Get 2 Choppin

The Onion of the Week is getting dusted off and is being presented to a special person and by special I mean “special” if you are picking up what I am putting down. The award this week goes to the infamous Gypsy traitor (make sure you enuciate the second “t” in traitor because she is easily confused and may think you said gypsy trader), Wagon Train O’Neil.

The first name has been changed to provide protection for the get2choppin.com trademark against any legal issues that could arise, but don’t fret because if you are on the outskirts of loserville you will easily be able to pick this onion of the week out of the town garden.

The first and foremost of her crimes against humanity besides obviously putting the uber in uber-goober is trying to take claim for the saying get2choppin. If Gay Ray were here right now I can guarantee he would say, “Oh no, you didn’t!!” (and add the classic flamboyant Z snap). Wake up Miss ”Someones been filling your cup with v-hate-n juice” cuz you got your headband on too tight if you think that you had anything to do with the choppin’ nation.

Second, you need to back up. Oh wait you already got that down pat. You need to disable the beeping sound on your vehicle because we all know by now that you are in permanent back up mode. Beep. Beep. Zing. Zing. Oh what a relief it is. Here is a little song written by John E. Bravo himself, it goes:

Wagon train’s sitting on the bench in May, watching her playing chances slip away.

Just sitting on the bench in May, knitting scarves while the other kids play.

Well I am working on it but that is the chorus at least. Sounds like a number one hit to me. Oh yeah and can everyone smell that? I can, it is fried onions, cause Miss Wagon Train you just met the Zing’s cousin, Smokey the Burn and as he says, “If you can’t stand the heat why da hell yous steppin’ in my frying pan”. Well have fun with your band of gypsies, maybe you can write a couple songs for that band. One could go “Bunyan’s bunions smell better than these onions so what you going to do when I cry all over you like a chimp flingin’ poo?” or “Sweet Georgia Brown Vidalli Onion”.    

Hello there. My name is Juan Ecardo Bravado and I am the distant cousin of one, John E. Bravo on his padre’s side.  I come from a long line of passionate lovers that dates back centuries to what we here in Mexico refer to as the time of the violation of the blossoming cacti.

I have it in my blood to be a wonderful and compassionate lover that with the slightest whisper in the ear and my soft warm breath on the nape of a lovely girl can turn the trickle of an emotion into the raging river of el fuego that is her heart’s desire.

I wish to tell you my secrets so that your woman can also hear the 1000 members of the Mariachi band as they strum their guitars and blast their trumpets in her soul as you perform a sound check with your mic in her recording studio if you know what kinda of pinata I am trying to hit upon. 

The key is atmosphere. It starts with lighting. It starts with el fuego. To have the proper fire of a passionate and considerate lover you must travel north of the Yucatan Penisula into the Redwood forests of California because only a tree that large could supply me with enough firewood to burn equally as long as my desires burn for her body. You on the other hand may want to settle for a newspaper, some gasoline and a small stump.

Next you need a place to make love like the heavens have been torn open and God himself is looking down upon you and taking notes. I suggest a hardwood floor with a carpet. Personally at my love adobe I killed with my own hands the last burmese tiger-bear and have laid his soft fur on the floor. As he has sacrificied for me, I have sacrificied for him, that is one virgin a week for an entire year. Wink, Wink, nod, nod.  You can just use a beach towel or a one of those soft blankets you stole from the Holiday Inn.

The next key ingredient is the music. There is only one singer that is worthy to be played while I make sweet love and that is the one and only Enrique Inglesias. He will melt the hard outer shell of your senorita like a piece of chocolate in a little kids pocket on a warm summer day.

The last ingredient is that of scent. I rely on the powerful musk of the male burro. At first it will be just you, but by the end of your love making session the two of you will smell like two sweaty field burros that have spent the day plowing the fields of love.

This is my secret. Now do with it what you may, but beware of the power of the passionate and considerate lover that is Juan Ecardo Bravado’s greatest secret. Oh yeah and as for los pantalones de senorita I casually toss them on the horn’s of a wild bull moose that I hunted and killed with some floss and a kitchen knife but you may want to fold them and place them on a chair.    

