hadn't even though of until just now).
• Imagine I'm watching a football game at my house with some buddies. Someone gets up to get more nachos and boom - he gets nailed with a lobbed tennis ball...followed by laughter. Or if one of my buddies is rooting a little to hard for the wrong team he might get a nice little tennis ball shower.
• Say I'm at work and Nick is in my office being just a little too loud when I'm on the phone. My midget hands me a tennis ball and I whirl around and nail him in the ribs.
• I would peg the crap out of the copy machine any time it did not function perfectly. Screw you copy machine!
• I would do a tennis ball drive-by of all the war protesters / supporters every Friday at lunch.
• Say we go out in the boat at Crescent Bar and Brian decides to go wakeboarding. My midget would get all excited because I would launch a steady barrage of tennis balls at him the moment he got up. My midget would laugh so hard he might blow out of the boat.
• When attending any event with a speaker in front of the group I would lob tennis balls at them if they did not sufficiently interest me.
• If I had a midget who put a tennis ball in my hand at my request I might take up tennis just for the comedy.
• My midget would love going to sporting events because I would sit in the upper deck and toss tennis balls down on unsuspecting morons sitting in the good seats who aren't paying attention to the game. I realize that this would me I am also not paying attention to the game but it's my wish, I can do whatever I want.
• I would definitely toss tennis balls from the tops of as many tall buildings as possible. I think I might even have my midget stay on the ground so he could see how high it bounces. Then again I might need my midget up there with me to distract the powers that be with his jolly antics as I discretely toss a tennis ball off the edge.
• I'm pretty sure Roger Federer would befriend me solely for my tennis ball wielding midget.
• I would likely try to get a job as a crane operator. The reasons why should be obvious.

I feel as though I've only scratched the surface of this topic...which is why I would like some suggestions from you loyal readers. I'd love to hear ideas for what I could do with my midget and a supply of tennis balls. I would also love to hear what YOU would do with an extra wish. Please send your creative, funny or even obvious ideas to paulsamusings@gmail.com.

*I must give my buddy Ty credit here since he was integral in the forming of this brilliant idea.

The Eugene Bathroom Cookie Story

Soon after I began dating my wife we were invited down to Eugene, Oregon to stay with one of Wife's college teammates, Jamie, and to attend the Idaho vs. Oregon football game that Saturday. We arrived in Eugene late Friday night and had a few beers with Jamie and her family. Before we went to bed we were informed that we needed to be up and ready to leave at 7:45am.

The next morning at 7:45am sharp we headed for Autzen Stadium. Since Jamie's dad is a former Oregon basketball player he has many connections. After parking we walk over to where we are to hang out and we are welcomed into a great tailgate scene: beer, wine, drinks, shrimp, dip, chips, sandwiches, etc, etc, etc. Awesome.

After tailgating with some of the greatest people I've ever met for about three hours I come to realize that I've had many beers and I need to take a leak in the very near future. Lucky for me, Wife and Jamie needed to go as well so we headed over to the tailgate bathrooms located outside of Autzen Stadium, just for tailgaters. I found this to be a brilliant idea.

When we got to the bathrooms we split and headed to the ladies and men's room respectively. I was on my own as I got in line for the men's room to wait along with 80 other guys to get inside to take a leak. After three or four minutes we finally get just inside the door only to find that the line wraps all the way around the wall inside the bathroom. I'm down to my last Hams as I saunter around in line. This is when the magic began.

As soon as I got inside the men's room I notice that there is a huge, fresh and glorious looking chocolate chunk cookie resting right in the middle of the men's room floor.

After standing in line staring at this glorious cookie for what seemed like an eternity, something came over me. All of a sudden I gave an elbow to Random Guy standing in line next to me. Guy looks at me with disdain since this is the bathroom. I proceed to look Random Guy right in the eye, point to the glorious cookie and say, "You tell me that doesn't look like the best fucking cookie you've ever seen in your entire life." Now, if you will, please take a moment to digest the ramifications of my actions at this exact moment.

After looking at the cookie for a few moments Guy looked back at me and said, "That cookie looks fucking AWESOME!" This would be when we high fived and started pointing out Cookie to everyone else in line. This is also when my actions started to unify the bathroom patrons and the camaraderie exploded.

Just a few moments later, as a guy was exiting the bathroom he accidentally kicked Cookie right at me. What did I do? (No, you freak show, I did not eat Cookie.) I kicked urine soaked delicious looking Cookie across the bathroom floor.

Soon after, it was my turn to pee.

While peeing, Cookie continued to be kicked all over the bathroom floor. I even stopped a few shots on urinal during my pee. Upon finishing my business I began to exit the bathroom and at that exact moment Cookie was kicked past me...right in between a guys legs...and into a urinal!

