The Dentist and Timberly Austin

(Tuesday morning at the Austin household)

Mom: Alright Timmy, here’s your lunch. Now, what aren’t we going to do at school today?

Timmy: No biting.

Mom: That’s right, no biting your friends at school today.

Timmy: Yes mommy.

Mom: Okay, you show the third grade who’s boss. And remember you need to go to the dentist after school. Aunt Sally will take you.

Timmy: Aww, mom, I hate the dentist, he’s a creep-freak.

Mom: Dr. Gammers? He’s the kindest man in Oregon. Don’t worry my little Tim Tim, it’s just a checkup. Now scoot or you’ll miss the bus.


(In the lobby at the dentist’s office)

Aunt Sally: You wait here Timmy, your Aunt Sally is going to walk over to the video store.

Timmy: Okay Aunt Sally. You sure have been going to the video store a lot lately.

Aunt Sally (Blurting out in a raised voice): Well, your Uncle Dick isn’t coming back anytime soon, so…..(lowers her voice)just wait here, sweetheart. (Pats Timmy on the head and walks out.)

Hygienist: Timothy Austin. Timothy. Austin.

Timmy (anxiously raises his hand): Here.

Hygenist: Come on in Timmy, Dr. Gammers will see you in just a minute.



(Timmy, laying back in dentist chair, when Dr. Gammers enters the room)

Dr. Gammers: Timberly, how’s the biz? What are you in high school now?

Timmy: Third grade Dr. Gammers. And my name is Timmy. I don’t like Timberly.

Dr. Gammers: Okay Timberly, I’m sorry. How are your parents?

Timmy: They’re going away until Sunday, so I’m staying with my Aunt Sally. She’s at the video store.

Dr. Gammers: Well we both know she isn’t there for the romantic comedies.

Timmy: Huh?

Dr. Gammers: Porn, Timberly. Your Aunt Sally loves hard porn. It ruined her marriage. (Timmy looks sad and confused) Now lay back so old Doc Gammers can get a look at those pearly whiteys. (Opens Timmy’s mouth with his mirror and scraper) What the fuck is going on here, Timmy? This is bullshit. Let’s see, a little plaque over here, some tartar on number 7. Oh look one, two, three cavities. Ding ding ding. We have a neglectful child. And Susan tells us what he’s won.

Hygenist: He’s only eight, Jean.

Dr. Gammers: Brrrnnnahh! Wrong Susan. He’s won the mouth of a middle aged Scottish man. Congratulations, Timmy. You have the teeth of an asshole child.

Timmy (eyes watering): I’m sorry Doc, I flossed like you told me to.

Dr. Gammers: You’ve been flossing? With what, stripper thongs?

Timmy (starting to whimper): I don’t know, but I have.

Dr. Gammers: Well Timberly, you’ve just added liar to the list of things that I hate about you.

Timmy: Why are you so mean?

Dr. Gammers: Mean? I’m not mean. I’m a dentist. I have a responsibility to your teeth.

Timmy: But I’m trying.

Dr. Gammers: You see that plaque on the door Timmy? (Timmy nods his head) You see those degrees on the wall? The awards and certificates that line my hallway? (Nods again) Do they say, Timberly the jerk boy? (Timmy shakes his head) No, they read Dr. Jean Gammers. And from the moment you walk in that door your teeth belong to me. And you are fucking with my teeth, Timmy.

Timmy: I’m sorry, I’ll do better.

Dr. Gammers: Yeah, you will. Because if you don’t, your parents are going to die.

Timmy: What?

Dr. Gammers: That’s right. I’m putting the dentist’s curse on you Timberly. If you don’t floss every night, your parents will die.

Timmy: No, they will not.

Dr. Gammers: Go ahead Timmy, test the curse, see if I care.

(Timmy gets up from the chair and bolts out of the office)

Dr. Gammers: God damn that boy can run.



(Aunt Sally’s apartment, phone is ringing)

Aunt Sally: Hello.

Dr. Gammers: Hi Aunt Sally, this is Dr. Gammers, how are you this evening?

Aunt Sally: I’m fine, just watching a movie.

Dr. Gammers: Oh, sounds pleasing. Aunt Sally, can I talk to Timothy please.

Sally: Um, I guess. You know, its kind of late Doctor, he’s already in bed I think.

Dr. Gammers: It’s quite important Aunt Sally. Please.

Sally: Hold on a second. Timmy, phone.

Timmy: Hello, this is Timmy.

Dr. Gammers: Timberly, Dr. Jean Gammers here. Were you under the impression that I was
prone to tomfoolery.

Timmy: Um.

Dr. Gammers: Did you think I was kidding about the curse? Do I seem like a man who engages in such japery?

Timmy: I don’t know what you’re saying.

Dr. Gammers: You didn’t floss tonight, did you Timberly?

Timmy: I was going to, but-

Dr. Gammers: But what? But, but, it doesn’t matter now, because there was a plane crash. A horrible plane crash Timberly, and I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but, your parents are dead.


(Timmy drops the phone and darts out of the apartment, down the street to his front yard, where he hops on his bike. Through the streets he rides, all night. Past his school, onto the highway, into the city. Through downtown Seattle and numerous shady neighborhoods, he peddles. He peddles until he reaches the airport. Once there, he rushes inside and scream-cries out for help.)

Timmy: Where are my mom and dad? Where?

Security guard (approaches Timmy, while talking on his cell phone): I’ve got it, he’s here, gotta go. (hangs up) Are you lost little man?

Timmy: My parents, they were in a plane crash.

Guard: Oh, that’s terrible. Here, take this. (Hands Timmy a pack of dental floss)

Timmy: No. My parents-

Guard: If I were you, I’d use that from now on.

(Timmy runs into the public restroom, where he begins to floss vigorously. He runs the floss as hard as he possibly can, back and forth along his gums. The intense floss is too much and Timmy passes out.)


(Timmy wakes up in a haze on a hospital bed, his parents and Dr. Gammers hover over him.)

Mom: Timmy, sweetheart.

Dad: Hey there pal.

Dr. Gammers: Congratulations, Timmy. You passed our test.

Timmy: Mom? Dad? You’re alive? (They nod, smiling in assent) Your with Doc Gammers? No. No. No. (Timmy jumps off his bed and out of the room, screaming.)

Dr. Gammers: Look at that boy go. Mr. and Mrs. Austin. Carol, Steve. Have you met Timmy’s gym teacher, Mr. Davis? I think I know of a way we can get Timmy to use that speed.

