Why they don't call it deanslist

I am addicted to craigslist, but it isn't just about filling my house with other people's crap. What really sells me is the frequent misunderstandings or misspellings that put an entirely different spin on an ad.

They didn't call this site deanslist for a reason.

Take the moron who was selling a beautiful "arm-war" in the antiques for sale section. He got pretty pissed at me when I emailed him that I was mildly interested in the arm-war, but 1-2-3-4 wanted to declare a thumb war instead. He sent a scathing response, calling me an idiot for not knowing an arm-war was a beautiful piece of wood furniture that's used to store clothes and jewelry.

"Furniture? Bummer," I wrote back. "Oh, well, if I can't buy an arm-war or a thumb war on here, I guess I'll just have to settle for some indian leg wrestling in casual encounters instead."

The personal ads is where the best entertainment was anyway. Some people's ideas of missed connections are heavy on the missed part.

One dude had lunch at a local Hooters, and his eyes met "Heather's" briefly a couple of times at his table and he thought there might be some kind of connection. He was going to come back in Thursday for lunch again, and he might just sweep her off her feet right then and there and carry her out of there. Whoa, slow down Richard Gere.

Chuck Woolery wasn't around to break it to him softly that this wasn't really a Love Connection, so it took me about 2 minutes and 2 seconds to drop him a line.

No doubt there were a couple of connections: She took your order, and then she came back with a pitcher of beer and some wings. But that's it, you jackass. Yes, she was smiling. She works for tips, and let's face it, she's basically a pair of tight orange shorts and an owl T-shirt away from being a stripper. I did give him credit that he was somehow able to take his eyes off her cannons long enough to memorize her nametag, though.

Another guy posted he was looking for a "cheep date." I suggested the best way to start is to put down those binoculars and quit taking notes. What he calls "watching" the rest of us call creepy stalking.

Instead, he should hang a feeder in his backyard. Sugar water works nice to attract petite types, or if he's looking for something exotic, perhaps sprinkling some Froot Loops would help him hit the jackpot. But I also warned him that cheep dates can sometimes be looking for a pretty specific type, like mammoths with ridiculously long names who want to keep things so discreet you can only call him your IFWB (imaginary friend with benefits).

Then there was the gal who was looking for someone who is "drug and decease free." Well good luck with that. We all gotta go sometime, sister. I asked if she would she consider someone undead. Vampires like me are all the rage now. Granted, I'm not as easy on the eyes as Robert Pattinson, but I was pretty much decease-free as long as I stay out of the sun and Blade doesn't find me. Also, if she wanted to meet in person (preferably between 11 PM and 4 AM), she would need to promise not to break my heart, or even worse, plunge a wooden stake into it. Also, to get with me, she would need to like blood shooters, bats, caskets, and counting. A shitload of counting.

Then there's the person who posted that she was "board in St. Paul." Sweet. I told her I'm an 8-penny nail and I thought we'd be perfect together. I also hoped she wouldn't hold it against me that I lived in a small plastic bucket with 4,999 roommates. I was pure and had never nailed anyone else. If we hit it off and she let me nail her, she should know if I wasn't nailing her the right way, she could just pry me out and I'll try again, even if I'm crooked. If she got impatient the second time around, as long as I'm halfway in, she could always just lay the rest of me over sideways and it will still work, it just won't be as clean. I really hoped she'd consider a threesome with a Hammer, because it's really not going to work any other way. But let's face it, even the best screw needs a hand when it comes down to it. Sure, hammers are complete tools, but they're not bad as long as they don't try banging your thumbs all night.

But my favorite poster said she was into "roll play." Oh, me too. Especially hot roll play when I wrap myself in tin foil and make myself a baguette. If she wants to find herself in a sticky situation, I can make myself a super sweet caramel roll. I've even been told my sweat smells like Cinnabon. Or maybe we can switch it up and I can be a butter pat and she can be a soft croissant. Oh, baby, foccacia me hard!

Mendota pub hopes horeshoes livens up Super Bowl party

Super Bowl Sunday is all about throwing a good party, and it looks like Lucky's 13 Pub in Mendota has some special events planned that will knock your socks off. And your shoes (especially if you are a prostitute).

I'm normally not a plug lug, but when I saw the promotional poster for Lucky's Super Bowl tailgating lineup last week, I just couldn't resist sharing it.

Sure, they have hot dogs and beer, which is usually enough to get me anywhere, but Lucky's is all about the atmosphere for me. It seems like a 30s to 40s crowd with great food and 80s tunes always playing on the jukebox. The hottie servers are a bonus - My favorite shares the same name as that loaded lass from the Archie comics.

Back to the poster - The first thing that caught my eye was the frozen T-shirt contest. My friend Andy and I thought this was a Minnesota Winter version of a wet T-shirt contest. One of the managers assured us it wasn't. She explained it, but with a cool Grain Belt premium and a platter of nachos in front of me, I forget the jist of it.

