Get 2 Choppin

After doing some ardent research, I have come upon the conclusion that the status update section of Facebook is in serious need of some definition. I’m proposing some categories that will help tame this wild beast of communication that has intertwined itself into the fabric of this computer driven society.

Let’s look at some of the different types of status updates. First, we have the Motherlovebone comments like,  “My little baby boo is sick with the pukes of hazard and an episode of no Finnie to the poo” (If only they were that clever, I could stomach it). In this category also falls any event relating to their child’s upbringing and development such as, “I got powder sugar on my face, I’m a big disgrace, kicking my pans all over the place, singing we will, we will bake cookies (together for the class party).

Side note: The mention of cleaning for in-laws, or for the sake of having an orderly house also falls into this category. If you are single and don’t have children and mention cleaning in that instance it is a pre-cursor to future Facebook self and you would be thus called a Motherlovebone-to-be.

Second, we have the Rage Against the Machine comments like, “Works sucks, Fuck My Life, I wish I could call a traveling Ginsu salesman, so I could cut myself with a knife”. This is of course the same individual that would post something like, “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me, fuck you I won’t do what you tell me, I got tickets to a concert that I’m going to see”. That is until the boss comes over and says, “yeah Bob were gonna need you to come in on Saturday and oh yeah why you’re at it make that Sunday too, Thanks Bob you’re a real team player”. Then suddenly your status becomes, “Anybody want to buy a ticket to my life is Les Miserables”.

The third type of comment is the Loverboy or for the females the G love and the Special Sauce status update (lovergirl would be the female counterpart but it doesn’t really play into the band theme of this post) these usually go something like, “Turn that dial all the way, shoot me like rocket into space, lovin’ every minute of it, except for when you don’t call for a couple of days, are you alive?”  The girls are usually a 1000x worse on these types of status updates because they love to openly profess their feelings for their “boos”. It would go something like this, “Universal everywoman: I love the rain; with my boy for the night J, he’s like my own love umbrella, he protects me from the storm of life” or “I’m going to marry you, my little Mr. Cuddly-wuddly” (which is of course the update that gets the immediate comment from him, “yeah, I have typhoid and can’t be around girls for two years, so don’t wait for me, bye”).

The fourth type is the non-serious entry from the Insane Clown Posse comment group that pokes fun at people or things, for example, “John E. Bravo says if they made sex spoons, you’d be a lay-dull”. That is just the tip of the iceberg. It could even delve into cheesy pick-up lines like this, “I just got a science lab for Christmas, how about I use my pipette to radically alter your chemical composition, sweetie”. Okay not my best stuff but you get the point. All I ask is we try not to lock ourselves into one category for the good of all mankind.       

As a concerned citizen and conscientious consumer in these troubling ecomonic times, I can only hope that this stimulus package provides the appropriate amount of “stimulation”. I am appalled at the amount of layoffs and cutbacks that people and businesses have been making.

For instance, I recently went to the sperm donor clinic and when I went in the private room I was throughly upset to see that the guy that worked as the phallus fluffer or as he called himself the “hand-i-stripe-urrrrrgh!” was no longer there. When I asked the receptionist about the famous phallus fluffer of the Fledgling Fallopian Fueling Foundation, she must’ve been so concerned about her own job security that she was in complete obeyance with company policy regarding business affairs that stated, “It’s all about the specimen, whether we’re more or less a man” and denied his very existence.

Poor guy but I guess that is why this nation is so great, I mean he was constantly there with a hand out ready to help, and now the government can repay the favor with its own form of a greased palm, welfare and unemployment.   

They say that the auto industry has taken quite a hit but on the bright side I know one area of the auto industry that has seen an increase in the number of employed. Every day I drive in Detroit and I stop at a light I get about three guys offering to wash my windows. If you think about it, that is a 300 percent increase in the labor force in that offshoot of the branch of business sector that is ultimately governed by the actions of the Big 3. Some of these guys even have two jobs like selling bouquets of flowers or DVD’s that are still in the movie theaters.  

So sit back and relax, there is no need to worry. The fact that they are advertising for Border Patrol agents is a good sign because that means Mexicans are still illegally trying to get into this country. If or When that flow comes to a screeching halt, well then I would suggest you move up north to good old Canada and try to attach yourself to any woman that is out and “aboot” and work to get some dual citizenship kids on the way. Don’t worry they have nationalized health care, she’ll get the best epidural taxpayer money can buy.

This is my confession. So listen closely, or in this case get out the magnifying glass and read closely. I, John E. Bravo, have two severe birth defects that have handicapped me my entire life. I was born without the ability to learn a lesson and I was also born without the filter that stops what I think from being something I instantly spout out. It has caused irreparable damage both physically and emotionally.

This past weekend was one of those instances but luckily due to divine intervention I am here to tell you my story and hopefully it will act as a beacon of hope for those of you that also suffer with Lack-A-Lesson-itis and those born with out an oral filter. It all started with an innocent viewing of the movie Green Street Hooligans.

Let me preface this story by saying that I highly recommend this movie, it is a must see for any guy with a set of brass doorknockers. The first lesson that should’ve been learned was: Don’t watch Green Street Hooligans and then expect have a peaceful night out on the town. After watching this movie, I guarantee no matter what goes down you will always stand your ground and you will be looking to kick seven shades of shit out of any cheeky slag that gets up the gumption to fuck with you. Any simpleton can struggle and grunt for cunt but the real man stays in the arena until the battle is done.

The second lesson that evaded my grasp like a extra-lubed up sex toy: When you see an errant shopping cart in the middle of the sidewalk on your walk to the bar don’t blurt out the first thing that comes to your head like, “Dibs on inside for the walk home”. These steel cages are death traps for people with adult onset dumbness, like myself. Luckily K.C. the Sunshine Man stepped up and took the wild ride that started as a mad dash and ended as a wicked crash.