(The all laugh, insanely)

The End

Brodie's Modern Art

Revelations

May I Squier You?

There are two proven ways for a modern man to become a man. One, fornicate with another human. Two, watch this video and use it as a basis for everything you do from the moment it ends. I warn you, if you are easily mesmerized, run. If amazing things tend to make your head explode, turn away from the screen. You are about to experience God’s shining light. This is the reason we were made. This rendered everything done before it obsolete, and all done since pointless. I feel I may be underselling what you are about to see. Without this, we would never know what a whipsy swirl flippy spin bouncy prance looks like. Now, enjoy....

Brody vs. Brodie: Gas Prices

Brodie

Alright Brody. Now you’re sixteen, and you’re getting ready to take your newly purchased ‘94 Camry to Navy Pier to walk around, maybe score a few beers with your brother’s ID. One problem, your tank needs to be filled. You got 40 bucks? Maybe, between you, Eddie, and D-man. But D-man needs that money to buy the beers for the three girls you meet down there. Only they are not there, because they didn’t have the 40 bucks between them.

Where am I going with this? Gas prices. The prices keep rising. Instability in the Middle East and North Africa they say. Libya is at war with their beautiful Gadda, so there must be an oil shortage. Lack of access, right? It’s really a bunch of bullshit. Speculation on Wall Street is the reason for the bump. Wall Street and the oil companies LOVE when any country that drains its people and it resources has a conflict. They love watching Libyans die. Why? They use it as an excuse. And they make a killing off all the killing. How oil is allowed to be traded as a commodity to be speculated on is beyond me. The assholes buying and selling oil will never use it. It’s a little gambling dance. Only gambling where the speculators and big oil executives make the rules and pocket the money. They drive up prices every time there is conflict in a oil bearing nation. I’d love to see the giant erections they got after the earthquake/tsunami in Japan. Well, I wouldn’t love to see their giant erections, I was speaking figuratively, of course. But, back to their giant erections, I mean Japan, back to Japan. Japan produces about 1/15th the oil that Libya does. Don’t think it won’t affect prices though. Just as good of an excuse as any other.

Don’t expect any politician, from your local tea party jag hole to Barack Obama to talk about this obvious money suck. There are all kinds power players (see campaign contributors and influences) to alienate by pointing out this glaring problem. There are reserves to keep the oil flowing for as long as they need. There are shipments of oil just hanging out in tankers. Shipments being held back. Reserves never touched.

These people think we are stupid, and how can you blame them? The GOP recently championed an idea to change EPA climate rules in order to thwart rising gas prices. Are you fucking kidding me? These people are well aware of the speculation driven price hikes and they just wave the shiny ball of climate restrictions in front of us. They might as well say that the unemployed or the gays are behind it as well.

Will we ever wise up to the “hey look over here, while we get rich” charade that executive elite pukes out on us? And you wonder why Wesley Snipes doesn’t want to pay taxes. God bless you Wesley.


Brody

I’m not super good with sarcasm, but I think you are not really on Wesley Snipes’ side. Which is fine with me. He is part of the problem with the gas prices. Not to mention the unions. Those damn teachers are making so much money, they are sucking all of are oil resources dry. Do the oil companies even receive any subsidies or tax breaks? Probably not. They have to pay for some of their own oil spill cleanup. Not like the teachers and other union members. They get paid by us. They should take all their extra money and pay for our gas.

What a great idea. I love these little debates we have Brodie. The teachers should give their pay increases to the oil companies in order to keep gas prices low. And then on weekends and winter break and summer break, they can actually pump our gas. That will negate the bump in price from the savages in foreign lands who are cutting each other’s heads off.

Speaking of said savages, at the heart of it all is the Muslims. Now not only do I have to keep my head on a swivel at all times to make sure they’re not trying to blow me up or feed me Muslim food, but now I have to worry about them fighting each other and jacking up my gas prices. I’m totally conflicted. My go to line in the food court at the mall used to be, “go back to your country”. Sometimes I’d even throw in a little something like “camel boy” or “turban cowboy” or even “get Jafar away as you can”. But now, sending them back to their country would only increase the foreign conflict, thus causing me to shell out at the pump.

As for Wall Street, well, I hate a banker just as much as the next guy. But I trust an American man in a suit over a bunch of dusty, rock throwers in the Middle East. Let’s just hope that this conflict in Libya doesn’t spread to Africa. Bee-rody, lates.

Extremely Short Stories

Disillusioned

Reuben told me that he sold scarves and is turned on by images of polar bears. Turns out he was only half a liar.


The Parking Meter

Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. Tabitha was freezing. The weather report said it was ten below with the windchill. Only five more minutes. Maybe she should have worn gloves. A hat would have been practical. She was determined to get her money’s worth.


Jim Tuck

Jim never forgot to tuck in his shirt. T-shirt into sweatpants. Button-down into slacks. Friday night, collar-up, half-zip cotton shirt into jeans.

On Tuesday he wore a loose fitting long-sleeve workout shirt seemingly tucked into his running shorts. The shirt was one size too big. He was sloppy with the back tuck. The taxi door was closed too quickly. Jim was dragged twelve blocks.

His mother now tucks in his shirts for him. Right after she bathes him.


The Hotel Night Manager

Everything was open to Belmont Johnson. His home was pillared. His marriage allowed for outside partners. He drove a convertible. He neglected to wear a toupee or shave his head completely. A lifetime of preparation for his new job.


Oklahoma Spot Thieves

The world seemed like a wonderful place to Elizabeth. That was before she moved to Tulsa. She doesn’t know whether she will ever see her dog again.


The Eulogy

Jerry: “Do not brandish that.”

Gary: “Brandish?”

Jerry: “You’re brandishing your firearm.”

Gary: “Shut your mouth.”

Jerry: “I only ask that you don’t brandish-”


Gary “We may never figure out how Jerry ended up dead in an abandoned warehouse. He was a great man. He was a fancy word-user. Used words like daunting, flourish and brandish. We’ll miss you Jerry.”


The Newborn

Reginald?

No.

Bernard?

Noooooo.

Matthew?

Ohhhh. No.

Timothy?

Horace. Not now.

He’s about to be here. How ’bout Robert?

Your father? Horace he was a……..ohhhhhh…..sex pervert.

Randall?

No.

Daniel?

Stop. These are all terrible.

William?

No.

Alec, Stephen?

Stop naming Baldwins!

Jaden?

Please.

I've got it.


Ladies and Gentleman, the 53rd President of the United States of America.

