Tux Everlasting!

My younger brother is getting married in about a month, so I had to get fitted for a tux over the weekend. Well, he's having his "Companionship Ceremony" soon; his style of marriage isn't legal in California yet. I still don't understand why somebody would want to marry a walrus, but he's my brother and I support him. He said something about he liked how the whiskers tickled his balls. I said that he could just marry an Italian girl if he liked that so much, but he wasn't budging.

Anyway, so my brother, my dad, and I went to Men's Wearhouse to get our tux on. When we got there, there was this homosexual fellow who was talking to us and getting us situated. Now, I'm not a homophobe by any stretch of the imagination--one of my best friends is gay and my brother is marrying a male walrus--but I'd rather have a woman take my measurements. I was sick with anticipation hoping he wouldn't call me when I hear him say, "Bob! I can help you." Yes! It's not me. Sorry, Dad. Some tiny Asian girl measured me for mine. She offered me a "full release" fitting, but I declined because my family was there.

Then, yesterday I went to the movies to see Sin City for the second time (pretty good movie, very different than almost anything). My regular readers know the delight I take in seeing retarded people in their natural habitat. Well, I was witness to one of the best retard-related things I have ever seen. I didn't see just one mentally-challenged pixie, but a gaggle of them (actually, the scientific classification for a group of them is a pride). And, the best part about it is that they were all old ladies. They were like the Retarded Golden Girls. I even got the telephone number of the whorey, Blanche-esque one. She was chewing on the shotgun on the House of the Dead III machine. I knew what she meant by it.

Interesting thought of the day:
Grapes are nature's anal beads.