Alex McVeigh’s posterous

I went to the ATM during lunch the other day, and this is what greeted me as I drove in. Maybe if I wasn't thinking about a billion things I would have noticed the stop sign, or the fact that the ATM was sticking out several feet further than normal.

But I didn't, and as I tried to avoid it, I hit the curb, and it took my brain several seconds to process the fact that there wasn't going to be enough room for me to get through.

Luckily I stopped in time, but not before making a slight screeching noise (after all, I usually make my ATM runs going about 35 per), and the guy who was working on the ATM poked his head out to see that disaster had narrowly been avoided.

As I was waiting for him to finish, my mind began to wander. What would I have done if I had smashed into that ATM, and cash went flying everywhere?

It didn't take me long to figure that out. I would have scooped up as much cash as I could, and left behind this life and headed South of the Border. So close...

Yep, those are foot tattoos. On a male. I thought that at this point of my life, I wouldn't be hanging around these types of people anymore.

I know what you're asking yourself, and yes, that is a man wearing a snorkel while someone pours beer into it.

192 bottles of beer + 180 pounds of ice = a tub full of awesome on a Saturday afternoon

At approximately 7:34 EST last night, crisis struck. I was trimming my beard, when the plastic thing that keeps your from cutting too short snapped off, and before I knew what was happening, I had carved out the abomination you see above you.

I didn't know what to do.

Do I go into work the next morning with that hideous missing stripe, and hope it sort of grows back by Monday?

Do I carve out a similar stripe on the other side and just pretend that it's a new fasion thing?

How about trimming my beard on the jawline, and looking like a jerk?

I'm not quite ready to be clean shaven again, it's not quite time for the "square" look. So I did the only thing I could do. I attempted to let my sideburns flow into the beard along my jawline, but decided I didn't want to look like Justin Timberlake in the "Motherlover" SNL sketch.

So I trimmed the beard down to a goatee, and let my sideburns go all the way down. Not a good look.

So I just ended up going with the straight goatee. Did I rinse the remains of my beard, taken before its time, while crying softly and listening to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"?

Maybe...

Laundry. Along with traffic and the San Antonio Spurs, it is the bane of my existence.

It seems every week or so, my hamper is full and my closet is empty, and I have to do more laundry. Sharing a house with two, sometimes three other people, sometimes it's a pain to get my laundry done. Even if the machine is open, it's still a pain.

Lugging it down to the basement, lugging it up, switching it from the washer to the dryer, hanging up the stuff that can't be dried, then folding and sorting all the clean stuff is a royal pain.

If I become fabulously wealthy, the first thing I would do is pay someone to wash, clean and fold all my laundry. If I was really fabulously wealthy, I would only wear an item of clothing once, and then I would burn it.

Time for some honesty. I enjoy going to Bed, Bath and Beyond more than any heterosexual male has any right to. It would be one thing if I was going with a wife or girlfriend, but nope. Usually just by myself.

I went there yesterday as part of my Sunday errands. On the list? Change out the propane cylinder for the grill, and buy a new bathroom rug for my bathroom. Simple enough.

So I go to Bed, Bath and Beyond to get my bathmat, and other than deciding I don't want to pay $30 for a DKNY mat, it's a simple process. Then I get to wanderin'.

Not a good idea, considering I have a propane cylinder in a car and it's 100 degrees out. But the treasures I found. Such as the above pictured deli slicer. That I could have taken home for a mere $100.

Can you even comprehend what I just said. A deli slicer, at home. At the place where you reside. A DELI SLICER AT HOME. My mind is blown.

There's so many things there that I would never use, yet cannot resist. A compact deep fryer. A multi-level vegetable steamer. An ice crusher. So many things.

Don't even mention the impluse buy aisle. What the hell do I need a pumice stone for? But it was only $2.99. New headphones for my iPod? Done. Travel toothbrush holder. Done and done.Some sort of crazy air freshener? Got it.

I could have spent hundreds in there. And that makes me ashamed to call myself a man.

Besides eating possibly rancid chicken, there are several other things I do that are quite dangerous.

No, I'm not a bootlegger like George Costanza. But when it comes to getting gas, I live on the edge. I don't even fill up my tank until the fuel light comes on, like in the photo you see above.

As you can probably guess, I've had my fair shares of close calls. Once, I was in the middle of nowhere with two people in the car, trying to find my friend's farm near Lexington, Va. The light was on the whole time, even after I stopped by gas station after gas station to try and fill up, but none were open and would take cards. Miraculously, I made it back.

The one time I did run out is a funny story. When I was a junior in high school, my parents moved into the house they are now. It was (and still is) sort of in the middle of nowhere. Long dirt road kind of thing.

A few weeks after we moved in, right at the start of school, I'm home alone, and the doorbell rings. I go to get it, and it's a mother and daughter, and their car just died near my house.

So they come in, the mother calls her husband, who says he can't be there for a few hours. So, being the fine upstanding young gentleman I am, I offer to give them a ride home. I do, and feeling like quite the good samaritan, I didn't give it much thought.

Fast forward about a month later. I'm driving home, taking the long way, and being the punk-ass high school jerk I am, I didn't get gas, and I run out about three miles from my house. I'm walking home, when lo and behold, a van comes towards me, and it is the very same mother and daughter I gave a ride to the month before.

Of course, being the punk-ass young gentleman that I am, they gave me a ride to return the favor.

And that my friends, is nothing but cold hard karma.

But I didn't learn, because nine years later, I still never fill up my tank. I guess I'm still that fine, punk-ass, upstanding young gentleman who's now in his mid-twenties but still sort of a jerk.

Ass humor Monday continues with this reader submission.

This one comes from McDonald's, which was previously the home of the Angus meal.

I guess you could use the Butt Paste after the meal.

"Hey Bill, I got a great idea for this new product that can prevent diaper rash. It's some sort of paste for your butt."

"That's great Boudreaux, all we need is a clever title, and we're rich!"

"Let's just send it down to marketing, I'm sure they'll work their magic on it."