Blogger Announces Best Friend Contest For People With No Friends
OK. First of all, for the winners of my last contest, I didn't forget to mail your prizes. I just haven't gotten around to it yet. I'll do it shortly.
Now for my amazing new contest. It's called, The Dr Zibbs is My Best Friend Contest. Here's how it will work.
- Tell me in the comments section what a day would be like if you and I were friends. Would we fly off to a remote area in Greece and explore the land on donkeys? The funny looking donkey's that wear the straw hats with their ears peaking through? Would we drop milkshakes off of the second floor of a mall onto the heads of some jerks? Would we be getting it on? Would we eat BLT's but we'd do that thing where we kind of link arms around each other? Would we pull a heist? I'm talking excitement people.
- Once you leave a comment, are you done? What if you think of something better? Well, I will accept multiple submissions. Take as much space as you wish. In fact, the more detailed the scenario, the better your chance of winning.
- I will give everyone about a day, but once you see me write, "CONTEST CLOSED" in the comments section, it's officially closed. So don't start your bawlin'.
- I will pick three runner ups (losers). The prize will be me saying their name, out loud while sitting at my computer like this: "Blogger #5 is my friend". I will not record the vocalization and nobody will probably hear it, but you'll have my word that your name was said out loud by me - a very famous, rockstarlike blog celebrity.
And the Grand Prize Winner will receive at least 5 emails from me recapping a great day we really didn't have but we would have had if I really wanted to be friends with you. You're free to post these emails on your own blog - which will bring you tons of blog traffic - or simply print the emails out, cut then into the shape of hearts and rose petals and roll around in them. The choice is yours.
And one more thing, feel free to trash the ideas of other bloggers if you sense that their scenarios are full of shit.
56 comments:
And day with me as your friend:
We would start the day by sitting along side a set of train tracks in our Coleman camping chairs, sipping our Grande Non-Fat Vanilla Lattes. Then we'd dump the chairs, hop the train and assist shoveling coal into the coal bin while drinking our Bud Light and the Sam Adams Winter Lager.
We would end the day watching "Pretty Woman" at the dollar movie theatre and then I'd have my pilot fly you back home in my King Air Lear Jet.
Signed: Jennifer
Yet another winner of one of your shitty prizes!!!!!
HAPPY MONDAY!
- Jennifer
A Day In The Life of You And I
Okay, this would all take place in Florida.
First of all, you and I would go out for breakfast. There would be very little talking; we would order omlettes (you would have a ham and cheese and I would have a loaded) and we'd sit and read the newspaper quietly, maybe occasionally asking each other how our coffee is or pointing out silly things in the paper. At some point you'd pretend to talk about the stock market like you were reading symbols from the paper, but then I'd pull the paper down and see that it was the daily comics you were looking at, and we'd have a good laugh and then go back to drinking coffee quietly.
Then we'd go for a drive around and see how long it took a couple of gringos like us to get carjacked. You would win the bet we'd have between us about how long it might take because I imagine you to be perfect at estimations.
After that, we'd get another car and drive down to the beach. You'd be excited and running along the beach in front of me picking up seashells. Then when your pockets got full, you'd turn your attention to bikini-clad chicks and make funny comments about their thongs. I'd laugh and laugh and direct your attention everywhere and you'd keep on commenting and maybe try out some suave pick up lines on them for a laugh.
Then we'd drive up to Disney World. I'd buy you a ticket and sit in the car and nap while you had your fun for the afternoon. You'd return to the parking lot hours later with ice cream all over your face and wander around hopelessly looking for the car. Eventually I'd spot you trying to break into a BMW and stop you from getting arrested in your sugar-induced frenzy.
Then we'd drive over to Sea World, I'd pay for the tickets again and we'd go and sit in front of the whale tank and try and get splashed. I imagine you getting really excited and having a little happy freak out when the whale finally splashes you.
