Get 2 Choppin

I have a sneaky feeling no one reads this shit anymore. It is kinda depressing writing 375 plus brilliant posts and having seven people read them. Oh well, I have this awful feeling that because of certain impending financial obligations this website will no longer exist, so the only thing I can think to do is go out with a bang.

Recently I visited the Fremont Summer Solsistice Parade. This quaint eclectic suburb of Seattle hosts a yearly parade and festival honoring the transition of Spring to Summer. The parade participants do this by getting naked and painting themselves and then riding on bikes because that is what the ancient followers of the half-man, half-goat deity Pan use to do to honor the burgeoning renewal of life that occurs during the longer summer days.

All I can say about this parade is that I saw more side-boob in two hours than I have in my entire life. It was a like a steamy cup of side-boob soup. It was an all you can eat side-boob salad bar. It was one great big whirling maelstrom of a side-boob storm. I drank from the C-cup and reached my side-boob saturation point and that was just the half of it. The wackiness continued…

The above picture is of 1 of 75 super huggers that roamed the parade route giving out hugs like candy on halloween. It was oh so sweet. Following this display of friendliness was the hula-hoopers, the yumbrellas (that is my own name but I consider it more apropos than whatever name they could’ve come up with), the pretty parasols (who I thought should’ve been the pair-a-souls and thus should have tied themselves three legged style to another person) and various drummers and guitar strummers.

In the spirit of the eccentric, I came up with two ideas for parade entries next year. The Guys with Ties Float, consisting of naked dudes that just wear ties, ranging from the skinny ties of the 80’s to bow ties to gag ties that hang down to your ankles. The other idea was for an entry called The Danza Dancers which would have a float that had a band playing Elton John’s song Tiny Dancer and a bunch of Tony Danza look-a-likes dancing in the streets.

Being new to the Pacific Northwest, I figured I’d try to blend in and not cause any major disturbances (of course some minor disturbances are apt to happen when you are this good looking and fun-loving but that is a whole other can of Fat Tire beer that I’ll open later). I was somewhat thrown for a loop when I was out on a recent pub-scouting mission and I came across the following sign:

Now at first I wasn’t quite sure how to take this, I mean do they have a lot of fat, slow non-athletic kids running (or in this case waddling) around the streets of Redmond, Washington that as a driver I need to be on the lookout for? Is the rainy weather a detriment to the health and well-being of the youth of this area? Are the athletic trainers and personal trainers out here that pathetic? (cause if so there may be a burgeoning market for my skills as master motivational manipulator of the pre-teen and teen thickskis). All these questions popped into my head as I pondered the state of affairs in my new habitat.

Then another darker question popped into my head. Do they have a lot of retarded children that enjoy playing in the streets, that as a mentally competent adult I need to be aware of? I mean what is scarier than a bunch of loose retards running around in the streets? In New York or California that shit may fly but not here I would think. I could be wrong, I mean they disguise it ever so deftly by using the term “slow” so as to make me think of fat kids but really they are corrupting my mind so as not to see the obvious problem that has slipped through their hands and forced them to create street signs warning everyone of the impending retard about to rush in front of their vehicle like a crazed chimp broken loose from the zoo.

Just kidding, but seriously think about it!

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, well if that’s the case then the Choppin’ crew should really have some man-love brewing for John E. Bravo when (or if) he comes back from his summer tripski to the Pacific Northwest. I have to say that if the send off that I received is any indication of their affection than the suburbs of Detroit are about to be painted seven shades of red at the end of July but first I must let the Choppin’ nation in on a little friendship secret: The only way to send a buddy off is to send him off on the strong winds of love from an epic going away party.

It started out as a very productive day. Wham Dickham and Chef Sears covered all their friendship bases that day by helping K.C. the Sunshine Man and I, John E. Bravo, move furniture. I was the helm of the U-haul that was carrying the first rate moving company. As I drove I batted some business names around in my head, “The Three Best Friends” or “Dudes w/ Tudes” or “3 hunks and a chipmunk” (sorry but I had limited vision in a vehicle that size).

After taking care of the errand portion of the day, it was time to make our matching friend t-shirts for the softball game and going away party. Where’s My Pitches At? ended up winning and remaining undefeated mind you but it was the witty banter of Chef Sears and I which was the real hit of the game. I’m not gonna lie the sodas were going down like fat kids in a 5k run/walk.

We didn’t stick around long and just because we left the softball diamond with a win doesn’t mean the rest of the night wasn’t also a gem.

