I think you and my friends should hang out (on the weekends)

April 15, 2013

I wrote a highly scientific breakdown of whether or not I would have clam-on-ham relations with James Franco the other week, and then a very kind reader messaged me and said she knows a guy who knows a guy long story short, James Franco and his bropal read my post and shared a hearty chuckle.

Whether they were laughing with me, or at me, or at the idea of attending the festival of clam-jam your guess is as good as mine, but in my head they were all eating pizza because my default imagination-station setting for all celebrities is to picture them rolling around on the ground in a beanie, eating pizza and getting snoopy.

Janet Jackson: snoopy! Walter Cronkite: snoopy! Gary Busey: snoopy! Congratulations, I guarantee I just made your life a million times better.

After breaking out in an awkwardness rash and high-fiving some enthusiastic looking couch pillows, I laid down and tried to sleep off the fact that James Franco read something where I used the word "bonealicious" unironically in public and then compared his face to a mystery burrito. Later that same day I fell out of my chair and knocked over a large potted plant.

- - - -

The happiest I've felt in weeks joy-punched me in the chest right in the middle of reading a 400-page document about SQL database program management. Halfway through what by all accounts should have been the world's most tedious document little callouts started appearing in margins that said things like, "This table field is completely ineffective. The reason why they set it up this way eludes me," and "Warning: If you do this with your external database it will give your Administrator terrible nightmares."

The further I read the more convinced I became that the author had gotten midway through the epic task writing it and lost his goddamn mind. I started sending screenshots to my coworker and giggling maniacally into the arm of my sweater. I leaned across our cubicle wall, "Psssst! Hey! Hey! Are you seeing this stuff? This dude is great!"

My coworked leaned past his monitor just enough to make eye contact, sighed, and leaned back without saying a word.

I sat at my desk all afternoon, reading the musings of a person driven insane by poor programming and sending a deluge of screenshot after screenshot to my coworker's computer, occasionally punctuated with exclamations of, "Comedic gold!" while he continued to ignore me.

When I got to page 243 (2-4-3!) the first sentence read, "This is the chapter that has been years in the making. And it's a real yawner." I threw my head back and cackled with unbridled glee, "Oh man, DJ HUNT IS KILL. ING. IT."

"..."

"The only way this could be any better is if his name was Mike."

".........."

"Mike? Mike ... Hunt?"

"................................."

After a while I declared to no one in particular, "This room is the same temperature as my skin. I think my organs are going to float out into space."

Finally, he leaned back over, "...Are you high?"

Tomorrow is a bright new day my friends.
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