So anyway, I heard these noises and got freaked out that the bossman was using his office for a little nighttime nooky with that new chick that sits in Tony’s seat every day. Not wanting to get caught, I dropped down and started to army crawl over to investigate (I got a Private Investigator license so I’m allowed to investigate anything I want, suckers). As luck would have it, there wasn’t anybody in there. Turns out that the noise was coming from inside Michael’s big furniture cabinet thing. So I opened the cabinet door, half expecting a cat to jump out at me. Usually when I open cabinets or closets or anything, cats end up pouncing on me. For some reason, cats find me very attractive.

Nothing jumped out at me, but I could hear the rustling pretty close to the ground, so I bent over and figured out that it was coming from the safe. For a second, I just stared at it, wondering what could be inside. Then I realized that I had been saving up Michael’s safe combo for this very occasion. Well, this occasion and whenever I needed some cash, but that’s beside the point.

I went over to my computer and looked back at my previous entries of this thing. Apparently I wasn’t too good with my record keeping because the numbers were kind of off. I ended up trying out every combo I wrote down and you know what? I didn’t get it right until the very last one I tried. The good news is, I got it open and you’ll never guess what was inside.

No, it wasn’t a cat, smart ass. It was a squirrel! I don’t know for the life of me why that guy had a squirrel in his safe, but I do know that I got me a new pet. And I’m going to train it. Right now I’m calling it Butthead, but I’m open to suggestions for new names if you got any. In just a few months, I’m going to have the best trained squirrel in Pennsylvania. I’m also going to blackmail Michael because I’m pretty sure it’s against the law to lock a squirrel in a safe. False imprisonment or something.

Everything’s coming up Creed!

From the instant my sticks hit that metal, I was hooked. I pounded out beat after beat, dancing and singing along. I loved it. The music jumped into my body like a venereal disease from a hooker. I stayed in that factory for hours and hours just banging away. The next day, I came back and started right up where I left off. I made up songs about everything: jump ropes, corn, beaver skin hats. Nothing was off limits.

About a week later, I saw an old man playing a beat-up guitar on the street. I watched him for a while, trying to learn what he was doing as I stood there. After about an hour, he said he had to go to the can and asked me to watch his instrument. I gladly agreed. When he left to go to the bathroom, I snatched the guitar and ran all the way to the factory. It was the first thing I had ever stolen and on that day, I said to myself “Music and thieving are going to be the biggest things in your life” and you know what? They still are.

Music has been a part of me ever since. Not a day goes by where I don’t tap out a rhythm or pick up my axe and play a lick or two. If you cut open my veins, I’m fairly certain that quarter notes would come tumbling out. I can’t imagine my life without music and I don’t want to.

Anyway, those jerks won’t tell me anything, so I’m making up my own words and phrases. This is my street dictionary and I’m not even charging for it. Just don’t tell the kids in the library, okay?

Keep it bowlin’ – Everyone likes bowling, so this is a phrase for when you want to tell someone to stay positive. For example, if someone tells you they lost their job, you can just tell them to keep it bowlin’ and that’ll cheer them up.

Ploppers – This means bad. “Did you see that movie last night? It was ploppers.”

Horribly obese – I’m taking this one from the library kids. They say things are fat all the time, so I took it a step further. In this case, it means the most beautiful ever. If a foxy dame comes walking in, you can call her horribly obese. I think it might take some time before it catches on, so use this one with caution because some broads may not have heard it yet and could take it the wrong way.

Willy fingers – Perhaps the hardest to explain, but you get willy fingers when you really want to fight someone. “When my boss was yelling at me, I really started getting willy fingers.” Your fingers start moving real fast and itching because they want to hit something – that’s the willy fingers.

Those kids are going to regret not letting me in on their lingo. My slang’s going to take over the nation and there’s nothing those idiots can do to stop it. Keep it bowlin’, people.

We’d start out with a bang, and by that I mean I’d fire off a starter’s pistol so people knew the party actually started. The very first event of the party would be Bobbing for Creed Shots. I’d fill a large kiddie pool with Creed Juice -- a mixture of kool-aid, Pop Rocks, and grain alcohol -- and throw some shot glasses in there. Then everyone has to lean in, grab a shot glass with their mouths, and take the shot. It’s messy but it sure gets things started right. If you’re not drunk after Bobbing for Creed Shots, you’re not playing right.

So after everyone’s good and sauced up, I’d break out the piñatas. The key to piñatas at parties is naming them. If you name them after co-workers, you know people are going to really get into it. I’m not so great with names, so I’d let somebody else do the naming, but trust me, they would all be named. As for filling them, that all depends on the budget. If there’s no dinero for the piñatas, then I’d fill them with dry rice. If there’s a little cash around, then I’d go for hard candy. With hard candy, you get the fun of seeing the piñata burst AND the injuries that go with it.

