Do you remember the hilarious tale of when the Park Central Hotel in New York ruined our honeymoon? Were you concerned because that there might never again be a post in which we detailed the exquisite misery caused by that damnable place?

Well fear not, because they managed to screw us again!

Yesterday, five months after our hellish stay at that demon pit, our charge card was hit with a charge of $485.65 from the Park Central Hotel. This was done totally out of the blue. Our pleasure was doubly intensified when another bill that we had paid was deducted shortly after this charge went through, causing our checking account to go into overdraft status, through absolutely no fault of our own.

I contacted the Park Central Hotel in New York and was graciously allowed to wait on hold and listen to elevator music for nearly 30 minutes before speaking to somebody. My mood at this point could accurately be described as ‘murderous’.

The manager I eventually got a hold of told me that this charge was the result of a billing tiff between the hotel and Orbitz regarding who should be forced to pay for our miserable stay there in December. Apparently the hotel found it appropriate to resolve this dispute by arbitrarily billing us $500 without notice, regardless of the fact that we already paid Orbitz for our stay and airline tickets last October. Sounds about right to me!

I shared my perspective on the situation with all the calmness I could muster. The manager told me he would contact Orbitz and call me back in ten minutes.

One hour and fourty minutes later, I finally recieved a call back. He told me that the issue had been resolved, and that the $485.65 charge would be removed from our card. The hotel wasn’t interested in paying the overdraft fees for us. I threw out a few ideas on where he could insert his index finger, and ended the conversation.

Now, as all of you certainly know, I am a calm, civil man with a placid demeanor. However, in this case I believe it appropriate to now call for merciless vigilante justice to sweep across the management of the Park Central Hotel, leaving nobody alive. I will lead a team of nude, marauding barbarians who will enter the hotel and start pulling employee’s arms out of sockets indiscriminately. We will cleave infants in two. In sum, we shall wreak havoc however possible and without remorse.

Who’s with me?

I love alienating new people.

On Sunday, Bridgette and I went to a barbeque with our friend Brent and his small group from another church. We knew Brent and nobody else, which is always a bit odd and awkward, which I of course enjoy.

Soon enough, the whole gang was up for a game of volleyball. Being overly competetitive and aggressive, I was all over this idea. My team consisted of me, Brent, a gentleman named Silas, and 4 girls who I didn’t bother to differentiate from each other. I quickly decided that our team’s name should be Sunshine Fistblood (Fistblood was my preference, but the Sunshine was added in deference to the high female quotient on our team). I began to loudly shout, “SUNSHINE FISTBLOOD!!” whenever the ball approached me, often diving unnecessarily.

When my teammates and new friends failed to exert proper effort, I berated them, screaming, “C’MON! THAT’S NOT FISTBLOOD VOLLEYBALL!!” I also attempted to get a team huddle happening after every volley, but it never came together. Sunshine Fistblood was in real need of some team spirit.

Bridgette, meanwhile, sat on the sidelines, cheering me on silently. She was in no way embarassed by my erratic behavior around these new people.

Finally, after screaming for 7 minutes at my team to show some damned hustle, I collapsed onto the sand from heat exhaustion. As the medics were starting my IV, I told my teammates that I hope they were happy about what they did to me, and called a curse down upon them to last until the end times.

Afterwards, they asked Brent to leave their group.

My sister Julia alerted me to this very important offer now available on craigslist:

The seller includes this note to go along with his wolftastic wares: It is of wolves, very nice, perfect condition. I also have a wolf touch lamp. These were a wedding gift that we just have no space for.

What do you people say we all go in on this one together? Who’s with me? We can each keep the sweet wolf touch lamp and oak-framed wolf loveliness for a week before passing it on to the next person. The way I figure it, we could each have our homes made significantly wolfier for up to 28 days out of the year.

I don’t know about you guys, but Bridgette and I are currently wolfless when it comes to our interior decorating. I don’t know if she’s noticed this, but I certainly have, and I spend upwards of 3 hours a day ruminating on that very fact. I’ll just say it – I’m a wolf nut. I like shirts and pillows with wolves on them. If you can’t accept that, then I hope that a wolf someday shows you its beauty before eating your intestines out of your belly.

Anyway, let me know how much you’re willing to contribute to the JLP Wolf Fund.

P.S. Do wolves fart?

It’s my wife’s birthday today!

I’m in big trouble!

Last year for Bridgette’s birthday, I proposed marriage. As birthday gifts go, it was a grand slam struck with such authority that the opposing pitcher cried out in shame and immediately fell on his broadsword upon the pitcher’s mound. That’s how good a gift it was. It was better than a diamond-encrusted lawnmower.

What am I supposed to do this year? How could I possibly follow that up? Why have I waited until the morning of her birthday to address these issues? Should my gift be the opportunity to race me in a 100-meter dash? Should I offer to involve her in a special birthday argument? Might I give her a check for $150 out of our joint checking account? Am I totally screwed here?

Maybe I could give her something homemade. Something like a pair of pants that I could make here at school out of construction paper and staples. Would she like that? Unfortunately, I just realized that I don’t know her size. Idiot!

I think that what I’ll do is try to run out the clock, so to speak. I’ll assure Bridgette that I definitely have a gift prepared for her, and that it is most assuredly the greatest gift that she has ever received in her life. I will then attempt to continue to change the subject all evening until we finally go to sleep and I am off the hook until next year. There is virtually nothing wrong with this plan whatsoever.

She better get me something awesome for my birthday though.

Is there some way that I can be put in contact with a credit card company of some sort?

I am interested in obtaining a credit card that will facilitate irresponsible spending and impulse purchases, but I cannot seem to find any information on how to acquire just such an item. Are these companies hiding from us? Is there some reason that they refuse to send out pre-approved offers for their credit? Why are they withholding their lending wares from us, the ever-interested consumer?

Given the silence of the credit card companies, I might as well be living in war-torn Sudan. I’d probably be better off if I were an African Muslim living in Khartoum, beaten and molested at gunpoint, than I am here in America where I can’t seem to find a credit card company willing to send me something. Is it too difficult to send 8oz. envelopes laden with glossy photographs and incomprehensible fine print? Would it be too much trouble to send me seven such items a day? What’s a man got to do?

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m a man of simple pleasures. I like my beer cold and my tibia intact. All I’m asking for is for a credit card company to send me a pamphlet informing me of their generous offer that I can complete over the phone by calling a toll-free number. Is that really so difficult? I feel like a fricking idiot over here!

Over the weekend, the Minnesota legislature approved the financing for a new Twins ballpark, as well as a football stadium for the Golden Gophers. In addition, they invited the Vikings to return next session with a plan for a new Vikings stadium. These welcome developments beg the question: what’s going to happen with the Metrodome? The dirty, dingy bubble-building has sucked the essence out of life for nigh on three decades. What will become of it?

Fortunately, I have a few helpful suggestions:

-Implode the building immediately upon completion of the third quarter of the Vikings week 8 matchup against the Kansas City Chiefs.

-Force Saddam Hussein to run the bases there until he suffers heart failure, then drop him from the ceiling.

-Use it as a warehouse for unsold “Rude Dog” clothing.

-House hurricane victims there, and then have the media report as fact a large number of wild, unsubstantiated rumors.

-Make it the home field for the Baltimore Orioles.

-House exciting alternative sporting events there, like a new version of American Gladiators where athletes mudwrestle monster trucks.

-Fill it with halfway up with milk, and drown a bunch of raccoons in there.

Any other suggestions?