Funny Ass Shit: My brother's friend Matt

Today's entry continues the series of Funny Ass Shit, a gathering of memories that makes me smile when recalled. Please to enjoy.

My brother Rollo and a few of his high school buds planned an overnight camp out at the beach. Rollo's friend Matt rolled up with his sleeping bag and a few supplies he glommed from his part-time grocery store job, including one giant institutional sized can of ravioli from the dented can discount pile.


Rollo, Matt and the guys sat around the fire, opened some beer and hard liquor and got their drunk on. Later, the group decided they were hungry. Matt grabbed his giant can of ravioli and threw it on the fire. Matt laughed when the can's paper label burned away. One of the smarter guys asked if Matt poked a hole in the top of the can before putting it on the fire.

"No, why would I do that?"

"Matt, you gotta vent the can, you dumb ass! Otherwise, the heat increases the internal pressure and the can will explode."

"Oh, okay, I don't have a can opener, do you?"

"Yeah, I got one. Here, you reach over the fire and poke a hole in it since you threw it on."

The guys drank more and more and later

the can exploded and a shower of searing hot ravioli rained on the now very intoxicated guys.

Some guys were pissed and yelling at Matt and some barely noticed the ravioli in their hair and stuck on their shirts. Matt finally admitted that he hadn't poked the hole in the can because "the can was too hot".

Guys being guys, they got over it and drank more.

The next morning, Rollo woke up to see the grisly aftermath of bloody carnage. Matt was no where in sight. "They killed him," Rollo thought but Matt walked up the camp site a minute later.

"I thought all of that was you," explained Rollo as he pointed to the sandy beach surrounding the camp site. It was littered with coagulated tomato sauce and shredded ravioli fragments, giving the impression of a very violent death and dismemberment.

Good times, good times.

Wisdom from my brother Rollo

My poor brother Rollo gets all my calls for help. This single girl can fish a small snake out of the pool but Rollo has been put into service to retrieve a larger snake and even a thoughtlessly released hamster. (It looked like a dead rat but happily, a live and grateful hamster.) I digress.

After hurricane Rita, it was Rollo scrambling on my roof as we attached a temporary tarp. Rollo hooked up my ceiling fan. Rollo rescued me twice this year, once when my truck slid off the road and got stuck in mud and later, when my battery died. Poor guy. He's not married but still doing all that stuff for his sister. And contrary to what you may think, bothering him frustrates me. I try not to ask others to do things I can do myself.

Aggravated by being forced to ask for his help yet again, I once remarked that maybe I should be married because my husband would be there. Drawing upon his once married experience, Rollo remarked that even if I did have a husband it didn't guarantee that my husband would do the things I needed when I needed. He imparted some wisdom gold that day. It's true. My married friends constantly bitch that their husbands don't perform the barest minimum of tasks so why would I presume that my experience would be any different? It stopped me from idealizing marriage, even if for only the honey-do lists.

All these years of being single and doing (mostly) everything alone would give a greater appreciation of a help mate. Can you read between the lines on that one? No? Okay, dummy: Dude does for me. I would do for dude.

My single friend Maura and I discussed that very thing but neither one of us are quite ready for commitment. She and I have concocted the perfect plan. We will both date a tradesman and then pass them on to the other. She dates a plumber, I'll date an electrician. Six months later, we'll switch then later it's a pool guy and a carpenter. We'll be nice, they'll be handy and nobody is hurt.

Finally

Where were you when you heard Ted Kennedy died?

I was in bed, smiling.

Now we have to hear how great he was, his contribution to the nation, etc. You would think the man could walk on water. And I guess that is kinda true, as long as he was standing on the shoulders of a dead woman.

My brother Rollo said someone else of greater celebrity needs to die soon so we won't have to hear Ted accolades all week. I hate to wish death on someone but . . .anything to stop the bastard worship.

There's something wrong with my mouth

Or the link between my brain and my mouth.
For years, my brother Rollo and I have marveled at my innate ability to say exactly the wrong thing. Not just inappropriate, but dead on awkward. (Rollo says it is a gift.)

Example:
I sat in front of the home insurance chick's desk last year to talk about house stuff. She asked something that I did not know so I instructed her to "just talk to me like a retard 'cause this is my first house and I don't know much about the whole new house process". Then as she turned to look at her computer screen, I spied a photo on her bulletin board with, yep, you guessed it, a nice family photo of an older lady with a special needs child. Once again, I was mortified.

