So every other Monday I have to stay late at work to wait for the exterminator to come. He's a strange (and really, really nice) dude, Matt, but that's neither here nor there. In the past I've had conversations with him about women's gymnastics (he's a big fan) and dwarf sex (he's a big fan).
Last night, after telling me about his love of haunted attractions (houses, hayrides, etc.), he told me how he's planning a tour of the Northeast for next year. He is preparing evaluation forms for the tour, to be filled out by participants after each stop. The tour, see, will be of haunted attractions and, in his words, "really bad strip clubs." He is planning on using the same evaluation form for the strip clubs and attractions alike. See, funny, right? After I told him that he needs to stop in Burlington County, New Jersey, which is hell on earth and chock full of really bad strip clubs, he invited me on the tour. Umm...fuck yeah?
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Well, you can't not go.
You just can't.
[Next paragraph to be read by corpulent gent chomping down on wet business end of cigar.]
This puppy's got book-length memoir written all over it. Churn out a proposal and you'll have an agent by the end of business, I guar-an-TEE it. I smell big money, Sammy. I smell dead presidents. My pupils and irises are dollar signs all.
Those irises being, of course, the part of the eye determining its color.
Dan is all about speaking like a corpulent gent these days - and referencing puppies:
"Is this a pet shop or a news room?"
he said.
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