Years ago, at my birth, a young nurse brought a basket of fruit into the delivery room. Such was fate. Now me and my unusual name will lead us through the second half of the 21st Century.



The Arm Wrestler

Bill clutched his opponent's hand. He pushed as hard as he could. Thoughts of his childhood flashed in front of him. He loved to wear the finger gloves. Before all the glory and the weightlifting and the hand exercising, he loved those gloves. He was wearing them now.


The Arm Wrestler

It is a mental game. Believe me. Columbus, Rockford, Mobile, the cities and the workouts change, but the game remains the same. Courtney was a female in a man’s world, but this was a gay bar. She felt even more alien at this competition. Then she put on her gloves and the powder. She strapped her elbow in place. Darius looked affected by his surroundings.

A third place finish and an advance towards her bus ticket to Scotsdale. She now knew she could handle anything.


The Arm Wrestler

“David! David, get in here.”

“Yes, dad.”

“I tripped over your flippin’ skateboard again. What did I tell you?”

“Mom said it was okay.”

“Dammit. I’m the man out there and I’m the man in this house.”

The Adventures of Mark Twain Turning Over in His Grave, Again.

Cowardly school boards and satirically-challenged parents rejoice! The banning of Huck Finn discussions are still going on in America. An edition has recently been released in which the word, “nigger”, is replaced with “slave”, in both Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Holy Shit.

Mark Twain wrote a masterpiece that not only influenced all American writing in its wake; his work is just as powerful and morally applicable today as it was back then. He confronted racism with a satirical approach, and if teachers have trouble teaching it, too bad. If they are uncomfortable, oh well. Can’t be any harder than teaching a 15 year old meth-head Chaucer. Old English and tweaking usually are not a great combination. “Billy’s licking the Wife of Bath again.” Better yet, if your kid comes home crying about the language in the book (probably won’t happen) or he/she doesn’t get it, then employ your fucking parenting skills and make them understand what they are reading is a reflection of America’s history; of its reality in that time.

For crying out loud. Why are parents always so annoyed about having to be parents? “What am I supposed to tell my kid when he asks about Jimmy Duncan’s two mommies?”. I don’t know, explain it to them. Be their parent. Your children are so much more accepting of people, of differences, of alternate paths of thinking than you are. That’s why little kids clap when they see giant purple dinosaurs or humans in colorful worm suits. I think they’ll be alright with two guys kissing. Maybe they should explain racism and bigotry to you.

Our kids can handle Huck Finn. Trust me. It’s you, overbearing parent. It's you, religious right secret masturbating zealot. It's you, spineless school board member, clutching your well paying job. You’re the people with the problem. Stop projecting your own fears and ignorance onto your children. And if you don’t get Huck Finn? First off, stop breeding. You are not very bright, and the world begs you to stop bringing dumb children into it. Second, take your current children to their grandparents for a year or so, and dedicate your time to learning some basic literary concepts. Its only fair that if you are going to object to a word or sentence or book, you should, at the very least, make an effort to understand exactly what you are objecting to. Oh, and get bent.

Amazing Bible Lessons: The Deuts

Hey boys and girls, once again its time for another beautiful, uplifting nugget of moral guidance from that classic trumpeter of murder, rape, and slavery…..The Bible! Gotta love yee Old Testament. Timely subject matter, I know. But the good book is what is on Brodie's mind today. So, here’s a little ditty from Deuteronomy 22:28-29. Deuteronomy, or what I sometimes like to call, seriously God?:

If a man is caught in the act of raping a young woman who is not engaged, he must pay fifty pieces of silver to her father. Then he must marry the young woman because he violated her, and he will never be allowed to divorce her.

Way to go God! You see kids, once again he is teaching you many valuable lessons at once. God is not condoning rape and slavery here. Rather, he is promoting responsible rape and dedicated slavery. If you don’t have a lot of money or you find yourself to be a commitment-phobe, you should refrain from raping any young woman. God does not, and I want to make this absolutely clear, love slavery and rape. But for a little cash and a pledge, he's willing to look the other way. Also, note how he specifies, a young woman who is not engaged. You see the benefits of getting married at a young age, girls? To a young man that is. You don’t want to marry a woman, or you will be put to death. Fair is fair.

For now, let's focus and just remember if you are gonna go a-raping, remember to carry plenty of cash and a loyal heart. Its what God wants.

Perfect Songs: Neighbors Know My Name

Trey Songz- Neighbors Know My Name

When an artist writes the perfect song, often times it goes unnoticed by the untrained ear. Trey Songz did so and now I am going to spend countless minutes dissecting it for you. You are welcome. Who is Trey? R Kelly Jr.? Maybe. A brilliant songwriter? Undeniably. One of the greatest things to ever happen to music, nay humanity? Decide for yourself. Take a listen to his perfect tune, while I break down its meaning and purpose and general amenche (not a word, maybe).

Neighbors Know my Name


[Verse 1]
Soon as we get started makin love goin harder hear a.. (knock knock) knocking on the wall, (Trey gets right to the point, he is fucking.)
And as soon as I go deep getting it in then again theres a.. (knock knock) knocking on the wall, (Pretty standard, putting it in and out. He’s going deep though, which tells us two things. One, he knows what he’s doing. And two. Big penis.)
Girl your legs keep shakin I swear we breakin our new headboard headboard (I love the fact that the background vocal repeats the word headboard. Unprecedented, putting the emphasis on the headboard here. Trey is obviously an innovator.)
And the love we make it feels so good girl you know I'm proud lookin in your lovely face scream my name you do it so loud (He’s proud of both of them, which is a rare emotion to have during sex. I thought that pride came before the ball.)

[Chorus:]
I bet the neighbors know my name
Way you screamin scratchin yellin, (The three true hallmarks of great sex.)
Bet the neighbors know my name
They be stressin while we sexin, (That’s just a great line. Who are these uptight people that live next door?)
I bet the neighbors know my name
My name my name
I bet the neighbors know my name
My my my...

Take this pillow right here (grab this) (Now he’s gonna get instructional, in falsetto. Sort of like the hokey pokey for hard fucking. The innovation continues.)
And I know you're so excited if you bite it they wont hear (I thought you were proud Trey? Do you want them to know your name or what?)
And you know just what we capable of, when we makin love
So the music gone be loud, you gone scream and shout
Girl your body's a problem, they call me the problem solver (What the? It’s clear he knows what he’s doing. What is there to figure out? Does she have two vaginas? No matter, Trey Songz has figured out the riddle that is fucking this bitch.)
Let phone sit on the charger, it could ring all night (I love that he had the sense to plug the phone into the charger before they got down to business.)