The gang of fun fanatics headed off to the karaoke bar to belt a few tunes out of the park if you know what I mean. Everyone was in top form, Pitcher Kevin Meltdown threw one more curve and sang Heartless by Kanye West. A quick shout for a dance circle by Wham had the dance floor bumping like a dirt road after a spring rain. A new move was invented by Wham and I, called The Baby. It started when I yelled “Baby” and Wham jumped into my arms and started sucking his thumb. We instantly revolutionized and energized the the dance floor as everyone was looking for someone’s arms to jump into. Then it was time to rock the party with another house shattering version of Footloose by Wham and I. Enough said, you should’ve been there.

The highlight of the night had to be the get2choppin.com going away tradition of singing End of the Road by Boyz To Men. Wham Dickham and a few of the boys serenaded me with this tear-jerker of a song and when Wham yelled for anybody that loves John E. Bravo to come up and help sing, well my heart jumped into my throat. It takes a man to say this but I love you guys and see you in the end of July.

Last Thursday was the start of an epic five day span of F-U-N. It started with a trip into the northern climes of Michigan. The gang of good-looking guys hopped in their Camaros and pimped out Saturns and head north glad to win some precious time in the friend lottery. The first night was a test run for the debauchery to come. It began innocent enough with speedball and the occasional Beer-stick. The creative bug was rampant and it was biting.

The push-up Beer-stick was attempted. As you can attest from the ripply muscles of Wham Dickham, this is not an easy feat and safety is the ultimate priority, thus the yellow motorcycle helmet and the safety spotting of Uncle Roy.

Friday was another gorgeous day in Mid-Michigan and the beers were flowing like the Titabawassee river that the cottage looked out upon, while the horseshoes were being tossed around like racial slurs at a Klan rally. Wham and Uncle Roy had a hold on the pit for most of the afternoon until John E. Bravo and Scott the Hot Tater Tot unseated the champions in a stunning display of athleticism.

With the arrival of the rest of the crew, the flair for fun picked up exponentially. Of course, wisdom is often gained in these situations and John E. Bravo found out the hard way it is not wise to make fun of women’s sports with female college basketball players present and also not to bring up their lack of playing time in a open format zing.

The night progressed without a hiccup until the disappearance of John E. Bravo. He was later spotted by Wham Dickham doing a commando crawl under a blanket. Apparently he was doing a security check on the premise and it passed with flying colors thanks to the quick eyes of Wham and Tons of Fun Tommy.

Saturday saw the removal of John E. Bravo from the premises but the late addition of K.C. the Sunshine Man picked up the dampened spirits of the group (oh wait I forgot they didn’t even notice John E. Bravo was gone). A late night kayak trip up the river and an illegal dumping on the banks of the river wild brought the evening up to the standards of epic.

Side note: The only downfall to that wonderful Northern air is it makes your johnson smaller than a baby woodpecker and it becomes absolutely necessary to constantly fluff the poor guy to keep him in the game.

Well the days are drawing near when, technically, I will be one the many homeless roustabouts running wild in this downtrodden country. I have given up my apartment and am going underground for six weeks. This is my last official post from the desk of choppin’ headquarters. I will be on remote location for the next six weeks then who knows.

A few notes:

Note 1:

If you are a young middle school age individual walking four abreast on the sidewalk thoroughly expect to get a tongue lashing from me, and not the good kind of tongue lashing if you know what I mean. I recently encountered four skanky middle school age girls who did not have the courtesy to move when I was riding past them on my mountain bike on the sidewalk. As I was going past them, I kindly told them, “How about you dumb fucks move next time.” After a mumbled mouth full of metal reply that I couldn’t understand I replied, “Get the fuck out the way next time or I will T-bone you cunts” and I proceeded to peddle off. Hopefully lesson learned.

Note 2:

Parents, and by no means am I being Mr. Creeper in the white van, if your daughter dresses like a skank in middle school there is a severely high probability that she will be a skank in high school. I’m not saying to dress them in Amish outfits with collared wool dresses that cover their ankles but come on unless you want to be babysitting your grandchild while your daughter goes to junior prom I would suggest trying to pay more attention to what they are wearing when they are walking out of your house.

Note 3:

Go see The Hangover. Hands down it is an instant comedic classic. I mean if there is another movie that makes you want to roofie yourself and your friends and then spend the next two days piecing the scrambled clues of the ensuing debauchery together well I sure as hell can’t name it. For all of us that have woken up wondering why we have no underwear on or have found the oven left on with a tray full of smoldering black pizza rolls or have gone through the McDonald’s drive thru to get breakfast unaware that we have permanent marker hieroglyphics all over our face, then this is the movie for you.      

Well like the rumbling, stumbling tumbling weeds of the Mojave Desert I’m outta this joint like a c-sectioned baby.