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!
Some friends just stick. Sometimes those friends actually live outside of the computer screen. “Blasphemy!”. I can hear you thinking it already, but it is true. This post is testament to that. When I first met Z, I was convinced that he was going to set our classroom on fire. Marketing 101. College. His head phones and blaring Tech N9ne were essential to his wardrobe and my uneasiness. Little did I know, he wasn’t actually a murderer but one of my future best friends.
Some friendships are cosmic. He paid me in beer to say that. Part of the deal was also for me to give him some of my spotlight. So without further ado, meet my friend “Z”…
Well hello there! Becky (editor’s note: fuck you) has asked me to step in and fill in some space due to her recent episode of writer’s block. I offered her a couple hits of acid and the leprechauns that do my typing for me, but she refused. I’m not sure why she denied my offer though. Those four creepy little dudes have kept me employed the last three years and even earned me a 2.31 GPA throughout college. Fancy, I know.
Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Z. Well at least that’s what she named me on here a few times anyway. I’ve been called worse. I am originally from Smackover, Arkansas. Dead serious. Google it. It sucks, I know. But before my recent relocation to the great shit hole of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the two of us shared roughly 572,890 pitchers of beer together.
I shared with her my knowledge of billiards and was even the third wheel through the entirety of a yearish long relationship of hers. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be sober. Yes, my life would suck if not for this lovely blonde! (editor’s note again: redhead now dumbass).
Up until recently, I didn’t even know her blog existed. For some reason I had to stalk her on Facebook just to learn this hidden writing talent of hers. But now I understand why we have always texted and only ever spoken on the phone once in our multi-year relationship. And that was more awkward than some random non-blogger dude making an appearance on some chick’s highly popular blog.
When she first asked me to write a guest post, I will admit I giggled with a slight evilness. I thought, “How witty can I be?” and “Oh the people I can piss off with my political views!”. Then I realized she would just delete my post and ban me from the internet, which would cause a riot with the leprechauns. Not worth the risk.
So instead, I must confess to the masses how blessed each of you are to sit right where your rear is currently placed and enjoy reading the very thoughts and ideas that I have been graced with throughout my friendship with Miss Long Johns herself since some time in 2009. I check for new posts quite frequently now, due to the lack of our shared time together. It’s all I can get. She won’t come visit me anymore. Thanks to y’all.
I think I have babbled enough, and her head is probably slightly swollen after reading these kind words. It’s been a pleasure occupying roughly 3-27 minutes of your time. Who knows, maybe one day she will allow me to post something witty and political. Maybe not political but at least witty.
P.S. Her cats are evil. Between Ace, Jack, and my cat allergy, I am surprised I never woke up cross-eyed after drunkenly passing out on her couch all of those nights. Then again, it could have been those three-month old leftovers I always took off of her refrigerator’s hands. Who knows…
Stay tuned tomorrow for the recap of the LaLaBec New Year’s Eve bash. Because you know you don’t remember. Please leave a nice comment for Z while you wait. My writer’s block thanks him and you.
- Lee Corso is a leprechaun (sbnation.com)
- Networking : Friends (bbroseproductions.wordpress.com)
- Single People Are Not the Enemy (singlewhitechristian.wordpress.com)
Jokes are skeleton keys to manipulating a multitude of situations. People use them to ease awkward or uncomfortable conversations or experiences. Marketers use them to capture customer attention. Even someone as serious as the President uses jokes (even if it is poorly executed). Opportunities for jokes are everywhere, so it makes sense that they are abundant.
I personally cringe to see a good sexual joke go neglected. Luckily, my friends find this wildly entertaining as opposed to obnoxious (which is probably a more accurate description). In fact, one of my friends and I enjoy this pastime so much that we developed the “Hey Lady/Hey Pal” game. The rules are simple. The joke must be unexpected, sexual in nature, and read or spoken in a typical Boston accent. The basic structure looks like this:
“Hey lady/pal, I heard you like _______. Well, I got your _________ RIGHT HERE! Yeah!”
Here is a real life example for better understanding:
Friend texts: “I’m getting dentisted right now.” (translation: I am at the dentist’s office for a routine teeth cleaning)
My response: “Hey lady, I heard you like going to the dentist. Well, I got your palette expander RIGHT HERE! Yeah!”
