If Fate Won’t Do It, I Will

I’ll just warn you right up front that this whole post makes me howl with laughter.  But it could be a kind of idiosyncratic humor that fails out there in the real world.  Read on with that caveat in mind.


Because fate has not seen fit to bring together Sarcastro, the Nashville Knucklehead, and CeeElCee, I’m forced to do it myself.  Sadly, I don’t have time today to run around town kidnapping old men in their forties and forcing them to drink beer and gab for my amusement and so I’ve done the next best thing and brought their blogs together.


Let’s see what happens.


Imagine with me a hot day at the end of May.  A conversation between three men…



Knuck:  I’m going to spend all day today pondering questions like, “can I just use joist hangers for those stair stringers or do I need to use lag bolts?” and “can I just bury those two by tens when the ramp gets to the ground, or do I need to cut them?” or, “is this hole deep enough to support that post?”


Sarcastro: One of the cornerstones of my hyphenated-American culture is working in the yard.


Knuck:  You see it coming, don’t you? If you know the answers to those kind of questions, come on by and help.


CeeElCee: I now have several good friends who are nurses at various hospitals around town.


Knuck: I’m nervous as hell. I’m nearly broke.


CeeElCee (an aside to Sarcastro): When he talks, he sounds just like Michael Waltrip on the Domino’s Pizza commercials.  Creepy.


Sarcastro (musing on the state of the world):  The rest of the country views us as backwards shit kickers.


CeeElCee: Who lets their fourteen year old daughters walk around a stadium in low-slung cut off sweat pants and a mini halter top rolled up under their boobs and “USA” painted across their bellies?


Sarcastro: We will remain backwards country folk with a big ol’ buildin’. 


Knuck:  I make the best damn BBQ I have ever eaten in my life.


Sarcastro: Sir, you need to step up.  Time’s a wastin’ and history is awaiting. 


Knuck:  The requirements are ridiculous.


CeeElCee: Do you remember back when you were 17?


Sarcastro: My inner fourteen year old boy is eagerly awaiting any pics of Holly Thompson at this year’s Steeplechase. 


CeeElCee:  She has had no problem letting me pet her or rub her belly.


Knuck: I agreed to do it for a blowjob.


Sarcastro: I need a beer.  Preferably a Shiner, Abita, or Sweetwater.


Knuck:  I bought two Heinekens…


CeeElCee:  We came up with a suitable solution. We skimmed the till on you.


Well, there you go, folks.  I’ll admit.  I was hoping for a little more high-browed discussion, but you take what you can get.


 

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12 thoughts on “If Fate Won’t Do It, I Will

  1. If you’d rather, you may bow down before me and use your hair to spread fragrant oils on my feet in honor of my amusing cleverness.Don’t let your jealousy eat you alive. Channel it into proper worship of your better–namely, me.

  2. Everyone here knows your insults are just your cranky-ass way of letting me know how much you care. And, fuck me, with as much as you pick on me, I’d not be surprised at all to discover a small shrine in my honor somewhere in your house.No one blames you. Who can resist my charm and the power of the boob freckle?You’re not alone. Others also futilely adore me from afar as well.

  3. Huck, the last time someone said that to me, the gentleman I was with replied in a manner so funny that I must now share it with you–"Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t realize this was the Pat Robertson Tattoo Parlor."

  4. Perhaps the tattoo parlors you frequent haven’t realized the benefits of having me smooching on incredibly beautiful men out front of them.But, what the hell? This is America and I will hereby offer to smooch whosoever needs smooching out front of whatever tattoo parlor they want.

  5. B.,Fate got you and me in the same bar Friday night and we weren’t destined to meet. Maybe I’m meant to be an enigma. Or maybe The Dry Spot is actually an amalgamation of the work produced by a thousand monkeys pecking away at laptops.I’m in for a construction party at Knuck’s if I’m invited. I can at least keep them supplied with cold beers and Frescas.

  6. Maybe we were just there too early. We will meet, damn it. And you will at least pretend to like me, just like all the rest of these yahoos.

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