the squirrel's Open Salon Blog

Impressions of me.

Fri, 22 Jan 2010 10:01:16 -0500

It seems I was wrong. It seems the impression of me isn’t limited to just standing there yawning. Nope. Not by a long shot. Nor is it limited to “Jesus Fucking Christ, how do these things happen?” Turns out, upon digging a little deeper, everyone has their own impression of me. Some of them are based in reality, others not so much, and one (Oscar’s) can’t possibly be true. Though I admit I find it instructive that in each, the voice is the same. A neurotic, agitated Yogi the Bear. I’d like to think I don’t sound like that, but … nonetheless. Here you go. Their individual impressions of me. I’ve been asking all week, and all week, they’ve been coming clean.

ALAN: “Hey, Alan, you’re a little bit late, Alan, we want you here by five and it’s five oh one, Alan, going to have to take that minute out of your pay, Alan, and be sure you run your IRS report at the end of the shift and not in the middle, Alan, and quit eating cheese in the walk-in, Alan …”

REGINA (while holding two glasses under two taps): “See, pouring a beer is all about the angle. You need the proper angle. This. Not this. See? This. Not this. This? No good, too much head. This? Just … the right … amount … of head … what. What’s so funny.”

JIMMY: “We sure are learning a lot from these customer comments. For example. Did you know most customers want food that doesn’t suck? Or if it must suck, they want to pay less for it?”

ALL THE MEXICANS EXCEPT OSCAR AND RUDY: “Oh, hey. My name mister (squirrel) and I so fucking cheap I one cheap motherfucker. Oh, hey, portion control, oh, hey. Oh, hey.” (They only admitted to the portion control line. Not the fucking cheap motherfucker line. I had to eavesdrop to learn that one.)

JULIE: “Someone smeared boogers all over the bathroom mirror. Why would anyone do such a thing? There are so many better places to smear a booger. This guy never heard of Kleenex???”

JASON (slapping someone else’s hand kinda sorta hard): “No! No! No, no, NO!!!”

REGINA again: “You know in England, they call fish sticks fish fingers. You didn’t know that, did you. And pork meatballs are called pork faggots. Didn’t know that either, did you. I didn’t think so. But imagine that.”

OSCAR: “Easy. Lemons don’t grow on trees, you know.” (No way I actually said that. No way. He swears I did, though, and he has a few witnesses to back him up. If you ask me, I think it sounds pretty fucking apocryphal.)

CHERYL: “Steaming pile of crap. That’s what that is. A pile of crap which is steaming.”

MY ENGLISH FRIEND, HIS WIFE and OUR MUTUAL AND ALSO ENGLISH FRIEND: “About? About? ABOUT?”

JIMMY again: “Stop using the word Succulent. Is someone paying you to use the word Succulent? Always seem to be using the word Succulent lately.”

STEVE: “Whatever, Steve.”

LAURA: “Laura, what did you do last night. I’ll tell you what I did. I photoshopped a mustache onto my face and I flecked some gray into it to make it look like it would if I had a mustache and do you know what? I think it looked pretty special. You know what else? If I grew a mustache, I’m sure I could be the mayor of Wisconsin.”

RUDY (walking like he’s a cowboy just off a horse and about to have a gunfight): “Hi, how are you. Ha-Ha-Ha. How is it going with you. Ha-Ha-Ha. Tonight you will eat here. Ha-Ha-Ha.”

SARAH: “This is worse than half slob of ribs and full slob of ribs. Changing the U to a W in bleu cheese? Blew cheese? Blew cheese!?!?!” (Begin gesticulating wildly, and pacing about the room.) “Blew cheese!?!?! Blew cheese!?!?! Blew cheese!?!?! …”

WIFE-ASAURUS: “Lemme sleep, lemme sleep, lemme sleep, I’m sleeping, you do it.”

Guest Blogger: Pokey!

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 16:01:32 -0500

Afternoon. It me, Pokey. Hello. You Daddy’s reader, but Daddy not here. Daddy’s reader get Pokey instead. You lucky.

Pokey here cause Daddy take nap. Daddy out work late last night and Pokey got up Daddy early to play on play mat, then did not want Daddy leave room for coffee. Why Daddy need coffee so bad? Is not Pokey playing on play mat awake-ment enough? Pokey think so but Daddy no agree, so Pokey cry and cry and cry when Daddy leave room so Daddy have to stay in room, never get coffee until after seven. Daddy grumpy, Daddy use words Daddy promise Mommy Daddy no use, so Daddy not much in mood for Pokey today.