One more to demonstrate the female version, and because I can’t control myself:
Friend sends me a picture of a job site he is working at doing manly lumberjack stuff
Me: “Hey pal, I heard you like landscaping. Well, I’ve got a field you can plow RIGHT HERE! Yeah!”
Once the joke war has commenced, the first one to respond with anything other than a hey lady/pal joke loses.What kind of ridiculous games do you and your friends play?
- Knee-slappin Friday: the pilot (chipperthings.com)
- The Anti-Joke Cat (themanwhofellasleep.wordpress.com)
- [funny] Tell me a joke (jlake.com)
[Look! I have a really cheesy cover, and I am cheap, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right? Click my obnoxious cover to buy me on Amazon. Yay!
[Also, the title says “for grown-up girls”, but that shouldn’t stop the fellas from checking it out. Would I steer you wrong? Well, not intentionally at least.]
I returned to reality and a Sunday of cooking stuffed bell peppers with a new addition to slide onto my make-shift bookshelf. In her normal fashion, Booger handed down a book to me as an early Birthday present. Its title is The Merit Badge Handbook for Grown-up Girls by Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas. Her name makes my jaw hurt a bit, and I didn’t even attempt saying it out loud. Filled with activities, projects, goal ideas, and new learning/experience opportunities, you could think of this book as a sort of generalized bucket list and guide. My initial appreciative reaction was quickly followed with eagerness to start flipping pages. Upon doing so, something unexpected happened.
The beginning of this year had me sulking in the realization of all the things I have yet to do in/with my life. I have a hard time being patient when on a quest. Nothing was helping, especially not seeing all the cool stuff other people around me were doing. Then, I began writing again and went from sulking to basking in the new-found determination I had to start doing things. New or different or scary or silly or constructive or whatever kind of things, it didn’t matter. No more ruts. Read the rest of this entry
[Let’s pretend that this is an appropriate photo for this post, and you can just call me whatever the female Vito would be called. Or, just let me pretend I look this cool. Alright, I am a horrible phony. I haven’t even seen The Godfather. ]
You know what I have seen though? A bunch of ultra-sounds and baby bump pictures. Yes, the infamous Booger is growing a tiny human these days. While I never expected we’d planning her reveal party for the sex of the baby this weekend, I also never expected to get so amped about baby stuff in general. And probably the least expected, but most incredibly exciting part of it all… she offered me the position of godmother.
Here in the south, godmothers are generally called the nanny and the godfather is the paran (I don’t think I can give an accurate phonetic spelling, so just pronounce that with your best French accent). When Booger called me to ask what I would prefer to be called (Godmother, Nanny, Aunt Becca), the whole life changing event became more real in my eyes. I can only imagine how she feels.
All of my friends know me as the one who was never overly concerned with settling down or marriage and definitely not procreating. The slightest thought of child-birth always triggers the “NOPE!” section of my brain. Even as a child, I never fantasized about my wedding or was much for playing with baby dolls that were promised to realistically defecate on me. I was more in to putting Ballet Barbie in her convertible and playing make-believe as a restaurant owner. No lie, I had boxes of faux meal receipts that I organized to keep tabs on my imaginary diner’s success. We had the best hot dogs. All the regulars said so. Read the rest of this entry
I have been very proud of myself for staying home, saving money, and relaxing
this whole week the majority of the week. Recovering from last week’s whiplash was much needed. But, if you are anything like me, you can only maintain hermit status for so long. I needed some human interaction that wasn’t on a screen and conversation that didn’t start with the @ symbol.
The list of friends I had drinks and visited with were as follows:
Friend 1: A friend of over three years, with whom I worked in the service industry while in college. We didn’t exactly get along or really not get along when we initially met, but at some point we became great friends. It perplexes me when these phenomenons occur, and the thing is, almost all of my best friendships happen this way. Indifference towards each other straight to holy-shit-you-complete-me. I guess we just don’t realize how connected we are with our friends until we start thinking about how things were in the beginning. I’ll admit, we had help from a few bonding apparatuses… anything alcoholic and Sex & the City/Taxi Cab Confessions to name a couple.