didn't happen at my house? Um, yeah. Guess what?
was naked. IN. MY. HOUSE. I get this phone call yesterday call from Mer that, while I was covering the fair, he stopped by after work, and they did it in the only room in the crib that I'VE NEVER DONE IT IN. Damn it. The cat is STILL traumatized.
SCENE: Outside a blue collar bar in Middle America, our three shitcanned heroes -- Mer, Zook and a man they call "Opie" -- drunk-dial Rebecca, who's languishing back east in Bensonhurst.
Mer: Here, talk to Zook and tell me if you don't think he sounds like Tom Arnold.
Zook: Heeeyyy, Rebecca, this is Zook ... blah blah blah ... I'm thinking about coming out to the Big City so I could visit CBGB's.
In the midst of attempting to charm Rebecca with drunken idle chitchat, Zook hands the phone to Opie. More drunken idle chatter ensues.
Opie: Blah blah blah ... Yeah, I work in the mill ... Blah blah blah ... Do you do anal?
Rebecca: NO!
Opie: Oh, Ok ... blah blah blah ... Do you sleep with girls?
Rebecca: answers the question affirmatively, but further description has been omitted to protect the poor sap that did it with her.
Zook (grabs the phone from Opie): Heeeey, Rebecca, it's Zook again, blah blah blah ... Jaycees ... blah blah blah ... Well, Opie and I are thinking about coming out there in the next few weeks ...
Opie (thinking better of the situation): No, man. I got tickets to (anywhere but Brooklyn) that weekend.
Zook: Blah blah blah ... Anyway, my lust for life has been restored ... blah blah blah ...
Mer (taking the phone away from Zook): So, Rebecca -- (starts singing All the Right Moves)
Opie: Hey! I love that movie! That's a great movie! It's one of my favorites.
Rebecca (to Mer): So, what are the Jaycees?
Mer: It's like the Elks Club.
Rebecca: Oh. Those things really exist in those places?
Mer: (laughing)
Rebecca (with a twinge of begrudging envy): Sounds like you're having a hell of time.
Mer: We gotta go.
Just as our heroes were about to hang up, the fourth shitcanned hero, Broad, stumbles out of the bar to take pictures and makes an astute observation:
Broad: Zook's got wood.
Mer (checking to see if Zook did indeed have wood): He does NOT have wood!
Opie: (laughs at the possibility that Zook had wood.)
Rebecca: I like that phrase.
And the four shitcanned heroes stagger back into the bar, where they finish their drinks and stagger across the street to another bar, but not before Zook asks to have his nipples photographed. The other three shrieked in horror, and the situation was averted.
Did I mention we're all in our low- to mid-30s?
Oh, whatEVER. 
