Letter From Milo: Loserville

December 27th, 2020

I enjoy the company of low-lifes, eccentrics, misfits and disreputable people. Some of my best friends are folks that wouldn’t be welcomed in polite company.

I don’t know why I developed a fondness for the shady side of life. I suppose it’s in my DNA (check out one of my earlier blog posts titled “The Bum Gene”). I come from a long line of people who have a gift for excess and a healthy contempt for custom.

I’d rather spend time with a failed musician than a successful banker. I’d rather chat with an old whore than a North Shore matron, although there’s probably not much difference. I’d prefer Reverend Ike’s companionship to Pope Benedict’s. I believe Joey “the Clown” Lombardo might be a more interesting drinking buddy than Bozo the Clown. And I’m pretty sure a night on the town with Keith Richards might be a bit more fun than a pub crawl with Donny Osmond.

Keith RichardsYou choose: Sinners?

A while ago I made friends with a man who spent 22 years in a Mississippi prison. He had been out for just a few months when I met him. He was one of the gentlest, best natured men I had ever met, not at all what I would have expected from a hardened convict.

When I asked him what he had done, he replied, “Robbed four damn banks. I should’ve stopped at three.”

Now that’s a line you’ll never hear from a Sunday School Superintendent (apologies to Mr. Clemens).

The point I’m trying to make is that convention and conventional people bore me. As I grow older and note that the pages are flying off the calendar a little faster than I’d like, I’m finding that I have less tolerance for boredom – and no tolerance at all for boring people.

indexOr Latter Day Saints?

This anti-social attitude of mine, as the lovely Mrs. Milo refers to it, has caused no end of problems in our otherwise happy home.

A few months ago my wife told me that we were invited to a dinner party.


“Tonight, a couple of hours from now at Jack and Jill’s house.”

“Sounds good. I like Jack and Jill. Who else is going to be there?”

“Walter and Wanda.”

“They’re okay. Is anyone else coming?”


“Honey. Is anyone else coming?

“Dan and Don and their wives are going to be there.”

“Ah fuck! You can’t be serious! I’d rather gnaw off my own foot than spend 10 minutes with those two ignorant cocksuckers.”

“Why do you say stupid things like that? Dan and Don are highly educated, well-known and accomplished men. Just because they’re not drunks and dopers and losers, like most of your friends, doesn’t make them bad people. Besides, they like you. They think you’re kind of interesting.”

“Well, I just wish you would have told me about this sooner.”

“Why, so you’d have time to figure a way to weasel out of it?”

“Ah, fuck.”

A couple of hours later I found myself at an oh so civilized dinner party. We dined under a tent in a beautifully maintained yard. The lamb chops were superb, the wine was plentiful, the laughter was subdued, the conversation was polite and the background music was smooth jazz. Everyone was well-dressed, expensively coiffed and hygienically presentable.

I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there.

As is usually the case with boring people, Dan and Don dominated the conversation. And, to be honest, I don’t remember a thing either of them said. I do, however, recall that neither of them said anything that contained wit, interest or originality. I kept waiting for someone to fart or pull out a joint or tell a good dick joke, but it never happened.

I was never so glad to leave a party in my life. The next time Mrs. Milo wants…


This is Mrs. Milo. I just passed by the computer, saw what my husband was writing and chased him away from the keyboard with a ball peen hammer. What he’s writing is just a pack of lies. Here’s what really happened at the party.

As soon as we walked in the door, Milo got into the booze. In a couple of hours he was roaring drunk. He couldn’t seem to operate a knife and fork so he ate most of the meal with his hands. And, since he neglected to use a napkin, most of the meal ended up in his lap.

When Don started talking about his favorite episode of “Lost,” Milo interrupted with a disgusting story about a donkey show he had seen in Tijuana in the early 70s. When Dan brought up the subject of his new golf clubs, Milo started talking about his new scheme to get access to medical marijuana.

It got worse after that. As we were leaving, Milo pinched the hostess on the ass and whispered something nasty in her ear. She looked shocked and I was mortified. The problem is that now Jill sends Milo emails all the time, which the bastard deletes before I get a chance to see them.

When we finally got outside, Milo refused to give me the car keys. He insisted that he was more than capable of driving. I had to use pepper spray on him to get the keys.

I don’t know what I ever saw in Milo. I’m sorry I ever married him. What a loser he turned out to be.

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