1. Wednesday, May 8, 2002

    the assignment was easy 

    go to game two of the second-round playoff game between the back to back world champion los angeles lakers as they took on the tough as nails san antonio spurs.

    the only catch was we had to sit right behind notorious white slavery kingpin johnnie johnstone and covertly record everything that he would say during the three hour game.

    my unwitting accompliss was my former college roommate, and still good pal, sam.

    it was good that sam didnt know anything about johnnie – especially his nickname – because sometimes the untrained let things like that slip out and when you’re sitting behind the Milkman you dont want to have him hear from the two guys behind him anything regarding milk or he’d just get up and slither away.

    we got to the game early. loaded up on mcdonalds, beer and garlic fries. we didnt look at any of the girls because sam is married and i was on the clock.

    he was called the Milkman on the streets because if he got his hands on your daughter the last time you’d see her is on the back of a milk carton.

    he was a sick sick sad little man. smaller than i ever imagined, but who had a terrific looking mexican girlfriend who cracked up over nearly all of my jokes in the first quarter and i got a page from my buddy in the fake squad car telling me to take it easy on the comedy or she would turn around and check me out.

    so during the second quarter we pretended to be yokels. after taking out a second mortgage on my malibu beach house, i went for a second round of drinks and announced loudly to my buddy that i had just rented a pair of binoculars.

    the psychology behind this is genius, people. for if the Milkman ever had even a hint that the xbi was a mere foot behind him with a high powered microphone (and had just placed a tiny peice of chewed gum concealing a minature transmitter on the suspect’s Nike’s) he would forget such notions when the blow-hard started shouting out things like this to his buddy:

    “Hey isn’t that Shaq’s mom?”

    “Look his son has a Spider-Man action figure.”

    Sam said, “Forget the action figure, Spider-Man is a few rows away from us!”

    I said, nah, that’s Peter Parker.

    To which we broke into a spectacular accapella version of Run-DMC’s “Peter Piper”

    Now Peter Piper picked peppers, but Run rocked rhymes.

    Humpty Dumpty fell down, that’s his hard time.

    But was interrupted by another page telling me to “cut it” cuz the girlfriend was singing along with us.

    Now little Bo Peep cold lost her sheep

    and Rip van Winkle fell the hell asleep.

    CUT IT! screamed the voice from my inner earpeice. so i punched sam’s shoulder and handed him the binoculars saying, “Isn’t that Rocky?”

    “yo Adrian!”

    and when we saw Jack with the Waterboy going over a development deal, i said, “God he looks scary with that beard.”

    and sam said “sure does, and he’s with the red hot chili peper guy.”

    i put down the binoculars when i saw joel brand walking behind Spidey. that bastard gets everything!

    since i have had requests to tell more of the truth in here, i will tell you that we did not arrest the Milkman at the game, he slipped out in the middle of the third quarter.

    but i did happen to get a nice lead.

    seven very sassy numbers from a sinful seniorita.