They can call, they can knock, and be upset, but I bet (Songz leaves us hanging here. What does he bet?)

[Chorus]
I bet the neighbors know my name (Oh shit, that's right. He's wagering on whether or not the neighbors know his name. I'm guessing he is pretty confident that they know it.)
Way you screamin scratchin yellin,
Bet the neighbors know my name (Trey!)
They be stressin while we sexin,
I bet the neighbors know my name (Trey Songz!)
My name my name
I bet the neighbors know my name (I no longer doubt his voracity.)
My my my...

[Verse 2]
Ill be bangin on yo body, they be bangin on our wall (Symmetry. Trey is no stranger to it. He clearly has the chops.)
While they dreamin, you be screamin now they bangin on our door (These people just don’t get it. Go ahead, go to the door, you think Trey is gonna let a little door banging stop him? You have not been paying attention.)
Sometimes she call me Trey, sometimes she say Tremaine (I bet the neighbors know his given name.)
When its all said and done bet the neighbors know my name
Sometimes she call me trigga cause I make her body blush (I don’t know what that means.)
They might think my name is OH SHHHHH, I make her cuss (Seriously neighbors? Idiots.)

[Chorus:]
I bet the neighbors know my name
Way you screamin scratchin yellin,
Bet the neighbors know my name
They be stressin while we sexing (Now I know why I like that line so much. He stole it from Thomas Jefferson. It’s from his Declaration on the Rights of Slave Bangers. Jefferson does it again. It's like my pappa tells me, "Lil' Brodie, read your Constitution and Bill of Rights and stuff of that ilk. No one knows what is best for you like dead, white men with white wigs.".)
I bet the neighbors know my name
My name my name
I bet the neighbors know my name
Neighbors know my name
I bet the neighbors know my name (I feel just walking next door sometime next week would clear everything up. "Hi, I'm-" "We know who you are, Trey. Come on in.")
Way you screamin scratchin yellin,
Bet the neighbors know my name
They be stressin while we sexin
I bet the neighbors know my name
My name my name
I bet the neighbors know my name (If anyone is still in the dark after another chorus, Trey Songz has sex with his girl in such a hard, deep, and rhythmic manner, that she can’t help but declare his name aloud. She does this to pay homage to the way he does his business, but the volume at which she does this disturbs their neighbors. They most likely live in an apartment.)

[Verse 3]
The way you scream my name (the way you scream my name)
Woah (Now even Tremaine is taken aback by his girl’s guttural yawlpings.)
Girl the love we make (girl the love we make)
Gone keep on bangin on the wall, but nothings gonna change
I bet the neighbors know my name (We end at an impasse. Trey has learned nothing from the situation, and his neighbors refuse to open their minds. Which leaves us to ponder. A song about rough sex and its effect on those around it and involved in it? Or a commentary on our current social and political climate? Only Trey knows the truth, and the neighbors know his name. All in all, a perfect song.)

Brody vs Brodie: Gun Control

In the wake of the shootings in Arizona, guns have become a big issue once again. At least this week. This is because, well lets face it, it wasn’t poor people, in a poor neighborhood that were killed (I stayed away from race there, yeah me!). Lets see what Brody and Brodie think about it…..

Brody

Is there anything better than a gun? Hey Brodie, ever hold a nine pound rifle in your arms? Its like cradling a steel baby that pumps out deadly projectiles. Ohhh, is there anything more....is there anything better than my little steel gun baby? Just think of our nation without guns. I know, right? The statistics support my belief that guns are great. Without getting too specific, in areas where gun control is more strict, the crime is higher. Where guns are less regulated, crime is virtually non-existent. Don’t bother looking it up. If you feel the urge to fact check it, grab a gun and hold it, tight. Fire one shot directly up in air. Feel good? I thought so. Boner? Get hard, you’re a true American now.

Hey, the criminals are gonna get the guns. I mean how are we supposed to defend ourselves? If there is one thing that will deter a criminal with a gun, its pulling a gun on him. Think about it. Who is more likely to die in your firefight with a gun-toting criminal? Not you. Worst case, you got a 50/50 shot of not getting shot. I’ll take those odds.

Not to mention, 2nd Amendment bitch. It’s an amendment, so it must be perfect. Think about it. If Ben Franklin was worried about Government taking over, shouldn’t you be? If John Adams needed a rifle, don't you?

Full disclosure, I have a small penis. It’s tiny. So, at first, I bought a big fucking truck. And despite my sweet burn outs and peel outs and rev ups, my penis remained minuscule. That’s when I figured it out. Why not extend my penis size with a shiny new gun. Guess what, it worked. I feel like a man. A man should have a gun and bullets. It is my god-given right to own something that can take someone's life in an instant.

I also can’t stand the non-whites, gays, and liberal gays, which is redundant, but fun to say. I don’t know what that has to do with guns, but most of my gun buddies seem to be on board with me on those things too. God bless the USA. Brodie is gonna attempt to use his intellectualness to make me feel inferior. Too bad I've got a gun. What's up now Brodie?


Brodie

Wow Brody! You are a true patriot. I can picture you right now, flying down a back road, sucking down a brew dog, firing your semi-automatic out the window, taking bites of your mayonnaise chili barbecue burger. America the Brave.

First off, this is not an argument about gun control. My issue is with the culture of gun worship that we have in this country. So instead of arguing the merits of gun ownership, why aren’t we all working on a way to curb violent gun use? Someone gets killed and everybody starts holding their guns to their chest or barking about tightening gun laws. Why aren't we focusing on creating a change in the way we think about gun use? Wouldn’t it serve everyone to slowly develop a different attitude towards guns? I'm not talking about their glorification in film and music. Those are byproducts of are society. Civil rights weren’t fought for and won in one swoop. It took generations and is still working its way through our social structure. But its constantly getting better, evolving.

I look at people who are vehement about having their guns in a similar way to opponents of gay rights. Those who oppose gay rights will often cite the sacred nature of marriage, the dissolution of the American core family, or praise be his name, the Bible. Truth is, they just don’t like gay people. They see a gay man and think fag. Otherwise, those same people would be protesting divorce or the use of mixed fabrics in clothing (condemned in the Bible, look it up). Gun supporters defend the Amendment as if it has any practical modern day application. Your gun rights were bestowed upon you in a different time and world. You are attached to your guns and you don’t want to give them up, so you make it about something else, something about social necessity. When the truth is that it is, in most cases, just another selfish want of yours. If it was really about defending your home or protection against government control, why are you getting your rocks off at a shooting range every other weekend?

