The Idiot's Guide to the Foggy Goggle

I consider myself to be one of the world's foremost philanthropists, and as such I am always searching for ways to improve the condition of the human race. Take this blog, for example. How many lives has it saved? How many dark clouds of evil has it sliced through like the righteous light of justice? They have yet to invent a number large enough to answer either of those questions. If you have time, you might want to give it a try, so you can tell babes that you're a bigshot mathematician with a swanky chateau.

According to a public service announcement I saw on VH1 last Monday at 3 in the morning, an ounce of prevention is...well, I can't remember the metaphor, but apparently prevention is important. It wouldn't be on cable if it wasn't true, so it really got me thinking. Perhaps I've been approaching this philanthropy thing from the wrong angle. Maybe I should be working to stop tragedy before it happens, instead of helping the victims to pick up the pieces afterward.

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Now all I needed was the right disaster to avert. I didn't feel ready to take on anything earth shattering, like global warming or an alien invasion, but I didn't want to be a wimp and take the easy way out, either. Writing a blog reminding people to look both ways before crossing the T tracks is not a good way to build the crazy street cred I'm looking for. I needed something with danger and intrigue and a liberal helping of scandal, a self-contained microcosm of society's ills. For weeks and weeks I was stumped, though I could feel the answer lingering just millimeters beyond the limits of my consciousness. Then I stood up too fast and whacked my head on the underside of the bunk bed, and all of a sudden my mission became clear.

On Boylston Street, across from the Hynes Convention Center, there stands a shadowy man of judgement who guards a shimmering glass door. If you are deemed worthy, the man will grant you entrance. For some, that door leads to a golden paradise. Others claim it's the gateway to hell. One thing's for sure: venturing inside without any foreknowledge of the interior has been known to reduce even the most well-adjusted individuals to slobbering vegetables unable to tie their shoes or cut their own food. It's not a pretty sight, kind of like anyone from Medford.

Such is the tragedy that I wish to prevent. I only hope that I am not too late. If my indecision doomed even one innocent soul to the aforementioned fate, I may not be able to sleep at night. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a document that will change the world, a piece of literature to dwarf the significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Bible, "Moneyball," and even "My Teacher is an Alien." I give you "The Idiot's Guide to the Foggy Goggle."

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The Idiot's Guide to the Foggy Goggle
By Scott Colby

Copyright I Stole Your Lunch, 2005



This one is for my baby's mama

Before we embark on our dark journey to the darkest depths of Boylston Street, let us take a moment to set the atmosphere. All it takes is a single word: skeevy. Look up skeevy in a dictionary, and you'll see a picture of the Foggy Goggle. If you can't find skeevy, it means your dictionary is crap and you should either throw it out or use it as toilet paper because Charmin isn't on sale this week.

"But Scott Colby," you ask, "If Foggy Goggle is as devestating as you say, why would I ever consider going inside? After all, Time Magazine did name it number 4 in its annual list of 'The Top Ten Places Where the Antichrist is Most Likely to be Conceived,' before Revere Beach and after the back seat of Brigitte Nielsen's Benz." There is a 95% chance that going to Foggy Goggle will not be your own idea. There exists in every group of friends that one person who takes it upon him or herself to completely disregard the warnings of others and convinces the rest of the group that venturing to such a place is actually a good idea, mostly by being exceptionally whiny and annoying. Despite the fact that every nerve in your body will be screaming at you not to go to Foggy Goggle, you'll go just to shut up your stupid friend.

Let's get this show on the road.

• Do not look at the floor. You do not want to know what you're walking in. Some things are better left a mystery, and this is one of them. Just to be on the safe side, you should probably burn your shoes the minute you get home. You don't want any of that stuff taking up residence between your toes.
• Girls under the age of 17 drink for free. I think whoever owns this pit (my guess: Jabba the Hutt) has some dirt on Mayor Menino and is using it to blackmail poor Mumbles into granting the Goggle immunity from the usual liquor laws, but only for trashy underage girls. Jailbait!
• That's not a jello shot. Scantily clad waitresses roam the depths of the Goggle with trays of what appear to be liquored up jello. For a few bucks they'll press themselves against you and toss one down your throat, followed by a squirt of canned whipped cream. Congratulations, your blood stream is now full of mind control drugs developed in the '50s by the CIA to stop the spread of Communism. You won't even think about leaving until the bouncer comes to kick you out, and when he finally does, you'll spend the next hour and a half face down on the sidewalk begging for someone to let you back inside. Also, do not get attached to the waitresses. Despite the fact that they are easily the best looking women in the joint, they are robots. You think real women could survive these conditions?
• Don't use the bathroom. I'd rather stick my head in a wheat thresher, and if you take a leak here, you just might find yourself on the next bus to Uncle Buck's farm in Iowa, scribbling a suicide note on the back of a Bickford's placemat. But at least you'll die with a stomach full of scrumptious pancakes!
  
• Yes, those are real fish bowls. Ever wonder what happens to a gold fish's home when he dies? A little known government program sends migrant workers into the nation's garbage dumps every Monday at midnight to recover any used fish bowls. They are then sold on the black market, where most of them end up back at Petco or Wal Mart. A small percentage of them, usually the really, really scummy ones no one else will buy, end up at the Foggy Goggle where they are used to hold pathetic imitations of scorpion bowls. Waking up in the gutter with fish food on your breath is not a good way to start the day.
  
• Beware the buffalo women. Foggy Goggle is the best place in Boston to observe this rare species in its natural habitat. Buffalo women travel in herds of 10 to 20 animals, each weighing somewhere between 400 and 600 pounds. The average buffalo woman is about as intelligent as a moldy log and possesses little or no sense of modesty, preferring to dress in clothing that reveals generous views of things you just don't need to see. When they decide to dance, and they will, close your eyes and find something sturdy to hold on to. If they corner you, and you don't have a few Twinkies to distract them with, you're as good as dead.
• Bring your own cup for White Trash Wednesday and your first drink is free. Actually, that's kind of a good idea.

I know this may all seem a bit overwhelming, but if you follow this guide carefully, you will survive. Heck, you may actually have a little fun along the way. Now go home guys. I'm tired.