After piñata time, we’d go straight into the eating contests. I’m partial to deviled eggs for quantity, but I know hot dogs are pretty popular these days, too. I’d compromise and make hot dog omelets for everyone to scarf down. I’m pretty sure I know who’d win, but you never can tell – sometimes the smallest accountants make the biggest eaters.

When the party winds down, I’d do another round of Bobbing for Creed Shots and then send people on their way with Goody Bags. The bags would just be filled with office supplies, but hey, everyone likes a parting gift, right?

They should really make me head of that party committee thing. I’d be amazing.

I’ve gone for rolls in the hay and it is nothing like sex.

Sometimes I’ll do shots of mouthwash. It gets me a little tipsy and gives me great breath.

I think baseball should introduce a longstop position, just in case the shortstop misses the ball.

Who decided that we needed both North and South Dakota. It seems like a lot of wasted paperwork to me.

Catching flies with your hands is fun, but catching frogs with your feet is a lot more satisfying.

I like to wear two undershirts most days because you never know when you’ll walk into a strip poker game.

I want to open up a bar called “Creed’s Meads” and bring mead back to how popular it was during the American Revolution. It’ll be right between my book store and woodwind instrument shop – Creed’s Reads and Creed’s Reeds.

Why hasn’t anyone built a live-action version of Chutes and Ladders? I’d be first in line to play.

I’ve always thought that shopping carts are just mobile jails for food and all the prisoners are sentenced to death by ingestion. Kind of makes you shop differently, huh?

What you’re really looking for is the lady that wants to argue with you about how much you’re not Batman. Those are the broads that end up in bed with you later on yelling “Yes, Batman! Show me your utility belt!” It works every time. It also helps to have a utility belt with you because up until that point, she may still not believe you’re Batman, but when you produce the utility belt, you send her head spinning.

I never used to be good at pick-up lines because I was too direct. “I’d like to be your blanket” works on some chicks, but most of them just slap you and walk away. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good slapping. It’s good for the skin and makes you focus on the task at hand. I’d just rather talk to the woman than get slapped, that’s all. So I had to take a different approach. I’ve heard of new dating advice books where you’re supposed to insult a girl to get her attention, but I think that’s the wrong approach. If I’m not pretending to be Batman, I like to use really impressive facts to get them to talk to me.

I’ll pick out the hottest lady in the bar (or zoo or botanical garden or wherever else I might happen to be) and get her attention with a really loud whisper. Women respond really well to whispers. It’s because they like secrets. So I’ll whisper, “Hey you, come over here” and I’ll look like I’ve got a real big secret to tell them. When they come over, I reach into my bag of facts (not literally) and pull out a good one. “Dolphins are the only animals besides humans that copulate for pleasure.” It works like a charm. Most of the time. Not really. It gets me slapped less, though, so I’m sticking with it.

I went over to Nay Aug Park the other day at around 4am and even the geese were still asleep when I got there. I couldn’t believe my luck. It’s been a dream of mine for years to see how far I could throw a goose and this was the perfect opportunity. I’ve definitely learned that you’ve got to strike fast when dealing with sleeping animals because the element of surprise is your biggest weapon. That old wives’ tale about letting sleeping dogs lie only applies if you don’t have a plan for after you wake up the dog. With geese, it’s the same story. You wake up a goose just for the fun of it, you’ll get pecked like no tomorrow. Their beaks are painful, man. You don’t want to find out first hand.

Goose tossing is a hard art to master and with no means to practice, I had to rely on what it looked like in my dreams. So I got a running start, went full steam ahead, picked up Tosserton and threw him (her?) hammer-toss style as far as I could, spinning my body to get maximum torque. I was pretty freaked out about how flexible her (his?) neck was, but it ended up helping me get more distance than I would have otherwise. I’d say I got a good forty feet, which is shorter than I predicted, but still a pretty admirable toss in my opinion.

You should have heard Tosserton honking in the air. He (she?) righted herself (himself?) right before hitting the ground and ended up just gliding to safety, so I didn’t have to feel bad about hurting Tosserton. After the goose landing, I was overcome with an enormous sense of completion. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

I will say this: I don’t recommend goose-tossing to anyone unless you’ve had a steady series of dreams over the last twenty years about it. If you don’t have the instincts bred into you subconsciously, then you won’t be ready to do it. Leave the goose-tossing to the professionals, people. Don’t try it at home.

You might not have a scooter. You might have a car: the more “traditional” vehicle to take to a car wash. I’m a proud scooter owner and as a proud scooter owner, I like to keep my scooter clean. After all, dirt really shows up on red plastic, you know? So once every month or so in the summer, I take a trip to the place on Moosic and get my wheels all soaped up.