Let’s talk about the 2nd Amendment. 1791. That’s the year of the 2nd Amendment. Don’t know what life was like in 1791? I’ll be quick....it was a lot different than the country is now. The Amendment’s purpose, to protect the people from its government. Bad news for ya, our government is not taking us over with guns. It has access to a plethora of more effective means than the guns you want to carry. Guns are ineffective in modern defense against government control. Cell phones and the Internet are much more effective deterrents to a totalitarian leadership. Communication defends a civilized nation against its power. The 2nd Amendment is obsolete in its original purpose.

My main argument isn’t about statistics or rights, but about necessity. We just have no practical reason to carry guns anymore. We don’t NEED them to hunt. We don’t NEED them to defend ourselves. We don’t NEED them to pick off a series of bottles and cans down by the crick. America is obsessed with guns. We are presented with a series of toy guns as children. Squirt guns, cowboy guns, Nerf guns, giant erections. Changing the culture is more important than changing the laws.

Culture and human nature dictate crime. Humans are violent. Americans are a nation of immigrants. What do immigrants have more than most? Energy. You may call it ambition or motivation or greed or gluttony, but America has great energy. We eat more, kill more, spend more, work more, divorce more, you name it, we’ll fuck it with our energy. I got an email from Barack Obama today (seriously, a mass email, but still), which said, referring to America, “We do things big.“. First, when did Obama turn into a douschebag politician from Texas? And second, why is that considered such a positive trait?

This is to say nothing of enjoying life. It’s about excess, doing it more, not better. Naturally, more guns seems like the answer. Now, the idea that people are becoming more violent or that TV or video games influence kids has always bothered me. Its more about the overall culture of a society. It doesn’t necessarily get increasingly worse or less moral or less conscious of its own decline. It changes, and if we can facilitate that change, why not? People will always kill each other. Why are some people falling over themselves to help the mentally ill, the criminal, or the everyday grudge-bearing humans have easy access to a weapon that can take dozens of people out at a time? Money is the simple answer. And for the gun lobbies, dealers, firearm CEOs, that is true. And for the everyday range shooter? Power, personal insecurity, or Brody, your small penis.

America's love affair with guns had its run. Too idealistic? Fuck you. You don't have to be phrenologist to realize that human stress is always looking for an outlet. Maybe providing the ammunition isn't such a great idea. I would love to keep rambling, but I'm off to play Call of Duty. "Now...I...got...you...in...the...sights...of my...".

10 Minute Piece: Some Guy's Request

Each week I will write a piece and post it in 10 minutes. This week, pure stupidity……


Two guys standing next to each other at a party. Sam and Julie’s engagement party!

Greg: Hey.

Craig: Hey.

Greg: How’s it going?

Craig: Good, good, I’m Craig.

Greg: Hey Craig. Greg. Man, these thing sure are a drag, huh?

Craig: Tell me about it, I’ve been waiting for my wife to give me the signal to leave for the last hour. I’m missing Sunday Night Football for this?

Greg: Yeah, sports, I love watching sports Craig.

Craig: Okay, cool, well it was nice to meet-

Greg: Put your finger up my butt.

Craig: Ha. That’s funny, well I think my girl is-

Greg: Go ahead, put your finger up my butt.

Craig: Are you serious?

Greg: I’ve never been more serious in my life. Put your finger in my butt.

Craig: I’m not putting my finger up your butt.

Greg: Come on, man.

Craig: No, what’s in it for you? What could possibly be in it for me?

Greg: Ever done it?

Craig: I’m not gay.

Greg: Gay? Whose gay? Just slide it up there.

Craig: Who the fuck are you anyway? Who do you know here?

Greg: I’m Karen’s friend.

Craig: Who is Karen?

Greg: She’s that one, over there.

Craig: Aren’t you the guy who-

Greg: Used to be friends with Emilio Estevez? Guilty.

Craig (confused look on his face)

Greg: So, Craig, let’s get this show on the road.

Craig: Listen man, I’m not putting my finger up your butt.

Greg: Look, I’ve got a hole in the back of my pants. Go ahead.

Craig: Holy shit. Buddy, I’m not really into this weird freakin’-

Greg: There’s a hole cut out in my underwear too.

Craig: I don’t know why I’m still standing here.

Greg: Maybe you’re intrigued.

Craig: Not that I'm even considering it, but we are surrounded by a bunch of people.

Greg: Come on, camper, get it up.

Craig: You don't even know who I am. Why me?

Greg: Stick it up, stick up, stick up, bee bup. Stick....it....up.

Craig: What is wrong with you?

Greg: Do it now, no one is looking.

Craig (pausing in thought): Say I do it. Then what?

Greg: You ever open a door into another universe?

Craig: No.

Greg: Well, put your finger up my butt.

Craig: But my wife-

Greg: Put it up there Craiger, jam it buddy, do it.
(Craig, looking around, quickly stuffs his index finger up Greg’s butt)

Greg: What the fuck! I was just fucking around man. Hey, everyone, look. This guy jammed his finger up my ass. Karen, do you know this guy? Sam? Julie?

Craig: He told me....you said....no, I just-

Craig’s wife, Stephanie: Craig, what are you doing? What is wrong with you?

Julie: I told you about him, Stephanie. What a freak.

The crowd: You creep! Take off! Pervert!

Karen: Are you okay, Greg?

Greg: I’m fine, lets go. (The party starts to disperse, with apologies to Sam and
Julie. Greg leans over and whispers to Craig) Thank you.

Craig: No. No. I’m not like this. Sweetheart? Stephanie? No! No, no no. I didn't even want to come to this party. Any one of you would have done the same. Maybe I liked it.....

Mercifully, The End.

Gervais at the Globes

I’m sure there is a more humorous way that I could write about this, but I think I’ll just quickly write what I think instead. So I just watched every word of Ricky Gervais’ Golden Globe hosting gig....pure genius. Fucking awesome. He’s got the balls of Colbert, without hiding behind a character (how ironic you would say that, Brodie). Mocking the self-importance of actors under the guise of host of their jerk-off fest is unbelievable. As if The Office, Extras, his pod cast with Merchant and Carl, The Invention of Lying, and his stand up isn’t brilliant enough. He is currently my comedic hero.

I cannot fucking believe that people are actually giving him shit for it. Check that, humans are idiots. I completely believe it. Fucking Hollywood high and mighties, god forbid someone makes fun of them. Robert Downey Jr. did awful fucking things. Just awful. Things that make Chuck Sheen look as sweet as Mother Teresa’s young virgin face. And the crowd is not on board with him getting ripped on? Really? Ricky Gervais is worse than a narcotic-gobbling monster who torpedoed his and the life of anyone involved with him?

