Strangeness abounds

I often find myself in odd situations. I'm a weird magnet. I don't know why; I'm completely normal.

*snicker*

Seriously, though, my life tends toward lunacy.

Example: I just spent the last twenty minutes drawing a stereotypical Italian pizza man on a pair of little boy's size six Hanes briefs.

Oh yeah-lunacy.

The reason I just spent the last twenty minutes drawing a stereotypical Italian pizza man on a pair of little boy's size six Hanes briefs is because I was asked to do so by my boss' wife. See, they have a son, Joey, who they are trying to potty train.

He's sixteen.

Just kidding. He's going to be three years old this weekend. Like all children (and some midgets) he's resisting using the terlit like a "Big Boy." He prefers crapping in his pants. This must stop, or he will never get a date to the Prom when he's older.

Picture this:

"Oh, Joey, thanks for the lovely corsage!"

"No problem."
"And may I say, you look quite beautiful in your dress."

"Thank you!"

**Pfffftttssshhhhlllliiiitttggghhh!**

"Oh my God, what was that?!?"
"What is that smell?!?"

"Oh, I just shit my own pants-no biggie."

That would be one short Prom date, for certain.


Joey is obsessed with the pizzeria in which I work. His Mom brings him in several times a week and he's as happy as a pig in shit to put on an apron and make a complete mess while "making pizza." Oftentimes, he does this while walking around with a diaper full of his own shit. "Pig in shit" indeed. He loves the pizzeria so much, his folks even had a custom, child-size Anthony Franco's shirt made for him. It looks just like our "official" shirts, only, you know, tiny.

So, Joey's Mom had the idea to ask me to draw our "mascot" on a pair or two of children's briefs, thinking that perhaps it would inspire the little shit machine to wear Big Boy Pants and Drop a Deuce in The Toilet instead of in His Own Trousers. A decent idea, I suppose.

Being an agreeable sort of fellow, I agreed to help out. So, later that day, Joey's Mom presented me with three brand new (thank God) pair of little boy's size six Hanes briefs. The drive home that day was the longest mile and a half of my life. Three pair of little boy's size six Hanes briefs on my passenger seat. Explain that to the Police at a routine inspection check. I felt creepy. I would've stashed them under the seats or something, but that felt somehow even creepier. "None more creepy."

Upon returning home, I immediately placed the three pair of little boy's size six Hanes briefs in a desk drawer, just in case I had company that night. I wasn't about to leave three pair of little boy's size six Hanes briefs in plain view. Explain that to a one-night-stand. No thank you.

So, now I had to draw our "mascot" on this kids undershorts. Our "mascot" is some random, standard-issue pizza chef guy (probably used by several hundred pizza joints throughout the U.S.) with the floppy chef's hat and apron, carrying a comically oversized pizza on a big, flat spatula. Having failed in my quest to find a "cloth marker" (I'm not even really sure if they exist-but I think I remember seeing them somewhere. [Honestly, my "quest" consisted of me wandering the marker section of Staples for three minutes, then giving up. I'm sure I could've found the fabled "cloth marker" at a hobby place, like Michael's or something- but I'm lazy. So lazy.]) I decided to work in my preferred medium-Sharpie.

I'm not a very good artist, but after two attempts on scrap paper, I felt ready to give it a shot on the undies. ("Give it a shot on the undies"-ick. I should change that, but I won't. It's too funny.) I must say, it came out pretty good. The Sharpie wasn't the best tool for the job, and the ink "bled" a bit, but hey, it's not my usual style.

"Yes, I work exclusively in Sharpie on little boy's size six Hanes briefs."
"I have a showing of my pieces at an art gallery in New York next week."

Ick.

I only did one pair, because I'm a busy, busy guy. Honestly, I only did one because I know I can do better, and tomorrow I'm going to hunt, find, and purchase the elusive "cloth marker." I'm sure little Joey will dig the pair that I drew on. Three-year-olds aren't exactly Art Critics, but my inner "artiste" now feels challenged to top my previous effort. I demand Perfection!!!

And bourbon.

I demand bourbon.


There you have it, just another example of the tiny bit of weirdness that permeates my day-to-day existence. If anyone is the least bit curious to view the results of my labors, e-mail me (hendricks65@msn.com) and let me know-I'll post a picture.

Perhaps next time, I'll regale you all with the tale of the time I was painting a "flame job" on a vibrator for a ladyfriend of mine, and my mother walked in. That took some 'splaining...