Tuesday, April 13, 2010


Can someone please explain to Marty that when Taiko gets into a fight with a wild animal, his job is to pull him away, not roll up his sleeves and join in the fun?

Because this is the second time.

The other day, Taiko got all up into a raccoon’s face, who, in turn, destroyed his own by grabbing on and scratching the shit out of it. Instead of getting the dog, running away screaming, and denying all knowledge of the carnal event, like I did when he killed that possum, Marty steps up beside and kicks it in the face to get him off. I freaked out when I heard this, obviously because raccoons are so adorable, with their little thieving masks and generally opposable thumbs. They think they're people!

Then I realized, hold on. Fuck that shit! This raccoon scratched up my buddy's face! Whose side am I on, anyways? Certainly not HIS:

I'll eat your BRAINS!!!!

(ok, it's still a little bit cute. You just have to imagine him wearing something sexy and dancing. Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena. ¡EEEYYYY Macarena! ¡AYEEEE!)

I know what all this 'coon and possum talk sounds like, okay? I KNOW. But I swear to God I do not live in a trailer park. I actually live in an area where people pay extra to live near wildlife! While I will camp if I absolutely have to for one night only, I am by no means a Nature Girl. I hate Nature and all it's mosquito, hot/cold, rabies-having misery. Fuck you, Wildlife.

I will admit that I have seen some awe-inspiring nature scenes, but Wildlife got me so good one time, that we are way past forgivable terms.

It has occurred to me that I start many of my ramblings with "When I was __ years old...". Like a senile old person. However, that senility is where all the magic happens. When I blow the dust off of my memories, and get to make up the parts that are not as crystal clear as they were Back In The Day, and everyone else's memories are a little foggy too, so they can't dispute any of my reporting.

Moving on.

The battle of Me And My Friend Maxime vs. Nature took place around '98, when I had just gotten a car and license, but was still a terrible driver (I say "was" to trick you into thinking I'm a good driver now. I am not. Remember that time I smashed Marty's car?) That link just takes you to two weeks ago.

On this particular day, Maxime and I were heading out, playing our favorite game, "Act out the Song". This game we made up consists of acting out every single lyric to a song. For example, back then, Pearl Jam had that terrible campfire song with all the clapping that goes "oh where, oh where could my baby be?" You know that terrible song; don't pretend like you don't know every word.

Anyways, I don't even know how to explain how we would play this lyric, other than:

oh where, oh where could my baby be?
(shrug) (shrug) (rock pretend baby)(shrug)

The Lord took her away from me.
(pray hands/close eyes) (pretend to tug of war for a baby)

She's gone to Heaven so I've got to be good
(wave goodbye sadly out the window regardless of who is outside)

so I can see my baby when I leave this world.
(pretend to spot baby outside and point excitedly) (stop car. Exit)

(clap clap - clap clap. clap clap - clap clap.)

I almost got in a car accident once when I stopped the car abruptly for this exact song. It was for the lyric, "We hadn't driven very far". Or maybe it was "the car stopped; the engine was dead." What an annoying song to be driving with me to. How would I even start explaining that to A. the other car's party, and more importantly, B. the police? HOW? "The lyric told me to do it, sir. Listen. Listen. You see?"

Anyways, surely you can see how hilarious this game can be, but I don't recommend it to anyone driving because it makes paying attention to cars, or in our case, avoiding Wildlife, extremely difficult.

I remember this much: a black and white fur ball dashing in front of the car, but instead of running past the car, it stops immediately in front, and spins rapidly around in circles as if t'were possessed by Beelzebub himself.

As we are screaming for the Lord to take us away from this terrible situation, the car slowly fills with intoxicating fumes, effectively destroying any plans we may have had that night (which more than likely at the time just involved sitting in our friend's garage, nodding our heads all cool-like to Method Man. Man, kids are boring.) The windows do nothing but allow more skunk butt fart to infiltrate my tiny car.

"Well, now what?" Maxime asks. We know we're screwed. It's social suicide to go to any event smelling like skunk butt fart.

"I don't know! Maybe we should just lay low and not see anyone. Grab a coffee or something?"

Maxime agrees and we head over to the Country Style donut place nearby.

We burst into Country Style laughing our heads off. I don't know why. It's not even funny.

Us: "Excuse me, do we smell?"

Donut Lady: "What do you mean? Smell like what?"

We're safe!

Us: "Like shit! Do we or do we not smell like shit?"

Donut Lady: "What?? I don't.. What??"

Us: "Okay, nevermind."

We relax, thinking we are good to go to our friend's garage. PAaaAAARTY!!

Donut Lady: "Okay...Actually, you girls kind of do smell like skunk. A little bit."

Us: OOHHH!! Dammit! Two fruit explosion muffins, please. And some chicken noodle soup."

Plans ruined, we sit dejectedly sipping our goods in silence, with possibly visible stink lines projecting off our bodies in cartoon-like fashion.

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