It’s hard to describe the feeling I get at the car wash without sounding dirty (not that that’s ever stopped me before), but I’ll try. It feels a little bit like I’m in the hospital getting a sponge bath from some real foxy nurses. Replace hospital with car wash and real foxy nurses with real burly joes and that’s pretty much what the experience is like. I love to see them get down and dirty with my little scooter. Wipe it down and rinse it off and put so much care into the job. When it comes out of there all gleaming and clean, I feel like I need a smoke.

Look, I’m not a real extravagant guy. I pick fights with extravagant guys. But the car wash is the one place where I can throw down eight bucks once a month and feel like a king. A fella’s got to feel pampered once in a while, you know?

You may have missed America Day this year because it’s not really well-advertised. It takes place on June 20th and it is a sight to behold. America Day was created by a friend of mine named Samuel Che Emanuel. He’s rail-thin with a haircut that looks oddly as if a woman had her hair cut short like a man. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a feminine masculine haircut, if that makes sense to anyone. He’s a real sparkplug of a guy. Grew up in the wilderness of Colorado with a pet bear. It was a midget bear, so he didn’t have to worry about it eating him or anything. His parents were trappers and lived “off the grid” so to speak, so wildlife pets were nothing new to him.

Anyway, one day, Sammy Che (as we call him) was walking with Midgy (as he called his bear) and stumbled upon a rock formation that looked like an eagle soaring through the air with a flag waving behind it. I’m guessing that Sammy Che was tripping pretty hard that day, so who knows what the rock formation actually looked like. All we know is that Sammy Che returned home and declared that day America Day. When I first met Sammy Che, it was the 20th anniversary of America Day and he showed me how the day is properly celebrated.

Once you’re in costume, it’s time to participate in the traditional parade entitled “America the Beautiful,” where everyone parades around in their costumes and throws hard candy at each other. The parade is my favorite part of America Day.

After the parade, everyone goes to the liquor store, buys a bunch of beer and drinks until they can’t say “Democracy.” It’s truly the greatest holiday we have. Next June 20th, everyone should give it a shot.

America! Living the dream!

In my opinion, every job should have a uniform. Fast-food workers, gas station attendants, exterminators, these guys all have it covered already. I’m pushing for the jobs that make you waste time every morning decided what to wear. Take my job, for instance. I know I’m not allowed to wear shorts, because every time I do, I get yelled at. I also can’t wear vests without shirts underneath. So I’m locked into wearing a certain combination of clothing every day, but there are just too many choices. If it were up to me, I’d implement an office worker uniform so you could just wake up every morning, go to your uniform closet, and three seconds later you’re all set.

My uniform would consist of three items and three items only.

1. Navy blue sweatpants. These are the first item because they’re the most important. When I go home, the first thing I do is put on navy blue sweatpants. You can’t find a more comfortable piece of clothing. The color is great because you can spill all you want and nobody’s the wiser. All in all, if the uniform doesn’t include navy blue sweatpants, I don’t want the job.

2. A vest. No shirt required. Vests are amazing inventions. They cover up your nipples (which society has decided are unacceptable to see, for some reason) and they’re classy. You want to class up a joint? Throw on a vest. You want to add some more class? Make sure that vest is leather.

3. Comfy slippers. Right after I change into my navy blue sweatpants, I slide on my sheepskin-lined slippers. Talk about comfort! These little puppies make it feel like you’re walking on a field of soft paralyzed sheep – I say paralyzed only so you don’t picture the sheep as moving. If I could wear slippers to work every day, I’d probably start caring about my job.

These three items could change the workplace as we know it. I’m serious, America. Just think about how much more productive we would be as a country if all office-workers wore navy blue sweatpants, vests without shirts, and comfy slippers. We’d be a comfortably dressed productivity superpower, and honestly, isn’t that what all this fighting is about anyway?

I can cut a rug in the sense that I can dance like a mofo. Ever since I was little, I’ve had rhythm in me. Everyone used to call me Lil’ Josephine Baker because I liked to shake it everywhere I went, plus I once made a skirt out of bananas. My favorite place to hoof it was the market. One time, I was dancing up a storm in the produce section and I knocked into a huge display of apples. Those Red Delicious came tumbling down, but that didn’t stop little Creedy. No sir. I just kept on twirling and juking and the apples became my dance floor. When I was finished, the whole store applauded, except for the manager, who called the police.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, especially because my horn is pretty dusty and might make everyone sick if I tooted it, but I’m pretty sure I invented break dancing. I used to have my neighbor bang out a beat on his kick drum while I tried to spin around on my back. At the time, I did it to get dizzy. In retrospect, it’s pretty clear to me that I was inventing a new style of dance.

