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1/14/03 Front Page Features Advice from Gollum Ain't That America? Frank Haskins To-Do List: Rael Moth's Diary Travistan: State of Crisis! Info Archives Crap Shop Who's at Fault? Contact Us! |
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Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty! 
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| FRANK HASKINS |
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Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot, Give Frank Haskins the Auld Lang Shaft by Frank Haskins When you're Frank Haskins, New Year's Eve usually consists of passing out in front of the tube, covered in Cheet-o's crumbs and surrounded by empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans. The festivities usually conclude around 4:00 A.M., when I'm awakened by a phone call from one of my kids, who needs me to come downtown and bail them out of the County Hilton. So this year, after seeing a Tony Robbins infomercial, I decided to "take control of my life," and set an achievable goal for myself. I figured I'd try to jump-start my social life again, and get a date for New Year's Eve. So a "buddy" at work, the same asshole who steals my lunch out of the break room fridge every week, gives me the name of a "great website" for meeting eligible women. I figure, what the fuck, that's how my soon-to-be-ex-wife met her new beau, that anesthesiologist/bodybuilder guy with the BMW. Sure enough, in no time, I meet "Sheila" online and we've got a date for New Year's Eve. Things are finally looking up for Frank Haskins. So we meet at this place she likes. Already I'm getting fucked over, because it's New Year's Eve, so the place is serving us glorified TV dinners at white-glove prices. And I'm nervous because I haven't been on a real date since ex dumped me at my prom for the football team, so I'm pounding Boilermakers, one after another. Then I notice something on Sheila that shouldn't be on a woman: an Adam's apple. Suddenly, the whole night made sense: the name of the website where I met Sheila (www.bicuriousguys.com), "her" five o'clock shadow, the name of the place ("The Peter Principle"), and the place's house band, a tribute to Frankie Goes to Hollywood. By then, the Boilermakers caught up with me and the rest of the night was a blur. The next thing I remember, it's 1:30 in the afternoon, I've got a splitting headache and there's a single red rose on my nightstand. What a way to start the new year, as the Ned Beatty of the new millennium. And I'd like to offer a special New Year's message to Tony Robbins: You can suck my ass... as soon as it's less sore. (Reported by Miles Walker)
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