Last night a high-ranking Ogle Mole texted me the following pic of Al Eschbach hanging out at Hooters by himself. If you had to sum up Al Eschbach in one picture, this would probably be it:
Hands on the table, sir. Both hands on the table.
So, quick admission. I’ve turned into the guy who likes to catch an occasional movie matinée by myself. I’ve been assured by several people that this activity isn’t too weird. I kind of enjoy it. The ticket cost less, and the theater is generally empty enough that don’t have to worry about crying babies or annoying teenagers ruining the film. Plus, you can check your phone without bothering anyone. As a “professional” blogger, that’s a bonus. Hell, I may go catch Zero Dark Thirty later today just for the hell of it.
That being said, I pray that being loner movie guy isn’t the first step towards becoming the old creepy guy who goes to places like Hooters and strip clubs by myself and talks to some slutty girl about my life problems and their “college studies.” Please please please don’t let it spiral to that point! Doing things like that are okay when you’re out-of-town on a business trip, but doing it in your hometown is as dirty and depressing as listening to Al Eschbach on the radio.
By the way, I made that mistake yesterday. It’s kind of sad how the guy just mails it in now. He used to be good in the 1980s. At least I think he was. That’s what my grandpa tells me. So I was driving home from Norman around 4pm and decided to listen to what they had to say about the Manti Te’o ordeal. It was terrible. After Jim and Al did their “which car dealership” are you at routine, Jim asked Al if he heard the big news. Al kind of played along and went into dated “jokes” about the girl’s name (Was it ‘Elvira’), where they met (Ever been to Singapore?), or something like that. You know the drill. Then Jim brought up Deadspin and you could tell Al really didn’t know what that was (Do they list dead people. Ever seen a dead midget?!). At that point I sighed and switched over to Lithium on XM. I think they were playing Kid Rock. Usually, hearing a Kid Rock song is the worst thing that can happen to you in a day, but at that moment, it was as clean, pure and refreshing as an Emily Sutton bubble bath surrounded by aroma therapy candles. By the way, I’m pretty sure Emily hates me now. You’re welcome, Moles.
Anyway, sorry about that depressing story and extremely long paragraph. If you have a funny caption for the photo, leave one in the comments. The best caption will win three of these:
Yes, you can win three of our trivia night pens. Awesome, right?
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