Frank the Tank

I have taken a brief hiatus from my blog game, but I'm looking to bounce back. Just got home from work and sitting here drinking a nice pop. I feel like the 30 year old dad that got home from T-ball practice after his son ran to third base instead of first. Holy shit, if my kid ever does that he's hand scrubbing the toilets for a solid month.

It was a long day at work. Straight cold callin da shit outta some clients. It is unbelievable what some people consider an acceptable voicemail. The homosexuality literally jumps out of the phone at me on some of them. An image of the blow job teaching fire-crotch from Old School shoots into my mind and I instantly hang up. Or on the other side of the spectrum, some voicemails intimidate you more than a Ray Lewis pump up speech. "Hey it's Bob, if you leave me a shitty message I'm coming to State Farm, and going to swing you around like a wind turbine with your balls." Where is the simple, "You've reached the Jones', we have 2.5 kids, a nice white picket fence, and a kick a$$ Chrysler Mini-Van, leave a message after the beep."

Zane's having his first house party/gathering tonight. I might go to church for the first time in three years to pray that he does a better job at planning it than I did. I still have nightmares of my neighbor walking into my basement at 3 a.m while Canigs is rapping to UGK naked. All 10 girls scattered and stole every blanket I owned. Guys ran out like Frank the Tank after Mitchapalooza, and no honey, KFC was not open in West Omaha at 3 in the morning. The Old School references are a must. Talk about a fabulous movie. So, everyone scattered and I'm left standing there trying to explain why my parents are just really "heavy sleepers" Oh well, I somehow managed to weasel my way out of that one. Hopefully Zane is a little bit smarter than my dumbass. Live and Learn, Crash and Burn.

Jack