Slacker Heaven: Wasting time is a full-time job.

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So far my entire weekend is a bust.  I have spent nearly all of Saturday playing secret squirrel with my friend as he attempts to catch his girlfriend cheating.

He tells me of his plan on Friday, "Dude, I saw the chats I think she fucking met him! I'm gonna catch her ass and toss her out!". Me, being the dumbass slacker that I am suggests that he just ask her about it. He then launches into a tirade about how it doesn't "work that way" and how I just don't understand because I'm "not involved with a whore", etc, etc. So I agree to help him track down evidence of his girlfriend and her cyber-casanova moving their relationship from the monitor to real life.

First we sneak her notebook. I search it for traces of naughty pics (anything for a friend), and saved chats. Nada.  Next we search the apartment for hidden notes, phone numbers and reciepts. Again, nada.  By this time I'm tired and just a tad cranky from all of this Sherlock Holmes action play.

Me: Dude, just wait till she gets home and ask her.  You'll never catch her. Chicks are smarter than us.

Him:  She'll just say I'm crazy and jealous.

Me: Aren't you? We did just spend a couple hours dusting the bed for unknown finger prints.

Him: *makes the gas face* Fuck you Slacker. You wouldn't be making jokes if you wife was screwing around.

Me: You're right. But I also wouldn't ask my bro to stand guard while I dumpster dived the dirty clothes so I could check her panties for renegade sperm.

Him: *turning red* Fuck you slacker.

Me: Look why don't I get my wife to ask her. Women are better at this shit.

Him: *makes lightbulb face* Coooool.

I then make the dreaded call to the wife unit.  The moment the offer left my mouth I regretted it. The wife unit has only met this chick twice and hadn't expressed any opinion on her one way or the other, but still, who wants to get his wife all riled up on a cheater hunt? 

Much to my surpise though, the wife unit was into it, declaring that she thought the chick was "skanky" anyway. The wife unit arrivs like Grissom at the scene of a crime all ready and asking questions about what we had tried, where we had looked.  After 2 minutes of grilling friend about Skankzilla, the wife unit set out to guess Skankzilla's Facebook password.  She got it on try number 3.  I don't know whether to be proud and impressed or frightened. 

There in the Facebook where oodles of messages. Friend has seen enough. But the wife unit then goes into overdrive, she must gather all of the evidence. She figures that Skankzilla uses the same password for everything, 'cause she seems like a "dumb mall skank", and that's "what they do".  Five minutes later Friend has access to Skankzilla's cell records and email. Friend is upset and mad, but also a little frightened of the wife unit's "skillz". 

Him: Geez, wife unit. Remind me not to get on your shit list.

Wife Unit: Don't get on my shit list.

Him: Slacker, I see you can't get away with anything with her!

Her: *smiling* Nope. I implanted a special GPS at the base of his skull while he was sleeping. I can track his location and hear his thoughts.

I know that she was joking. But damn if I didn't feel the back of my head for scars.

As for the fate of the mighty Skankzilla, Queen of the Facebook, Empress of Text Message and Czarina of the crotch shot, Friend confronted her, she denied, he showed the evidence, she cried, they made up - for now - because Friend has just offered me the crotch shots for my blog. Who knows, I may take him up on the offer, I could use the traffic, if only I could get rid of that strange tiny female sounding voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm dead if I even look at them.