To Buy You a Gold Ring and a Pretty Dress of Blue ©2013 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     We don't see my work-friend Ray the cook more than three nights a week at most. He has a day job, something janitorial I think. When he does work with us, he talks about golf a lot. Raymond claims (and I believe him) to be a scratch golfer. In real sports, scratches don't get to participate, but in golf a scratch is a real badass, so in Ray's lexicon a scratch is a fine thing to be indeed. Ray-Ray never utters the word "golf," actually. "My hobby," he says, "my little hobby."
     "Joe." wondered absolutely no one, "do you have any hobbies?"
     "Why yes," I would've answered, "yes I do." Even though I don't think of it as one, what else is These American Servers™ but a hobby? It sure hasn't ever made me any money, nor do I ever expect it to. No boss makes me compose this drivel; no supervisor tells me when, how or even if to present it. Therefore, hobby. But I've also got this other kind-of fun activity that consumes most of my waking moments and has for over two decades now. I started out so shitty at it that I can't believe I didn't just give up but now I'm so good at it I've almost got it mastered. My hobby is trying to quit smoking.
     We had a kind of shitty night at work this evening. A couple of brutal pops were interspersed with some big-time slowness. Plus we were a little shorthanded  on both sides of the expo line. I got kind of stressed during one of the pops. So when it slowed I asked our hostess to not seat me for at least three minutes. I (literally) ran to the nearby ShittyMart™ and bought a pack of Newport 100's.
     I can't recall if I've ever mentioned it to y'all but long-time readers may know that my go-to brand is Marlboro Reds. The Newports weren't for me. I gave them to my totally awesome, incredibly gorgeous co-worker, Sweetie, so that maybe she'll like me. That's not really why I gave her the cigarettes, although if they had that effect I guess I'd have to step up like I'm a man and accept the consequences of my actions.
     Anyway, I wasn't sure how many smokes I'd want; a half-dozen, max. A whole pack  of tasty 'Boros would either go to waste or be consumed by me. I gave Sweetie the entire 20, with the understanding that I could have a few of them back (during that shift) upon request, an arrangement she was totally cool with. I got to smoke a few cigarettes and ease my stress without being a bum or throwing a bunch of product away. Plus it helped Sweetie out a little, something I'm always looking for opportunities to do. We snuck out back for our nicotine fix. As we lit up, I looked into her pretty face. The most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen sparkled and she flashed me her lovely smile.
    

Breakfast in America © 2013 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     My fellow Americans, welcome and thank you for checking out today's press conference. Can I get ya started with a top-shelf margarita, Diet Pepsi, or a large draft beer? Wups! Flashback from old job, sorry about that. Anyway, I feel I can honestly say, without fear of contradiction, that "No Net Loss of Freedom" is more than a campaign slogan; it's the cornerstone of my administration. Remember "Stop & Frisk?" We stopped it. We've ended America's fucktarded "War on Drugs," repealed the RICO Act, revoked the government's civil forfeiture privileges—check out the United States website, a lot of you have money and cars coming back!—removed all the red light cameras and, while I strongly urge everyone to continue wearing your seat belts &/or brain buckets, there are no longer any laws saying you have to. You're welcome and, unless you're pulling down over a quarter-mil a year, there's lots more good news on the way for everybody!
     But I'm afraid that now I've got to urinate on the Froot Loops—sorry, I messed up and used the old name, of course I meant LGBT Circles™—of a troublesome few of you. I'm talking to the johnson skulls who go to a grocery store and grab some ice cream, say, or hot dogs, whatever, and then abandon that shit in a non-refrigerated part of the store, like by the tampons or light bulbs. That's messed up. I've asked Vice President Paul Krugman and Attorney General Tony LaRussa to craft legislation addressing this problem. We're thinking, first offense, ten dollar fine. A little steep? Hit me up on Twitter @JoeSixtop and let us know what you think, OK?
     I know I'm supposed to answer some questions from the public and the media now. But me and the First Girlfriend have to get on Air Force One and haul ass down to Saint Louis so I can throw out the game ball at tonight's World Series game. Tell ya what: I'll get CIA Director Ed Snowden to pinch hit for me. Unless you need to know about auto-grat or separate checks or something I'm sure he can answer most of your questions as well as I can. Anyway, thank you, God bless and I'll talk to y'all later.

     For about the last couple years, I've been slowly trying to healthy-up my lifestyle. Like, I haven't consumed any alcohol since 2010. Plus, I've been persuaded that it's a good idea to eat breakfast, so I try to, even though it's something I'm not naturally inclined to do.
     My first choice of AM repast is bourbon—but I gave up alcohol, remember?—so I have a heaping bowl of LGBT Circles™ doused in Nestlé's Quik! Not really. Usually I have an orange or apple or something like that. On other days, I have yogurt. I get Chobani or Dannon Oikos. They're pretty tasty and claim to be nutritious and maybe they are. Plus, they're Greek yogurts and since the economy over there is sucking so bad, it makes me feel good to help those people out a little.
     The other night after work, I went to the 24-hour grocery store for that evening's dinner, some salad, and the morrow's breakfast, a thing of pomegranite Chobani. I ate my lettuce, seriously considered lifting some weights for a minute, checked out a  little Coast to Coast AM  and sacked on out. The next morning, I was a little chagrined to realize that I'd neglected to put my intended breakfast in the fridge. It had sat out all night and become room temperature. As I headed out the door to my lunch shift, I threw the compromised yogurt away.
     Upon reflection, I think I made a mistake. I should of put the shit back in the refrigerator and had it later. Grocery customers pull stuff from the cold dairy case all the time and then abandon it wherever they might be in the store when they change their minds. It happens everywhere, from the swankiest Publix in Buckhead to the shittiest ghetto Jitney Jungle in Hattiesburg. Do you think that stuff gets thrown away? I don't. It gets restocked. I'm sure I've consumed yogurt that's spent several hours warming up next to the toilet paper and then been chilled back down. And if you ever eat yogurt, so have you.