Set Your Blasters To . . . Fun!

I was in a cab on my way to meet some friends at a bar and chatting with my cab driver.  He was lamenting about there being no laser tag in Chicago.  Yes, a grown-ass man who is dying for some laser tag.  They have them in the suburbs because there are more kids out there, but I was telling him that if they had one in Chicago proper, it would need two things.

The sport of laser tag is perfectly integrated.  

1. Booze.  The thing about Chicagoans is that most any activity when coupled with alcohol suddenly becomes doable.  They have a place not far from me where you can learn how to paint, and it's always packed.  You know why?  Because you can bring your own wine, set it next to your easel, and paint happy, drunk trees.

2. It would need a fun gimmick of some kind, and I'm thinking "Star Wars."  Who wouldn't want to play Rebels against The Empire and dress as a bunch of storm troopers and Vader against Han, Luke, and Leia?  And Chewbacca!  Who among you would not put on a hairy wookie outfit, strap on a crossbow, and run around the halls of the Death Star, howling and shooting storm troopers in the face and balls?  And the bar in there could be the Mos Eisley Spaceport Bar!  A guy could drink blue stuff and cut off arms all night long in a place like that.

I swear to God, Greedo.  I will shoot you right in the green penis.

 The cab driver said that was a great idea and asked if I was in marketing.  "No."  I replied.  "I'm just a drunk who knows how to have a good time."

I was relieved to finally get a cab after a long wait for one at the airport and a long trip out of town, but I was soon wishing I had taken the train when my cabby launched into religious conspiracy theories.  This guy had some read doozies, and his off-the-wall explanations took the entire thirty minute trip.  As best as I can remember, It was about like this . . .

Dr. Ken: Hey, do you want to take the I94?  I think Lake Shore will be backed up from Lollapalooza.

Crazy Cabbie: No, it should be fine.  Hey, you know Lollapalooza's contract with Chicago will be up in seven more years?

DK: I didn't realize that.

CC: Yes.  And that's the year when all three of the major religions will start to become one.

DK: Fantastic.  It's about time we all got along.  But why that exact year?

CC: It's simple.  The year 2020.  Two plus two is 4, just like the three major religions (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism) and the fourth is for mankind.

(At this point I attempted to change the subject with no success)

DK: You know, cabbie, when I got that gin and tonic on the plane, I didn't get my little plastic sword to stir with.  Don't you hate that?

CC: And I'll tell you another thing, Obama better watch out next year when he turns fifty three.  Want to know why?

DK: I guess so, but maybe you should tell him, and not your customers because some customers might think this is all a little . . .

CC: Because JFK was 35 when he was shot, and Obama will be 53; the reverse!

DK: Uh oh.  So someone is going to shoot him?

CC: Oh no.  Shooting was already done.  This one will probably be from someone poisoning his food.

DK: Hmmm.  He had better have those Secret Service boys tasting his sandwiches just to be safe.

CC: Yes!  He should!  And then the next U.S. leader will be a hot white chick.

DK: Wow.  I'm all for that.  But can't you make her a foxy Black chick?  I like those.

CC: No sir.  A white chick.  And she will be the temptress attempting to lure 80 world leaders with her lascivious ways away from the big three religions.

DK: Well, those hot chicks can be convincing.

CC: But she will fail!  And then there will be 48 hours of darkness, and then the earth will spin in the opposite direction with the sun rising in the west and setting in the east!

DK: Hmmm.  I would think a drastic change like that that would kill everyone.

CC: No, what will kill everyone is when Jesus returns and sends down a great meteor that will take everyone's life, and everyone will be judged to see if they go to the after life.  But first Jesus will be here with us for 40 years.

DK: Wow.  I can't wait to see how badly the press will be hounding him.  He won't get a moment's rest.  That's probably what will make him snap and call his dad for that meteor.

CC: Jesus' return will be amazing.  I just hope that I live to see it.

DK: Well, I'm sure you're a good Muslim, so you'll get there.

CC: Oh yes.  I have been fasting for weeks now.

DK: Does that mess with your brain, all that lack of nutrients.

CC: Oh no.  My head is as clear as ever, and after a while you get used to fasting.

DK: Okay.  Well, I know when I get a little hungry I start getting a little . . . nutty.  Just take care of yourself, cabby.  Pull over right here, if you could.  This is my place.

CC: Yes, sir.  Have a good evening, my friend.

DK: You too.  And maybe stop off for a snack.  Me, Allah, Jesus, and even the Hot White Chick won't judge you.  You need your strength, especially with all these cataclysmic events right around the corner.  Good night.

We should all be naked for Judgment Day.  After all, that's how we all came into the world.  

The Frisky Cabbie

Something about me leads people to believe that they can tell me very random and revealing things about themselves, and I wish I knew what it is I was doing to illicit this because I would cease it instantly.

The other day my cab driver (I couldn't place his accent, but he was Caucasian in appearance)and I were exchanging a pleasant conversation, and then it took a turn for the . . . odd.

Dr. Ken: Are you married, Cabbie?

Cabbie: Yeah, 20 years now. Good woman. Good pussy, too.

D.K.: Oh. Congrats.

Cabbie: Yes, I'm 49 and she's 50. I think women get hornier as they get older.

D.K.: That's entirely possible. I haven't dabbled in women quite that long in the tooth. Yet.

Cabbie: Yeah, she's always wanting to have sex. I have to take Viagra to keep up. Have you tried Viagra?

D.K.: Not quite yet. How's it working for you?

Cabbie: It's great! I take one right near the end of my shift, and then I take another right when I get home. Then I'm ready to go, and the next morning, we can do it again!

D.K.: That's fabulous, Cabbie. You ever get one of those woodies that lasts for over four hours?

Cabbie: No.

D.K.: That's good. I don't imagine that's very . . . comfortable. This is my stop.

Cabbie: Okay, buddy. Try that Viagra!

D.K.: I just might. Give my best to The Mrs. You going to pop some pills and rock her world tonight?

Cabbie: You know it!

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Have you ever had a situation like that? How do people get a sense that I'm not easily offended, and in fact, welcome perverted conversations? How about you, Seven Readers? Do you ever run into people telling you goofy stuff like this?

Your Own Cabby

A few years back, I had a my very own cab driver named Moe, and people thought that it was strange. Actually, it was quite handy because he was able to pick me up wherever I was in the city. In fact, one time he even gave me passes to a nudey bar. I didn't use them, but I thought it very nice of him. Another time I convinced him to come in for a drink with me. There was a girl there who just about everyone who was watching told me that she really seemed to be digging on me, but I was more intent on making sure Moe was having a good time. Oh well . . .

Now my guy's name is Romeo, which is great because when I'm waiting for him, I can say "Romeo, Romeo. Where for art though, Romeo?" So far he hasn't let me down.

So, next time you have a cool cab driver, ask if you can take down his number. They usually appreciate the business, and you might even get a nudey pass out of the deal.