Ricky Gervais is mean, he went too far. That is what Hollywood and critics are saying. Have a sense of humor about yourselves. You are making movies, not smuggling refugees to safety. What a bunch of assholes. Johnny Depp’s movie bombed and was a pile of garbage. So what? He’ll make 20 more in the next 10 years. Laugh about this one.


Listen, I’ll admit it. I watch and put some stock in the Oscars each year. But in reality these award shows are a joke. The self-importance can be really quite hilarious and I think Ricky Gervais completely understands that. So a gaggle of pretentious bags of dousche got a little riled up by a Brit. If you haven’t watched the clips, here’s a sample:

The Support Group

(Five men sit in circle inside a small room. The sign on the door says, "Support Group meets at 9PM".)

Sam, the Group Leader: Hello everyone, I would like to welcome all to our first meeting of the new year. Let’s hope 2011 is a lot better for all of us than last year. I would also like to welcome a new member to our group. Joe, could you please introduce yourself and say a few words to get the ball rolling.

Joe: Hello everyone, my friend Andrew suggested that I come here, and he didn‘t really tell me why. I guess I’ve been having some unusual trouble with people lately, but I’m not quite sure why. Anyways, my name is Joe-

Dave: Let me just interrupt for a moment. Sam, I have something that I really need to talk about.

Sam: Okay, but then we get to Joe.

Dave: Fine, it’s just, on my way here I stopped off at that new sandwich shop on 82nd St.

Wayne: Wait, not Eli's Deli?

Dave: That’s the one.

(The Group, excluding Joe, lets out a groan.)

Dave: So you’ve all been there I take it. Anyway, I didn’t know they were going to let me know my sandwich was ready by calling out the name on my credit card.

Wayne: They should really have a sign.

Dave: Long story short, my name was belted out over the loudspeakers and bam....an old lady came up and spit on my face.

Sam: Sorry Dave.

Wayne: We are here for you man.

Joe: Why would she spit on you for your name? What kind of group is this?

Sam: Isn’t it obvious? You're here. I’m sure you have suffered the same hardships. Are you ready to share yet?

Joe: Share what? I'm not sure why I'm here.

Wayne: I'll go. Hi, my name is Wayne. Last week my basketball team got our new jerseys.

Sam: Oh, fantastic. How do they look?

Wayne: Fine, except they've started putting the names on the back of the jersey now.

Sam: Oh, that is not fantastic.

Wayne: Yeah, someone threw a wet shoe at me.

Sam: Talk it out, Wayne.

Wayne: I mean, who brings a wet shoe into a gym? It hit me in the head. Then the ref threw me out of the game for, as he put it, "letting my hatred become a distraction". Where does he get off?

Sam: You are a brave soul, Wayne. (Turns to his left) You’ve been quiet tonight. Why don’t you share your pain with Joe.

Adolf (takes a deep breath and pauses for about twenty seconds): Hello again everyone, my name is Adolf and I am a Hitler. I am not only burdened with the last name Hitler, but the infamous man was also my great uncle.

Joe: Whoa, I think I’m in the wrong room.

Sam (shaking his head): Denial is not gong to heal your pain, Joe. Now say your name out loud and speak your suffering.

Joe: No really, I don’t belong here.

Adolf: Of course you do, Joe. We are all brothers here.

Sam: Maybe we should hear a positive story to draw you out a little. Please Joe, sit. Dave, Wayne? Your band had a show this past week, how did it go?

Dave: Well……remember how you told us to own our power and stand up to the those who don’t believe in us because of some name.

Sam: The non-believers. Sure, sure.

Dave: Well, we changed the band name to the Amazing Hitlers.

Sam: Good for you, brothers. And how did that go?

Dave: Really bad.

Wayne: Really, really, really, terribly, awfully bad.

Dave: You know how we like to drink grape juice before we go on? A little ritual we have.

Sam: Yes, its important to keep on routine. Remember that Joe. Go on.

Dave: Well, I was unaware our mics were on, and just as the emcee was announcing us, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, the Amazing Hitlers, Wayne spilled his juice on me, at which point, I began to shout, “I hate juice! I hate juice. I’ve had enough of stupid juice. Let’s just end the whole juice thing.”.

Sam: Ohhhh. The crowd didn’t think you were saying “juice”, did they?

Wayne: No they did not.

Sam: Well, okay, that wasn’t very positive.

Joe: Listen, I understand that you guys deal with some awful things, but I really don’t belong here.

Adolf: Nonsense. Joe, don’t block out all of the hatred you’ve been through.

Sam: Yes, we’ve seen it all. You don’t have to be ashamed.

Dave: I’m afraid to grow a mustache.

Wayne: I have an irrational fear of high-fiving people.

Adolf: I had to give up my passion of being in a marching band.

Sam: You see Joe, it’s okay. My middle name is Steven. I am Samuel Steven Hitler. I’m SS Hitler. I can say it loud and proud. Now, please, share with us.

Joe: Okay, fine. I guess there was this one time that my name caused me a little bit of trouble.

Sam: That’s it Joe, don’t be afraid. This is a safe place.

Joe: Well, last year, my company had this contest and the winner got to throw out the first pitch at the Cubs game.

Dave: Oh no, I know where this is going. In front of the whole stadium? Ouch.

Joe: Yep, there I am, waving to the crowd, walking out to the mound, and he says it, Hey Cubs fans, here to throw out the first pitch, United Syndicate Services Realty salesman of the year, Joe Stalin.

Dave: Wait. What?

Wayne: Your name is Stalin, that’s why you’re here?

Adolf: Fuck you.

Joe: Hey, hold on a second. I heard a couple of boos after my name got called.

Sam: You pussy. Give me a break.

Joe: Hey, come on guys. Things are different nowadays. Half of the morons in this country think that we have a socialist President. I could be in danger.

Dave: In danger? Of what? Having a couple of old Ukrainians towel-whip you in a bath house? I’m David Hitler. I’ve never made love to a woman.

Wayne: Wayne Hitler, nice to meet ya. I’m on my fourth house. Hopefully this one won’t get burned down.

Adolf: Adolf Fucking Hitler. I’ve been stabbed fourteen different times.

Sam: Get out.

Joe: But Sam-

Sam: Get out!

(Just then, a man pops his head inside the room.)

Man: Hey there, Gary Polpot. Do I have the right room?

