I'm Paul Harvey and this... Is the Rest of the Story.
Woke up at 10.
Go to Starbucks, which everyone on the internets has been badmouthing lately. There is a man there who looks like an extra from Braveheart. He is this huge burly man with a plaid kilt, scraggily hair and beard. And a fanny pack.
I am trying not to laugh as I watch him handing out cards to his website. He is telling a man from Scandinavia about how he is walking from Georgia to Maine, the Appalachian Trail, over 2000 miles. I am thinking he should be telling the Swede how many kilometers it is.
Then he takes off his shirt to show him his huge tattoo with a ribbon that takes up most of the right side of his back. I think it had an American flag and names listed and it looked like a memorial of some kind, but I averted my eyes when it started, so I can’t be sure. He then threw his shirt on, ran outside, and started jogging down the middle of a four lane street.
I don’t see him making it to Maine unless he learns some road safety.
I thought I would find his website for you, but it turns out he is not the only nutcase walking from Georgia to Maine in a kilt. So the next time you feel like you will never meet someone with your own particular form of crazy, you can feel even worse knowing that this severe form of crazy has a Folie à deux, while your penchant for Orwell, buffalo wings and Woodford Reserve makes you an island.
Toph and I meet up with his ‘friends’ Joey and Chandler for lunch at Gladys Knight’s Chicken & Waffles. Dan is also there, but I called him Ross. (I had the malted with a breast, black-eyed peas and collard greens. I drank the uptown—sweet tea with lemonade.) Then they had to go buy an iPod for Monica, so I went back and took a nap.
That night, we went to Decatur by train. Joey is an Ob/Gyn, so we tell a few med stories. He tells a great one about a woman who presented to his clinic complaining ‘her dog has worms, and now she sees them in her vagina.’ Delicious! But I’ll let him tell the whole story in the comment section, should he choose to do so.
I told him one of the few jokes I know, because it is an Ob/Gyn joke.
Q: Why do they call it PMS?
A: Because mad cow disease was already taken.
As I was telling the joke, the train went entirely quiet. I became nervous that the other people on the train would not find the joke ironic. I’m not sure why I even told it. To be honest, I don’t really find it funny. What I do find funny is that jokes like that still exist. It was so vaudeville. Set-up, punch-line, rim-shot!
But enough with the frog dissection.
We went to a Belgian Bar that served the first decent blonde beers I have found outside of Europe. Everyone drank a lot. I met their friend who is a blogger, Byron of Bitterbug. He uses Typepad. I wasn’t sure if they were Blogspotter’s rivals and I was supposed to feel some sort of animosity, but he seemed pleasant enough, though his beer smelled like maple syrup.
We hit some other bars and on the way home got some doughnuts and hats.
Had lunch the next day and headed home. On the way back I listened to The Moon and Antarctica by Modest Mouse, The Baja Sessions by Chris Isaacs, and Being There by Wilco. (both discs)
Q: So the verdict on Atlanta?
A: Atlanta is My-Lanta!
Rim-shot!
Go to Starbucks, which everyone on the internets has been badmouthing lately. There is a man there who looks like an extra from Braveheart. He is this huge burly man with a plaid kilt, scraggily hair and beard. And a fanny pack.
I am trying not to laugh as I watch him handing out cards to his website. He is telling a man from Scandinavia about how he is walking from Georgia to Maine, the Appalachian Trail, over 2000 miles. I am thinking he should be telling the Swede how many kilometers it is.
Then he takes off his shirt to show him his huge tattoo with a ribbon that takes up most of the right side of his back. I think it had an American flag and names listed and it looked like a memorial of some kind, but I averted my eyes when it started, so I can’t be sure. He then threw his shirt on, ran outside, and started jogging down the middle of a four lane street.
I don’t see him making it to Maine unless he learns some road safety.
I thought I would find his website for you, but it turns out he is not the only nutcase walking from Georgia to Maine in a kilt. So the next time you feel like you will never meet someone with your own particular form of crazy, you can feel even worse knowing that this severe form of crazy has a Folie à deux, while your penchant for Orwell, buffalo wings and Woodford Reserve makes you an island.
Toph and I meet up with his ‘friends’ Joey and Chandler for lunch at Gladys Knight’s Chicken & Waffles. Dan is also there, but I called him Ross. (I had the malted with a breast, black-eyed peas and collard greens. I drank the uptown—sweet tea with lemonade.) Then they had to go buy an iPod for Monica, so I went back and took a nap.
That night, we went to Decatur by train. Joey is an Ob/Gyn, so we tell a few med stories. He tells a great one about a woman who presented to his clinic complaining ‘her dog has worms, and now she sees them in her vagina.’ Delicious! But I’ll let him tell the whole story in the comment section, should he choose to do so.
I told him one of the few jokes I know, because it is an Ob/Gyn joke.
Q: Why do they call it PMS?
A: Because mad cow disease was already taken.
As I was telling the joke, the train went entirely quiet. I became nervous that the other people on the train would not find the joke ironic. I’m not sure why I even told it. To be honest, I don’t really find it funny. What I do find funny is that jokes like that still exist. It was so vaudeville. Set-up, punch-line, rim-shot!
But enough with the frog dissection.
We went to a Belgian Bar that served the first decent blonde beers I have found outside of Europe. Everyone drank a lot. I met their friend who is a blogger, Byron of Bitterbug. He uses Typepad. I wasn’t sure if they were Blogspotter’s rivals and I was supposed to feel some sort of animosity, but he seemed pleasant enough, though his beer smelled like maple syrup.
We hit some other bars and on the way home got some doughnuts and hats.
Had lunch the next day and headed home. On the way back I listened to The Moon and Antarctica by Modest Mouse, The Baja Sessions by Chris Isaacs, and Being There by Wilco. (both discs)
Q: So the verdict on Atlanta?
A: Atlanta is My-Lanta!
Rim-shot!
Posted @ 8:40 AM
1 Comments:
3/11/2005
hot babe writes:
1st of all, I'm not usually one to notice music choices, but nice. I could easily endure a raod trip listening to those. Well, especially if once reaching the destination activities include a cowboy drag show & eating at every good place in sight. Now that's a weekend well spent.
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