If by some odd chance I get stuck at a softball game that doesn’t have beer and hot bikini clad co-eds only in the league title and it is being played by females that don’t look like Jennie Finch or play like Jennie Finch and by play I mean look like Jennie Finch and the weather is really windy and cold and all around sucky (because it makes it seem even worse when it is really sucky softball) then please do me a solid and cut the rope from the bleachers that I used to hang myself and bury my body behind the pitchers non-mound since it is a softball diamond Imean an imitation baseball field for midgets and dwarfs and please do this so that the crows don’t pick out my eyeballs while I swing back and forth on the back of the rusty bleachers because no one cares enough to maintain them because it is softball and no one really watches anyway. 

Oh wait let the crows pick out my eyes just in case when I go to the after-life if there is any really horrible attempt at a softball game going on I will only have to listen to the awful silly we don’t take sports serious chants for eternity. I think that is enough punishment, don’t you? 

If by some weird coincidence I am at the bar with the “over physical” bar guy who always has to hug you or throw the vulcan death grip on your shoulder or lean into you and ask for the chest bump or wants to arm wrestle you or slaps you on the back of the head or just in general wants to throw the european tradition of kissing both cheeks on you please do me a solid and pull the hypodermic needle full of death serum out of my arm and push it in again right next to it so appears that I got bit by a miniature snake and then you can tell the paramedics once they get past the hug and chest bump from “over physical” guy that it wasn’t accidental death by snakebite but instead the “over physical” ninja guy owns a pair of trained dobermans that with a simple whistle command that only they can hear carried in a mason jar filled with a deadly poisonous snake and opened it with their paws and guided it toward me without me ever knowing that either snake nor dog was near me.

If I ever have the chance to be the naked male model for a sculpture class that is filled with angry monkeys molding me out of their own poo that they fling at each other across the room or to substitute teach for a bunch of self righteous pig-headed private school students who think that they will be handed the golden lottery ticket of life because they can tell you who Bret Michael’s chose as his latest ho’ bag and who Lauren dissed on the last episode of The Hills while at the same time not being able to differentiate (let alone know what differentiate means) between the fact that the h-bomb and the f-bomb are not two different swear words. Please do me a solid, seriously and tell me that monkey art and poo are both very tastefully done. I would do it for you.

Recently our in-house adventurer has been at it again. Nutso Rodriguez in an attempt to shape his body into the supreme example of physical fitness while working toward a set of buns so hard they make steel feel like silly putty, has taken on the task of biking everywhere instead of driving or using the wonderful public transportation system that the state of Michigan has to offer. He has shed the societal restraints of the tin can with wheels (and a few pounds to boot) and almost single handedly has slowed global warming and reversed the melting of the ice caps while insuring that Dixie chopper’s around the world will have enough gas to do their choppin’ duties for the summer season.

It is not all Nobel Prizes and kissing hot dudes for this biker though. Recently in his travels he has had quite the ordeal on the two wheels. It started with a beautiful May spring day. The birds were chirping, the daffodils were as yellow as a brand new shiny New York city taxi cab, the smell of success was wafting in the air like a fresh rhubarb pie on Nutso’s granny’s windowsill.

He was even overheard singing: “Running down the road of life, running down the road of life, well actually biking down the road of life cause I hate running down the road of life, I ain’t got no helmet on my head, I’ll probably get hit by a car and end up dead”. That is how it started but this is how it ended:

Yes, Nutso pulled the head over wheels move. He crashed and burned like a drunken Iraqi jet fighter pilot in Desert Storm. He was kissing concrete like it was your daddy. As I stated the day started out headed in the right direction until a triangle of coincidences came together that humbled this gallant adventurer. Let me set it up for you. The wind was at his back and he was in top gear. The sidewalk was as smooth as creamy peanut butter on a dog owner’s balls, but alas there was an obstacle in his path. An old dude hogging the middle of the fucking sidewalk. He went into overt disaster mode and swerved onto the grass barely missing Senior stupid. As he swerved to get back on the sidewalk there was the perfect edge job that left a bit of the sidewalk exposed. His tire hit the side. He went flying through the air like a trapeze artist at the Ringling Brothers Circus.