At this point you need to keep in mind that Wife and I had only been dating for a matter of months and I had only met Jamie on a couple occasions. What happened next was a perfect match of cosmic forces and luck because I became a god. As soon as Cookie was kicked into that urinal I exploded with, "GGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!" And the entire bathroom followed suit in an eruption of, "GGGOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLL!!!!!!!!" Then just as I was exiting the bathroom and everyone was yelling and shouting "GOOOAAALLL!!!" and high fiving me I got outside the men's room and Wife and Jamie were standing there looking right at me. The look of wonderment and amazement on their face was perhaps the best moment of my life. I'm quite certain they thought I was a ninja, a god and a miracle healer all rolled into one. Once I reached them they stood in silence for a moment before Wife said, "What did you do?" To which I replied, "There was a cookie...it's a long story."

A Guy Who REALLY Wants A Pitcher of Beer

Following up on the previous post about the crazy war protesters/supporters in Everett, Washington...a while back one of these crazy people had made a sign that perplexed me and I emailed my buddy Jamie about it. The following is our exact email exchange copied and pasted exactly from our emails:

From Paul to Jamie:

"I saw a sign among the war protesters/supporters down below our office today that said: “ONLY PIGS CAN PREVENT A JIHAD.” I am a college graduate with a good job who kind of follows the news and what not. On top of that I have lots of friends who are lots smarter and more knowledgeable on current events than I (all of them actually) and I have yet to find a single person who knows what that sign means. So now you have the opportunity to earn two beers because if you can figure that out you have another one coming. Actually, screw that – if you can tell me what that sign means I’ll buy you a pitcher! You can pick the beer."

Jamie's response:

"Here is what I know about the Pig sign. Muslims believe that pigs are basically the worst being on the planet. They don't eat pork and find them disgusting etc, etc. Most people refer to Jihad as a holy war...but basically you can apply any war coming from that region of the world as a holy war, and that would include the Iraq war, terrorism in general, etc (Bin Laden and his followers believe that their God hates the United States, and thus is fighting a holy war = Jihad.)

So what is the best way to fight Muslims? Use pigs. People think you should use live pigs in airports, put them on planes, outside of buildings, everywhere. How do most terrorists fight? They are suicide bombers, planes in 9/11, etc. So what happens if you blow yourself up when a pig is around? Your spilled blood is then mixed with the blood of a pig, and you are denied your rightful passage into the heavenly destination since for some reason killing yourself in the name of Jihad is honorable and its part of God's will. The pig nullifies that. The sign "only pigs can prevent a jihad" basically just says that war against terrorism is futile since Jihad is religion based, and the whole middle east region is Muslim, thus their warriors for their war is endless and so only a pig can stop the holy war by using the religion against itself.

Its a stretch, but I think that's the logic behind it, and it might have a broader application than my small explanation. I think most people don't really think a pig is the answer, but in anti-war terms, it just means that there might be a better possibility to help us fight terrorism. I like beer."

This is me again...I have no idea if that is correct in any way but I was very impressed. Now THAT, my friends, is a guy who really likes beer! Jamie - you have a pitcher of beer coming your way!

Everett is Awesome Part 62

Every single Friday at 11:30am a group of people gather at the main intersection here in Everett, Washington. These people stand on all four corners of the intersection holding American flags and signs with very confusing and mixed messages. Witnessing this spectacle week after week has left me with many many MANY questions so I thought I'd share them with you readers. Here you go:

• Really?
• Do people not have better things to do than to go stand on the street corner for two hours and hold a GIANT American flag while yelling at cars? I don’t know if these people are for the war or against the war.
• Are we even at war?
• If so, who are we warring with?
• Where do you find such a huge American flag anyway?
• Was it expensive?
• Are American flags expensive in general? I have never purchased an American flag to be honest. We have one at our house and it’s probably 4 feet by 3 feet but it came with our old house so we just kept it and brought it with us to the new place. and I like it so there it hangs out front. It makes me feel like a patriot.
• Is that why these people come out every Friday and yell at cars while waving a HUGE American flag; because it makes them feel like a patriot? I would argue that I feel just as much like a patriot as they do but I don’t have to waste two hours every week standing on a street corner yelling at fellow citizens who are minding their own business just trying to walk to lunch.
• Do they think they are really making a difference?
• If so, what difference do they feel they are making?
• Do they think they are helping win the war? If this is the case they are just stupid and crazy.
• Do they think they are rallying support for the war? If this is the case then they are stupid, crazy AND delusional all in one…and that, my friends is the trifecta of insanity! I would argue that they standing on the street corner for two hours per week waving a HUGE American flag merely causes passers by to reinforce their current stance on the “war” whatever that may be….oooh…now we have cops on the scene. Interesting. I hope this crazy guy gets maced. If he does get maced I would wager that he will ramp up his war protest or support (whatever he’s doing I still can not tell) to an every day event in simultaneous protest or support of the war and in support of the right to protest. I would pay $100 to see this guy try to articulate his message onto a clear and concise sign for public consumption. I think he might have to do it in a picture form so as to get his complete message across. I would wager that it would involve a mailman doll with a bucket over its head.

