Suns-Jazz weather preview for tonight's game.

SUNny with a high chance of rain from the three point line.

GO SUNS!!!

Future conversation with my wife. Part III

Wife: I’m ready to get back on the horse.

Me: That’s great. I was unaware you were trying to quit something.

Wife: Hmmm? Totally not quitting anything. I was meaning I’m ready to mount you again.

Me: Oh right cause I’m hung like a…yeah I get it. Man I’m awesome.

Wife: In the truest sense of the word, not modern vernacular.

Me: [blink, blink]

Wife: Awesome meaning tremendous, breathtaking, massive. Clearly I’m not with you for your scant intelligence.

Me: Ha ha. You said scat.

Wife: Scant you gorgeous moron. Just take your clothes off.

Me: I wonder why you even bother dressing me every morning when you just undress me every time I see you.

Work business.

I am glad the bathroom partitions at my work don’t continue to the floor. Largely because the lower open space provides valuable information as to the identity of your neighbor. I don’t look to see who it is to start a conversation. I don’t look because I have a shoe fetish. I look because this inconspicuous deed sometimes saves my life.

Sometimes I have mere moments to finalize the paper work and flee ground zero. Some go about their business quietly. Some mask their business with a flushing of the toilet. Some believe the stalls to be concert venues/stages and proceed to unleash anal symphonies played by a musically disinclined brass section.

Whatever their preference is, I prefer they do their business elsewhere or at another time when I’m occupying a stall. I used to work at a building that had two urinals and two stalls on each level. Working on the first floor and knowing it was heavily trafficked forced me to venture to other floors to attend to business matters. Surreptitiously folded over in my hand was a freshly printed sheet of paper with a strip of tape and three magical words emblazoned on the front.

OUT OF ORDER

I don’t like to be neighbored up. This magical, posted declaration prevented such occurrences…most of the time. Unfortunately it wasn’t foolproof. Many times however, I would hear hurried footsteps loudly crash to the stall, pause to allow the potential intruder time to read the sign falsely advertising faulty facilities then I’d hear an audible sigh of disgust. Success!! It took all I had to conceal my laughter sometimes. Good thing I was on the toilet and could allow little amounts of pee to escape safely.

I have come to learn so much more about the shoes of the people I work with. More than I ever wanted. Shoes tell a lot about a person. They tell if a person is neat, orderly, filthy, etc. Most importantly they can incite the aforementioned Pavlonian response. For example, I hear keys jingling in the bathroom I know our heavy set (don’t know what his title is) is coming to defile some porcelain. Each time I wonder anew if he has never excreted the contents of his colon before. It is as though he has held onto them his whole life and has chosen the precise, damnable moment I’m there to release the contents in the most audibly disturbing manner. Babies crying are a more pleasing sound than the ear drum rape he shares.

I don’t know how I can be so revolted by this entirely natural phenomenon. Especially considering that I will be working on the other end of the tube in a few years. Sounds a mouth makes are nowhere as troubling as the exit side of the tube. Anywho think about this the next time you’re on the job. Study the footwear of your neighbors. Associate the accompanying activity of the wearer. It will aid you in your future neighboring endeavors.

The slap heard round the world.

You could put WWF wrestling on a TV next to the last play of the Jazz game last night and wouldn’t be able to discern a difference. If Kevin Durant weren’t the superhuman man he is the lesser CJ Miles would have ripped his arm off with the slap he administered.

Why didn’t the refs call if then, E?

Because Jerry Sloan was on the sidelines peeling off hundreds to the refs.

Exaggeration!

Tell that to the sprawling sub hematoma on Durant’s forearm. Also, when did hip thrusts become allowed in the NBA? Durant should put a restraining order on the sexual deviant Miles. Silly Miles, this is not MMA. Grappling is not allowed in the NBA. Get some class pervert!