First watch the movie. I’ll wait. No really, I don’t mind. Look the movie is really short, like 17 seconds, so just watch it. I’ll be here when you get back.
Hey thanks for watching, means the world to me and all. If you’re wondering what inspired that GL2 recorded piece of tripe it turns out I decided a good way to lose weight would to switch to Lite beer. It was awful. Oddly enough I remembered when Lite beer tasted good, to me at least. I guess my taste buds like to have something to do when pounding cold ones so when the Miller Lite entered my mouth they rebelled en masse.
This raises the question of why I felt suddenly compelled to lose weight. The answer is simple, I owe it to the phantom. Who is the phantom you ask? The phantom is one of those insufferable neighborly things that people do. It works like this: some neighbor stuffs a bunch of Halloween stuff into a bag and leaves it on your doorstep. In the bag next to the goodies is a note with instructions to further the fun and a ghost to scare away other “phantoms.” (All this is kind of fun, if you want copies of the ghost and note to start your own phantom email me and I’ll send you some .pdfs.) It’s a nice little surprise and sets a tone for the season: get something for nothing.
Of course one of the things you have to do after you get phantomed is phantom two other people. Kind of “and she tells two friends, and she tells two friends” deal. The onus fell on my shoulders, I was fully responsible for shopping and leaving the bags. So I went out and bought a bunch of apples and razorblades, cause I needed to shave and I like apples. Then I bought a crap load of Halloween stuff, shoved it into the bags and got ready.
Once I started looking for a house to leave my newly stuffed Halloween bags I noted freakin everybody had the damn ghost hanging in their window. This is easily explicable, a virus spreads exponentially so when I got hit a bunch of other people also found themselves with a container of pre-Halloween booty. My block was now drained of victims. I realized I was going to have spread my wings, so to speak.
It so happens we live next to a walking trail, this trail connects us with a phantom unsullied part of the neighborhood. I know, vaguely (well better than Dick Cheney knows Edwards) one person who lives in the older part of the subdivision. She’s a vet and her husband is an FBI agent. Since our kids had played together once they were a natural target. My reasoning was erroneous.
I slunk down the walking trail and sidled next to their house. I inspected the situation and realized that they have huge friggin windows. I rationalize my intrusion by telling myself that they were probably watching the Presidential debate and, hence, horribly distracted. Emboldened I crept to the front door and set the crap laden basket down.
At the moment the basket made contact with the concrete I turn my head slightly and see a huge dog rushing towards me. At this point I will note the vet is fond of Bullmastiffs. Of course there was a thin pane of glass betwixt the slobbering beast and myself. Mentally calculating the force necessary for the Baskerville wanna-be to free himself from the confines of the home and the tensile strength of glass I opted to run.
About the time I reached the walking trail all the lights went on, the back door opened and the hound was unleashed. I also figured there was a good chance I was going to be shot. In case you’re wondering why I picked an armed house let me remind you that I live in Knoxville, TN. Every house is armed. Heck Todd doesn’t go anywhere without at least three or four fully loaded weapons and he’s considered a pacifist. In any event the dog was constrained by a picket fence and the FBI agent decided not to put a slug between my shoulder blades. (Was this due to training or my serpentine movements? The world may never know.)
By the time I got home I was blown up (to use a wrestling phrase) or, to put a finer point on it, nearly dead. I was wheezing, coughing and surprised by the urine stain. Most people would blame my lack of exercise (take a shower, get the mail, drop onto the couch. Friends I give you the triathlon for smokers) I blamed my gut. Which made for the unfortunate encounter with Lite beer. Moral of the story: I’m shooting the Secret Santa.
Too much Chris not enough links. Will the alliteration make reappearance? Let me see…well maybe just once a week. With full acknowledgement that Nate Eaton is the He Man of alliteration (bow, scrape) I give you:
Earnest Erik’s Entertaining Enumeration of Entlightening Excesses:
Tigers Making a Comeback in Bangladesh?
I just thought this was pretty nice news, not exactly entertaining.
Good to be in D.C.
Well it’s not as funny as the first jibjab offering, but what the hey, Thanks Erik.
Classic:
Instant Mess
Anti Kerry:
Flipper Cam
Anti Bush:
Needsumwood
Anti Bush:
The Question
Anti KerryThe Many Faces of Kerry
A link from Duke Roger to wash the bad taste out of your mouth:
Golden Age Comics
And that is it for today.
Tridiot rating: infinite
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