That acceptable to Pokey since feeling mutual. Pokey not in mood for Daddy. Feeling very mutual. Daddy no talk to play mat elephant. Daddy only talk to play mat monkey and toucan and frog. Why Daddy no talk to elephant, Pokey wonder. What elephant ever do to Daddy, that Daddy shun elephant so? Does not Daddy realize how Daddy make play mat elephant feel, when play mat elephant see Daddy talk to all other creatures in play mat kingdom? Does not Daddy realize that him make elephant feel outcast exactly same as playground kids make Daddy feel outcast when Daddy young boy? Evidently, Daddy not realize. So maybe Pokey and Daddy need ‘apart time,’ which is why Pokey agree blog for Daddy. Pokey take time out blog of his own for post on blog of Daddy’s. Pokey blog readers denied, must go without, until tomorrow, when Pokey return to blog of Pokey’s own, which have more readers than blog of Daddy’s, but Pokey not mention this tidbit to Daddy since Daddy’s pride is so ever-fragile. Pokey not know how Daddy react if Daddy learn a ten-week …

Now Pokey wonder where is Mommy with boob.

Pokey hungry and bored. When Pokey hungry and bored, nothing satisfy like Mommy’s boob. Pokey’s spot gets hit, but good, by Mommy’s boob. Either left or right. It matter not. Pokey see no difference. Left, right, they both go in mouth just the same. One at time, though. One at time. Two at time greedy and mouth no big enough fit both, though thought of two at time in mouth make Pokey smile and giggle and punch air with both fist and make sound like happy fire engine siren racing to fire. Weeeeee-oooooooooooo. Weeeeee-oooooooooooo. Weeeeee-oooooooooooo. Just like that.

Pokey see out window but Mommy no out window. Pokey see light and clouds and bird on brown tree that have no bird friends to sit with it, only one bird that perhaps lonely but no Mommy. Pokey not scared. Pokey have feeling that just because Pokey no see Mommy does not mean Mommy no exist, does not mean that Mommy not somewhere else in house, with boobs. Mommy somewhere. Just not in Pokey’s field of vision.

Pokey think something that make Pokey frown then Pokey forget what Pokey think so now Pokey content. Though still hungry and bored. Pokey wonder if life in rut.

Maybe Pokey need new friends? Pokey have many friends, but maybe they holding back Pokey? These interesting questions for pondering later when boob in mouth and facing window to look out. Ponder if friends adequate. Pokey have play mat friends but Pokey friends not limited to play mat. Pokey’s friend horizon broad. Pokey have two more friend, just off top Pokey head. There’s this friend here. This friend Orange Stupid Bug Face.

He okay. He make lot of noise. But he fun. More fun than this friend. This friend Sweepy Sweepy Jammy Jam.

All Sweepy Sweepy Jammy Jam ever want to do is take nap. Nap, nap, nap, nap, nap. Pokey swear. You know who should be Sweepy Sweepy Jammy Jam’s friend? Daddy. That who. Sweepy Sweepy Jammy Jam and Daddy should be friend. They could nap all day then wake up then take more nap. (Did reader notice pictures? Daddy blog posts not normally have pictures. But Pokey blog posts do. Chew on that, Daddy.)

Now Pokey want push out fart. How much fart come out? Pokey never know in advance. Pokey only know in retrospect. Post Fartum. Pokey smile at wordplay.

Pokey want push out, but fart no want leave. Pokey wait for time to be right. Pokey no want fart early, cause then fart not complete fart. Only fart part. Okay by Pokey. Pokey no mind wait. Pokey have more time than fart have. After all, where else Pokey have to be? Pokey but ten weeks old!

While on subject of Pokey … Pokey sometime wonder what is Pokey real name. Pokey hear many different names, in course of Pokey’s day. Pokey hear Pokey called Buddy. And My Guy. And Old Bean. And Heir to the Throne. And Biscuit. Many people call Pokey these words. Mommy sometime call Pokey Signore Awesome. Daddy sometime call Pokey Big Chief Thunder-Bottom. Truth told, Pokey prefer be called Signore Awesome.

Even though Pokey not know what it means. It simply shorter and Italian. And come from Mommy who bring boob to table. What Daddy bring? Precious little. Pokey here to tell you. Daddy bring precious little to table.

