My Great Massage Parlor Idea.

I have a lot of really great ideas. Trouble is most of them are terrible. The ones that aren't terrible however, are really great.

The trouble with that is, usually I will come up with a great idea while I'm driving, or pooping or something, and by the time I have a chance to write it down I've started thinking about boobs or I've seen a puffy dog or I've heard a weird noise in the woods and I've forgotten all about it.

This was not one of those times.

Here's my idea, and by reading about it you have implicitly agreed not to steal it. It's a massage parlor called the "Happy Ending Massage Parlor." There would be a big neon sign, and around the sign would be pictures of half naked ladies and hearts, and X's and O's and other fun things like that.

The name alone ought to be enough to keep the place packed for a good long time, like forever. But then I'd hire a "Hype Man" to run around the Metro area and tell people that if you got the right masseuse, you could actually opt for a happy ending with this girl who was the hottest girl in the world, or at least in the South Metro. We'd call her "Jasmine" or "Diamond" or "Yuki" or something, and she wouldn't actually exist, but the Hype Man would perpetrate that myth until it was saturated throughout the city.

(Side note: I know this works because when I was a kid there was a legend that these two mean bullies named "Jess and Joe" lived behind the Holiday Gas Station on Excelsior Blvd, and if they saw you at the gas station, they'd kill you, or take your bike. We were all scared to death to go there as kids, and I'm still a little leery going there now even though, to the best of my knowledge, Jess and Joe were figments of somebody's imagination.)

Anyhow, at the same time the Hype Man was spreading the word about the magical prowess of this girl, he'd be immersing himself in the Marijuana culture (so everyplace again) that the name of the establishment carried a secret meaning. Happy Ending Massage Parlor. HEMP. He'd say you could get discount pot here if you bought a year long package of "Happy Endings" and said the magic password that nobody knew, or something similar.

Meanwhile, we'd run the business completely by the book and just let the word on the street become part of the overall folklore of the place. I think it wouldn't matter that Jasmine didn't exist or that weed wasn't part of a long-term package. The overall ambiance of the place would have an illicit, Vegas-y feel to it, except it would be in boring-ass Minnesota where there is a decided dearth of illicit Vegas-y things.

People will come Ray! Oh yes, people will most definitely come! Now all I need is a wealthy dowager or lottery winner, or just somebody with money burning a hole in their pocket to be my financier, because I'm not taking any chances just in case everybody around here is a big, gay nerd.

Seriously, this is an awesome idea. Call me and give me money now.

Brian Has an Itch

You know what sucks? Did you ever get a really bad itch in a spot you can't get to? I hate that.

I don't just mean an itch in the middle of your back or something that your arms can't reach because in a pinch you can always just sidle up to a wall corner and itch your back grizzly bear style. It's different than that.

It's like my bones itch sometimes. About once a week I get a really bad itch right on my left ulna, and I can't scratch it because I can't touch my bones because of all the arm skin. It makes me angry. Angry Birds angry. But not angry enough to rip off my flesh and itch my arm bone. So I just have to wait for it to go away. Waiting for an itch to go away is like waiting for Jehovah's Witnesses to leave your doorstep when you're naked and trapped downstairs and all your clothes are upstairs and you live in a split level house so the only way to get upstairs is to walk by the door where the Jehovah's Witnesses will see that you've been ignoring them and they'll also see your Wang. It sucks.

But even worse than having your bones itch is when you have an itch in a really inappropriate place. What do you do then? Have you ever been out in public when all of a sudden you get a really bad itch right in your butthole? I was at a Timberwolves game once when all of a sudden my butthole started to itch really bad! If I had been at home, I would have just itched my butthole, and then probably washed my hands. But you can't just start itching your butthole in front of 10,000 people unless you are:

a.) 2 years old
b.) Clinically insane
c.) In a big war

I did not fit any of those groups perfectly, so that meant I just had to sit there with an itchy butthole while my son ate Cotton Candy and Snow Cones for dinner and spilled all over himself. It's difficult trying to cheer for any team while your butthole itches.

Maybe it's just me who has these issues. I don't know.