42.Unfortunately, that's not the anwer to the ultimate question of price per barrel, so some Titos ponder the issue with questions such as,
"Is it tough to hear news that oil prices are increasing? On one hand, great for business, job security etc.., but on the other, more at the pump at of your own wallet.
Where do you guys stand?"This was posed to Toonces and myself in our regular chain of aimless workplace correspondence.
Like I said, I'm a simple guy with simple thoughts, so here's some insight as to my view of the world:
My shiny red sportscar devoured half a tank (read $30 dollars) between Wednesday afternoon and Friday night. Ouch. Anyways, at roughly a tank a week at 60 bones, that's 3 grand a year in gas, which, if taken to be an assumed 30% above what it would be at $2-something a gallon, then I'm therefore out about 250 beers a year, which would be an extra 5 beers a week. so how does THAT make me feel? How about you subtract 5 beers from whatever you plan to drink at happy hour on Thursday and we'll compare notes on enjoyment levels.
What's the difference between a dog and a fox? About 5 pints.
After all, beauty is in the eye of the be[er]holder.
So, there ya go Tito. Rising gas prices keep me less disinhibited, which negatively impacts iffy sexual conquests, which ultimately leads to blue balls. Bet ya didn't see that one coming.
***
Other thoughts from my weekend: Talladega Nights was funny, but not on par with Old School. Maybe more of an Anchorman quality, but with less quotables and more ad-libbed humor. 'Walker' and 'Texas Ranger' are great names for kids. A viewing at Alamo Drafthouse added much to the experience.
Hoity Toity midtown clubs are not my preferred weekend entertainment venues, but Club Epic is pretty tight on headcount, so if ya beat the rush, you get the privilege of a 2 or even 3 to 1 ratio of sausage (who have to wait in line) to hot girls (who you can bet look good on the dance floor), which I submit to you is a 'good thing.' Beer's also reasonably priced for a place where Aston Martins and Bentleys are valet parked.
Deadwood rocks my world. Didn't bother to get dressed, put on my contacts, or see the light of day on Sunday due to a marathon catch-up on season 3. Shots of whiskey all around.
Shame and failure. Shame and failure.
Also, while at the beach, Tracy snapped what could either be a totally sweet, makes Brian look rugged and sporty picture, or alternatively, a Brian is out of shape and tired after trying to learn how to surf picture. In either case, I'm gay for posting it, but I figured you guys would enjoy it anyways. Cheers, you bastards.
