Three weeks ago, I broke down all the aspects of my wrestling character: The Gene Pool. I asked my good buddy Paul to draw the character, and here is his creation. Those are rain drops on the swimsuit. He even added my signature wristbands. The elbow pad is an extra touch for the finisher. I think I shall tape the drawing to my computer at work for motivation.

MINKUS MEETS WORLD

In an episode of The Office, Jim says of Dwight: "I'm pretty sure he (Jim's roomate) thinks I'm making up Dwight. (pauses) He is very real." That's the way I feel about Minkus. I think many of my co-workers think I am making him up. But he is very real (just take a look at that picture).

Over the years, I've been fairly hard on Minkus. But he definitely deserves at least half of it. What else could he expect with comments like these:

1) Instead of asking, "Where yat?" like a normal local, he'll ask me on the phone: "What's your location?"

2) Instead of asking for a piece of paper, he once asked Paul if he could borrow some stationery. 

3) When he called Thursday to tell me he was coming into town, he asked if I worked all weekend. I said I was off Sunday and asked what he had in mind. Minkus: "I don't know. I just want to see you." (Talk about creepy.)

So he's a little creepy and mumbles (or as we called it in high school, merrs) a lot. I mean you have to be next to him and listening closely to understand what he says. But the boy just might be my ticket to the privileged life. Let's do a quick review of the top students in my graduating class of 284 students.

Valedictorian: working in the LSU gift shop, last I heard.

Co-salutatorian: a sports copy editor (hey, that's me)

Co-salutatorian: a chemical engineer approaching a master's and soon after a PhD (Minkus)

Gee, who's winning this unwritten-after-high-school contest?

Let's see, what else? Oh, he's working on a project that could revolutionize the world.

Me: Um. How's that $10 million idea coming along, buddy?

Minkus: It's a lot more than that, Gene.

Me: I'm talking about my cut. 

Basically, the "pill" he is trying to develop immediately sobers you up. How does this not make a shitload of money? It would change the way people go to college. It would eliminate designated drivers. You wouldn't have to worry about the drive home while at the bar. And it could significantly decrease the amount of drunk-driving deaths, making the world a better place to live. Makes writing a catchy headline a little less impressive. 

For legal reasons, I can't go into the specifics of the development. Legal reasons and the fact that I can't comprehend any scientific mumbo-jumbo coming out of Minkus' mouth. In laymen's terms, he has these enzymes that want to have sex with the alcohol in your system to dissolve it. But the stomach is being a huge cockblock by destroying the enzymes first. 

For my part, I have offered to name the product when it hits shelves in like 10 years. These thing don't happen overnight, you know. I'm calling it: Drunk Dial. Can't you see a college kid in 2018 stumbling out of a bar with his friends? "Dude, I'm so wasted, but I need to drive home. You got any Drunk Dial on you?"

Anyway, Minkus' birthday is Wednesday. For the past six or seven years, I've been giving him change as a present. A penny for about five or six years. Last year, I told him he was worth it and upgraded him to a nickel. This year, I went even bigger: a bag of Skittles. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom looks through the ads in the paper and sees that some place has the Wii on sale, but you have to get in line and wait. "They can't be in demand that much. I don't think you should have to stand in a fucking line anymore."

Paul came to pick me up Sunday night. I was writing my blog and listening to music, so I didn't hear Paul knocking. That led to this:

Mom: Gennnnneeeeee!

Me (taking off headphones): What?

Mom: Answer the fucking door!

When I went to bed Sunday night, there was a flash flood watch until 6 a.m. Tuesday. I get up, and the sky is clear.

Mom: Where the fuck is all the rain?

Me: Did you know we have a flash flood watch?

Mom: Yeah. It's all over the fucking paper.

Mom made red beans and rice Sunday. We had it for lunch again Monday. She didn't heat it up enough, so I put the plate back in the microwave. "What? Is it not fucking hot enough?" Then, as I'm taking the plate out of the microwave, she looks quizically at the stove. "Is the fucking stove on? (It was.) How the hell did this happen?"

Mom is waving goodbye to me Monday when she tells me to move the neighbor's garbage container out of our driveway. It was on our pavement a little bit. I move it, but as I do that, I ask her why that was so important.

Mom: Because you would have hit the motherfucker backing out.

Me: No, I wouldn't have.

Mom: Bullshit!

DID YOU KNOW? (The final Olympics installment)

Did you know that Michael Phelps won eight gold medals in Beijing. I'm not kidding. He set the record for one Olympics, too. Plus, he set a whole bunch of world records. Did you know that his relay team had to rally in one event and that he won the seventh gold by .01? You should have seen it. Also, did you know he eats 10,000 calories a day and his body is the ideal shape for a swimmer? I'm not making any of this up. I promise.

Speaking of Phelps, he'll probably be making several commercials in the near future. He has to take advantage of his fame right now while people still remember him. I have an idea for an ad with VISA, one of his sponsors. Phelps is shown living underwater (did you know he feels most at home in the water?) and doing a couple of routine tasks. He then makes a purchase (still underwater) on his computer using his VISA card. And the guy who does the VISA voice says as Phelps prints out the tracking number for the item: VISA: It's Everywhere You Want to Be.

Wait, scratch one part of that. His mom should say the slogan.

PARTING SHOTS

We ate the whole rack of Skittles in the vending machine in four days. I hope that doesn't tip the vendor off. I bought the last bag Monday night. I ask Bake if he wants the yellows I have laid out.

Bake: "No. I don't know where your hands have been."

Paul tells me that he recently made a reference at work to The Tell-Tale Heart. His co-worker gave me a blank stare and said he had never heard of it. Paul went on a polling mission with everyone on that Palace shift. 

"And you know how many people had heard of it out of 25, including me? Four. Twenty-one of 'em didn't know what the freakin' Tell-Tale Heart was. How sad is that?" (Very, Paul. Very.)

THE DAILY TOP LIST

The top 5 things people came up with for what the girl at Bruno's said to me Tuesday before saying, "But thank you." I had said: Can I buy you this drink? Remember, I couldn't understand what she said before "but thank you." (I need a guest top lister for this week. Any takers?)

5) Minkus.

"I already had enough to drink at my boyfriend's before I came here, but thank you."

4) Lopes.

"Hey there, I think you're cute and everything, but I just can't accept a drink from a Cubs fan. But thank you."

3) Sandy.

"No, I like women, and if I did do men, it wouldn't be you. But thank you."

2) Marcus.

"I'm really a man and am surprised you couldn't tell. I already have short, geeky love slave named Raul. I now have to go home and shave my chest and legs. I don't need a razor and I don't need to be trained to do Saints drive charts or the prep rail, but thank you."

1) Jelly.

"Listen, you ass. I only smiled at you because you looked like too much of a p**** to actually work up the nerve to come talk to me. Now that you're here, you've forced me to mumble some bullshit about having a boyfriend or being a lesbian, but thank you."

THE GENE POOL SAYS: Thanks to all those who participated. These comments made me feel so much better about the incident and myself in general. For her effort, Jelly won the special prize. What else? A bag of Skittles.

Oh, and remember when I told you Wednesday that a third thing happened that day to show how much of an idiot I am? No? There was Marcus' chocolate chip joke and not knowing that KMA meant kiss my ass. Well, the third incident concerned Jelly's response. You see, for the first four hours after reading her statement, I thought p**** meant penis. Later in the night, she was discussing her answer with Derry, and it hit me that p**** means quite the opposite of penis.