bUGLYbLOG

This evening I got to play some ping pong with the Russian President Vladamir Putin. I have to say that having Vladmir over for some pong was pretty damn cool. I had heard he was pretty good, but wasn’t sure if it was true or just the Soviet propaganda machine at work. I didn’t care one way or another because having him over was enough as it was - besides, he had some Cuban Cohiba’s in tow. With that said, Vladie had a pretty good forehand, a nice serve, and a tricky backhand that was pretty unorthodox. However, the most interesting (I am using this word on purpose) part of his game was that he played sans a shirt. I mean, here we are, getting ready to get our pong on, and he takes off his shirt. Not only that, but his KGB buddy/bodyguard/helper dude also took his shirt off. At this point I’m reasoning it out in my head, trying to attribute it to some cultural divide. I’m even trying to compare it to the differences between the American and National Leagues in baseball. One league uses a DH and the other doesn’t, simlar to one country plays ping pong while wearing a shirt and one country does not. Just as I’m chalkng it up as “a Russian thing (like the DH)”, Vlad takes off his pants. Now the Russian president is standing in my basement in some sort of Right Said Fred looking shorts holding a ping pong paddle (a paddle which was a loaner from me at the beginning of the night, but at this moment has become his permanent property). Like clockwork, the KGB dude pulls the same move, except instead of holding a ping pong paddle, the only thing he is holding is a gaze towards ole Vladie. At this point I begin to get the awkward feeling that they (Vlad and crazy KGB guy) are expecting me to remove my shirt and pants. Now I’m nervous. I don’t want to cause an international incident in my basement, but at the same time I also like to wear clothes when I play ping pong. Besides, what if one of my buddies was to walk in and see me and Vlad in our skivies trading vollies. There wouldn’t be a poker game for the next year that Grease or Koncak wouldn’t be given me some major crap about how I was playing some pantless table tennis with a couple of commi’s. So what did I do you ask? Well, nothing. What was I supposed to do? I’m just glad I was wearing boxers.