Pineapple Pandemonium

Last night I had dinner with my friend, Jack. Our server mistakenly brought him a martini made with something called "Stoli Doli." Intrigued by this clever rhyming name, I decided to try it... and I was not disappointed. It had just the right amount of pineapple to make you go "hmm" and just enough vodka taste to make you take your shirt off and do a softcore exotic dance on the table like a catholic schoolgirl on spring break. Ah, spring break. Anyway, it was like blowing a Hawaiian man or a Jewish boy who drinks a lot of pineapple juice. Yes I'm talking about you, Joel!

I had trouble sleeping again last night. I have this recurring nightmare where I'm laying in bed wearing nothing but my tightie whities, all helpless and supple, ready to be devoured like a ripening strawberry on a vine in the hot sun. Suddenly, I am unable to move and I regret falling asleep with my hand touching my no-no region in the unfortunate event that I die in my sleep. That would be so embarrassing. The coroner would have a plethora of water cooler conversation topics. So I'm laying there, motionless and doing my best to get my hand off my crotch, when I see a face forming from the shadows. I try to scream, but I can't. Then I wake up.

My grandmother used to tell me that it was Satan trying to take my soul. Then I thought, what the hell would Satan want with me? I suck at everything. I can just imagine being forced to do Satan's bidding because he was successful one night when I fell asleep playing with myself again. So I'm beckoned to destroy a small country with a massive plague with a wave of my free hand and yes I'm still wearing my tightie whities. With my luck, I'd end up finding the cure for cancer and winning a Nobel Prize. Then Satan would go up to God and say "Here, I give up. Take him!"