But I think I now know WHY I say the wrong things - I must have ESP. Somehow I know in advance what you are ashamed of or what would make you uncomfortable.

Last week I met a guy and had the overwhelming urge to say something about pedophiles. It may have been the first time in my life that I controlled my tongue. But man oh man, now I am wondering about that guy and wish I knew his last name so I could do an Internet neighborhood pedophile search on him.

Oh yeah, I had a birthday last week

Forgot to share the cake that my sister RikkiTikkiTavi ordered.
Somehow my brother Rollo restrained himself from gouging the cat's eyes out but I saw his hands tighten on the knife as he hovered. . .

Quote of the day

Brother Rollo and I were talking about folks that off themselves and I remembered talk of the Hemlock Society so Googled it and came across this funny sentence. It brings so many great scenarios to my mind.

"One should say goodbye before the bag is pulled over the head since, once the flow of gas begins, "the helium makes the voice sound like Donald Duck."

Quote of the day

"Yeah, I remember in high school,

me and Matt drinking whiskey

out of a garbage bag."

--as recalled by my brother Rollo,

describing how his buddy Matt the grocery store stock boy

would pour out the contents of a bottle of whiskey

into a garbage bag, break said whiskey bottle and

then report a breakage on aisle 5.

Ready to retire NOW

Today, this old fuck at the gym told me "enjoy my working years 'cause you sure will miss them when I retired".
ARE YOU eFF'in KIDDING ME, aging exerciser?
I have worked since I was 10 years old! My dear dad refused to allow brother Rollo and I to loll the summers away. We were expected to find odd jobs, weeding flowerbeds, painting fences. Later it was babysitting for me. When I turned 15 and able to drive (this is Louisiana, folks), Dad told me to get a job or he would find one. I figured babysitting would suffice ,um, nope. Next thing I knew I was told to report to McDonald's because Dad's buddy, the McD franchise owner, gave me a job. Never mind that I didn't WANT to work at McD's. Ugh! So I lasted a month or two before I called in sick and was caught. Dad was disgusted with me. Whatever.
I'll bore you with the next 2 summers another time.
How much longer do I have to work before I retire??? Just my luck, I won't make it.
Wish I had the presence of mind to tell the gym old codger that if he missed working, that his life plan was defective. Dumb ass. He probably just missed boring co-workers with his mouth.
My aunt just retired and I told her that if I caught her complaining about it that I would kick her in the hip.

Wanting to be a stay-at-home mom and wife,
without the children and husband,
I am,
SkitzoLeezra

No wonder old people don't laugh

Jake asked Kathy the counter gal for a plastic bag. She went behind the door and returned the bag over her head and a grin on her face. I let out a laugh and turned to see that Jake's reaction wasn't quite as amused as Kathy's and mine. Kathy instantly knew that she had offended him.

Jake said, "Yeah, I know you are just fooling around but it isn't so funny to me and my family because my young nephew died when he accidently smothered himself."

Yikes.

Which got me to thinking that my brother and I used to tell dead baby jokes but no longer can we hear them and nor do we think them funny.

Saw a T-shirt once that said "I am already imagining you with tape over your mouth" and laughed out loud. About a week later, my friend told me the story of her pal that, you guessed it, was abducted, taped up, raped and left to die. Guess her pal would not like to see that T-shirt.

Remember the English punk group wore Auschwitz prisoner uniforms and created such controversy? They were going for the shock factor but had underestimated the vehemence of the survivors and the power of the Anti-Defamation League.

The older you get, the more life experiences you have and more opportunities to be offended at humor or lame attempts to it. And sure, we shouldn't take ourselves so seriously and I love irreverent humor but sometimes wonder if truly biting dark humor is just for the young, the immature and the insulated.

I hope not.

I think.

Pack your meat holes!

Right after our hurricane, I heard on the radio that our fair mayor asked all homeowners to dispose of rotting food by digging a meat hole in their yard. He further said that it was permissible to place cheese in your meat hole. And eggs, if your meat hole is large enough. It is okay to have a both a front meat hole and a back meat hole. That is, for your front yard and backyard.
My brother Rollo dug a large hole for his rancid meat and he said it was so hot that he actually perspired into his meat hole. Then he packed it so much that his meat hole was mounded. (Now, eight months later, the meat hole is just now getting level.) The neighbor Pete recommended lime for the meat hole but I find that I like lemon best. For those keeping a kosher household, separate the meat from the dairy in two different meat holes.
And keep an eye out for dogs, they'll be rootin' around your meat hole if you don't watch out.