Ah, the universal question… why do I get so philosophical when I get drunk?  (Okay, it may not be universal to you, but it certainly is to me.)  Is it that maybe I’m always so deeply lost in thought, that the suppression of ideas spill out when my tongue’s been freed by liquid courage?  Or do I talk out my ass and sell the shit out of my bullshit?

Whatever the answer, the fact that remains is this: why am I doing this when I’m at the strip club local ballet?

Now before you go getting all judgmentallyish on me, know that I’m going to blame it on my friends.  I’m always going to say they dragged me there.  It’s besides the point that they actually did have to drag me there the first time I went (I was still a very, very devout Catholic back then), but nowadays there’s a little less arm twisting (it’s usually bribery that gets me).  So anyhoohah, to my point – what was my point?

A couple of my friends recently happened upon a local ballerina establishment.  (Actually, it was the night of my Sober Recollection… that was the next stop I could not be bribed into.)  One of them later recounted to me that one of the ladies claimed to be a palm reader.  He swore she got his name, his occupation, and a few other things right, to which I decried “balogna” (would “baloney” have had more of a visual impact?)  I figured our other friend had to give her a heads-up because I don’t believe palm reading works that way (if at all).

This story he told me while at a different joint (oh yeah, this was where I was going).  It lead me to ponder (okay it’s not quite philosophizing, but I do that a lot as well) about what I would like to have happen if I ever got my palm read.  I would be so excited if the reader started looking over my lines, and then immediately stood up and backed away.  “Go!  You must leave!  Now!”  The reader’s voice would crack as they cowered into the corner, crying.  Man, that would give me the biggest smile.

Another scenario I always daydream about is more of a prank.  I need to find a good recording of screaming demons so that I could call my friends and when they answered, I’d just play the burning in fire and brimstone response.

I also pretend I’m Wolverine or John McClane when I’m in my hallways at work.  Man, this post went off rail… must be because of this beer I’m palm reading.