The third lesson has a bit of the big guy in the sky twist to it: This is where the miracle pillowcase comes into play but first let me harken back to my youth. I was a wee little chap about two years old when I climbed up on a bunk bed and fell off and landed on a little toy tractor thus splitting my head like a fucking egg. You’d think the inherent dangers of elevated beds would have been engrained upon my skull like the scars that I wear for life, but oh know they weren’t. That lesson was never learned.

I have a couple plausible theories as to how I fell out of a six-foot loft bed and survived relatively unscathed. The first theory is that this sleepy-headed samurai was attacked by a couple of bunk bed bandits and was pulled from my second story siesta spot as revenge for prior transgressions but that doesn’t explain the lack of head trauma. The second theory and most likely is that the miracle pillow that I clung to in my sleep acted as a cushion as I attempted to defy gravity and saved my noggin. Unfortunately I was not sleeping with a pillow taped to my ass but that is a whole other lesson to be learned if you know what I mean.        

Well here we are over half way into February and the whole Mr. Nice guy routine is getting a little tiresome. I am real sick of my faggot friends going all fag on me and thinking they can out fag a faggot on friendly Friday at the freaky fag-i-licious fiesta.  Before you go and get your leather chaps in a bunch, know that I am not in any way homophobic; I am not afraid of monkeys even despite the latest chimp attack. By the way what kinda fag keeps a monkey as a friggin’ fag of an exotic pet?

I get it. But do you? I mean when I say fag, I mean gay and when I say gay I mean happy. Is that a problem? So when I say quit being a fag, I mean quit being gay; which thus means quit being so happy. I mean it is February faggot why are you so friggin’ happy? Did they have a marathon of reruns of your favorite cartoon Fag-gle Rock? Or was there a super special on Fag-go at the local IGA (I’m Gay All-day)?

I mean if I was English right now I would probably ask, “chip, chip, cheerio Guv’ner, you want to go to the pub and have a pint and smoke a fag?” but I’m not English, I’m one of those fag Americans that the faggot people from Afghanistan probably hate because I don’t have a prayer mat. Those fags need to get a life.

Anyway you readers are a bunch of fags. You know why? Because you are gayer than helium, just kidding fags that doesn’t even make sense. Now I’m being a fag; which means I’m gayer than you and thus I’m happier than you. Why are you fags so sad? Some fag shit in your cheerios?   Maybe a game of fag tag would cheer you. Well you it.

Well as the song goes, “super-cal-a-fag-a-listic-ex-pee-al-a-do-sish”. So why don’t you put that in your pole you fags and smoke it.

Oh what a night mid February back in oh nine. If that was a song title it would definitely be the soundtrack of this past weekend. The whole spectrum of socially acceptable behavior was something that the crew completely ignored. We were zipped up and ripped up and ready to go. A force to be reckoned with, hell son, Johnny Law couldn’t do nothing but shake his head at us and let us pass on by but that story comes later.

It started Friday when the zing blossoms were starting to bloom. Wham tried to frame John E. Bravo by sending him a text that in no unflattering terms questioned the integrity of his whole being. The text basically accused John E. Bravo with flirting with the girl that Wham had his heart set on (for the night anyway). After receiving the text, in a huff John E. Bravo stormed out. The reason unbeknownst to the rest of the group was that he had to work early and was tired and hungry but this left the door open for a perfect zing opportunity.

Upon waking up he immediately called Wham a Jealous Jill on a Facebook status comment. Wham took the bait; hook, line, and sinker. The war of words escalated fast and below the belt shots were being fired left and right. John E. Bravo tossed a grenade into the arena and said, “keep chirping and one day your mouth will get you in a situation your fists can’t get you out of tough guy” and Wham came back with, “You’re fucking pathetic. You bleep, bleep, bleeping son of bleep!”. Well things eventually calmed down and later that night as Wham, K.C. the sunshine man, Bellows and John E. Bravo got into the vehicle to head out John E. Bravo dropped the one word dagger, “Zing!”.

The Burnett’s flavored vodka and Red Bull bombs were like jet fuel for the our N- Sanity Scooters. The shitshow was in full effect. As the battle with the bottle waged on, key participants kept dropping out. First it was Bellows and then K.C. the Sunshine Man rode off into the sunset. The two left standing (somewhat wobbly but standing) were Wham and John E. Bravo.

The night was coming to a close and it was time to make the long walk home. It started out simple enough but soon enough Johnny Law was on our case.

“Where you guys coming from?” barked the man.

Wham being calm cool and collected said, “The hideout”.

Officer Tough Guy, “It’s three in the morning.”

Wham, “We slow sipped our last call.”

Officer Menacing looks replies, “Well I got a lot of reports of break-ins tonight!”

Wham, “Hell, I don’t think I could get into my own house tonight.”

Officer Tough Guy shakes his head and drives off.

At this point John E. Bravo gets the idea that they should stop at a friends house and see if people are still partying. It is a little detour but not too bad. As soon as Wham and I get there he says, “Why did we come here again?”

John E. Bravo, passing the blame, stated firmly, “Yeah why did you want to come here?” The walk home was back on. A little further down the road on the way home, we run into Johnny Law standing outside of his car. As we prepare to answer another round of questions, we notice it is the same officer from before. He also recognizes us. Wham comes to the rescue, “Just taking the long way home sir.”

The officer shaking his head and with a little smirk on his face replies, “Come on guys, just go home.”

We both nod our heads and say, “No problem sir”. As we round the corner we both look at each other and decide on one last stop; off to Del Taco it is.