The Group: No!

Six Thousand Years Old

In the midst of my never ending search for the perfect dinosaur porn, I've stumbled upon irrefutable evidence that man once walked the Earth with dinosaurs. The Bible wins again!



......he's my friend and a whole lot more.

Ten Rules for Facebook

1) If you post something to the effect, “Went shopping and had ice cream with (insert girlfriend/boyfriend name) today. I love (girlfriend/boyfriend) so much. He/She is the greatest girlfriend/boyfriend in the world. You, A) Don’t really love your girlfriend/boyfriend all that much, and B) Want your ex girlfriend/boyfriend to see how happy you are with your new girlfriend/boyfriend. You are kind of a bad person.

2) If you are quoting songs in your updates, relate them to something. I have rarely seen a song quoted, followed by a “great line” statement, where the line was actually any good. And if you are quoting an emo song.....you want you ex girlfriend/boyfriend to see it. Also, if you must quote a song, please chill out on the monde greens (real term, check it out). You’re already on the Internet, look it up!

3) Girls, the picture you take of yourself, holding the camera at a downward angle, really? How about you just wear a t-shirt that says, “insecure and easy to bang”.

4) If you write a homophobic or racial slur on your status update, people will see it. You’re not Eminem and your updates are not art or artistic expression. Elton John is not going to back up your next update on the piano. Think about it before you write it or, at the very least, don’t be surprised by the consequences of it.

5) Reading, posting, checking, poking, or anything of the like, while you are driving? Ridiculous. Yet it happens all the time. I guess after you smash into and murder a family of four, you can comfort their surviving family members by telling them that 345 people now know that you are, "so excited about my new shoes!!!!!!!".

6) Maybe not Facebook specific, but equip all computers with a device that causes your computer to explode immediately after you type 'LOL'. Talk about weeding out the weak links. Hitler would have loved that idea. I take that back. Hitler probably was an LOLer. That son of a bitch. I'm taking a stand, I'm against Hitler. I don't condone anything he did. There I said it.

7) If you friended me on Facebook and then don't come up and say hi when you see me in public, then it is clear that you operate in two different universes. Get a grip. It is like people are two people now. Outside world people and little freakish computer imps, spying on acquaintances and judging them from the safe haven of their laptops.

8) Not so subtle status updates. You know who you are. "I wish some people would be a little more considerate to certain other people when they say there going to do something and then don't follow through. They should just get a life." Oh really, just a general statement there? Just popped into your head? How about you call the person and say, "Fuck you Justin, you shouldn't of blown me off!" No, just publicly shame them in a vague, self-righteous way. Passive-aggressive humans now have free reign via cables or satellites or however the world wide web works. Sucky.

9) Don't let Facebook become a gateway site. There are people who can smoke weed all day and never touch another drug in their entire life. Then there are those who take a hit and would strangle their own Grandmother to get their hands on every kind of drug possible. Those people should stay away from Facebook. For them, Facebooking can leading to Twittering, and Twitter abuse will cause them to slowly get dumber until their brain is reduced to a fetal state. Twitter is crack for morons. Just stay on yahoo and check your email and maybe the weather.

10) Just stay the fuck off of Facebook. Why are you trolling around on it anyway? Remember the good old days, when your roommate caught you masturbating to a Janet Jackson CD cover or the TV Guide and it would take years for everyone you know to hear the story? Now you do that and you become Paul Reubens overnight (old reference, so if you have a terrible memory or you just emerged from a twenty year coma, google Paul Reubens, movie theater, don’t be Internet lazy). And why are you constantly posting little things about yourself? After the third time you saw Ashton Kutcher or Justin Timberlake on TV, you said, “man, what a douschebag”. That’s you and your posts now, except you have no discernible talent. So, basically your Ashton Kutcher.


*I post my blog address on my Facebook page. So, take the hypocritical asshole who writes ten Facebook rules with a grain of salt. Don’t know what that expression means? Look it up. You're on the Internet.

Grow Up

George: Hey Matty, what’s going on?

Matt: Not much bro, just dropped off little Jannie at her ballet class.

George: Really?

Matt: Four years old and already taking ballet.

George: I know it, my Dane is only two and Mary has us looking at pre-schools for him already.

Matt: You think that’s bad? Stephanie is already bringing up colleges for Jannie.

George: Shit. Here, I got you a Coors.

Matt: Cool, but just one, Steph is picking her up from class and where gonna go to the Olive Garden.

George: What? It’s Friday, I got Mary to give me the night out.

Matt: Sorry dude, I’ve got to do the family thing. You should think about putting down the XBOX more often too. Mature a little.

George: I need to mature?

Matt: A little bit.

George: Me? I’m the one? Not you?

Matt: What the fuck are you talking about?

George: Last month you sent out an email that said you wanted to bring back your college nickname, Mattnificent. Hey, Mattnificent, grow up.

Matt: Grow up? You’re still afraid of angry sex.

George: The other day you said ‘got to get some’, about the 19 year old at the Dairy Queen.

Matt: I was talking about the Snickers blizzard.

George: Worse.

Matt: You drive a fucking Trans Am.

George: It’s not my primary car! You came over the other day with water balloons. While your daughter was at daycare. And I think you were drunk.

Matt: You remember every name you ever assigned to your dick.

George: I suppose you’re gonna pretend you didn’t ask me if you could borrow the moniker Ding Dong Bitch just last week?

Matt: Hey, it helped with my angry sex. Which my wife and I can have, because I’m a grown up. You, on the other hand, still masturbate to 90210.

George: You have a poster of Bam Margera in your basement. And I’m pretty sure you’re wearing a Heartogram belt buckle right now.

Matt: You named your son, Dane. Dane Juras is your son’s name.

George: Your response to losing a game of one on one last week was, “Bro, I’m gonna fuck your mom….with your dad’s dick.

Matt: Oh, too late, did that yesterday. What about the Gandalf tattoo on your back.

George: I told you, that’s my Grandfather. God rest his soul.

Matt: Really? Did your Grandfather often were a wizard’s robe and hold the One Ring aloft, surrounded by Hobbits?

George: He volunteered with midgets and they helped him pick out his wedding band.

Matt: You can’t “volunteer” with midgets, you jackass.

George: You came into work two hours late last week.

Matt: So?

George: You were watching Rad again, weren’t you?

Matt: How’d you know that?

George: I saw you getting out the car, you drove to work with your old BMX gloves on.

………(Twenty minutes later)

Matt: She was bending over, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. You still have a list of the possible names for your all-keyboard rock band in you wallet?

