Get 2 Choppin

For some odd reason I have never partaken in the coffee drinking experience until today and Oh My God it is the greatest thing since Jesus raised Lazerus from the dead, I can almost guarantee he just poured a couple sips of high octane columbian coffee down his throat and BAM!

I have such a great buzz it is crazy, I mean I feel like superman. I cleaned my apartment, even scrubbing my kitchen floor which I despise, from top to bottom in 27 minutes and 33 seconds, no lie. I may never sleep again, I don’t feel like I need it. No energy drink has ever made me feel this good (hold on and let me take a sip, man I even feel like more of an adult just saying that and doing that).

Why, oh why, have I forsaken the coffee drinking experience? Maybe it was the imagined down side of coffee like the math teacher with the horrible afternoon coffee breath or maybe I was just trying to escape the shadow of my father who would put down a big pot of the black breath of life before heading to work at five in the morning (oh dad, now I see the light, please forgive my insolence and ignorance. If I only knew then what I know now.)

I had my first steaming cup of Can Do this morning from Speedway. Let me just say there is something inherently grown up about sitting at the breakfast table and slowly sipping from a cup of coffee. I felt like I should have a newspaper in my hand and even though I was by myself I should come up with something smart to say like, “The ramifications of the latest stimulus package on the middle class will have a socialist ripple effect on our democratic government”. I don’t know if that makes sense but if it did I bet you a coffee drinker would say it. (time to take another sip, is there anything better than the relaxing sound of the exhalation “aghhh” after taking that sip?)     

Of course to make up for lost time, I decided to have another piping hot taste of euphoria this time from Dunkin Donuts.  Is it too late to be drinking this much coffee this late in the day? I don’t know but don’t worry I will just write all the posts for get2choppin.com for the next two months tonight while rearranging my closet and library by color, the closer it is to the color of coffee the higher priority it gets in my life. I mean I got nothing but time and energy. I think I’m going to for a run, let me just put the lid on my coffee.

Next step brewing my own coffee at home! Any suggestions?

Here at get2choppin.com we are all about starting new and exciting trends. This time Wham Dickham and John E. Bravo recently stumbled upon the new time-killer called Facebook Status Update Comment Faux Fighting. This came about because we obviously have so much free time that we can spend an hour or more commenting faux fighting back and forth. Eventually as you will see it turned into an all out fuck your mother fight, straight Boston style. Don’t worry no one’s feeling were hurt in the process of this episode of Facebook Status Comment Faux Fighting.  It was definitely one of those Ah ha! this could be something moments.

Here are the excerpts from the original faux fight with narration in parenthesis:

Original Status:

John E. Bravo is vegging on the couch but he thinks he should really do something (innocent enough I believe).

Wham Dickham: Maybe you should be a friend and not sell-out (it takes a quick turn for the worse).

John E. Bravo: Wham, just keep on talking with that dirty girl kissing mouth. Why I oughta!

Wham Dickham: You owe me lunch now. 

John E. Bravo: How about a knuckle sandwich with some kidney punch? (Time to ratchet it up a notch).

Wham Dickham: How about those pants make you look fat (oh he knows how to hurt old John E. Bravo).

John E. Bravo: Ouch. Well maybe because they are yours. I stole them to put on my little black lawn jockey but I wanted to stretch them out first so they would fit. (This is where Shanie B. joins in the fracas)

Shanie B.: Guys, friends shouldn’t fight.

John E. Bravo: (This is where is turns Boston style) stay on your side of Third street you dirty cup of clam chowder.

Shanie B.: Wow you are tough! Tits! Your sister loves 3^rd street.

Wham Dickham: John E. Bravo, you are a Yankee. (In a Boston fight that is a no-no)

Shanie B.: BIG YANKEE! And I say big as in large not as in the form of kinda big.

John E. Bravo: (Time to bring their dirty mothers into the brawl) Look at these two Southie pricks ganging up on big John E. and I mean big like I fucked both your moms big.

Wham Dickham: (he pulls the dead mom sympathy reversal trick) that’s low. You know my mom died in a fire on Romeo Street and 4^th and the damn Yankee fire department didn’t save her. So shut up ova der.

John E. Bravo: Damn right that was a wicked fire. Sorry we had to use our hoses on you stinky Back Bay bastards. Fucking shower you dirty rats.

Wham Dickham: Well here is a true story, John E. I have done this but only by your muddah’s request. She told me to give her a Boston pancake which is when you shit on a girl’s chest and slam it repeatedly with your balls until it is flat, and then you add your own syrup…if you know what I mean. (It starts to get ugly)

John E. Bravo: Wow that reminds me when I took your mother for a ride on my turnpike to show her the Cleveland steamers I told her about. It was the only time she left that rat- infested house you live besides to pick up her welfare check and a box of wine for your in home communion since Father O’ Brien kicked you out of the church for stealing from the tins (nothing is sacred in a fight like this, trust me).

