Yeah, looks like we’re having one of those. Blog-wise, at least. No posts Monday or Tuesday, plus a title-only update last night. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. But how, you may ask, did we fall? Well:
Monday is usually when our latest episode goes up. And by usually, I mean always. Eric and I spend all Sunday afternoon drinking Coors Light (because AMURICUH) and planning out the order of the stories we’ll be discussing. Then we watch Futurama and argue about whether or not to order Chinese or Thai food. Then we drink until Breaking Bad. Then we continue to drink until I remember I have work in the morning and Eric laughs because he can work from home. Prick. It’s an arduous process, but we do it for you.
Thus, the episode goes up Monday morning. However, this week’s went up Sunday because I don’t fucking know. I was drunk in a Hawaiian shirt for the third night in a row in Miami. But, lo and behold, it went up the same day that The Twins both posted because I don’t fucking know. Drugs?
So that took out our Monday post. Tuesday, as you fine fans know, is Lee Powers’s time to shine. And, like the bright beautiful moon that shines its silver glow into the darkness to bring wonder to all of our hearts, well, sometimes it just doesn’t fucking appear. I think he forgot what day it was. Like the moon (?).
Then last night, my father was only able to post the title to his intended post because he was beaten by his old foe: his iPad. That thing is like old people kryptonite and it’s only a matter of time before my dad goes head to head with it like he did with his old Blackberry. Which he ran over with a car. So that oughta be fun to see when it goes down.
As for me today? Well I had a long goddamn day at work. And yeah, I usually manage to squeak in a chuckle-worthy post anyway, but today was as airtight as a finely kegeled sphincter. So I suppose you expect me to feel bad, eh? Friend-o, you’re shit out of luck, because I’m still coming off a hell of a high from a kickass Labor Day weekend. Bachelor party, bitches! Like, movie-style bachelor party.
Strippers. Boobies. Scotch. Beer. Rum. Vodka. Hottub. A manatee. Chinese food. Calzones. Hot waitresses. Jenga. Hideous shirts. Purple nut-hugger shorts. Action Figure Therapy. Straw hats. The Departed. Dick jokes. Drunken swimming. Poorly thrown beer bottle. Cigars. Fish. Drink every time Megan Fox has her slack-jawed mouth open in Transformers. Stitches because of that beer bottle. Peeing in the canal. Etc.
So yeah, I’m willing to scratch this one up as an off week and smile anyway. Sure, Eric will probably have a swell post tomorrow and our weekend posts will probably be pretty gosh darn good as always. But even we can’t always win. Next week, we’ll come back swinging. Because, like I said, we are fucking mighty. Though we have fallen, we shall rise again. And the barnacle cuts on my hands and feet from drunkenly swimming across the innercoastal waterway to the dock at the suburban mayor’s house are healing up nicely. Or healing up MIGHTILY, rather.
‘Nuff said. Later, bonerfaces!