Get 2 Choppin

I have to admit I don’t have a lot in common with my mom except that we are both geniuses who were mired in thankless jobs and blossomed in later life. My mom raising three boys (and myself as trainer of the year 12 years running) never truly got the deserved recognition. This is the thanks that you deserve mom, and all mom’s for the behind the scene work that no one notices. The band-aids on scraped shins, the cookies and milk for no reason, and the unconditional love when it is totally not deserved.

This reminds me of a few stories that makes my mom and all mom’s super duper special. This may be hard to believe but I was a tad bit clumsy as a child but had no fear and was simultaneously overly aggressive. Supposedly when I was two I fell off a bunk bed and split my head open on a toy tractor, (notice supposedly something still seems a bit fishy about that whole situation but I do have a tendency to fall off lofts and bunk beds).

Later when I was five, my brothers and I had the bright idea to throw water balloons down the slide to make it more slippery for the slide surfing we were doing. I proceeded to wipeout and break my arm. It was my mother who fished me out from under the bed three hours later and stablized my arm as my dad drove to the hospital. The only thing I remember about that incident is the sundaes from McDonald’s and the little fire truck I got for being a good little boy and the subsequent black eyes I got when I was playing broken arm cast baseball and I hit myself in the face when I tripped and fell rounding third. I am sorry if I gave the impression to the neighbors that my parents were abusive.

The last thing event that makes my mom so great is the time I was playing backyard football with my brothers and sister. I was in the open field making a run for the goal line when my sister out of nowhere dove at my feet and made a shoelace tackle (I still to this day believe a very cheap tackle) and thus causing me to break my collarbone. Of course, My mom concerned for my presentability among the hospital staff who knew me like their own took off the dirt stained shirt and put on a clean one (despite the obvious discomfort that my broken collar bone was causing me). This was a lesson I guess to always look your best no matter the situation. Thanks Mom.

Anyways, Here’s , Cheers and Beers to you Mama Bravo, Mama Wham “Diesel” Dickham, Mama Collins the sunshine of K.C.’s life, Mama Blue cause you do that thing that you do, Mama Ferguson whose son is known as the “turd” but you are the shit, and Mama Shanie B. who may be the sergeant but you’re the general of that family and to all the mom’s in the world, Happy Mother’s Day from g2c.

Once upon a time the planets aligned, distance worlds collided, brilliant baby stars were born from the depths of an amazingly complex universe and french onion dip was created. This edition of Here’s, Cheers, and Beers goes to you: creator of French Onion Dip. This combination of mismatched ingredients has made tastebuds dance the happy dance for many, many years.

It is as much a part of the American landscape as is the family dog, the white picket fence, and a place to call our own. The saying should have been, “three things are certain: death, taxes, and french onion dip as long as it is not left out in the hot sun”. How can you deny the fact that french onion dip has been there through the thick and the thin of it and by the way I prefer my french onion dip to be on the thin side, a little bit soft such as the Country Fresh brand of french onion dip compared with the harder french onion dips such as the Yoder’s version.  

It has been there. Think about it. Your high school graduation party, french onion dip. Fourth of July Barbeques, french onion dip. Class and Family reunions, french onion dip. Sporting events such as the Super Bowl and Scott Hamilton’s Ice Skate-a-rama, french onion dip. Birthday parties, french onion dip. Your first “experience” with a member of the opposite sex (or for some of you the same), french onion dip. Get your minds out of the salsa dip you creepers. I meant that awkward first dance when everyone crowds around the punch bowl and the french onion dip waiting for someone to break the ice and go footloose and fancy free on the dance floor.

The amzing thing is that you would never imagine that this could possibly be a good idea. It is like the good, the bad, and the ugly of dips. The good is the sour cream, despite the obvious unpleasing connotations of the word sour, it is what makes the right consistency. Then there is the bad. Those damn arrogant french bastards. I mean what gives them the right to put their name in front of everything just because they created it. French kiss, french toast, french fries, french dressing, yada, yada, yada. I get it France you are better than us. I should “Ou la la” your ass all the way to the Bordeaux region where I would proceed to take down some wine, baquettes, and french onion dip before I take the tip of Italy’s boot and kick your “derierre”. The final ingredient is the onion and you know what disdain we have for the onion here at get2choppin.com.

Somehow though it all comes together and becomes the social phenomenon that it is. For instance you could meet your future spouse as the two of you simultaneously reach for the dip, your eyes meet and you gaze longingly wondering if the other is dipper or a scooper. Then both your chips break as your hold is gradually tightening as your pheromones are ramping up and next thing you know you are smearing french onion flavored wedding cake over each others faces as your guests enjoy an appetif of french onion dip and veggies (coincidence french onion dip is at your wedding. I think not, it is the universal companion to any food).

So here’s cheers and beers to you French Onion Dip and your creator. I myself like to think that even God if he had it to do all over again would prefer to slip his sacramental wafer into some french onion dip before taking communion. It just makes to much sense to not make sense.

So be the dapper dipper and before Cinderella tries on that slipper get yourself some french onion dip.

This post goes out to the user of the air finger quotes. This simple procedure can get you out of just about any situation in which you wish to offend somebody but not take the responsibility. There are many different types of ways that people utilize the air finger quotes, some to their advantage and some to the disadvantages of others.