Pokey really wonder where is Mommy now. Pokey needs boob. Not too much boob. Pokey does not want spoil appetite for later boobs. Pokey now just want little from one boob. Like amuse bouche of boob. Pokey not sure what amuse bouche, but Pokey hear amuse bouche on Top Chef, which is show Mommy watch when Mommy bored and need break from Pokey playing.

That all Pokey have time for today. Daddy told Pokey not go over a thousand word. Pokey a little over. Big deal. What Daddy gonna do, ground Pokey? Where punishment in that? Pokey no go anywhere. Pokey not walk yet! Pokey not even crawl! Pokey flip on one side, but that it! Pokey on one side and sit there til help come! So Daddy’s Pokey punishment is hollow and Pokey know it! This make Pokey smile and giggle and Weeeeee-oooooooooooo. Weeeeee-oooooooooooo. Weeeeee-oooooooooooo.

Younger Me and Present Me have a meeting of the mind.

Tue, 12 Jan 2010 11:01:06 -0500

Younger Me watches Present Me playing with Pokey on the activity mat and all Younger Me can do is shake his head. Perplexity. Bafflement. Discombobulation. That’s what Younger Me’s experiencing right now.

Present Me thinks it’s a damn fine thing, watching Pokey talk and react to the lights, sounds, parakeet, elephant, monkey and (incongruously enough) spaceman on his mat. Yesterday, Pokey’s favorite was the parakeet, but it seems this morning, the monkey is the one that’s captured Pokey’s …

Younger Me wants to know what the hell is Present Me wearing right now. What’s that?

Present Me sees nothing wrong with a comfortable brown cardigan on a cold winter’s morn.

Younger Me didn’t know Present Me moved to Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

Yeah, well, Present Me’s circulation isn’t what it was when Present Me was Younger Me, so …

Younger Me commends Present Me for his taste in garments both practical and dreary.

Does Younger Me like Present Me’s comfy fuzzy slippers?

Younger Me thinks Present Me looks more and more like Grandpa S with each passing day.

Present Me loves these slippers. Got ‘em on the clearance table at Kohl’s.

The sound Present Me hears is that of Younger Me’s heart breaking.

The only sound Present Me hears is that of Younger Me talking out his ass, as per usual.

Honestly? Can Younger Me be honest with Present Me for a second?

Present Me doubts he could stop Younger Me even if he wanted.

Younger Me is alarmed by some of the changes in Present Me. Only by some, he means all, and by changes he means ways Present Me’s no longer as cool.

Present Me thinks he’s as cool as he ever was, albeit in a different way.

Then it seems as though Present Me didn’t realize that Younger Me was listening when Present Me was talking to that other dad Saturday night, but Younger Me was listening when Present Me was talking to that other dad Sunday night.

Present Me fails to see what Younger Me’s getting at.

Younger Me doesn’t think talking bout diapers is cool. Not on a Saturday night when the place was wall-to-wall women. And if Present Me absolutely had to talk bout diapers, did he hafta for almost a whole half hour?

Present Me doubts it was that long. And besides, Present Me is a firm believer in letting a conversation flow where it will. Do not dictate its course. Let its course reveal itself in the fullness of time.

Younger Me can’t believe Present Me just said that with a straight face. And while he’s at it, what’s the big idea, walking home Saturday night after only one and a half beers (Bell’s Porter, the current alcoholic devil on Present Me’s shoulder).

Present Me contends there is nothing wrong with calling it a night at ten. Nothing wrong with it at all.

Younger Me looks at Present Me with something not that far from a sneer.

Present Me fervently prays for a distraction right about now. Any distraction. Doesn’t matter. Present Me would even talk to Alan. Alan. A guy who’s so self-absorbed, he doesn’t even – hey. Younger Me. Was the place really wall-to-wall women Saturday night?

Present Me proves Younger Me’s point. Once upon a time, Present Me would have noticed the bountiful bevy of beauties.

Present Me didn’t notice. Huh. Weird. Present Me wonders what else he’s failed to notice.

Younger Me hopes that Present Me realizes the staff’s impersonation of Present Me has changed. What was once an impersonation consisting of one pose (arms stretched wide as Moses when he parted the Red Sea, palms open and turned upward) and two lines (“Jesus Fucking Christ!!!! How do these things happen??!!??”) has now been replaced by a single gesture (a yawn).

Yeah, Present Me realizes. And Present Me’s got a little something in store for Jason and Steve and Cheryl. When the time is right, though. When the time is right and not a moment before.

