Seriously, am I the only one who can read? This is what I get for hanging out with Congressional types.Regardless, I opened it and after getting a paper cut that spilled more blood than the entire Friday the 13th franchise, I read through my tears..."What is black when you buy it, red when you use it and gray when you throw it away?"Cyn threw up her hand and danced about like Yosemite Sam, yelling, "I know... a tampon!" (That was some good catnip.)After laughing so hard I peed myself (Look, what she and I do in private is our business as consenting adults, and she will consent to anything!) I tenderly patted her lustrous black hair and said, "You were so close, baby, but the correct answer is 'charcoal'." Which led us to the patio and a rusted out grill.Opening it, I was startled to discover a singing frog, belting out "My Ragtime Gal," as he emerged, dancing like an amphibian Rockette. Surprised, I stumbled until sprawling over a cat so fat and lethargic it must have been on an. It seemed like the perfect evening until a new guy strolled into the bar and sat down next to me. It seemed a little weird at the time - there were probably 6 other empty places with no one adjacent that he could have taken - but I didn't think anything of it, until he started speaking."Fucking Rangers," he said a little too loudly into my ear.I hadn't really taken a look when he came in, so now I finally looked over and took stock of him. He was taller then me, probably 6-1, and it was clear from the first glance that he worked out. He didn't bulge through the Thomas Pink shirt in some grotesque fashion like those Creatine-heads who lift every day, but his biceps tugged nicely at the seams and the thin cut showed off his broad shoulders and apparently fat-less stomach. His hair was dark and short-cropped, a little spiky and damp from the drizzle outside, but it did a nice job of framing the squared jaw and the five o'clock shadow growing on it. I must have been staring just a little.
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