THe FReCKLeD FINGeR

    So this past weekend was the 'kind of', 'sort-of' my birthday celebration.  I don't really care all that much for the day recognizing my heroic escape from the woman's abortion clinic.  No, I am more proud that I have made it to 24 years old.  I want to celebrate that, because after all, it is 2 years more than what the Tarot Cards said.

    What's the best thing a red-headed Irishman-person can do for their 24th birthday?  Get drunk with North Jersey men of some Italian descent, of course.  Animal Planet and science have named them 'guidios douchius maximus', or in layman's 'guidos'.  I was right smack in their habitat:  Hoboken, New Jersey.  You could tell the dominant male guidos were ready to drink and court, flaunting their maroon skin and dangerously spikey blowouts. 

    Mother Nature is a crazy woman, showing off her sense of humor in certain species she has put on the Earth.  For instance, the courting dance of the praying mantis or the mating call of the goose.  But the wackiest example of Mother Nature's silliness comes in the form of a guido's mating rituals of calls and dances.  They prepare themselves, and to the background beat of Bruce Springsteen's 'Born To Run', they puff up their chests, flip up their collar and ensue in the fist-pumping ritual.  Female guidos douchius maximus search for potential mates and choose based on the best maroon coloring, intensity level of fist pumping or the most elaborate use of a glow stick.

    When initially selected, the male will be taken to the nearest bar where the he must then impress her with his ability to take a Soco-N-Lime shot, and the lack of room in his shirt.  If she decides to mate with this male, he will finalize this agreement by giving her a black eye, allow her to use his gym card and fully compensate her for a month's worth of tanning salon visits.

It's a jungle out there.