First, we have all seen the person that doesn’t have enough moxie to say something like “hi there you cheating louse of an ex-wife” but by simply making bunny ears with his two hands and raising them in the air with a quick two finger curl of each you can say what ever you want under the guise that it was someone else. The same person by applying finger quotes can say: look, (insert finger quotes) “the bitch that ruined (insert your name)’s life” is here. F.Y.I. The reason you insert your own name is to make it look like someone else said it.  

Second, if you are at a bar and a girl is pissing you off or your friends by being that super annoying girl you can say, would you mind not being such a (insert finger quotes as you say) “Kunt with a K.” *Of course then you will have to explain the differences in the C version and the K version of the word, and it is a big difference because obviously Kunt with a K is way less offensive*

Third, another simple technique if you are looking to cause some friction between a random guy that is hitting on a hot girl you want to talk to would be to walk up and interrupt their conversation and say hey did your ex-girlfriend have that (insert finger quotes)” problem” taken care of by that (insert finger quotes)” special” out of state doctor?

Fourth, you can also use the technique on your own friends. For instance, you can say, hey buddy I (insert finger quotes) “banged” your sister/mom/brother/dad (whatever fits the occassion) last night. When he responds angrily back with, what do you mean you (insert finger quotes) “banged” my sister/mom/brother/dad. You can respond, yeah you are right (insert finger quotes) “banged” was the wrong word because that implies I had to work at getting your sister/mom/brother/dad in the sack, zing (insert finger quotes) “you frigging loser”.  

Well I hope all you non- choppin’ (insert finger quotes)”slapdicks” out there have learned when to use the finger quotes, if not as the legends say (insert finger quotes) “you’ve been chopped”.  

Well It is christmas day and I hope all you choppinites were nice and not naughty, okay maybe a little bit naughty.

Anyway this post is for good old St. Nick. This guy has probably got the hardest job on the planet. First of all he has to work with a bunch of midgets, I mean any heavy lifting around the place and he is the guy. That big sack of presents ain’t getting budged by no weak little elf. His back is probably shot. The only good thing about it would be the weekly basketball game. It would like ex-pro basketball player Greg Heston tearing it up in the Filipino Professional league.

Second he has the pressure of having to deliver all those gifts in one night. Thank god he doesn’t work for the post office or we would never see a damn present and he would probably flip out under the pressure and leave grenades in everyone’s stockings.

Think about the fact that he has to ride around on a damn sled, can’t he hire any smart elves to bring that thing into the 21st century. Plus, imagine riding around having to smell reindeer gas, it is not like rudolph and his buddies are on a high fiber diet. It is all grains. I don’t want to mention the whole reindeer poop spit thing, but I bet by the end of the night his beard is crustier than the underside of a booger picker’s chair.

Plus it has to be torture on that fat dude seeing all those treats left for him. You know he ain’t in the best shape with that extra weight. He is probably one christmas cookie away from a diabetic coma. I just hope he isn’t lactose intolerant. Poor Mrs. Claus better stay away from his candy cane if you know what I mean.

The worst part is the hazards of breaking and entering through a chimney. By the end of the night and all that chimney soot on him people probably think he is a black guy trying to steal their shit. You know what that means, Mrs. Claus might have to pick out the occoasional buckshot out of Pere Noel’s dimpled ass (imagine that smell after a night of work in all that wool).

So here’s, cheers, and beers to you Santa Claus and tell that damn lazy midget next to you to get you another drink. Pronto. You have earned it.

So you like to toss back a few cold ones at your local watering hole huh? Think you are well known there? Think your a big shot because they remember you like to drink your pitchers of beer with a straw? You are not even close to the superstar drinker status that comes with having a nickname. You will know you have made it to the big time of super-regular status when you have earned yourself the coveted bar nickname.

This is something that doesn’t come easy. You can’t expect to walk into a bar and stumble out a few times and have yourself a friendly moniker that everyone knows you by.  No sir, this comes with years of dedicated drinking and embarassing yourself on a regular basis at your locale of choice.

Do you expect to earn the nickname “Champ” because you took down a couple boombas? Shit I should smack you in the face for even thinking the thought. The champ is the champ because he hits it so hard and so often that his liver probably looks like Evander Holyfield’s ear after a Mike Tyson fight, but yet he is still standing. He can take down an exorbinant amount of booze without even the silly drunk smile or the glassy eyes creeping in until he is 10-15 beers deep with a couple of shots added for good measure.

Then there is ”Coach”. This guy has taught everything from basketball to badminton to backyard beer pong and won. He doesn’t know losing and he doesn’t know your non-regular ass from a hole in the ground, but he will talk to you about any sport and you will be the better for it. He will out drink you like it his job, like it is his final coaching lesson. He will say “Keep that elbow in, see the target, tilt that damn head back son, and open that mouth wider….You got 20 seconds to down that on my whistle…..go” and you better do it and do it right cause coach don’t like losers. 

Then there are the celebrity franchise nicknames. These are the ones that are spread out all over the country in every podunk town in America.You got the classic ”Norm” and the newcomer “Frank the Tank”.

So if you run into these nicknamed fellas you know they got clout so pay your respects with a raised glass and a salute, “Last one done is a sissy” and take your loss with a grain of salt knowing that someday maybe you with a little practice and some luck can find a place where everybody knows your nickname.