After that, we'd go and get our pictures taken in one of those bandit-brothel places where you dress up and they do a daguerreotype photo that you buy. But we'd ask some random elderly lady to join us and dress up like a prostitute. You'd be trying to hold your fingers up behind her head and the photographer would be getting really frustrated with you. We'd laugh a lot and the old lady would be generally clueless. We'd skip out on paying for the pictures because "They aren't good quality" and run off before the proprietor could catch us.
Then in the evening, we'd go and find some cheap Miami-Vice type suits and hit the clubs! I'd dare you to wander around asking ladies if they wanted a fleshy filling, and you'd be getting more and more drunk every hour to the point where you couldn't stand and the bouncers would kick us out and maybe beat us up a bit.
Then we'd call it a night and return to our separate hotel rooms, but just as I would be falling asleep, you'd be banging on the door and crying about how you just saw America's Funniest Home Videos on the TV and some little girl was mean to her brother on it and how that reminded you of something that happened to you when you were little. I'd let you in and console you, then you'd get rowdy and try and fight me and I'd calm you down and give you some ice cubes or Halls to suck on until you fell asleep on the floor.
That's our day.
Did I win??
"Contest closed" now, right??
Another Day In Paradise
You and I would be at base camp 1 at the foot of Mount Everest - climbers would ask us how long we'd been preparing to climb everest and we'd say crazy things like "Oh, a week and a half" or that we didn't know where we were and that we'd thought this was the north pole because we were looking for Santa.
Then we'd wander around the camp and ask people if we could borrow their oxygen for a minute, and when they'd lend us a tank we'd blow up balloons with it. They'd be so mad!! Haha, when they'd try to catch us we'd toboggan right down the mountain into India.
Then when we were in northern India we'd ask people how to get to Bollywood. They'd be all confused and think we were asking how to make tea or something. Eventually the locals would get annoyed and call the authorities, and a big massive Indian fellow would come out into the alley we'd be in and he'd start swinging two sabres just like Indiana Jones and you'd shoot him.
We'd hop on a motorcycle and jump across rooftops and end up diving off the motorcycle on to the top of a southbound train. We'd dust ourselves off and climb aboard and speak with dry fake English accents and pretend we were scouting India out for reassimilation into the British Empire. Finally people would get mad enough and we'd have to jump off the train while it was moving and roll into a hay stack.
Then we'd find a local airport and hijack a small plane and fly around and buzz buildings until the plane ran out of fuel. It'd be a blast! Of course after we crashed, we'd be injured and unable to continue our day any further, but man, that would be a fun day!
Ok Zibsy,
Our Day would consist of you and me in The Big Apple on a bright and clear morning. (I know you are up early-as am I) We'd travel over to another one of my BFF's TV studio, via limo, and be greeted at the door by none other than the domestic diva herself, (holding a fistfull of blue balloons to celebrate your arrival),-Martha Stewart.
We would be rushed in to the studio to get ready for your apperance on her 10am live show. It would, of course, be a cooking segment where you are schooling Martha in all things Zibbs,making your featured recipe of choice for her viewers. Both you and Martha would be wearing TBY t-shirts and drinking fom TBY mugs. You would enjoy a witty repartee with Martha, all the while plugging your site with Martha urging all her viewers to find the recipe and other heplful tips on TBY. (She might even agree to do a monthly "good things" piece for your site-she's such a big fan)
After a fantastic lunch, prepared by Martha, and would include the heads of her OmniMedia INC. (the topic of discussion would a possible Zibbs world for TV, as they have been after you for years)
we would continue on the road to tape the second Zibbs/Martha segment. This would take place at her/your favorite flea markets, instructing viewers of the delicate intracasies of a priceless antique. Martha would be going on about how little she "suddenly feels she knows" about the subject, batting her eyelashes and linking her arm in yours.
We would then travel back to the hotel for some rest. And by that I mean, you and your lovely Asian rickshaw carrying posse, hand feeding you grapes while you rest your weary head on goose down pillows and tending to your every need.
Dinner at Le Cirque, with you wearing the brand new Zenga suit I had tailored to your body, and a night cap and that dance you promised me at the Rainbow Room.
When the clock strikes midnight, I will have disappeared into the night leaving you wondering if it had all been a dream.
