Into the Social Wild

I gave a taste of what was to come for this post in my last one, but as a refresher, I will be documenting the ass clown subset of the Denver social scene. For all of the attached pictures, ignore Hutchison and myself. We are in the foreground only as a cover.

The first offering from last post was a take on the ubiquitous, un-tucked, striped shirt. This phenomenon has already been documented quite well by the Phat Phree in best selling book Look At My Striped Shirt: Confessions of the People You Love to Hate. The link provides the first person account of said type. The poor soul pictured had a shirt that not only had stripes, but also circles and a blank panel.

Our second subject created much debate. We were not sure what category to put him in so I urge you to comment, no need to be kind here. With Deb manning the camera, we captured said "dude in a track suit" as he sat down to family dinner, not knowing that he was about to be disowned for being an asstard. You can see the look very clearly on Mom and Dad's faces. They know we know they know, but they have business to take care of.


As if it isn't bad enough he showed up in a track suit, looking like he just ran from something, sporting multiple "ballers", he had to take the next step.


Nothing says "I think I kick ass!" like showing a little chicken leg in a classy restaurant. Shortly after this shot was taken, "Little Brother" occupying the chair behind Brian, was sent home, secure in knowing that he would be receiving both his portion of the trust fund and his brother "Chet's" remaining $2.3 million.

We happened to walk out at the same time as this happy family after hearing Mom and Dad lay into "Chet" about what an expected disappointment he was. He walked them to their car, ending the evening with a heartfelt "Late", Mom getting in to the car as fast as possible, leaving "Chet" hanging, fist extended, no bump pending, before returning to the Land Cruiser he would soon be calling "home". He was too busy texting (his Ritalin dealer we suspected) to hear us mocking him loudly and mercilessly.

Dudley Dooright here walked in and out of the restaurant multiple times over the course of half an hour, staring at his "paci-phone" each time he walked in. I don't think we ever saw him sit down or talk to anybody, even though he had his choice of women in outfits put together seemingly blindfolded from a mixed up grab bag called "the closet".


It is possibly I am suffering the aftereffects of Saturday's ride, combined with Sunday's weather. The mind does crazy things when the body is trying to replace 4000 calories and recover from abuse. It is more likely that Denver (and many cities throughout the world) are full of goons.

In the interest of securing more wholesome entertainment, not involving ridiculing others, I gave Dempsey a bath so we could watch him run around the house like a dog possessed. He usually walks calmly around the chair to take his spot between the couch and the coffee table. As you can see below, he decided the magazine rack was his own hurdle to overcome, physically and metaphorically on the route to dryness.


His clean, fluffy, Pert Plus conditioned self got to sleep on the bed last night. I didn't sleep all that well, thanks cover stealer and brush your teeth after you get into the litter box.