I’ve got a pair of dancing shoes that are made out of magic. They’ve got a black and white checker pattern on them and I bought them from a Serbian flutist who needed some cash to get his flute out of hock. From the minute I put them on, I felt like my feet had a mind of their own. They just tap-tap-tap to their own beat and I do my best to keep up. For a while, I thought the guy put Mexican jumping beans in the heels, but I checked and there aren’t any beans in those shoes. Not unless I decide to put them there and, as of right now, I have no interest in doing so.

The only place I won’t dance for fun is on people’s graves. I dance on people’s graves for disrespect purposes only and nothing more.

I believe the children are our future. Specifically Chinese children.

Gambling for money is fun, but gambling for livestock is so much better. If you end up winning, you get the satisfaction of victory and a ride home.

I like to tell time using the sun. If it’s sunny, then it’s time for work. If it’s dark, then it’s time to make money.

Globes are great for hiding stuff. Nobody ever bothers to look inside a globe, and if they do, they’re probably really weak anyway, so you can just beat them up and run away.

Never talk to men with red hair. They live by different rules than you or I. There’s a reason all the famous clowns have red hair and it’s not because red is a friendly hair color.

I’ve been running a lot lately and I’m getting into really good shape. Of course, it really helps that I’m carrying a lot of loot while I run.

When I’m in a new situation, I tell everyone it’s my birthday. People really treat you better when they think it’s your birthday, whether they know you or not.

I hate waiting. It drives me nutso. If I’m at a drive-thru window and it’s taking too long to get my food, I’ll just get out of my car and go for a walk for half an hour. When I get back, I’m much calmer and the fast food joint gets an important message about wasting people’s time.

I carry a salt shaker in my pocket because you never know when you’ll need to teach a slug a lesson.

Reminder: Michael’s safe combo: 86-7-53-09

Honestly, if I didn’t have to smell it myself, I’d be happy about it. Gas is a powerful weapon. You want some space to yourself? Unload a popper and those seats next to you clear out real fast. You want a day off of work? Start a little seat orchestra and you’ll be sent home in no time. I wish I were back in my twenties when I couldn’t smell anything because then I’d have some fun with these stinkbombs. Sadly, every time I let one go, I’m my own first victim.

I end up being victim to myself a lot. That’s what happens when you do a lot of home chemical mixing. It started out as a hobby, but I’ve really stepped up my game in the last few years. I’m trying to find a chemical cure for wrinkles, but it’s not going so well. I have, however, invented quite a few potions for giving yourself rashes. When rashes come back into “vogue,” I’ll be the king of the rash world.

Rash World sounds like a really fun theme park, don’t you think? I’d visit, as long as the admission price wasn’t too high. I wonder if they have funnel cakes at Rash World. Funnel cakes are incredible. They’re my favorite fried batter-based cake.

Other types of cakes that I enjoy: snack cakes, birthday cakes, coffee cakes, tea cakes, ice cream cakes, urinal cakes, erotic cakes, layer cakes, hot cakes, and wedding cakes. Cakes that I do not enjoy: cupcakes. Why waste my time on a cupcake when I can get the real deal? Cupcakes should only be eaten in times of war or famine. Or when they’re filled with cream. That’s it.

That’s my ode to the shorties. They deserve it. Keep reaching for the sky, short girls, and if you can’t reach it, I’ll lift you up.

Let me tell you, that stuff is amazing. They’re half the price of the Bull and they get my heart going even faster. It’s incredible. I drink a whole mess of them at lunchtime and then I’m awake until the sun comes up. It really helps me get through the workday and then my real workday, which starts at around 10pm. It’s hard to explain the feeling I get, but it’s like someone hooked up a battery to my body and it’s in charge of making my blood flow, but the dial that controls the speed got messed up and it’s stuck on “super fast.” That’s exactly what it feels like. That, or stepping on an exposed wire at a construction site where you’re trying to scam some copper late at night. I know what that feels like and VivaMaxxPlus is pretty similar.

I decided I have to limit myself to three or four a day or else I’m going to get in some real trouble. Any more than that and I get pretty aggressive. Last week, I drank five cans of the sauce and when this new lady started questioning me about what I did at work, I freaked out. I started imagining me and her on a go-kart track, but she didn’t have a go-kart and my go-kart had all kinds of James Bond spy weapons on it. Right when I started picturing myself shooting her with my dashboard missiles, I realized I needed to take it down a notch. I’m not a violent person, but there’s something in that VivaMaxxPlus that makes me craaaaaaazy.

I wonder if they sell a decaf version…