Fear not, when you awoke the next day you will have found that your TBY site has crashed due to the influx of user traffic and THAT will bring you right back to reality.
Our day together would probably end with one of us thinking the other is a drunken idiot. Or both of us thinking that.
Either way, it's probably better that we remain virtual buddies. :)
I don't think the prizes are good enough to participate.... either that or I think Poobomber's day in Florida wins hands down! Atleast that is the day I would pay the most money to see in theaters.
And besides, I am a little bitter because you said we were BFF's - and here you are, pimping out your love. This is dumb.
How about this: we eat Thanksgiving dinner, then watch the 12 Shades of Awesome 1st Place Arizona Cardinals, Probably the Greatest Team Ever Assembled - EVER! crush the Eagles during the late game. During the game, after much crying, you come to see the error of your ways and jump on the Cardinal bandwagon, making this the greatest Thanksgiving of your life!
Why waste perfectly good milkshakes?
We'll drink them instead, and I'll teach you how to create something *else* we can drop on people's heads from a few floors up: water balloons made from origami-ized waxed paper.
Okay, Doctor, our day together begins in my kitchen. We are baking cookies. I can't cook worth shit, but I can bake some damn fine cookies, okay? We argue briefly about which cookies to bake: chocolate chip, peanut butter, butterscotch, M&M, whatever. Then we figure oh to hell with it and just throw everything in the bowl and call 'em Yak Cookies. I "accidently" tell you I have a thing for Doctors. You raise one interested eyebrow and offer to get me an appointment in your office. I'm all giggly and say okay.... then privately start wondering what type of doctor you really are. I'm lost in a series of horrible thoughts at this point, but you start making dirty jokes involving the sugar and the butter. And I start laughing cuz if there's one thing I value, it's a dirty joke. Your jokes remind me of my hidden sleazy lava lamp. I excitedly go get it and plug it in to show you cuz if there's one thing you value, it's sleaze. While you are busy leering at the lamp, I go slip into something more comfortable. A backless number most likely, cuz when I'm cookin' I get hot. The lamp and the backless number give you the wrong idea. You make a move and then you get slapped. But, no problemo, it turns out you like that sort of thing.... and the slap leads us into an almighty food fight. We're laughing, we're tossing (food), it's fun. We put the Yak Cookies in the oven then realize, dang it, we're dirty. We go have a bath, where, amid the bubbles, you play with a rubber duck and I tell you I have showered buck naked with nurses. You're interested. You want more info. I tell you that you need to actually stop by my stupid blog and freaking read it for once so this friendship we have stops being a one-way street, dammit!! You agree, if I promise to post my nurse confessions there tomorrow. I agree. I'll post 'em tomorrow. I promise. You make another move. I start thinking well maybe.... but then my smoke alarm goes off cuz the cookies are burning. I run to salvage the cookies. While I'm gone, you sneak in my bedroom and try on my panties. I would normally be pissed about this, but you're off the hook this time cuz I realize I'm late picking my kid up from school. We get dressed in a rush and drive like maniacs to my kid's school. When she comes up to the car and sees you, she gives me that old familiar you're-the-worst-mom-in-the-fucking-world-and-I-hate-your-guts-and-wanna-go-live-with-my-dad-now-god-dammit look and decides to walk home instead. Fine. So you and I race her back to the house. We win. Then, just to show her, we eat all the charred Yak Cookies before she gets there. And, shit, they were aptly named - cuz then, we YAK!
I could tell you all about our day together, but I'm pretty sure it's not legal...
I wish I had a vagina or something to use at this point as a bribe, because I see I'm up against some pretty serious competition.
I hope your policies aren't sexist because at this point, I'm ready to wear some frilly clothes just to be your BFF and win this damn contest, Zibbsy.
I don't know, I don't do anything fun when you're not around, I see no reason to change that just cause your ass is visiting. What am I, your concierge? You can come over and spend all day on the internet while watching shitty TV. Then when it gets near bedtime we can drink a lot so that our demons don't haunt us in the still of the night and I can weasel Cora's phone number out of you.
