Friends

While I enjoy the wacky goings-on among a group of six good friends in their upper-east-side apartments, that's not what this post is about. It's about MY friends. I love my friends. After having tried to find people who don't look at me like I have a swastika burned in my forehead every time I make a joke, it's good to be around friends who already know about the swastika on my calf. Er... get my jokes. Whatever. You know what I mean. Anyway, I was just thinking that I only recently realized how good I have it with them. Most other people, or at least most other people I've hung out with this summer, don't have the same sophisticated sense of humor as we do. A perfect example of such highbrow humor came a few nights ago. We were all sitting down to a game of Texas Hold 'Em, when somebody made an offhand comment about the word "phallic" being very funny-sounding. Later, he said something else about "flaccid" being the worst word in the English language. For some reason, this sparked a nearly ten minute long debate over whether or not "phallic" was indeed a funny word, and whether or not there was a worse-sounding word than "flaccid." I tell you, people, you can't get much more sophisticated than that. No, sir. In fact, halfway through the argument, I lit a cigar and downed a snifter of brandy. Then again, I bet a quarter of the people reading this don't know what "flaccid" and "phallic" mean.