Business Time

I've been giving thought as to how I would begin this post for a few weeks now. Basically what it comes down to is that I need to give thanks. You see, I'm blessed in so many ways that I don't dare begin to list them here for fear that you will stop loving me and you'll just want to be friends. And lets face it, nobody wants that. The crazy thing is that on top of all the blessings in my life I am continually impressed, amazed and amused with the small normal everyday things that any Joe Schmedlap likely takes for granted.

For example, a few weekends ago we were over at one of my very favorite places in the entire world - Crescent Bar. Wife, Brian, Cory and I were hanging out on the deck in the morning just after breakfast and before beer o'clock when one of the coolest and most amusing events occurred right before our eyes. We were sitting around the giant cribbage table (which I made) and two flies calmly landed on the table. See, right now you are wondering where the heck I'm going with this and you need to chill out! Guy Fly then proceeded to mount Girl Fly and give her the business right there in front of us on the giant cribbage table!

At this point I'm sure you are picturing two flies quickly landing on a table, touching and then hurriedly flying away...not so much. Guy Fly gave Girl Fly the business doggy style for literally ten minutes right there in front of us. As you can see in the picture below, we were right there watching from a foot away! Girl Fly was really into it. She would reach back and stroke Guy Fly on the cheek and chest to let him know he was doing a good job. Meanwhile Guy Fly would slap Girl Fly on the ass every now and then. You could tell he was really enjoying himself. I'm also nearly certain he was enjoying the fact that he was putting on a show. I particularly enjoy how you can see Guy Fly's hips in action in this shot. I don't think I've ever even seen a fly this close in my entire life let alone while they're humping!

Anyway, I'm sorry to say that my initial cell phone picture just did not do the scene justice. Thankfully Brian grabbed a good camera and got a nice quality shot that I can share with you.

I'm not sure about you but I always assumed that flies just humped in like two seconds and moved along. I did not know they settled down for some good old fashioned business time.

The Costa Rica Jungle Story

I really can't believe I haven't posted this story yet as it's quite amusing. Three or four years ago the wife and I went to Costa Rica with Jared and Lindsay.

The story begins with Jared and Lindsay arriving in Costa Rica a day before us. After flying all night we arrived and they were at the airport in our Mitsubishi Montero rental waiting to pick us up. We were headed to a resort called The Sanctuary a few hours outside of Liberia (the second biggest city in Costa Rica where we landed). After stopping in town to pick up groceries, beer and liquor for most of the week we then got gas and were on the "road." I say "road" because a Costa Rican highway could best be described as a back country road here in the USA - no lines, no curbs, very few ragged street signs, slightly paved years ago, etc. Whatever, you get the drift. Jared informs us that its about an hour and a half to the resort. We are excited.

After driving for about 20 minutes Jared hangs a right off of the "highway" onto...a gravel road. At this point I thought maybe Jared or Lindsay needed to pee or to get a pop out of the back of the car. Nope - it was the way to the resort. So now we are on a gravel road and we still have an hour plus left to drive. Whatever, I was tired and hot and I really wanted to get there so I could take a poo and have a drink.

So we drive for about 20 minutes on the gravel road and there are some very small "towns" with a few houses every 10 minutes or so but basically we are out in the middle of the freaking jungle. At this point our nice Mitsubishi Montero stops working. Just to recap, we are in Costa Rica, in the jungle, in a rental car that has stopped working, it's about 105 degrees out, and it's 4:00pm and it gets dark every night at 6:00pm sharp. Oh, and I have to take a dump like no body's business. I should also mention that Jared and I could fairly be described as car morons. We can both fill them with fuel, add oil and change a tire but that's about it. So we are all feeling pretty confident at this point.

After trying to will the car to start for a few minutes, Jared and I got out to check under the hood. All the belts were hooked and things seemed to be in good shape. This would be when Darci asked, "does the car take gas or diesel?" We all immediately recalled that the girl who had filled up our car back in town had used gas and after opening the door to the gas cap we found that it said in huge letters, "DIESEL." Apparently some of the girls at the gas stations in Costa Rica don't read very well.

At this point we were officially stranded in the jungle in Costa Rica. So we all started brainstorming and we thought to call the rental car place. Neither Darci or my phone worked but thank God Lindsay had AT&T because it worked. I should also mention another thank God for Jared speaking half decent Spanish because the guy at the rental company did not speak a word of English. Jared explained the situation and the rental company was going to send a guy out with another Montero for us and he would be there in about an hour and a half. This was awesome news because it meant that we would eventually get out of the jungle but it was horrible news for me because I had to poop!