Our day would consist of pizza, beer & sex. In a car, on a roof, in the bushes, on a stoop. By the river, in the pool, middle of the apple orchards, on a stool. Under the tree, up on a hill, Pizza Hut's parking lot, dollar tree.
The beer will flow, the van will be rockin, just me & my best friend....we be knockin.....
peace
#2
I think after starting off with some liquid courage in the form of triple espresso's from Starbucks we'd probably put on some cheap Halloween masks and go knock off a bank. Then, with our newfound gains, we'd hire a limo service to drive us to Chicago where we'd catch a Bears game. But in the limo on the way there we'd strip naked and paint our bodies in Bears colors so that in the 3rd quarter we can quickly strip again and streak across the field. We'd both make it all the way across evading capture by the fat Chicago cops because, of course, we RAWK. We'd giggle all the way back about our adventures and then probably wind up at a sex toy store making lewd comments about all the paraphernalia and maybe even trying on some leather and studded chokers and taking some pics of each other. By then we'd be pretty tired and we'd split our remaining money and the pictures and go our separate ways, promising to link to each other's post about our day on our respective blogs the next day.
Oh, and of course I'd fall asleep dreaming of That Blue Yak with a big smile on my face.
Ooh this is a good competition. There's no way I can beat PooBomber, but I'm gonna give it a whirl as soon as I have the proper time to devote to it.
PS - I will be blogrolling you and adding your post to my honorable mentions as soon as I finish this comment!
: )
Daaayyamm! Good job so far everyone.
Southernbelle - This is the best day of your life. You found my blog.
Our day together begins when I have to get up at freaking 3 a.m. in order to beat the L.A. traffic and arrive at the airport on time for your 1 p.m. arrival. After circling the arrivals area for forty-five minutes, I call the airline and find out the flight is delayed. So I stick my car in long-term parking and head over to LAX Hollywood to get a martini and look at a bunch of half-starved rejects from the 90210 casting couch who don’t know this club was dead like, ten minutes ago, and imagining how you and I would skewer them if you were actually here and not still circling Dallas-Forth Worth. When it comes time to meet your plane I am so lit I can’t remember in which of the 12,000 long-term parking lots I left my car, so I ask the nearest group of half-starved rejects if they can give me a lift, assuring them that this yak we are picking up is “big” in the industry and at the very least will show his gratitude by getting them a spot on the sidewalk outside “that place where the paparazzi hang out.” Finally we pick you up and since it is now rush hour spend a couple hours crawling along the freeway and end up two hours late for our reservation at Chateau Marmont. After a first course consisting of one olive and a sprig of parsley and costing two hundred and fifty bucks, we decide to blow off our entourage and spend the rest of the evening walking Hollywood Blvd, handing out “TBY” flyers and begging for change.
Hey, can I follow myself on my "Followers" or is that too.....Doc Zibbs??
- Jennifer
Jennifer, you're already following me.
Wow! The bar is set so high but I'm no quitter so here goes:
The alarm goes off at 5:00 AM on a Saturday morning. It's RACE DAY and we are running the Fort Worth COWTOWN MARATHON! Yee-haw! Your flight got in at 4:00 AM so you're ready to go.
We arrive in Fort Worth half-asleep and park the car somewhere. We get to the starting line with a moment to spare and we're off.
5 hours later, you finally cross the finish the line. I've been waiting for over an hour!!!!
By now, beer service is in full swing so we imbibe forgetting the driving part. Anyway, it's time for lunch. We eat some wonderful yummy Tex-Mex food in a local shack and chase it down with more beer and a few margaritas.
We stumble outside to sleep it off on a park bench. We finally wake up and I can't find the car.
2 hours later we find the car and I drive you to the house where hubby has prepared your room in our shed out back (with internet access). You try to sleep it off fighting for space with the coyote that wandered in when he smelled beer and garlic.
Wasn't that fun? Ha!
I would drop you off at the intersection of Hollywood and Vine so you could take your pic of the litter. Hint: bring condoms. Then I would take you to the world famous (at least here) Tommy's for chiliburgers and fries.