Wham Dickham: Oh yeah, that ain’t shit. You mother was introduced to the Boston Banzai, which is of course a devastating sexual maneuver. You start off by banging a chick doggy style while surrounded by a crowd of Asians, preferably obese. Then the crowd of Asians all yells “Banzai!!!” and start defecating. At this point the situation devolves into an epic struggle as to who can shove the most fecal matter into each other’s orifices.

John E. Bravo: Shit son, your mother is so fucking daft she actually thought a Boston crème pie was when her fucking one night stand, or as you call like to him “ my day daddy”, didn’t pull out.

Wham Dickham: You went to far pal. It is so on. Your mom asked me for the Boston Bun Missile and I have to admit it was awesome. You are obviously sexually inexperienced, how the hell I don’t know since your mother is the fucking local turnstile, to know what that is so I am going to enlighten your dumb ass. The Boston Bun Missile is the act of sliding your erect and throbbing member in between the buttocks of a willing female and we know your mother has never uttered the word no from those whore lips. The act is commonly used as a variant of the “titty fuck” and the “butt sex” methods of getting off. The BBM (as is commonly called can be used when anal sex is unwanted or flat out denied (as in fact there is no penetration, it just slides between the butt cheeks like your mother slides from john to john.)

John E. Bravo: That reminds me when I erroneously signed up for the Boston marathon thinking I was running 26. 2 miles but instead it was your dirty whore mother laying on a dirty mattress with her big hooker boots filled with change and all her “boyfriends” lined up around the block all the way to Gallagher and 3^rd…if you know what I mean you.

Wham Dickham: (I conceded Wham the last word because I was laughing my ass off, sorry we have a warped sense of humor but this is the end. I hope you enjoyed the first ever Facebook Status Comment Faux Fighting Battle) Dude I met this crazy bitch, and she introduced me to the Twat Twister. That crazy bitch I was telling you about was tour raggin’ ass mother. So back to the Twat Twister, while in the act of fornication, or as your mother calls it work, the male subject lies down and the female sits on top. The twist is the woman holds on to a ceiling fan, thus spinning her and her dirty twat around your Johnson. Watch out for speeds and pay your electric bill otherwise it won’t work.      

There is nothing worse then coming to the sudden realization that you were the fat guy in the group. Now I am not saying that I was the ugly fat guy, more like the cute adorable cuddly wuddly fat guy but apparently I was the fat guy. I was Chubby McChubberstein.

I guess there is obviously going to be some form of denial. It is expected. Like only wearing hoodies with your “favorite” pants. You know the only pants that fit your fat ass but yet you think you look good in them, the dreaded fat pants. Yes even I have had fat pants. Then there is the I am bulking up excuse. You know the, “Don’t worry about me guys. I am on an eight week creatine cycle and this is just water weight but you should see the poundage I am throwing up at the gym”, or the constant tuck and duck moves you would pull everytime you walked in front of a mirror.

What makes it worse is when you are in the process of shedding those unslightly pounds and you take a little vacation for a month and as soon as you got back everyone is like, “Did you go to detox cause you look like you lost some weight?” or the ever popular, “you look good? did you lose weight?”. That one baffles me because they pretty much just told you that you didn’t look good before. Basically what they are saying is damn you were a fatty boomba-lattie and oh by the way we didn’t want to tell you before but you were FAT. 

Now what is even more disturbing is when you start to shed some pounds and one of your smaller friends offers you their old fat pants that are too big for them. I don’t know if this should be taken as a compliment or an insult but it reeks of that person thinking they are better than you.

Well the good news is I was the fat guy that visited egypt because I was in denial but now I can say that I am no longer the cuddly fat guy of the group. I am back to hottie boomba-lottie status if I do say so myself and I do say.

Did you ever have one of those moments in your life when the planets aligned, the girlfriend (if you have one) wasn’t mad at you for something stupid you did when you were drunk that you don’t really remember anyways, and your favorite song was always playing on the radio when you got in the car. The Choppin’ nation likes to call those moments, the Ah ha! moments of life, like the first time as a kid you try to stick your wanger-doodle into a light socket and you get a sudden jolt of realization that it is plugged in and you should not do that. Or as an adult you wake up like someone shit in your mouth and you have a black eye and redish colored beard on your mouth and you go Ah Ha! I should definitely not drink jack anymore. Well I have just had one of those moments and it was when i was having one of my favorite things in the world, a shower beer.

It all started when following customary drinking procedure I decided to initiate my pre-shower cleansing routine. First, grab a beer and head to the shower. Second, hope your buddy has a clean towel to use. Third, turn the water on and again hope that your buddy has paid the gas bill so you have hot water or that the water heating unit is fixed. Fourth crack open shower beer, take sip, and hop into shower with said beer. Fifth, after getting yourself wet lather up with what ever you can find soap, shampoo, or conditioner. This is where the problem occured, I dropped the soap and when i went to reach for the slippery bar, I slipped and fell onto my shower beer. Well the Ah ha! moment came when I realized that the shower beer should always be a can and not a bottle.