Ted is a janitor.
A clean freak at heart, Ted likes to spruce up large, public areas. He’s pretty good with a squeegee, but his specialty is wet mopping. He can put a mean shine on stainless steel. He doesn’t do windows.
Ted is a rapper. Check this shit:
Ted’s got some rhymes he’s gotta get out.
His mom’s got the measles, dad’s got gout.
He likes his gold, 24 carat please.
But get him his inhaler, he’s starting to wheeze. Driving his ‘cedes down the city streets.
Ted’s seats are leather, his pants got pleats. Take his picture now, mister photog.
Maybe in some cranberries, chillin’ at the bog. Bop bop bodda bodda bop. Chaka Khan.
Ted is a cowboy.
Today, Ted’s a touch sullen. His horse, Jasper, has a tender left, front hoof and his best girl, Charlotte, ran off with a rodeo clown (this time for good, he thinks).
Once he gets back to the ranch and pops in a pinch of Skoal between his cheek and gum, he’ll feel much better.
Ted is a street-baller.
His dribbling skills are mad and he’ll take you hard to the hole with a little shake-n-bake, through-the-legs, round-the-back, dapper Dan, magic. You’ll have to pick up your jock strap. Don’t take it personally. Ted’s got a rep to live up to.
Afterwards, he’ll split a pizza with you at Famous Joe’s. On Ted.
Ted is a party-er.
He’s a social butterfly who rips it up four to fivenights a week (yet still makes it to work on time).
He’ll sing. He’ll cut the rug, for sure. He’ll even play party games and doesn’t just mouth it when everyone’s singing happy birthday.
Ted’ll do shots but he won’t drink red wine. The phosphates give him a pouding headache.
He will not to be the last guy to leave. Ted hates that guy.
Ted is a bathrobe wearer.
Yes, he’s one of “those” guys. It’s seriously the best purchase he’s ever made, aside from the in- ground pool. The second he’s out of the shower, on it goes. His wife thinks it’s a little off-putting, though, for Ted to answer the front door with his robe on. Hey, if the paper boy wants his money, he’ll have to deal.
Whoever invented terry cloth should be on the hundred dollar bill.
Ted is a wedding singer.
Right now he’s working on a rendition of “My Sharona” that has this funky “Flight of the Conchords” emo spin on it.
Sometimes the brides flirt with him, but hey,they’re only human.
He refuses to play “Twist and Shout,” so please don’t ask. And yes, tips are always appreciated.
Ted is a ghost. Boo.
Ted is a member of a fight club.
He does it for the social aspect. Lots of cool guys like to beat each other silly on Tuesdays and Fridays.
It’s good for networking, too. Ted got his job at the brokerage house from a guy he fought a few months back (they called it a draw, but his lip was split, not Ted’s).
Ted is a groom with cold feet.
The nuptials are in a few minutes, but Ted’s having second thoughts.
His tux is ridiculous and he never got a prenup.
Hmmm. If Ted jilts her, her dad will kill him.
He could hide in Mexico. His Spanish is mediocre, but might be conversational enough to get by for a while. Tacos are good.
Oh, but the Swine Flu.
Ted is a tornado chaser.
He’s a fan of cumulonimbus clouds and can smella funnel 20 kilometers away. He gets a thrill flyingdown a road in his humvee, accelerator pinned tothe floor, dodging frightened cows and pet dogs.
Ted goes through quite a few umbrellas as he tries to look the eye of the storm square in the eye.
Ted is a barista.
He gets his beans directly from this guy who knows a dude who knows a dude in Brazil. They’re killer with just the right acidity.
When Ted’s not frothing the perfect cappuccino, he’s re-reading something by Vonnegut.