Here's mine:
I take you to the Bubble Up factory where you would have free reign to swim in giant vats of Bubble Up and shower in it and drink it to your heart's content. I'd arrange for Bubble Up waterslides to be constructed just for you. Hell, you could even do a Bubble Up enema if you felt like it. Knock yourself out. See what I care.
Then I'd end our day with a hug. I think you could use one.
Sorry. Am i creeping you out?
I abdicate what would have undoubtedly been the most winningest post as I'm still waiting for the last shitty prize. But on one condition only. That if Poobomber wins, he has to post pictures of himself wearing said frilly clothes. Preferably full drag, but I'll take what I can get. It might be the Scottish in me, but I love a man in a skirt...
Dr Zibbs,,,,#1 here.
With #2's entry, this is a 2-fer
I can't even think of anything after reading what Poobomber wrote.
We'd go for a walk, but I'd insist you walk at least 20 feet behind me and we'd act like we don't know each other. Then when we'd reach my place, I'd chain you to the wall and spank you. You know...pretty normal guy stuff, I guess.
The day of reckoning begins with a proper gussyin’ up in our respective bathrooms. I select my finest ski mask as you run the pick through your naturally kinky, albeit white guy, hair (it’s obvious). We protein up with our glasses of raw eggs and then hit the pavement, rarin’ to earn some new turf, blades at the ready. Fortunately, we are able to show our prowess with our dance and, by midday, we’ve taken all of downtown proper and are marching on city hall.
As we approach the gates of “the man”, munching on egg salad sandwiches and Tang, you squeal like a schoolgirl as you spot a sign announcing an open call for a traveling tour of Cats. “I have awaited this moment since conception,” you declare and I am reminded why you are my sworn nemesis. Catering to your belief that we are now friends I boost your confidence: “Of course! Your catlike reflexes and that twinkle in your eye . . . you were born for this! Run ahead while I sign you up!” I take down the mock poster I had hung the night before and call my people, “Okay, he bought it! Now just as we rehearsed it!”
“Stibbs! Dr. Stibbs!” the “casting agent” calls (strategically mispronouncing to sell the gag).
“Th-th-that’s me . . . I can’t do it,” and you freeze with the shakes. “I think the mud butt’s a-comin’ . . . always happens when I get nervous”.
“Now you listen to me, dammit!” I begin. “I’ve seen the best. Adrian Zmed in Streetcar . . .”
“Dr. Stibbs!?” the call is repeated.
“ . . . Kirk Cameron in Fiddler on the Roof (the Christian remix), even Yakoff Smirnoff’s one-man show A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Freedom, and you, sir, have IT. Now you can run to the bathroom and turn on your stew faucet or you can USE it – out there, under those lights, and make history. Now get out there and make Nana Zibbs proud!”
You proceed nervously onto the stage where you amaze my people with your verbatim performance of Cats as if it were a one-man show. Clearly, you do not understand the concept of auditioning with one number and why you chose to “interpret” the play on skates I never learn but, alas, two hours in you finally hit your mark: the trap door. Down you fall. “Memoryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy”, you emote as you plummet down and down and down . . .
Darkness.
Silence (except for the squeak of one wheel as it spins next to your twisted ankle).
“Ball bearings need oiling” you think as it occurs to you that this might not be a real theater.
“There’s another performance I love,” I whisper down through the darkness.
“Wh-wh-what’s that?”
“It rubs the lotion on its skin.”
The day proceeds rather predictably from there.
I'm sure mine will suck and won't win, but what the hell. You just want all of us to fight for your affections anyway...
First, after passing notes back and forth about what boys we like all day long, I would ride your bus back to your house because your mom is letting me spend the night!!
We make nachos by nuking some shredded cheese on some Nacho Cheese Doritos and drink New York Seltzers while ... again... talking about the boys we like! We giggle and hope that they will be at the roller rink later!
Your mom comes home from work, and you and I primp and gossip in the bathroom (because the guy I like likes this other girl, but she is a total slut because I saw her kissing some other guy... gawd I hate her, don't you?) and then your mom drives us to the roller rink!
