CHRIS COEN

Upon entering the main area, I noticed a stage for the main perk – a concert by Tone Loc!  (You know, Funky Cold Medina and Wild Thing…from 1989ish?)  They also had a beer station and food vendors.  What food?  Obviously a burrito cart and coffee stand, because nothing goes great pre-race like a 1600 calories of grease washed down with caffeine.

A lot of people dressed up also.  I saw a ton of super heroes, movie characters and cartoon types, but the clear winner was a guy and his girlfriend in full He-Man and She-Ra outfits.  He even had the awful fur speedo thing He-Man wore, which was frightening to even glance at, but it was pretty authentic.  By the power of Greyskull, I unleash my beanbag!

Then came my turn.  This part sucked the worst.  We filed in like animals to a human corral and were blasted by the sounds of Katy Perry and Lady Gaga.  Nothing says storm the gates of Hell like Teenage Dream, after all.  More of a stab in the balls was the megaphone pump you up guy.  I wanted to run just to not have to listen to him anymore.  He had the strip club announcer cadence and worked “hell” into everything like Smurfs use smurf.  “Hey there, hellians!  Give me a hell yeah!  Are you ready for some Tone Loc?  Give me another hell yeah!”  Give me a stick to jam in my eardrum.  One for you and one for Bad Romance.  That’s better.

I had never ran a distance race in my life until last weekend.  In fact, in high school, my coach wanted me and my buddy Ship to run a 400 meter dash and we told him we would rather quit the team.  Well, then the amazing metabolism of youth ran to the hills and I went from 185 lbs. of athlete to 209 lbs. of college has-been in about two years.  Of course, the unlimited food of cafeterias and drinking like I was on commission didn’t help.  So I started running.

I got talked into signing up for the Hell Run, a 3.15 mile outdoor obstacle course by my lady.  No problem…however I did let her know I had absolutely no problem taking her out if it got to the end of the race.  Pre-race I got a cape I’ll never wear, a medal I may possibly maybe display (probably not) and a t-shirt.  I will probably wear that – it’s pretty normal looking.  Nothing is worse than a free shirt that sucks.  I got one once that was sky blue with green lettering.  Ironically, it was for volunteering, which I promptly donated to a Goodwill.

Then we walked in and saw the lunatics running in this race…

I just sold a dresser and night stand on Facebook in 20 minutes and I had three others interested before the transaction was final.  This will go down as the greatest online business deal in my life since I got the Secret Wars Captain America action figure for $4.  Yes, women love me.

It hasn’t always been roses.  I once sold a piece of crap 48″ big screen projection TV on Craiglist.  I had 12 people interested, three called me, two no showed for the supposed purchase (in which I sat around for hours waiting) and the lucky winner showed up with only $40 – which was interesting, because he agreed to pay me $50.  Oh and I had to carry down the stairs alone, because he had a “back problem.”  I spit in the back of his van when he wasn’t looking.  Have fun scraping that loog off the side in two years when you find it, Dr. Sweatpants.

The worst, though, was this young lady.  She called about the TV and asked where I lived.  I told her…for six painful minutes.  She lived 20 minutes away, but she had the directional sense of a toddler on a sit n’ spin.  It’s kind of hard to explain directions when someone who lives two miles from a major highway has no idea how to there, let alone to my condo, which to her was El Dorado, the lost city of gold.

What made her the worst, though, was the fact she called me back.  Four more times.  Amazingly, she never remembered that she had called me before and asked every time where I lived.  On the fifth call, I lost my mind.  “Where do you live?  I want to see the TV.”  “No.  You live on the north end by the mall.  You don’t know how to get to 270 and we’ve had this same conversation five times now.”  “What?  You’re kind of rude!”  “Yes, I get that way when people sniff gas and forget they’ve called me five times in six days.  Don’t ever call again, I set the TV on fire.”  “What?  Fuck you!”  Yes, fuck me.  For ever answering your call the last four times.

I saw a story about Madonna’s recent concert in D.C.  She took a break between songs to announce if Obama won the election, she would take her clothes off onstage.  This would be nice if it was 1989, but sadly, Madonna now looks like Wendy the methwhore from Breaking Bad.  Somewhere, Mitt Romney is doing backflips.

She then said Obama was a black Muslim (which is what his opponents say sometimes) and he supported gay rights.  Funny, I didn’t know being Muslim was a ringing endorsement these days, what with the whole 9/11…and Fort Hood…and underwear Detroit bomb attempt…and U.S. ambassador assassination…you get the point.

Also, since when do Muslims (which Obama is, according to his words, not a Muslim) support gay rights?  Last check in America we debate gay marriage vs. civil unions vs. no gay marriage.  In Iran, they debate whether to behead the gays before or after the whole throwing rocks thing.  I’m Ahmed and my opponent is against beheading after stoning!  Four more decades!  Four more decades!  In other news, Romney just hired Madonna to campaign for Obama with Hank Williams Jr. and Karl Rove.  I don’t care what side you’re on, but hey Madonna – your crowd is 87% gay men.  I think your side is covered.  Shut up and lip sync “La Isla Bonita” like they paid $150 a head to see.  I’d rather be beheaded than listen to either your tunes or your opinions, but that’s for another time.

I was a little late to game, but this show is just fantastic.  It has also told me some important lessons in case life goes south and I need to cook meth!

– People that don’t talk much are psycho killers.  People that talk a lot are lawyers and ghetto white methheads.

– Your wife may be upset if she finds out you’re a drug dealer.  Keep it on the DL.

– Hydrofluoric acid helps clean up messes.  Just make sure you have the right container.

– Regularly maintain and upkeep your roving meth lab.  It’s a hassle when your drug filled RV breaks down in the desert.

– Brush your teeth, kids.  Or just don’t do meth.

– Don’t be a hassle to your drug kingpin boss…or anyone involved in drugs.  If you break this rule, hide all box cutters, sledges, guns, ATM machines and/or Pontiacs.  Or run like the dickens…forever.

I saw a story last week about a man/idiot who jumped a railing at the Bronx Zoo to “be one with the tiger.”  Amazingly, the tiger mauled him when he tried to pet it.  The hell, you say.  Unfortunately, the tiger must have been full, because it didn’t eat him and they actually had to save this asshole.

What’s amazing is the reporter covering the story found this maniac’s Facebook page saying how he wanted to be one with nature.  After the mauling, he said he was happy because he got to pet the tiger.  I feel like he needs some help.  Everyone knows tigers are more friendly if you cover yourself in a meat suit, like Lady Gaga.  Oh, and make sure you poke it with a sharp stick first!  Then all will be well and the world has one less moron.