Get 2 Choppin

 Sometimes it takes distance between an event and/or a tradition to see how ridiculous it actually appears. In all reality it just takes individuals like Wham Dickham and I, John E. Bravo, who sees the humor and homo-ness in all things. One of those traditions is the Senior Picture.

First, this decadent tradition is definitely outdated because of the greater emphasis on higher education and thus the high school diploma has lost some of its luster. Second, it tends to be gayer than a San Francisco politician. Recently, for instance, I heard one young gentleman you had his picture taken with his girlfriend. I’ve seen senior pictures with students holding balls but this is ludicrous.

That is why Wham and I decided to mockingly recreate our senior photos to exorcise some old demons and to shed a fresh light on the Teen scene. The first photo is the classic prone front double hand chin lift with a double leg curl. As you can see this recreation definitely exaggerates the complete and utter homo-ness of the senior photo.

The second photo is the ever classic nature scene. Wham pulls off the, “Sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting my senior year away” pose without a hitch in his get up. Of course, the shirt off is a tad bit risqué for a senior photo but that’s Wham being Wham.

Poses that didn’t make the cut include the “in the tree, look at me” pose, the “wondering on the water” and the “Kevin Meldrum is fat” pose.

Nate Robertson is the Man…

For those that don’t know Nate Robertson is a left hand pitcher for the Detroit Tigers. He is as cool as ice and as unflappable as a ten button pea coat. He single handedly got the Tigers to the World Series in ’06. His trademark cheek full of Big League Chew rallied the Tigers in more games than Brandon Inge could swing a stick at (which is what that strikeout machine tends to do quite a lot). Watch out or Master Nate will blow gum all over your face.

You have to feel for Nate Robertson. A fat guy running a mile in a muumuu gets more run support than Nate, but he doesn’t complain. He just sustains his greatness. He has battled back from an injury that would have ended most normal pitcher’s career. My motto for Robertson in 2010 is, “It’s never too late to be great Nate”. 

This lovable lefty is not just about the diamond, his off the field work has more jaws hanging than his wicked off speed pitches. At a recent fundraiser hosted by the University of Detroit Mercy in which participants biked for 36 hours straight, Nate Robertson was the anchor man that brought it home like Pete Rose in the all-star game; hard and fast and he didn’t let anything get in his way.

Rumor has it that “Nasty” Nate Robertson was living in the Titan weight room this off-season. Most people (or maybe I should say Nater-haters) would take that figuratively as that he spent a good deal of time there, but his true fans know that he actually lived there. He was in the weight room 24-7 since the meltdown in the Metro dome. The lefty with the lens has endeared himself to this city with his hard work and big heart so when he steps on the mound this year let’s give him his due respect and stand and cheer for the man, the myth, the lens-gend.

Side note: Nate if you do perchance ever read this, please take Brandon Inge under your right wing (the left one is too sacred) and tell him to get rid of the soul patch, cover the tattoos, and then take him to Lens-crafters and have his eyes checked out.

After spending three weeks touring the Albanian countryside with his traveling circus sideshow, Funkel Witherbean has returned to this side of the globe. His duties as Ringmaster, strong man, trapeze artist, lion trainer, human cannonball, and clown car driver left him a bit frazzled (not to mention his love square with the Siamese twins, contortionist, and the fat lady).

He decided to take a leave of absence and let his Albanian protégé enjoy a bit of the spot light. Funkel’s one bit of advice before he left was simply, “Just remember the fat lady has a big top too but that doesn’t mean you want to be under it when the lights go on. You have to respect the dynamics of the circus and don’t eat steak before sticking your head in the lion’s mouth”.

After taking a couple weeks to resolve a technical issue on the Russian space shuttle and settling an ugly disagreement for the Svenheali tribe of southeastern Somalia over a domestic dispute between the King, his 33 wives and their prized cow that threatened to tear the tribe apart, he has stopped by the headquarters of g2c to catch up with us an take a little R and R in the process.

When Funkel Witherbean slows down to take a breath the Amazon forest sighs because it knows it will need to up its production of oxygen to meet the sudden demand. His next major project involves swimming across the Pacific Ocean tagging all the hammer head sharks for a commercial sponsored by Home Depot that incorporates their new ad campaign.

The commercial begins with the jaws theme and numerous men running around a hardware store looking for the last hammer that a bewildered looking gentleman possesses and who is trying to make his way to the counter. The narrator says, “Does it feel like your swimming with sharks when you go to those smaller hardware stores looking for that last piece of equipment you need to complete your latest home project”.  Then the camera will zoom to a shot of Funkel swimming in the ocean and as he lassoes a shark the narrator will continue, “Come to Home Depot because according to Funkel Witherbean, (who smiles and in permanent marker writes 3112 on the shark’s side and smiles), ‘they have more hammers than hammer head sharks in the ocean, trust me because I counted them’”.   

Look for it to be aired during the Super Bowl. Until next time, remember that Funkel is like that cool uncle that slips you a twenty before your first date and gives you the cool inside advice that lasts for a lifetime, “if you want to get close take her to a horror movie if you know what I mean”.