You are sooooo cool that you have your very own roller skates, but I am lame and have to use the rentals.
We go to the snack bar and get nachos and pretzels and soda. and OMG the guys we like are here!!!!
We spend all night NOT TALKING to those guys, because we are freaking retarded giggly 9th graders. In the mean time, that bitch that likes my guy shows up, and I end up crying (which only becomes worse when the DJ plays "Every Rose has it's thorn" by Poison and that BITCH is holding hands with him!!!) and having a horrible time the rest of the night until your mom picks us up.
We get home and change into our pajamas, and braid each others hair and gossip and watch Sixteen Candles and The Goonies while pigging out on popcorn and more New York seltzers... then we make some incredibly stupid prank calls (because star 69 hasn't been invented yet). Your older brother and some of his friends come home, and we end up playing Truth or Dare... and I end up having to kiss your brothers friend who has major zits and braces... EWWW!! But you're my BFF, so you won't say anything Monday at school, right, cuz I would JUST DIE!
We start gossiping again in the darkness, and fall asleep dreaming of the pancake breakfast your mom will cook for us in the morning.
This contest is hereby officially renamed to Holy Shit Your Readers Are Just As Fucking Bizarre As You.
You're welcome.
(And I love it.)
Bizarre? Oh!
Dr. Zibbs - You and I would administer some justice.
We'd start by forcing that city on the Delaware to legally change it's name to 'East Chester', and then merge North and South Dakota into one state, and give Rhode Island and Prince Edward Island a stern warning that they're next if they don't watch it.
Then, we'd settle this whole Angelina / Jennifer thing the way women should settle all disputes. Best 2 out of 3 wresting match: bikinis and tapioca pudding.
Then we'd "Pied Piper" a herd of "specials" by playing selections from your massive Zamfir collection, and then pull a "Tom Sawyer" on them and trick them into picking up every leaf in your yard, by hand, sorting them by color, and then size into neat piles. Which we'd let neighbor hood dogs run through. And we will then send them home, without hugs.
Then I would fly you to Bemidji, Minnesota, where you could meet Babe, the blue ox, and freaky blue bovine sex. (I would tour the Jane Russell wax museum.)
Finally, we'd convince the Brits to build a replica of their Parliament Building on the white cliffs, and call it the 'Big Ben / Dover'.
Anyone ever figure out who this Bizarro Zibbs fellow is?
Scope, you're a genius! Can I ride in the trunk?
poobomber, I'm with you, there's some heavy competition out there!
AV
http://netherregionoftheearthii.blogspot.com/
http://tomusarcanum.blogspot.com/
J.J. - We are riding in style in a cherry 1972 sky blue Cadillac Eldorado. There's plenty of room for the ladies up front. (And room for those we had to kill in the trunk.)
No Silly....Can I Follow MYSELF ON MY BLOG?????? Geeeez do I have to SPELL everything out???
HAPPY TUESDAY!!! *Tink*
- Jennifer
Jennifer - You're asking the wrong person.
Lydia, thanks for acknowledging me. Dr. Zibbs seems to have decided to ignore me since I will not change my name.
Who am I, you ask? Well, slowly I will begin to reveal clues, but the most important thing is that I will destroy Dr. Zibbs.
But why?
Perhaps I was picked on by him in high school. Perhaps I was not. Perhaps I ride a motorcycle. Perhaps I do not. Perhaps my initials are J.R. Perhaps thay are not.
Perhaps I know Dr. Zibbs identity. Perhaps not.
Enjoy the ride, folks. I am.
Wow – how to top Poobomber…..I know, I can’t, but here goes anyway:
This too would take place in Florida but only because A.) I live here and you’d be visiting and B.) I live here and you’d be visiting.
You and I would get up before dawn’s crack and get ready for our day by intravenously taking in 3.2 pots of coffee. I’d let you have a cup because I’m cool like that, ya know? We’d then load our quad runners onto the trailer hitched to my Ford F150; yours is a Kawasaki Brute Force and mine is the Yamaha Grizzly (outdoorsman edition, of course). On our way to the national forest we’d stop at Jerry’s Bait and Tackle for some YooHoo, Moon Pies, two cases of Budweiser and beef jerky to sustain us for the day. (Hey, it’s the south, what were you expecting, sushi and sprouts?) From there we’d hit the first pig trail just on the other side of the county line. Taking it back as far as we could, we’d then unload the quads and hit the woods.