Does Present Me know what Jason did in Present Me’s bathroom?

Present Me knows and Jason’s gonna find a rude awakening in his pay envelope. In the form of a scolding letter and possibly some form of probation.

Does Present Me know he’s become one of those guys who shows pictures of his son to every poor sonofabitch unfortunate enough to be caught unawares?

Oh, Younger Me. You are prone to exaggeration. Present Me only shows pictures of Pokey to people who ask. And unlike some people, Present Me only shows the ten or twenty best pictures. So …

Younger Me could say something right now but instead holds his tongue.

Good. Cause Present Me thinks Younger Me’s starting to wear out his welcome.

Younger Me knows old people get grumpy so has decided to go easy on Present Me for the time being.

Present Me appreciates it.

Younger Me is glad Present Me still experiences the occasional insomniac nights, cause Younger Me has always liked the stillness of the world at four in the morning.

It’s nice, isn’t it. Being the only one awake.

Don’t forget your little Pokey, there, Present Me.

He’s too young to appreciate it.

He might be similarly afflicted, though, in which case he will know soon enough.

Soon enough, indeed, Younger Me.

Younger Me thinks Pokey just pooped up another diaper.

Present Me will wait to change Pokey. Wait until he knows Pokey’s completely done with the pooping. Cause Present Me’s been pooped on more times than he cares to admit. Sides. Present Me’s just kinda … what’s the word he’s looking for to describe how he feels just sitting here.

Younger Me can’t decide if Pokey looks like his mom or his dad.

Present Me hopes it’s her but will settle for almost all her but also the few decent bits of him.

Yeah, well, you know what Younger Me hopes? Younger Me hopes Present Me remembers going to Smart Bar on Wednesdays, when it was 75 cent drafts, and Dave the bartender was behind the bar and everyone would get royally shitfaced for like twenty bucks then stumble across the street to the burger place for burgers. No one would be home til sunrise and the times they had could best be described as really fucking fun. Does Present Me remember?

Present Me remembers. How could Present Me forget?

Younger Me can’t believe all those guys have moved on. All of ‘em. Everyone’s all mature and responsible and shit. But back then? Back then?

Ah, the Sunny Slopes of Long Ago, eh Younger Me?

Indeed, Present Me. Indeed.

New Year's Eve conversations and a voicemail.

Mon, 4 Jan 2010 21:01:14 -0500

(With a customer, on the phone.)

“Is this Jimmy?”

- Nope. I’m (Squirrel).

“Is Jimmy there?”

- It seems his priorities lie elsewhere.

“Can I make a reservation with you?”

- We’ll do our darnedest.

“What’s that?”

- Course you can.

“A table for eight in an hour.”

- Seriously?

“Are you booked solid?”

- It’s … an hour from now’s seven. No way we can do that.

“No way?”

- Fraid not.

“Well, what can you do.”

- Like in five minutes, but I’d need the table again at six forty-five, or I can do … uh … looks like … nine o’clock?

“That’s no good.”

- Yeah, sorry. Been taking reservations for a month, so …

“Will Jimmy be in later?”

- If by ‘in’ you mean ‘his place in Michigan’ …

“You guys are pretty popular, huh.”

- I’m as shocked as the next guy.

“I’ll take the nine o’clock, then. No. Wait. I don’t know. My wife is flashing a … you know what? Let me call you right back.”

(With David.)

- What’s wrong.

“Where Ah-lahn?!”

- Alan? Over there.

“What his ticket say.”

- Is he chicken-scratching again?

“He fucking stoo-pit.”

- Looks like he wants the grilled on the side.

“No. Here. This.”

- That? Christ if I know. I’ll ask him.

“And you tell him we have no sore-fish. I toal him no sore-fish.”

- Since when.

“He fucking stoo-pit. I not his bitch.”

- David. Since when did we run out of swordfish.

“Have one more only and that for Mr. Bentley.”

- The Bentleys are coming in?

“Whole family. Eight o’clock.”

- What do they, call the fucking kitchen ahead of them now?

“And they want points of bread. Say hold sore-fish.”

- They call the fucking kitchen??? And we’re outta swordfish???

(With mom, on the phone.)

“What is (Wife-asaurus) doing.”

- She’s either home with (Pokey) or out with one of her many lovers.

“You’re generous to allow her lovers.”

- Gets me off the hook. What are you doing, you staying awake?

“Sheila is coming over soon. She’s bringing wine and nibbles.”

