"There you go, Liver Breath," he said as he dumped the contents of a "wet food" packet into a bowl, where it was immediately slurped up by the eager cat. Moments ago, he was awakened by that very animal crawling onto his chest and meowing directly into his face, but he wasn't mad. Truth be told, he liked the thing. He'd always hated cats, but this one was impossibly cute and had a sweeter nature than the cats of his previous girlfriends; You could just look into its innocent face and see that it wasn't one of those selfish asshole cats. She was the perfect size right now, being almost full-grown, but still very kitten-like and playful. He'd half-jokingly told his lady that he'd like to slip some of that caffeinated water into her water dish, hoping to stunt her growth a touch.

Crawling back into bed, he nestled into a spoon with his sleeping lady, who's perfect, left, bare shoulder was poking out of the sheets. Looking past that shoulder, he could see the cat in the window sill, moving her ears to catch all of the morning's city sounds: A garbage truck backing up, at least two types of birds making distinctive calls, and a bus' recorded voice calling out "Belmont." The two of them eased back to sleep, both content with the comfort of the sounds, one with the woman he loved, and the other with her belly full of liver.

The Po Po's Can't Fade Me, Even If They Have a Hunky Eric Estrada Vibe

Let me preface this brief tale by saying that the City of Chicago seems to write an ungodly amount of parking tickets. It's staggering to think about how much revenue they get from this and where it all goes. Anyway, that's the little tie in to justify posting this on our Chicago related blog, but really it's an excuse to show just how awesome I really am.

On Friday, having just wrapped up a hellacious week of work, I drove my car directly to my girl's place, and parked it across the street. Now, it was around 5:20pm, the sign said no parking until 6pm, but I was feeling too tired and lazy to search elsewhere. Besides, what are the odds Johnny Law is going to come by in the next forty minutes, on a Friday, no less. When I got upstairs, I went right in for a long awaited, much needed hug from my girl. As I hugged away, something made me look out the window, and sure as shit, there was a damn cop strolling towards my car, ticket in hand.

I blurted out, "I gotta go." To which she said, "What?!" She had a tone that suggested I was leaving for good, but not even I have ever bolted out of a relationship quite that fast.

Down the stairs I went with a technique hitherto unknown to this area*, whereby I was running down the first four stairs or so, and jumping down the remaining stairs of each of the three flights. I made it to my car when he was about three steps away from sinking me fifty bucks in the hole. This conversation ensued as I opened my car door:

Cop: (With a thick Latin accent of some kind) Oh, you're smart guy, huh? You're watching to see if you get a ticket, right?
Me: Uh, yeah. I guess.
Cop: (Walking back towards his squad car, tucking his ticket away, speaking in a threatening tone, especially for a beat cop, meter reader loser) You keep playing the game, man. We'll catch up with you.
Me: Ummm, OK.

As I moved my car, I was feeling a sense of pride having outwitted the Latin Beat Cop, essentially saving myself fifty bucks, and evidently, really getting his goat.

Anyone else feeling above the law, not unlike a young, pony tailed Steven Seagal?

*Extra credit and a sticker goes to anyone who knows where that phraseology came from.

Hello? What the hell happened to this blog?

It Ain't No "Walk in the Park."

I drove by a "park" in a not-so-nice neighborhood today, there was a sign that said Such and Such Park, but behind that sign there was no baseball diamond, no see-saws or play equipment of any kind, just a field of dead grass peppered with drug dealers.

Chicago seems to be sinking everything into tourism and getting the Olympics here in like 20 years, and they are doing nothing to improve areas like this, which are everywhere, sometimes only blocks away from "nicer" areas.

How about this, if Mayor Daley wants to have the Olympics here so badly, why don't we say that if he can survive a night in Such-and-Such park, then he can have whatever he wants?

Partial List of Comments Made During Semi-Annual Meeting of the Liar's Club

Occassionally, we at the Liar's Club get together to discuss official business, like planning for the upcoming Pony Blegger (downgraded from a simple Blegger). But most of the time, nothing really happens at these meetings except drinking and bullshit. Below is a list of just some of the comments made by the Liar's Club through the course of the evening last Thursday at Cody's:

1. I love the poon. Yeah, I thought The Pooner was a serial rapist when I met him, but he's a good dude.
2. Who are all these douchebags in your photos?
3. There was partial chocolate lovin'.
4. I would rather have someone throw-up in my mouth than shit in it.
5. I haven't read The Liar's Club in about 6 months.
6. I need to get laid at the Pony Blegger.
7. This is the part of the conversation where I just concentrate on my beer.
8. I'd go to a culinary school where you only use Velveeta.
9. I can probably buy one baby for $500 and get a deal on two for $850.
10. There's nothing like a cheesy rod.
11. I can just retire now and collect my Poon Pension.
12. You have two chemistry tutors?
13. I never realized Jet Magazine was the size of TV Guide.
14. The tamale fairy has been here!
15. You know what kind of movies he likes? Lady movies.

Cubs Wristbands.

Each February my pal Jason and I do the same tradition we've always done since I've lived in this city... we go get our Cubs wristbands. Yes, you read that right. Cubs wristbands. I am a White Sox fan - but this tradition is more about the hope that Spring is right around the corner, and the smell of baseball season is in the air.

The Cubs are so popular (like the Yankees and Red Sox) and so is Wrigley Field, which means most games sell out, or good tickets are hard to find for an affordable price. So for the sale of single game tickets to the general public they do this sort of lottery system in which for two days they give out numbered wristbands and then on Friday morning at ass-early-thirty (6:00am) they announce on the radio the winning number. That number is first in line to buy tickets. Sure you can go online - but it is almost impossible to get through.

If my wristband number won I would buy tickets for the White Sox series and also good tickets for the Giants series. But I am never ever close. Last year my number was off by 10,000. It is just a fun thing to do during a lunch break to get excited about the upcoming baseball season. Go Sox!

This has nothing to do with Chicago, being that it's from a British game show, but it's damn funny. Besides, I was tired of looking at my last post. Come on, contributing Liars, post something, or I'll keep putting random things like this on our rag.