Not those kinds of benefits.
See, my last post (Click here. Or scroll down. Go on fat fingers, give ‘em a workout) got me thinking.
Not about that. God. You’re obsessed!
I’m talking about REAL benefits, people, not that kind of Marie Claire shtick some guy made up because (a) it was a cool name for the new Jennifer Aniston movie and (b) he had the hots for that girl with the ‘tache because he’d always had a thing for body hair so he wanted to bone her and maybe go to the cinema, maybe catch that new Jennifer Aniston movie, but not in public because, duh, she had a moustache and double duh, it was, like, the new Jennifer Aniston movie.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
All this unasked for relationship advice proved as useless as Ben Clarke’s not-quite-a-scholarship to Sandhurst on the last season of the Apprentice, which got me wondering, erm, when it was going to be on again. Oh, and whether I should make new friends.
But if I was in the market for a new gang to spend my leisure time with, these guys would be top of the list. Yes I made a list. And yes I know that having actually made said list basically counts me out of having any more friends, EVER, but bear with me. It's just a list.
OK, so she might make me wear white knee-high socks and a kilt, but she lives in a super fly California mansion and she's a virgin who can't drive, which would make me feel good about myself. I mean, look what she did for Ty. Hmm. Wait a second. What DID she do for Ty? Looking back it seems like Ty was on a pretty slippery slope since that time Cher got her to make out with Travis. She moved to Sin City, became a meth head in Spun and.. oh yeah. Died. Shit.
2. The entire cast of Empire Records
See, the thing about these guys is, no matter how many Mariah Carey CDs I shoplifted, or how much of Joe’s money I lost at the casino, or how bad I looked with a shaved head/in a kilt and Doc Martens (wait, another kilt? what’s going on here?) they’d love me for who I was, goddammit! I'd get to sing a duet with Burko on top of a building. I'd even be friends with Rex Manning, although sex would probably get in the way.
3. Pootie Tang
Simply by association with the spawn of Daddy Tang and Momma Dee, I, like musician/actor/folk hero Pootie, would be too cool for words. We’d hang out with Biggie Shorty on street corners (she ain’t hookin’) or with our other friends, Missy Elliot and Chris Rock, dressed as a corn-on-the-cob. And if anyone tried to mess with us, even if my Pootie didn’t have his magic belt, I’d be safe in the knowledge that he’d tie the haters up in verbal knots:
“See, my damie, Pootie Tang don't wa-da-tah to the shama cow... 'cause thats a cama cama leepa-chaiii, dig?”
That’s right Pootie.
You said it.
What a guy.
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