Just the pics.
Mom runs the Arts & Crafts part of the whole shebang. One vendor was shooting green-screen portraits. I noticed him among the shitty home-made jewelry, knock-off shades and Scentsy hawkers.
We took four pics but these two are my faves:
It’s Jaws! Mom’s almost 60. She gets this!
She didn’t “get” this. For some odd reason I assumed she understood the need to “look hard”. But, no, there’s Mom. Smiling strangely next to Li’l Wayne.
(Old content, new to you …)
So last August I dragged cousin Andy up to Tulsa to see Ween at Cain’s Ballroom. It was my second time seeing Ween there. Cain’s is The House That Bob Built.
Bob Wills, that is. The King of Western Swing. Portraits of all my heroes hang the periphery. Patsy Cline. George Jones. Merle Haggard. They sell beer by the six pack. You can walk around this hall of awesome like Randy Quaid in Lampoon’s Vegas.
But back to the topic at hand: Ween. They blew it up when I saw ‘em there in ‘08. Last year they burned it down.
In the meantime they sold me a shirt:
You know you want to.
It’s the title of one of their songs. As a shirt, it’s off-putting. It throws back to Frankie Goes to Hollywood. What exactly is the “Tooter” it refers to?
The weekend after the show, I rocked it from the far end of the parking lot of the grocery store. I was wearing sunglasses so I could track reactions accordingly. An older woman and her daughter were walking out as I approached, and I was able to discern the daughter reading the shirt then quickly turning her head to laugh into her hand. I knew it was a good shirt.
Two weeks later, I visited my parents. They took me out for Red Lobster and I wore my shirt (This speaks to what sweet, understanding parents I have). I ordered the big, fat King Crab Freakout. Our waiter was a nice, young fellow. We rocked out and ate all the best (fried/flown-in) seafood that Oklahoma can offer.
After dinner my hands were sticky with crab-juice, so I excused myself to wash up. I returned and my mom explained that the waiter had stopped by and inquired as to the remainder of my shirt. I’m sitting at the table. All he could see was “TOUCH MY.” (Touch my what?!?)
Mom explained that the table-hidden portion said “TOOTER.”
When I came back from washing up, that waiter was extra-special nice to me.
So. When a welder wants to cut a beveled hole in a head or a piece of pipe he cuts a little window to ensure the hole’s the right size. Almost instinctively he cuts a window that winds up looking like a piece was cut from a pie. I kept making and seeing these pies-missing-pieces and torched these out. I tacked ‘em to bits of rod to my bench-bottom for diorama effect.
So. Regular readers of this blahg (both of you) might remember last year’s inaugural Random Act of Cakeness: http://cheddarfondrew.com/?p=25
Here’s his little brother:
To me, the funniest part was when I went to ice the lettering. I’d bought a tube of something called Betty Crocker Easy Squeeze a week earlier. I hadn’t read the back which asked that I separately purchase the associated Betty Crocker screw-on tips. So here I am at 5:15 in the morning trying to figure out how to get the goop legibly onto my cake. My solution: to duct tape a drywall anchor into the top.
I had to squeeze so hard the package split. It was a mess.
Unfortunately, for the sake of humor, a year had passed since RTC1. It had been forgotten and the sequl-iciousness of RTC2 was lost on my befuddled co-workers.
I just realized this is my third post in a row about cake. Weird.
So Doppelcaker turned into my most popular post after cousin Andy posted it on Reddit. I must admit having enjoyed my half-day of e-webrity.
Special thanks go out to my wonderful admin, Kate, for bumpin’ my bandwidth (only to have it expended in an hour) and for bumpin’ it again so I can at least bask in a bit of afterglow.
My favorite posts from the Reddit thread:
calluna_vulgaris: i would have sex with drew. I’ve got the sneaking suspicion you’ve got the corresponding parts (based on my research) but I’d be flattered, regardless.
chimpwithalimp: The more reasonable explanation why the guy wasn’t forthcoming with the identity of the photo subject was because it’s you, from the future, in the original photo.
Meeting your future self could unravel the very fabric of the space-time continuum and destroy the entire universe!
—->Naquadah: Woah, this is heavy, Doc. Internet points for both of you.
(Sorry I lack the attributions for this next bit. If you made it, please do stand up and take your bow via comments.)
Of course, being a huge fan of stupid pictures, especially those involving myself, I most enjoyed the shoops and the lone gif:
Upon viewing my re-pro with epileptic eyes I’m reassured that I didn’t do half-bad.
I wish this shoop could have finagled my arm on top. I love to spoon.
But not with Gary.
I’ve always loved 4 panels.
I considered correcting the red-eye in this photo. Now I’m glad I didn’t.
And, finally, I get in on the ground floor of a new favorite meme:
Thanks for sharing in the laughs.