- Which one’s Sheila.

“You drove her to the Ben and Jerry’s.”

- Her? She’s a cheap-ass. All that way for just a kiddie cone.

“She has a small stomach.”

- Don’t drink the wine she brings.

“Oh, it’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

- Never drink the wine a cheap-ass brings.

“Are people ordering the sausage and lentils?”

- We couldn’t do it.

“It’s Italian good fortune.”

- You need a big fat sausage to do it right and we couldn’t find any in time.

“I know the heartbreak of not finding a big fat sausage.”

- Please tell me that wasn’t you being dirty.

“Who me?”

- Make me barf through the nose.

“Fleegle barfed this morning. Bran flakes.”

- How’d he get at the bran flakes?

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

(With Cheryl.)

“Hey! Professor Booze!”

- Me?

“Yeah, sure, Professor Booze, sure, yeah.”

- Now that’s a nickname I can get behind.

“Look at you. Making drinks like you’re a professor of it.”

- If I can only have one a night, I wanna be adventurous.

“What is it. Vodka in there? I want one, will you make me one?”

- What’s the magic word?

“Professor Booze!”

- That’s right.

“Professor Booze!”

(With the neighborhood drunk.)

“Can you switch to channel seven?”

- That’s just the stupid Chicago celebrations. Some horrible band in some ballroom somewhere.

“Come on come on come on.”

- They’re playing next to some bar mitzvah, prolly, one ballroom over. Who is it, it’s like the Gin Blossoms this year.

“I wanna see if Janet Davies is blowing Mark Giangreco yet.”

- Easy, (neighborhood drunk), the whole world doesn’t need to hear you.

“You should see how loaded she is. She’s slurring and all over him.”

- He’s prolly scared shitless.

“Of Janet Davies all over him? Wouldn’t you be?”

- I’m scared shitless and she’s miles away.

“Come on come on come on. I wanna see.”

(With Glen.)

- Oh, you asshole. Coming in here showing off your tan.

“It’s unbecoming, how jealous you are.”

- Wear white pants and shirt, why don’t you. Show that tan off real good.

“You could have gone to Florida. No one stopped you.”

- Life stopped me, Glen. Life.

“Is this stool open?”

- See that guy in the corner?

“Who, with the glasses?”

- That’s the blind guy who showed me his dick.

“What’d he show it to you for.”

- He was talking to me as I helped him into the bathroom. Then he pulled down his pants, whipped it out, then practically peed in the sink practically.

“Was it nice?”

- Kinda like a pink button.

“Bet you got a lotta dick to compare it to.”

- I believe in making informed decisions.

“Has it been busy like this all night?”

- It was earlier, then it wasn’t, now it is again.

“What am I looking at, forty-three hundred all day?”

- Closer to forty-five, but good guess.

“You know how much dad would have killed for a night like this?”

- Can you imagine?

“He would have killed me.”

- Shit. I’d hafta use you as a human shield. Get out the front door then run for my life. Shit.

(On Wife-asaurus’ voicemail.)

- … You two are prolly asleep, hope he wasn’t too fussy, good night here though, gonna do almost forty-five, which ain’t too bad considering, but Glen was in earlier, he was waiting for Erin, I guess, but so he got to talking bout dad, kinda got me down, like I’m in the middle of all this happiness, but I don’t wanna have anything to do with it, lousy stinking Glen, then he leaves to pick up Erin and I’m stuck with all these people, most of which piss me off on the best of days, and I don’t feel like faking being in a good mood and I just wanna go hide, but …

But …

But hey. Enough of me rambling. Surprised your voicemail didn’t cut me off. So anyway, I’ll be home in an hour or two. Which is next year. Sarah does that joke of ‘I’ll see you next year’ when it’s only another ---

Holiday Blues? We can help.

Mon, 28 Dec 2009 15:12:46 -0500

If you have the Holiday Blues, we can help you. If it’s Holiday Blues Cures you’re looking for, we’re your one-stop shop (restaurant).

Did you get dumped by someone you were sure would not dump you? Best thing you can do for that broken heart of yours is to come in Wednesday night and sit at the bar right next to Jimmy. He just got dumped. He is not a man often dumped and has been out of sorts since early this month. At first I felt sorry for him, but now I feel not much more than really fucking annoyed. But come on in, sit at the bar, he’ll be here. Ask him what’s wrong, and when he tells you Nicole just broke his heart, tell him ‘Hey! My heart was just broken also!’ He will then open up to you, unburdening himself, telling you the whole Nicole-megillah, from beginning to end. This won’t help you in the least. In fact, you’ll be just as really fucking annoyed as I was/am, but when you settle up, I dare say he’ll take your bill, tear it up, and you’ll get all your drinks and food on the house. If not, hand it to me, and I’ll tear it up as a way of thanking you for taking Jim off my hands for an hour or two.

