Or would that just get weird. Like a stripper hiring a stripper?
Le Clown, Eric, friend. Here is a haiku on your birthday, because Jack made me.
If Jack’s name was said
With a G instead of J
His name would be Gack
If you don’t know what actual Gak is, you should definitely scour E-bay for some. It is the ultimate birthday toy to provide you with hours of good clean fun. Or dirty fun. Who am I to tell anyone what they should do with their Gak? I always enjoyed making fart noises with mine.
Le Clown, Eric, friend. On this very special birthday of yours, you seek to unlock a special post. You have done uncountable favors for me, La Becca, and never was it even close to being my birthday. So, for that I am forever indebted and will proudly help guide you to the next step in your journey.
Here are some hints about the blog that you seek next. I do not have cable, thus this gal’s blog keeps me up to date on important news like what is happening on The Bachelor. I don’t know how I would go on without the service she provides me, provides us. It took me an unacceptably long time to figure out that this particular blogger was actually a female. Once I did, I liked her blog all the more.
She is one of your top blogroll members, and she comes with a
weird handsome sidekick torso thing.
Now go find the droids you were looking for. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!
In yesterday’s post, I revealed a secret about my disdain for sharing my music preferences with other drivers on the road, specifically at red lights. In the comments, there were a few others who expressed secrets involving music. Jillian was educating people at the same red lights, Amber was performing accidental serenades, and TBM revealed his faux music career. Sam also sings T-swift better than me, but that’s okay because much more people show interest in hearing me spit some Eminem.
Me and Slim go way back.
I vividly remember the period in my life when I was first introduced to the exquisitely crude lyrics of one of my favorite rappers. I can still smell my old 5th grade classroom and hear the sounds of me cracking pencils out of frustration over those logic puzzles. Isabella, Amy, Tony, and Michael can figure out their own damn class schedules or which gifts they gave to whom for Valentine’s Day. Shit. But this isn’t about them. This is about my favorite rapper, Mr. Marshall Mathers himself. You will be okay with this once you understand our history.
When Eminem came out with My Name Is, I remember being scared and delighted all at the same time. Scared, because I knew if I got caught singing the lyrics, “I don’t give a fuck, god sent me to piss the world off” at the impressionable age of ten, I would surely be put in jail and condemned to hell. My delight came from Eminem being my first true taste of secret rebellion. It was a simple infatuation that I couldn’t fully understand. It wouldn’t be long, however, before I was able to start understanding and appreciating the verses I was performing for the hair ribbons and stuffed animals in my closet. Read the rest of this entry