Will Ellen Bring Me Coffee Please?
I’m a bit of a goon at times. Not the “strange man standing in the corner of the bar with the blocky head, green slime dripping from his lips, and bolts sticking out of his neck” kind of goon; I’m you’re average, run of the mill, big sister calls me a goon, goon.
But I don’t have a big sister, instead, I have two younger brothers, who are both straight, so they don’t use the word “goon” in reference to another guy. That’s my mantle to carry at the family dinner, and I do it quite well. Along with the common quip, which I attribute to Mark Twain, “Where did you buy that shirt? The Bass Pro shop?”
Usually the answer is “Yes” and we all sit around embarrassed that my witty comment turned out to be true and therefore no longer witty but just insulting. Unfortunately, no one can figure out exactly who’s insulted. I think my brother’s insulted because I called him out on wearing an bass ugly shirt. My brother thinks I’m insulted because his shirt made me go all Tim Gunn at the dinner table, and now my father has that look of “What has my life come to?”
Of course this assessment all depends on my brother knowing who Tim Gunn is, which he doesn’t.
To be fair, I don’t know who Bass Proman is either, though I suspect he’s not part of an internationally famous boy band.
Sadly, I digress, because the post has suddenly become about my strange relationship with a fictional brother that wears Pro Bass shirts to holiday dinners. I also digress because I want to point out, from my first sentence, that the words “dripping” and “lips” when used in conjunction are just naturally icky. Also, is it wrong that I think there’s something inherently hot about a guy with bolts sticking out of his neck?
I’ve shared too much, for which I apologize. I’m in a hotel room in the middle of LA right now. Slightly hungover, sleep deprived, and my room doesn’t come with a coffee maker (WTF – amirite?). I’m also wondering if I tweet Ellen DeGeneres about this if she’ll stop by with coffee on her way into work.
Also, I like the word ‘amirite’ because while it’s a total bastardization of the English language and indicates the fall of our society and yadda yadda yadda, when written out, I think it looks like the word for a lovely gemstone. Perhaps the birthstone for November 8th, which is my birthday. Right now, I have topaz, and no offense to topaz, but the poor stone was ruined by Mercury’s car of the same name.
That’s why cars should simply come with serial numbers. They fucking ruin everything else: Neon, Pintos, and Cutlasses. Remember when all three of those were cool, before Detroit manufactured them into cars?
I apologize for this post.
I apologize for not explaining why I’m a goon.
But mostly, I apologize for the lack of coffee in my hotel room. My god, what if I were entertaining?