I STILL WANT TO SEE THOSE PICTURES.

To get into the carnival spirit, we went to Fat Harry's on Tuesday for the February 2009 edition of the Yat-Together. For the first time since July, I didn't arrive late for the meeting. Nope. In fact, I was 18 minutes early. Roll call for February: Me, Amanda, Kelli, Stephen and Greg.


Let's take a look at the Yat-Together attendance rankings since the monthly inception in August 2006. There have been 29 (to 24 places) such gatherings.

Me: 29.
Kelli: 25.
Kevin: 21.
Stephen: 21.
Greg: 20.
Christina: 18.
Amanda: 13.
Bode: 6.
Random other people: 4.

Amanda may be trailing in attendance at the Yat-Togethers, but she has promised to make a run at becoming the No. 1 commenter on The Gene Pool. She dares you to stand in her way. Go ahead. Try.

I had a cheeseburger and cheese fries. It was yummy. The best burger from a bar I've had in the city. The cheese fries are good as well, though they could put more cheese on them. They got nothing on Bruno's in that department.

While Kelli was chatting on the phone outside, Amanda told the rest of the group that she had some pictures at home of some Honeybees, err, Whorenets naked while sunbathing on a cruise. We chastised Amanda for not bringing them with her. What a jip. (The pictures aren't that recent, and Amanda isn't sure if they are currently Whorenets.)

Some time later in the meeting, the topic is brought back up. Kelli is confused.

Kelli: You can't look at the Honeybees on the Web site?
Stephen: Not the pictures I want to see.

As we were leaving, a lovely young patron enters the bar and says hello to some people in there. "Look at this fucktard right here. ... Hey, bitch." We did not stay and hang.

See you next month when we mix it up with some Japanese. I mean the food. We're not getting into a fight.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is in the process of waking up Wednesday morning. "I don't feel like getting up anymore. Fucking drained."

Later Wednesday, I'm in the process of waking up when I hear from the living room: "I don't know why they (FedEx) didn't just leave the fucking package yesterday. I knew he had to fucking order something." (It was my WrestleMania tickets and the such.)

Mom wasn't too impressed with the American Idol contestants Tuesday night. "Eight out of 12 people picked the wrong fucking song. Don't they watch the show? One fucking chance. Cutest girl is going home. She was awful. I had to turn it down. She tried to sing the fucking Police."

Mom has about had it with her treadmill. "I got to do something about my fucking treadmill. It's so fucking loud, and then I start slipping. I can't get on there anymore."

TRIFECTA OF TERROR

My sports world wasn't in the best shape Tuesday. By the end of it, I thought I needed to be put on suicide watch. It was then that Bob called to say: Don't kill yourself. The bad news came in stages.

1) Early afternoon. I'm watching ESPN when I see that the Saints released Deuce on the ticker. I wrote about that yesterday, but I posted before the rest of the news unfolded.

2) Dinner. We're eating dinner at Fat's when I noticed that Tyson had been traded to the Thunder. I had watched almost the whole first half before realizing this. I was devastated. I love Tyson. I think he was just starting to hit his stride for the season when he went down.

Sure, he didn't play as well as he did last season. But my reasons for keeping him are these:
a) He can play Tim Duncan and Pau Gasol straight up. Without him, those guys kill us in the playoffs.

b) The CCC. Who doesn't love this play? It basically disappears without him. I can't count how many times since Tyson's injury that Paul has come off a pick-and-roll and looked like he wanted to throw the lob only to realize that Tyson wasn't soaring to the basket. Paul then has to force a tough shot.

c) CP3, West and Tyson are what we call a young nucleus. What you do is you build around a nucleus. You don't break that shit up. I was proud of West for coming out and being critical of the move.

d) So what if we're over the luxury tax. What's more important: Winning or Shinn's precious $6 million?

Of course, all this became sort of pointless once Tyson failed his physical Wednesday. Which I'm convinced he somehow did on purpose. Welcome back, Tyson. We missed you.

3) Late night. After dinner, I headed down to Harrah's for my first casino visit in February. I look up at the screen after folding a hand and see breaking news on ESPN: T-Mac out for season. Uffa. Though I'm confident the Rockets can win in the first round without him. They still got a solid eight-man rotation.

None of these three surprised me, but I was sorting of hoping none of them would come true. At least I knew after the T-Mac news that nothing more would go wrong. After all, these things happen in threes. Actually, I decided after seeing the T-Mac news that I was going to have a big night at the table because a fourth thing couldn't go wrong. That's the rules. And I was right.

PARTING SHOTS
We're talking about the rescinding of the Tyson trade.

Me (to Brick): They just Haitianed it.
Brick: Yeah. Pretty much.
Liam and Bake: What? Haitianed it?
Me: That's why I addressed just Brick. OK, Liam. I'll address you. They flashy-thinged it.
Bake: OK. Don't address me, Gene.

At dinner.

Max: Tina said the guy who does her nails is a fucking pro.
JRap: Some call that a porn star.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My favorite five bands of the 1980s.

5) Foreigner.
It was urgent they make the list.

4) U2.
When I think of U2, I think of the Ross and Rachel romance.

3) Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.
I won't back down from this pick.

2) Bon Jovi.
You Give Love a Bad Name is a good start for any mix.

1) Journey.
I do have the song lyrics from their greatest hits hanging above my bed.