So we are sitting there in the jungle sweating and trying not to poo when I remember that we have all the beer and booze that we just bought in the trunk! If we are gonna be stranded we might as well have some fun with it right? Darci is too scared of dying and now Lindsay also has to poop and is also scared of dying so just Jared and I enjoyed a couple of scorching hot whiskey and Coke Lights (in Costa Rica it's Light not Diet).

After a few drinks a super duper dirty Jeep drives by and then stops. The guy gets out and starts talking to us (Jared later told me what he said, I had no clue). He asked if we needed help and Jared let him know that another car was on the way. The guy seemed very nice. Then Jared started saying some more stuff to him and then all of a sudden I heard him utter a phrase that I will never forget as long as I live, "mi Amiga y mi amigo necesstio numero dos." This sent Costa Rican guy into prolonged laughter. After he calmed down he thought for a few minutes and then offered to take Lindsay and me to his friends place down the road so we could numero dos. Jared explained and off Lindsay and I went with Mario Rosales Gonzalez further into the Costa Rican jungle. By honey!

Mario takes us about five minutes down the "road" and turns over little bridge and into...an absolutely beautiful ranch. This place was awesome: palm trees, painted perfectly, trimmed lawn, huge shiny porch, big swimming pool out back. Mario hops out and runs up to the pool and talks to what seems to be the owner who waves us into the bathroom - THANK GOD! The most amazing thing was that I let Lindsay go first. What a gentleman I am. Then Mario took us back to Darci and Jared stranded in the jungle. Thanks Mario.

This is absolutely NOT the end of this story.

We wait for a while longer (Jared and I are still sipping on 105 degree whiskey and Coke Light by the way) when another car drives up and stops right behind us. I am completely certain that the driver is former NFL star Marshall Faulk with his wife and kids. It wasn't. But it was a nice guy who looked EXACTLY like former NFL star Marshall Faulk and his family that Jared and Lindsay had met at our resort the night before. They offered to take us and/or our stuff to the resort. Since it was about 5:30 and starting to get dark we had them take Lindsay and Darci along with the groceries to the resort. Off they went leaving Jared and I sitting in the Costa Rican jungle waiting for some guy to show up with a new rental car.

Another 30 minutes pass and the guy shows up with our new Mitsubishi Montero. Yessssss! The guy is real nice and brought all the paperwork and everything. So we filled everything out and then he asked for the credit card. No problem since we had 3 or 4 between us...nope, he needed THE credit card that we reserved the car with which was Lindsay's credit card which was now with her at the resort. Shit. This guy makes it clear that he has to have that card or he can't give us the car. Jared asks if he and I can drive to the resort and bring him back the card. Understandably the guy says no since we haven't technically rented the new car yet. Rental Car Guy can't leave the car just sitting there and Rental Car Guy has no idea where our resort is and I have even less of an idea where I am. So I offer up the solution of Jared and Rental Car Guy going to the resort to get the card and I will stay with the broken down car. It's the only solution. We all agree.

This sounds simple enough right? Well, keep a few facts in mind: it is 5:45pm and it gets totally dark at 6:00pm, the resort is about 45 minutes away - one way - and I'm in sitting in the middle of the freaking Costa Rican jungle by myself in a broken down car. Then it starts to rain. Hard. So that's the bad news. The good news is that even though we sent all the luggage and groceries to the resort I kept a full bottle of whiskey, a 105 degree bottle of Coke Light and a cup.

I'm not sure about you but if I'm going to get kidnapped by some Costa Rican jungle militants or killed by a gang of monkeys I might as well be drunk! So I start mixing myself drinks. After another 3 or 4 very stiff drinks I remembered that while the car wouldn't run the battery was still working great so I turned on the radio. I pushed the Seek button one time and I shit you not - crystal clear classic rock came on. And apparently the Costa Rican's love Led Zeppelin just as much as I do because they played Led freaking Zeppelin for the next hour straight.

If this story doesn't convince you that I truly find things to be way more amusing than most and that I have more fun than 99% of the population then I just don't know what to say. I sat in the back of a Mitsubishi Montero with the tailgate open in the Costa Rican jungle in 105 degree heat in pouring rain in the dark by myself slugging whiskey, blaring Led Zeppelin and playing the air drums for an hour and I'm not gonna lie to you; I had an AWESOME time!

Jared and Rental Car Guy showed up a few hours later and we were off. The resort was awesome and we had an amazing time. But I will never forget my time in the Costa Rican Jungle. Or Mario Rosales Gonzalez.