We have too much egg nog left. So much egg nog, in fact, that if you’re someone who didn’t get enough egg nog, there’s really no better restaurant for you than this one right here. And if it’s spiked egg nog that tickles your happy bone, we will spike your egg nog for free. That’s how badly we want to be rid of it. Whatever spike you want. Long as it’s not the shelf, it’s the well. We’re not spiking your egg nog for free with the shelf. That’s stupid. We’d be better off chucking the egg nog down the drain. No, you get the well or you pay extra.

Did you get caught in that blizzard and as a result have a bit of a cold? A bowl of our chicken noodle soup should do the trick. We don’t have chicken noodle soup this week cause I OD’d on it a little bit ago, but soup’s soup, if you think about it. Have something as close to chicken noodle as you can get. Tonight, it’s Split Pea W/ Ham or Spicy Minestrone. Take your pick, doesn’t matter which, they’re both so-so.

If you spent way too much time with your extended family and since then have felt this vague, unseated rage and urge to smash things? No problem. George is in the kitchen all week. So here’s what you do: order a steak or chop. That’s it. Order a steak or chop. Rare, medium-rare, medium, it matters not. Wait a half hour to forty-five (that’s how long it’ll take, with ol’ Georgie-Boy in the kitchen), and when it arrives, it will arrive well done. Don’t send it back, though. Ask for the biggest steak knife we have, then use all your elbow grease to hack your way through that steak or chop. You will work out so much stress, frustration and irascibility just cutting the goddamn thing, by the end of your ‘meal,’ you will be filled with love and you will call your aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces and in-laws just to tell them what a wonderful time you had, how lovely it was to see them and when can you next all get together for laughs and giggles.

Are you a man who, for whatever reason, has spent this holiday season feeling unattractive? Come on in, ask to sit in Laura’s section. You won’t feel unattractive for long. Laura will give you the eye. She’ll make you feel special. Even if you aren’t. Are you a woman similarly afflicted? If you catch her in the right mood (horny and madcap), you too shall be made to feel special.

I know this has happened to me many a holiday. Perhaps it’s happened to you as well. Perhaps you think you might be boring cause when you listen to other people talk, it seems their lives are so much more interesting or fulfilling than yours. Hey. I’ve been there, like I said. You know what I do? It’ll work for you too, I guarantee it, but what I do is I strike up a conversation with Alan. Just last night, I struck one up with him and lickety-split, before he was even done telling me how he reads the New York Times online, I felt interesting again. I smiled.

You might be someone who felt stiffed by Santa, even if only just a bit. Maybe you didn’t get as many presents as you thought you deserved. Please. Allow us. Cause between now and New Years, we’re running a one-week-only Buy One Get One for entrees, appetizers and cocktails. That oughtta help, if you can convince someone else to come in with you and pay for his/her entrée, thereby making yours the free one.

If you overate and feel sick to your stomach, we’ve got you covered. Order the shrimp pasta, the one Steve describes as a ‘plate of food that is unorthodox.’ If you choke it down and manage to live through the nightmare that is what it does to your system for the next four to forty-eight hours, you’ll feel great. Rejuvenated, reborn, revivified. Also, you’ll never want to eat shrimp pasta anywhere ever again.

Are you like me, and have spent the last few days looking back on Christmas Eve and Christmas, wondering if you were standoffish or rude to people who didn’t deserve it? Or if you failed to get in the Holiday Spirit as much as everyone else seemed to? Or if you by and large were an ingrate, which is bad cause this year more than any previous, you have so much for which to be grateful? In other words, are you afraid you might be turning into an asshole?

Hurry in here tonight, cause The Grumpiest Guy Who Ever Lived is coming in to watch the Bears game. He’ll be here no later than six thirty. Within fifteen seconds of watching this guy in action, you’ll realize you might very well be an asshole, but you’re a treat, an utter joy, compared to this asshole. Here’s how you can spot him. He’ll be the guy with at least three empty stools on either side of him who ends every request with ‘Is that gonna be a problem?’