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First you take it on the run. Then, you take it on the run.
By ELB | October 19, 2003
The road to physical fitness isn’t always a smooth one. Those silly machines at the gym are always sweaty, not to mention confusing. Since I came to Portland and unexpectedly found myself well on the way to buffitude, I’ve been searching for alternate methods of exercise. Well, I think I’ve found a winner. Our gracious hosts, James and Melissa, have recently started a recess club, with an emphasis on four square. I was invited to join, and not without some hesitation, I agreed. Due to an unfortunate childhood incident involving a Big Toy, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a playground and I must say, I was a little gun shy. But once I got to the Sunnyside School for the Deaf, it was like slipping into the arms of a lover.
Four square is just the same am I remember, only now it’s better because (a) no bitches, and (b) I wasn’t worried about someone seeing my panties. We played for a good, solid hour then this young tough showed up on his bike. At first I thought he was simply observing the field of play, but as it turns out he’s a member of the club as well. Anthony jumped in and brought an edge of competitiveness to the game that really kicked it into high gear. And he let me ride his bike. All in all, I must say that a Tulsa branch of Recess Club is soon to follow.
Later on that day, my homie Dr. Dre came by with a gang of Tanqueray. Actually, we decided on an evening of Japanese culture. First sushi, then karaoke. Now, I’m used to workin’ it at Lennie’s where the place is usually mostly deserted and I and mine get to dominate the mic. At the Ambassador I quickly realized that I was very close to being out of my league. The song list was the size of a phone book. How am I supposed to choose? Especially when I was not allowed to stuff the ballot box. I suspected that our intrepid emcee was not exactly pleased to listen to our drunken asses. Plus, between each song he cranked that “Come to snuff the rooster” song by Alice in Chains. Anyway, we quickly got the ball rolling. My Dude kicked things off with a little John R. Cash, then I politely requested to be kissed once, twice, then deadly. Lita Ford rocks no matter where she is. I learned that I indeed do not know all the words to Fancy, but it didn’t seem to bother the table full of hoochies wailing along with me. The evening came to a crescendo when Greg, sporting a furry Meisterbrau hat complete with horns, took the stage and serenaded My Dude with a flawless Broadway rendition of the theme to the Flintstones, which, in the song book, was listed as Traditional.
In many ways I’m glad not to live here. I honestly don’t know if I could sustain this level of kicking ass.
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