Underpants On The Outside

The scene: Me, Wonder Woman and my roommate Mary, who seriously needs a nickname.  We’re watching Entourage.  Wonder Woman, who lived under a rock while she was in law school, notes the credits at the end and says, “Wait, Mark WAHLBERG is the executive producer??”

I say yeah, he’s the producer; the show is based on him.  At this point, WW’s eyes roll so far back in her head I think she’s having a seizure.  I’m a half-second from jamming my wallet in her mouth so she won’t swallow her tongue when her eyes roll back down and I realize she’s not having a seizure; she just thinks I’m an idiot, full of it, or both.  

Luckily, Mary was there to confirm that I was right, so I went into my Victory Dance, a mixture of rump-shakin’, pantomimed ass-slappin’ and heavy amounts of white man overbitin’.  It felt terrific.  And then came one of those rare moments of inspiration; a moment when my wit and intellect…like…um…shit.  Where I say something fucking clever:

“Y’know why my dick hangs to the left?  BECAUSE THE REST OF ME IS ALWAYS RIGHT!”

Boom. 

I slammed the door, giving Wonder Woman and Mary some time to discuss my genius, but alone in my room the Victory Dance was danced yet again.  Oh yes.  It was danced.