Michael's Texas Embrace

So me and Maggie, we're pretty hott, and it takes work to stay that way. So every now and then we exercise. You know, burn off the calories. We eat healthy sometimes, too. I cook some mean japanese food, and I usually have a veggie burger for lunch (that's what's hidden deep within my little brown bags I carry to work.) And exercise is good for the soul. Which is important, since after having people over to have fun, you always feel a little empty.

But there was a miscalcuation somewhere. We had some friends over to play games, and most people seemed to bring drinks this time, even though as a noble and well-prepared host, I had enough beer to cover just in case no one brought drinks. So now I have a crapload of beer in my fridge.

THE FOLLOWING IS A TRUE STORY....

After a long, hard day of supervising coffee pots I arrived home from work and played fetch with the dog. Mostly I was throwing the ball and then going to get it and throw it again, though, because the dog seemed to mainly be interested in eating grass. Disheartened, we left the playing field and returned home, both of us a little full on grass. I entertained the thought of working out, and then decided to open one of the six thousand beers in the fridge and play some music instead. It was monday, and I remembered that Keenan usually worked monday mornings, but he was gone. I poured out some of my beer for my fallen co-worker.

"Crap," I said, realizing I had just poured beer on the carpet. The dog darted around and growled.

Maggie came home and we had some macaroni and cheese. Which I'm sure is healthy. Then we decided to work out. So I worked out hard. Billy Blanks would have been proud.

After working out, I cracked open a beer to celebrate all the calories I had just sweated off. I mean, there's just so damned many of them. Beers and calories, that is.

"Damned right," The Angel Gabriel said. "Lots of goddamn beers and calories." His wings fluttered gently as he lowered the Golden Trumpet of the Lord to the floor. He opened a can of Pabst.

"Opening that seems like exercise to me," I said.

He laughed and picked up his trumpet. "Are we gonna blow or what?" he said, putting the horn to his lips and testing a B flat.

"Are you kidding me?" I said. "I've blown pretty hard my whole life." I picked up my tamborine and started shaking in 3/4. Lord, 3/4 makes me weep everytime, right to the end.

And Gabriel rolled up the scale, mellow and smooth, while the dog started comping some major seventh chords. And I shook it.