Andy and I are both "big & tall" so we offered to be participants if she ever did a real wet T-shirt contest. After all, as far as moobs (man boobs) go, we have some of the nicest man racks around. I even had to warn our server "Hey, I'm up here" while pointing to my eyes to keep her from stealing glances at my hairy cannons. I feel so violated sometimes.

Anyway, I hadn't noticed it at first, but there was one event on the promotional poster that blew all the others away - Poor Man's Horeshoes.

That's right. Not horseshoes. Horeshoes. I guess poor men can't afford to buy a "W" on their wheel of fortune. The manager on duty claimed it was a mis-spelling. Yeah, right. I'm not missing out on the fun no matter what you say, honey. You put it in writing on a poster that I can throw some slut's shoes around, you better live up to it.

Reminds me of some folks down in a Florida retirement community trying to keep my Dad from playing Shufflebroad last year. Who wants to play shuffleboard once you've dangled the alternative carrot?

Same goes for horeshoes.

Hmmm, what could horeshoes entail? Throwing clear heels around a stripper pole, perhaps? That would be fitting since Lucky's 13 sits on the former site of the Mendota Saloon, an old locally famous "gentleman's" club.

So many questions come to mind when you think about horeshoes.

Just how much does horeshoes cost to play? Do you pay by the hour, or by the shoe? Either way, you would think it would be fairly pricey for a streetwalker to give up her walkin' shoes. Especially if they are those fancy hooker boots.

Is it a big insurance liability to have hookers running around a bar barefoot? What if someone breaks a glass? Maybe hook them up with some loaner flip-flops while their regular shoes are turning all those tricks.

Can you be arrested for playing horeshoes? Is asking a hooker to remove her heel so you can get a ringer considered solicitation? If I play horeshoes, do I need to change my name from Rocky to John?

I've heard of some funny versions of horseshoes, like the Redneck Games version where they throw toilet seat lids, but I'd still have to give horeshoes the gold medal for best original spin-off idea.

The questions keep coming... should I wear two condoms while playing horeshoes just to be on the safe side?

Does playing horeshoes come with a happy ending? If you have a really good time playing horeshoes, could you end up with Julia Roberts when it is over?

Normally, this whole thing would smell like some kind of vice squad sting, but I've been going to Lucky's for some time now and they've never "set me up" with anything other than awesome food and drinks. And as long as you just play with the shoes, it sounds like a fairly safe game provided you don't try to steal those heels. No one needs Guido The Killer Pimp chasing them on Highway 13.

Misfit Toys for 2007

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Pamela Anderson catches, releases Salmon

Wow, big shocker news today - Pamela Anderson filed for divorce from that Rick Salmon guy after just two months. It does make you wonder why she threw him back so soon. She barely had him in the boat.

Maybe Salmon got busted swimming upstream. Or maybe he just went after something like a spinner or shiner and got his mouth all tore up, then tried to act like it was nothing when he got home...

Snapshot 2 - Here's a Nu One For You

This furniture store in my historic St. Paul neighbor- hood is a real eye-catcher. It's a bummer it has been closed down since we moved nearby 5 years ago. Since "New" is only a three-letter word, I doubt the owners went with "Nu" to shorten the store's name.

It's all Greek to me. If their merchandise really lived up to the Nu name, chances are it was recycled frat house furniture. That means every item was injected to capacity with old beer farts, turning a Hide-A-Bed into a Nu Double Dutch Oven.

That also meant every piece had either been barfed on, peed on, or pooped on, not to mention all the countless drunken sexual acts, possibly including barnyard animals.

Like Nu I'm guessing was just their regular soiled goods line that came from non-Greek houses on and off campus. I don't have a clue who would want Like Nu over Nu. The stains aren't near as impressive in size, texture or lingering odor.

I assume the final nail in the business' coffin was when some fucking Nu guy had the hardly bright idea to have a zany black light sale one weekend to drum up business. But all it drummed up was a lot of previously unseen stains that would give a CSI investigator nightmares.

Now it's your turn: What special furniture might be on hand in this store? What departments might it boast? If you come up with enough ideas, maybe the owners will come out of retirement to steal them and re-open!

Saturday Snapshot 1 - Motel 7

For your weekend viewing and discussion pleasure, I am unveiling a new weekly series in my blog where I will take photo(s) of area landmarks and post them here for your amusement. There is no shortage of this kind of thing around Minnesota. We're weirdos and we're proud of it.

On a trek back to NoDak, The Rockette and I stumbled across a motel along the way that caught our eyes: Motel 7 (which I'm assuming is one step up from Motel 6).

The marquee sign out front boasts Wi-Fi and HBO as well as 70 TV channels. If they would have said they had, say, 3 pop machines we would have so stayed there! But is that enough to fill those vacancies?

Motel 6's famous slogan is "We'll leave the light on for ya." My guess is Motel 7's would say "We'll leave the vibratin' bed runnin' for ya."

What slogan do you think would sell Motel 7? What amenities might it have that I forgot to mention?

