My Night Out & Garfing
Garfing and its various forms (to garf; garfed; garfer) were heard at dinner tonight. Dinner was
not at Mykonos, the Greek restaurant I've been meaning to try, because as I walked from the car to the door and looked in the window, I realized that my sweats just wouldn't cut it. Though the place was fairly empty, it looked sheshe (quit laughing - how do YOU write it?) and the clientele looked upscale. So, I walked back to the car and went to the Omega Pancake House & Bakery instead. (Omega - that's Greek, right? It counts.) The place was like a more upscale Denny's with better baked goods. I people-watched and smoked as I waited for dinner. A group of 5 guys came in and sat by me. Best I could tell from the subtle eavesdropping I did, garfing meant masturbating into a beer bottle. Some girl apparently drank some. One guy was telling the tale, and the others were laughing. Not uproariously so as to be obnoxious, but laughing really hard. They were having a good time. But I couldn't get a handle on them. There was talk of a priest, but these guys didn't look religious, if I may be so stereotypical. Hell, it's my blog, I'll be whatever the fuck I wanna be. The conversation then turned to 'bad' people. You're misguided if you believe Hitler; you're a bad person if you
are Hitler. I swear that's what they said. Now, these guys were tough looking - goatees, earring, denim jackets on one, leather jacket and shaved head on another...but they were talking about priests, and masturbation, and communion, and how fucked in the head Hitler was. I like paradoxes like that. I am one, often.
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