George: No, you still call that cousin you hate with old Jerky Boys bits?

Matt: No.

Bartender: Guys? Hey guys? You want another beer?

George: Absolutely.

Matt: And two shots….tequila.

George: And whatever is in those tubes the drink girl is carrying.

Matt: Grow up.

Legendary Films: The Lifeguard

Remember a time when grown men patrolled our beaches, ensuring the safety of all who dared to venture out into salty waters? Remember a time when a man could earn 10 grand a year and still rent a nice place and own a sports car? Remember a time when this man had his pick of beautiful women and pissed away a lucrative job selling cars? Well, neither do I, but apparently this magical world existed in 1970s California.

You may recognize Sam Elliot's face from the Big Lebowski, his voice from various truck commercials, and his mustache from fucking heaven. The Lifeguard's mustache makes Tom Selleck's look like a lip-rat covered in pubic hair. Burt Reynolds has been known to weep with envy when catching a glimpse of it.

Do yourself a favor, find this film, watch it, and lament the sad state of your modern life. Note Elliot's quick temper and wry smile. If your heart belongs to someone else, prepare to have it claimed by a tanned, hairy god-man. The Elliot strides across the screen and into your life for a good hour and a half, and you will never be quite the same. Fuck you Hasslehoff.

Hey Jesus, thanks!

Hey human people, I'm Brodie Evers. Today I begin a series of posts that will last until the day my offensive comments finally drive you to seek me out and end me. Good luck.

Why am I writing? Well, because I need the practice. Plus, you like to laugh and you do things all day that fill you with so much vitriolic rage that you feel you have to come home and watch The Apprentice just to prevent explodation. It is my goal to either make you forget about those things and put off The Apprentice, or make you even more angry. I will be equally satisfied either way.

Each week, I will present a series of short stories, skits, essays, lists, and just general thoughts and ideas, with the intent of caressingly nailing your humor bone (better than it sounds).

Please, take every chance to comment on anything I post. Feel free to say horrible things to me. Bring up Hitler, often. If my grandfather and Mel Gibson's dad can do it, why not you?

Speaking of Hitler, here's a friend of his and the perfect image to begin my blog, since this beautiful, sexy man died so that I could bring these words to you. Hey Jesus, thanks!

Brodie Meets with his Student Loan

(Opulent office reception area, outside an opulent office, in an office building which represents the height of opulence)

Brodie: Hi, Brodie Evers, I have a two o’clock.

Receptionist: Let’s see, Evers. Here you are. Have a seat Mr. Evers, your Student Loan will be with you in just a moment.

Brodie (grabbing a gossip magazine): Hey, look at this, Kim Kardashian drinking a latte, she really is like the rest of us.

(Door swings open, Student Loan emerges on his cell phone)

Student Loan: Billionaires want a tax break on Social Security, sure, just keep those campaign contributions coming.

Student Loan: Brodie, my boy! Please, come on in, have a seat. Wow. Brodie Evers, good to fucking see ya. Man, we have had some great times together. Remember college?

Brodie: Yeah, you really helped me have some fun back then.

Student Loan: Fun? We used to finger bang life, my friend. Remember the time you and I purchased three bottles of Alize and drank them with the dimwit down the street? How’d you turn that girl out?

Brodie: Yeah, that was pretty good, but-

Student Loan: That house you and your friends rented? The was a fun place man. Man, we were really great friends back then.

Brodie: Yeah, I wonder what happened? Oh, that’s right....eight months after I graduated, you began raping me.

Student Loan: Broads, come on. I’m just doing my thing. Don’t hate the....well you know.

Brodie: Listen, I want a lower interest rate.

Student Loan (clicking button on the phone): Joanne bring me in a water or tea or something so I can do a spit take. A lower interest rate? Sure, become a small business man in Indonesia and get a micro loan from some NPR interview subject. That way you’ll have the rate you're looking for and two small goats.

Brodie: Listen-

Student Loan: Whats that English major? You want a lower interest rate? How bout we give you a higher interest rate on your loan instead?

Brodie: Okay, I’m listening.

Student Loan: That will force you to go into further debt.

Brodie: I’m with ya.

Student Loan: That way bro, when you try to get other loans, say a car, house, maybe financing on a fridge, your credit will be poor enough that we charge you even more interest.

Brodie: Doesn’t sound so good.

Student Loan: Now, here’s the kicker. The more fucking interest you accrue, the more loans you’ll need, and the more loans you take on, the more the interest will accrue. It will be a vicious cycle of debt that you will never fully recover from.

Brodie: I don’t know if this is for me, I think I want out. Can’t you just tax rich people more, since most of them have the money to find tax loopholes that ensure that they pay way less, percentage wise, than the rest of us, anyway?

Student Loan: Nope, they give us money to exist. Plus, they need that money to spend on hiring you.

Brodie: Oh, so I’m gonna get a higher paying job?

Student Loan: No, no, that’s just something we say. The rich hoard their money. But, it sounded great when you heard it, didn’t it?

Brodie: Sure did. Well, how bout you tax the rich on more than just 100,000 of their earnings for social security? That will generate billions and you can lower my interest rate.

Student Loan: Who told you that?

Brodie: Is it true?

Student Loan: Well yes, but they need that money for their mistresses. Tell you what, here’s a government condom, free of charge, go home, make love to your girl, eat some McDonald’s, and fall asleep watching the Amazing Race. Maybe one day you can be on a show like that and be rich too! Live the dream!

Brodie: Oh, actually, my girl left me.

Student Loan: Oh, I’m so sorry. Go on.

Brodie: Yeah, she valued that American dream you were talking about.

Student Loan: Yes!

Brodie: What?!

Student Loan: I mean, that’s a real shame, Brodacious. Well, if you still love her, you can take comfort in the fact that she will meet a successful person and they’ll have all the material things that they can squeeze into to their little corner of the world, and thus, happiness! Yay!

Brodie: Hey why do you have her picture on you desk?

Student Loan: Well, your not the only one with a student loan. Rape someone for enough years and sometimes it turns into love.

Brodie: The love of my life is banging my student loan?

Student Loan: Technically, I’m banging her.

Brodie: I just came in here looking for a lower interest rate.

Student Loan: Well now you got a higher one, and you know were you stand with your ex. That’s a success in my book.

Brodie: But what about the finger banging life.

Student Loan: You can keep that condom. Smiles Brodilly, I see big things for you. And be sure to give your credit card to Joanne on the way out.

Brodie: Um, okay, thanks.

To be continued………