Get your geek on

All it took to rock the Rocky Road Scholar from hibernation was one sweet unsolicited email invitation. But why would anyone ask a 37-year-old, 340-pound married man to prom? Even something called Geek Prom?

Saturday's 2007 gala at the Science Museum in St. Paul marked Geek Prom's sixth year (second in the Twin Cities) and offered a chance for one and all over 18 to get their geek on!

But in the days leading up to the event, I still worried the email had to be a set-up. I was sure I would be greeted by some jailbait decoy holding a laundry basket, telling me to go wait in the kitchen and to help myself to the fresh pitcher of lemonade. Next thing you know NBC Dateline's Chris Hansen comes walking out with a TV crew asking me what the hell I'm doing there.

I'd try to tell him I'm there to go to Geek Prom. He'd scoff that I was trying to pass myself off as a geek when he has hard evidence that I'm only a nerd, dork or spaz at best, and that I am the latest perp in his new "To Catch A Wannabe Geek" series. I'd try to make a run for it only to be tasered in the front yard by the St. Paul Police and Ramsey County Sherriff's Departments.

My wife, The Rockette, assured me I could seal the Geek Prom deal because I still own several thousand comic books despite an almost constant sale on E-Bay of these childhood treasures. So I immediately invited The Rockette to be my date, since she never had the displeasure of going to an actual high school prom with me. We would travel via my 12-year-old piece-of-shit car (sounds just like high school!) and my mission for that evening would be to try and charm the pants off of her. And if that didn't work, try to Lucky Charm the pants off of her at breakfast.

I had the perfect attire to wear - A lime green sport coat with flourescent lapels and glittery sun and cactus decorative designs painstakingly made for me by a seamstress from a Fargo, N.D., trailer park.

Once we arrived at the event, I didn't feel overdressed. I blended right in with the train engineer, Darth Vader, the Nintendo freak, the Ninja, the pirate, and all the geeky girls.

One of the first chic geeks to catch my attention was that hottie from the Scooby Doo gang. No, not Daphne. Velma. Remember: I'm a geek.

It was nice Velma could take some time off from ghost chasing and solving mysteries to join the Geek Prom Committee. That gaggle of geeks did a fine job of taking this idea and running with it, plus it gave me another opportunity to wear my green jacket somewhere besides church.

I must admit while talking to Velma, I was overcome with the urge to knock her glasses off (gently and "accidentally", of course) just so I could watch her crawl around looking for them for a while, but my wife and two St. Paul police officers were standing a few steps away, so I refrained.

Fifteen minutes later, I spotted a lady with one of the most appetizing accessories I've ever laid eyes on. It looked just like a birthday cake, complete with the bulb-lit candles.

"I just love that hat," I said. "It looks delicious."

"Today's my birthday!" she giggled.

"Can I close my eyes, make a wish and blow you out?" I joked.

"No, but you can give me a kiss!" she said.

"I would love to lick your frosting, but I'm married. My wife is right over there ready to take our picture..."

I swear that jacket has geeky chick magnet super powers, but anyway, this lady's outfit took the cake for me - very clever. The only thing that would have made it better would if she would have come with a friend dressed as ice cream. That might have been enough to get me interested in a threesome.

After walking by cardboard cut-outs of Captain Picard and Spock, I met a real-life Star Trek security guard and warned him he would probably die that night.

"You know all the dudes wearing red ended up dead when they left the ship," I said.

"That's OK," he assured me. "I actually killed a guy for this outfit. He was on an away mission so that rule applied only to him. I just borrowed the suit for the prom."

He also boldy made his hair go where no Trekkie's had gone before with that Afalfa/Ed Grimley thing going. He also got my vote for most photogenic of the evening - check out that geeky pose!

Three beers later, a hazmat team had to be called in for an odor investigation. There were some complaints of some sort of hazardous gas by the cash bar. The Rockette pointed them in my direction, assuming the smell was one of my beer farts. Since there was no one dressed up as a dog nearby, I blamed it on Darth Vader, saying I overheard him mumble something about the "power of the dark side" and "a disturbance in the force" before the odor presented itself.

Later, I thought I ran into King Vitamin and was going to lodge a complaint on why his cereal and Quisp cereal are so hard if not impossible to find these days. What a geek I was. He was actually Eric Houston, the reigning Geek Prom King of 2006, there to relinquish his crown. He still posed for a picture with me despite my lack of celebrity identification skillz.

I wasn't totally off in that department though as a few moments later I spotted Ross Raihala, pop music writer for the Pioneer Press. Since I've lived under a rock much of the last 8 months, Ross' writings have kept me in tune with the local music scene, so I thanked him for that.

I also had the pleasure to meet Rex Sorgatz, of MNSpeak fame. Rex added my blog to MNSpeak's aggregator a couple of years ago and exposed my attempts at humor writing to a wider audience, so it was a pleasure to finally meet him in person. He's a very funny guy.

"I didn't really need to dress up because I work for Microsoft," he said. "I figure that's geeky enough."