But could I read my list?  No, those damn Jehovah's Witnesses were at it again!  I opened the door and ran my fingers through my greasy hair and over my three-day beard before I mumble, "The hell you want?"  The elderly woman just gazed on in silent horror, handed me a copy of The Watchtower, and shuffled back to her car.  I asked, “What's her problem?” to myself as I stood on my front porch, scratching my sweaty testes through my discolored three-day old underwear.

The first thing on my list was a nasty paragraph on my total lack of lawn maintenance.  I don’t see why -- the grass was the greenest that it had ever been, and stood at a lush eighteen to twenty-four inches, along with vibrant wildflowers every color of the rainbow.  All and all, the lawn was looking pretty good for a change, except for those numerous brown patches -- but they add character to the lawn, giving it this camouflage pattern that no one else on our block had.  I was also asked to put the wheels back on my sister’s car.  I was like, “Screw it man, not my car.”  Speaking of cars, I still don’t know how I got my car stuck in the creek.  Granted the current is light and the water is a mere foot deep, I probably ought to get it out of there soon.  But lifting a Geo Tracker out of a body of water isn’t a one-man job, and all of my friends were too busy with work or spending time with their kids to help me out.

At the bottom of the list, my bitch sister scribbled in “Find a job” in big, black letters.  I don’t know what she’s talking about -- I have a job -- I’m a writer, damn it, and as soon as I write a manuscript and get published, she will be groveling at my feet, envious of my vast material wealth.

Setting the list aside, I thought that there was nothing for me to do today.  I logged onto the Internet, but all my subscriptions to porno pay sites were canceled due to my bad credit.  So then I start calling up old girlfriends.  That went over poorly since Bettina got married and Heidi wasn’t home. This kind of bothered me, because I need to take someone to the five-year reunion.  Then I realized what would really drop some jaws.  Drew Barrymore.  All I had to do was get her to come with me to my high school reunion. Of course this proved difficult, since I didn’t have her phone number, and 1-800-US-SEARCH wouldn’t find her for me because of my aforementioned bad credit.

Seeing that there was nothing for me to do at home, I decided that I deserve a day on the town.  Lots of good novels were based on real life stories, so it’s my job to go out and find adventure.  Besides, The Edinboro Hotel Bar was having a half-off special on mixed drinks, and I might bump into someone I know and get them to come along with me.  I get turned down by most of my regular barhopping buddies nowadays.  Alabama Slammers are so good, but so expensive, that’s why it’s nice to go with a friend.

Of course, I didn’t know how I’d get out of the house.  I can’t walk downtown -- that’s like, three miles or something, and since my car was in the creek, my sister’s car didn’t have any wheels, and my bicycle needed a new chain, I quickly found myself digging through the neighbor’s trash.  It was nothing out of the ordinary.  It was just an ancient 18” bright red banana bike, which they bought at a garage sale.  I don’t see why they were throwing it away; it was a perfectly good bike except for the bent frame.  I had to rut through their trash real incognito-like too.  I apologized to the kid’s parents after I backed over him on the way back from that killer party at Marty’s.  I even tried to drive the kid to the hospital, and I would have gotten there too if the pigs hadn’t pulled me over and made me walk in a straight line.  I swear I wasn’t drunk though.  I was just really tired.  Tired and dizzy.  Tired dizzy, and nauseous.  Yeah, that’s it.

The Hotel Bar doesn't really get busy until 10 PM, so I need to find a way to kill ten hours.  Since I have a child's bike to cruise around town with, it's time for me to make a run to the State Store, after I put on some shorts.

I always have to walk around the state-run liquor store, I just can't get my blend and run, I have to appreciate the beauty of the place.  It's like Shangri-La in there.  I saw the most incredible German red wine.  I couldn't make out too much of the label (being German and all), but it was about ten years old, and of the highest quality (Qualitätswein mit Prädikat).  I also couldn’t make out the exact winery it was made at (being in German and all), but it was from the Franken wine region. Franken wine comes in Bocksbeutel (“Ram bag”) bottles, which are modeled after the ram scrotum bags that were used to carry wine. Sadly, until I become rich and famous I'm on a budget, so it’s another Chateau de Thunderbird for me.

After I bought my blend, I rode around town looking for something to do.  That was futile, so I decided I'd get some money from the ATM across the street.  I needed to act quickly, too.  My last couple of checks were about to clear the bank, so I needed to make withdraws before all the money was gone.  Overdraw fees aren't too bad, are they?  So I start out across the street, and this dude doesn't even look up, granted I wasn’t in the crosswalk, but he still should have yielded.  So, this guy nearly kills me -- he had to swerve out of the way.  Unfortunately, "out of the way" means smashing into Parker's Framing Gallery.  I hopped back on my bike and bolted, 'cause everyone knows that Edinboro is the land of asshole cops.

I rode out of the business district and into the park, and took the red gravel trail down to the lake so I could hide from the fuzz and buy me some time.  Since I knew the cops were looking for a dirty half-naked drunk on a kid's bike, I just needed to change my appearance.  I heaved my bike into the lake and found me a sweet one-armed dress shirt in the trash can.  I also absent-mindedly threw my empty bottle into the plastic recycling bin, but fished it out so I could put in the glass-recycling bin.  We all need to do our part to save the Earth.  Unfortunately, I couldn't find which of the cans was for puke though, so I made sure my puke was distributed evenly among the three.

I walked out of the park, and saw the cops on the other side of the street giving a hard time to everyone riding a bike.  I tried to act nonchalant as I walked home, which is a lot easier to do when you don't have to keep touching your nose.

As soon as I get back onto my street I see one of the neighbor kids practicing his nifty wheelies and flips on his bike.  "Yeah, he thinks he’s cool, but I can drink a whole pitcher of Iron City under sixty seconds, lets see that little bastard try that!”  I say as I walk into my house.  As soon as I open the door, my mom shoves the list in my face and starts screaming at me about being a worthless freeloader.  I don’t know what she's talking about -- I have a job -- I’m a writer damn it, and as soon as I write a manuscript and get published, she will be groveling at my feet, envious of my vast material wealth.