He hit the pavement like a fresh bright-eyed Jehovah Witness on his first day on the job and luckily bounced onto the soft grass. He hurriedly got up because it occured at 16 and Dequindre and probably was witnessed by 20-30 people turning their friday instaneously into a funny friday. Nutso is indeed unselfish like that.

As Nutso pedaled away he had time to ruminate on his new hate for old people. He realized he should have went ”Pushing Miss Daisy” on this a-hole instead of risking his life which is tres precious. The guy is probably senile and had no clue where he was anyway. What is the worst that could happen? A broken hip and six months in a bed watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show and the movie Cocoon and Willford Brimley oatmeal and diabetes supply commercials.  That guy would be in heaven.     

Anyway don’t fret Nutso survived with only minor injuries unlike another person associated with the choppin’ website (usually in a negative way but still associated). I regret to inform the choppin’ community that Bellows officially had his balls removed and placed in the purse of his new girlfriend (Yes he broke the streak I am as surprised as you). He bummed a ride to the bar with two choppin’ legends only to remember that he left his balls in her purse and had her come up so that at least they could be near to him. They didn’t stay out long though (balls do get tired easily when they are separated from their owner apparently) and with a high pitched goodbye he was gone for the night. May your prayers be with him. Thank you. 

I don’t know who did it or how it happened but there is something in this world that is so annoying that it makes me want to rip the teats off mommy cats with my teeth. The techno savvy high school kid that has the attention span of a fruit fly having sex with another fly that has an itchy trigger finger if you know what I mean but at the same time is as dumb as a stump when it comes to the world around them. This world wide web has somehow simultaneously opened their eyes to other “worlds” and shut off their brains.

This mutant breed of cell-phone carrying, myspace extravagant layout ignoramous is going to be the future of this country. I am scared. These acne covered, hormoned filled eggheads couldn’t find their way out of a wet paper sack without the use of their i-phone.  I mean I wasn’t solving world hunger when I was a teenager well I was planting the seeds of choppinness so I guess that counts.

We definitely need to go 300-spartan style on these ‘tards and let them loose in the wild and wait til the strong survive and come back. Maybe even go Lord of the Flies and drop them off on some island and let them fend for themselves. Just kidding, but seriously.

As smart as these pompous no it all shit-heads think they are, I mean they are all honorary doctors and lawyers in their heads, why can’t they figure it out that when they commit illegal acts of underage drinking and stupidity that is not uncommon in this species that they shouldn’t plaster it all over the web for anyone and everyone to see. I mean yes I have taken some photo’s that may have included some decadent debauchery but I am a choppin’ legend and have earned my stripes.

Anyway we were all young and in high school once but seriously has the cool factor of this next generation dropped that much, it obviously has peaked with the choppin’ nation (of course we blew the motherfucking roof off the cool condo a long time ago). There must be something in the water that makes it impossible to have any meaningful conversation unless you say “IDK NVM TTYL LOL ”, I think I would rather try to teach monkeys to stop picking insects out of other monkey’s fur and eating them then to try to teach a teenager who thinks his shit don’t stink and will probably be working mall security in five years. 

Can anyone tell me why these immature fucks live in opposite land. They all think they are the biggest, baddest mo-fo’s around yet the girls are one “hey fatty” comment away from doing the two finger tickle on the back of their throat in attempt to puke up that bosco stick and crouton they ate for lunch while the dudes are one date rejection away from kissing pipe the rest of their life. Oh well it ain’t that bad being young at least they got miley cyrus to try and knock up.

Of course as a fan of the movie Dazed and Confused, I think this quote sums it up best

Wooderson:“That’s what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age.”