"...Mothafuckin' Fjords and Shit."
The Birchman said...
"Help me god...Where is my life going?
Signed,
The younger more likeable Wang?"
1) Meet my younger brother. Or, as I like to call him when I'm feeling ungenerous, BabyWang. He's 6'6", and the logical extension of my 5'10" father's idea to marry a tall (6'0") woman in order to have taller children, more suited to athletic competition. Just like the saying goes: "Marry first for strategic breeding purposes, second for money, and if you're still around and physically capable, thirdly for love."
2) Keep in mind, everyone, the level of extreme dedication my continued blogging shows. Think about the terrible and awful things I reveal about myself here weekly. Then think about how you'd feel if your (relatively) innocent younger brother was reading about them. Yeah, I know: I'm an Impressive Hobgoblin of Foolish Consistency in a Roiling Sea of Rational and Oft-Inevitable Change.
3) I'm a bad older brother, but a protective one. So no talking shit about LittleWang, unless you wang the brutal wrath of ElderWang called down upon you. You know, unless he deserves it or it's pretty funny.
4) In answer to your question, brother, hope and pray your life isn't on the same path as mine, or you'll end up an unemployable loser whose notable accomplishments over the last week can be summed up in a list including only "managed to keep caloric intake below 1000 in 6 of the last 7 days."
I had a dream last night in which the Swedish Chef from the Muppets asked me angrily when I burst in on him in the sweltering Perry Center bathroom, "You think we in here, playing motherfucking fjords and shit? FJORDS AND SHIT?!" Even in the dream I can remember clearly thinking, "Wait a second, aren't fjords and shit notable in Norway?"
I rule
"Help me god...Where is my life going?
Signed,
The younger more likeable Wang?"
1) Meet my younger brother. Or, as I like to call him when I'm feeling ungenerous, BabyWang. He's 6'6", and the logical extension of my 5'10" father's idea to marry a tall (6'0") woman in order to have taller children, more suited to athletic competition. Just like the saying goes: "Marry first for strategic breeding purposes, second for money, and if you're still around and physically capable, thirdly for love."
2) Keep in mind, everyone, the level of extreme dedication my continued blogging shows. Think about the terrible and awful things I reveal about myself here weekly. Then think about how you'd feel if your (relatively) innocent younger brother was reading about them. Yeah, I know: I'm an Impressive Hobgoblin of Foolish Consistency in a Roiling Sea of Rational and Oft-Inevitable Change.
3) I'm a bad older brother, but a protective one. So no talking shit about LittleWang, unless you wang the brutal wrath of ElderWang called down upon you. You know, unless he deserves it or it's pretty funny.
4) In answer to your question, brother, hope and pray your life isn't on the same path as mine, or you'll end up an unemployable loser whose notable accomplishments over the last week can be summed up in a list including only "managed to keep caloric intake below 1000 in 6 of the last 7 days."
I had a dream last night in which the Swedish Chef from the Muppets asked me angrily when I burst in on him in the sweltering Perry Center bathroom, "You think we in here, playing motherfucking fjords and shit? FJORDS AND SHIT?!" Even in the dream I can remember clearly thinking, "Wait a second, aren't fjords and shit notable in Norway?"
I rule
posted by Derek at 11:10 AM
3 Comments:
Your conception was the result of an attempt to create a super-athlete, and mine was based on an unspoken class system, in an effort to persevere the dignity of retarded middle-class families who like to pretend that they're some kind of royalty because they're bored and have no other talent or interest. I wonder if you and I are disappointments? Then again, when you're as diluted as the Dutch household; prepare for disappointment.
Deluded*
I often wondered if I am a disappointment. Once I wondered outloud to my mother. Her response, "In HighSchool you were an honors student and voted Most Likely to Become President. Now you play cards for a living, bathe irregularly, and I don't see any grandchildren coming from you before I die. Let's just say expectations outpaced reality. (pause) I love you, anyway."
If my status as a disappointment were in doubt, the "anyway" at the end left no room for interpretation
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