Sherlock Holmes, Nine, and It’s Complicated have nothing on the latest holiday blockbuster from the famous actor Jack Russell Crowe. His latest film, “Murder at Midnight Mass: Some Merry Mischief” playing in limited theatres across the country has created some Oscar buzz and has already earned him a nomination for a Bronze Bone.

His performance as a lonely farm dog in search of the killer of his predecessor, Buddy the Barnyard Bodyguard has been hailed as brilliant. The New Yorkie states, “Jack Russell Crowe barked up the right tree when he cornered this script”. The film opens with Jack Russell Crowe suited up in a jacket and hoodie about to head out as undercover agent into the teeming world of farm animal felons.

He first encounters the prostitute, Mary “the nightmare” Magdalene, who attempts to seduce him away from his mission with her stable of sexy steeds.  He barks, “You sure you’re a horse cause you’re acting like an ass” and after a few puppy paws to the head he gets the information he came for and in the process teaches her there is a time for horsing around.

The clues lead him to Bull Brahma, the beef behind the Moo Mafia. Bull reigns as the Prince of the pasture and anything and everything that happens in the yard happens because he lets it happen. Jack Russell Crowe won’t let that tick tock while he’s on the clock. He puts the terror in terrier, and says enough of this bullshit. He charges in and before Bull can get his piece out of his Holstein (if you know what I mean) Jack has him squawking like a chicken. Unfortunately he has an alibi, but he tells Jack about some rumors he heard that are fresher than a steaming cow patty.

Fortunately, this clue doesn’t take him on a wild goose chase. When he comes across a piece of plastic, his anger gets the better of him and Russell tussles with the temptation to tear the evidence to bits but the police dog in him prevails. The clues start piling up and the climax of the film has Jack Russell Crowe unleashing his fury on the murderer. I’d throw you a bone as to who done it but that is one of my pet peeves so enjoy the movie!

Just this past weekend, in an unprecedented and impromptu move, Wham Dickham and John E. Bravo hit the road. They took their successful shit show chi-nanigans to Chicago. They blew through the windy city like an early Alberta Clipper coming in off the shores of Lake Michigan.

It all started with a call from Mary Carey, she earned this nicknamed because she talks a great game, and before we knew Wham and I were in the pimped out limo-tint windowed Saturn with the gas saving spoiler faster than Steve Bartman getting escorted out of Wrigley Field. The ride down consisted of creating the top ten road trip songs from the vast array of tunes from Wham’s I-Pod. In the end, REO Speedwagon’s, “Time For Me To Fly” took over the top spot from the early favorite, “When Doves Cry” by the Twin Cities Talent, the artist formerly known as Prince but really still known as Prince.

The two of us pulled into Chicago at 10 p.m. (Central Standard Time for the time challenged) and were taking down four dollar drinks like we owned the mythical Sears Tower (I say mythical because for being the tallest building in Chicago, we did not see it the entire time we were there). Let’s just say by the end of the night you had a better chance of understanding Ozzy Osbourne sing, “Take me out to the ball game” then to pick up on your juiced up gibberish.

The night went off without a hitch despite the fact that Wham almost got into a fight with a bouncer because the bouncer was wearing a White Sox hat in CHICAGO. Go figure! Thanks to a timely order of six PBR’s that came in a handy carry case, I defused the situation by the simple tactic of a drinking diversion (of course to Wham’s defense, the bouncers were morons who thought that I had snuck a six pack of opened PBR bottles in a Bud Light six pack carrier into the bar, I wish I was that clever and crafty at that point in the evening).

The night was not complete without some chinanigans by Wham. On the return to the apartment complex, he pulled a marvelously mischievous move by sweeping the elevator keys with his massive forearm hitting every single button and then hopping out leaving me with the slow ride to the summit. I repaid the chinanigan on the return trip by posting my Facebook status as, “I can’t believe we have to stop so Wham can get his sweetheart some chocolates”. This move forced Wham’s hand and we had to take a detour for some delicious dark delights.    

Saturday started with some coffee and a newspaper. Surprisingly the Chicago Daily had this caption in bold print, “Devlin Dunks on Dickham” for the above photo. After a little sight seeing, the second night was predestined to be a  Snap-Up Saturday.  Let’s just say Wham and I pulled it off like snap up pants before sex if you know what I mean. None of this would have been possible without the hospitality of Mary Carey. Not only did she lend me her Grandma’s Curious George blanket but she let Wham use the guest room with access to the balcony and the amazing view it offered.

I do though have one bone to pick with our trip to Chicago. On Saturday, we made a trip to Niketown to get a Livestrong bracelet for Wham. On approaching the checkout, he was told that they had been all out of bracelets for some time. This made us ask the question, why wouldn’t you have an abundant amount of bracelets since they the purchase of them raises money charity and also because they are signatures of the Livestrong foundation and logo?

As a Chicago native might say, “you two drank enough to kill da baby bears at da zoo”.