Fifteen minutes later we’d make our first stop of the day due to our parched throats and tired bodies with the need to sustain our energy. As I grab the beers, you unhook the lounge chairs we have fastened to the back of our ATV’s. I’d then turn on the radio to the Steelers game and we spend the rest of the day in our chairs planning our trek through the woods as we listen to the record breaking day Ben is having as he throws eight touchdown passes during the game. You then watch me cry.
After and exciting game in which the Steelers rape and maim the Dallas Cowboys, exhausted, we’d head to the truck for our ride back to civilization. One more stop at Jerry’s to replenish our supplies, we’d arrive home in time for the Saturday night game with the hopes that the Eagles will trounce the Ravens to make our perfect day complete.
Dr Z., I've upped my game over at my blog. I'm going to win now, contest closed, right?
Well, I make everyone who comes here help me work. Friends, family, UPS guy--doesn't matter. So, were you to show up at my house, you could help me shear sheep, burn shit on the burn pile, or haul firewood. And of course, in the spring, there's always docking sheep tails with the freaky clipper/branding iron tool.
Is this why no one comes to visit me?
*laughing hysterically* these are all awesome entries, I can't compete with them!!!
awesome, and kudos!!!
P.S. - Zibbs, I want my panties back.
BWAHAHAH! I'm back just in time. Don't close the contest, BFF, I'm working on my entry now.
(psst . . . Zibbsy! Did you hear all the other contestants moan when I said I was back? I think I even saw Poo running back to write another scene.)
if we were best friends we would start a steelers sunday by drinking beer in a parking lot at 8 AM. fall down and pick each other up as we tossed a football around. eat bizarre foods from the grill. stagger into the game. yell until we are hoarse. sleep in the truck until one of us was able to drive home. sleep. glorious sleep, all curled up together. then at breakfast the next day we would try to piece together the specifics of the previous day.
xoxo
becky
After arguing for weeks over who’s flying to the other’s city, you finally relent because I can be a pill when I don’t get my way. I pick you up at the airport and take you straight to the Arch where we ride the tram to the top and look at the spectacular view. You tell baseball jokes while we’re touring Busch Stadium and I pretend to get them and laugh.
We eat the best sammiches in town at Blues City Deli for lunch. You really enjoy the local Schlafly hefeweizen and I buy you a commemorative pint glass. After that we go shopping at Viviano’s, an authentic Italian grocery store in the Italian neighborhood. We but fresh bread and garlic, thin slices of provolone, a pound of genoa salami so we can make an antipasta plate for the cocktail hour I’m throwing in your honor. We spend the afternoon playing different songs and youtube videos for each other, showing off, while we roast the garlic and set up for the party.
At the party you meet H and Peabody and really have a grand time. Everyone leaves about 9 but we have a couple hours before I have to get you to the airport. I ask you if you have a minute to look at the time machine I’ve built in the garage and you agree to see if you can help. Miraculously, you stopped by the Exton K-Mart on your way to Brandywine Airport and picked up the exact wrench I needed to complete my machine. We get it running, turn back the dial 24 hours, and then I fly to see you in Westchester! You take me to the corner of Gay and High and we giggle like 12 year-olds. Anonymous joins us for lunch at the Spence café and you even pick up the tab! You show me all around town after lunch and we have ice cream at the Exton PA Ice Cream Shop. You show me the Downington Farmer’s Market and your Garden of Hope. We discuss the pros and cons of systemic fungicides over dinner with your wife and kids.
All in all, we have two great days in one because you like to buy stuff you’re not even sure you’ll need.
(Standing atop a roof): ..AND THE BIDDING IS CLOSED. I will review the submissions above and be back eventually with a winner. Fight among yourselves.
WONDER TWIN POWERS......ACTIVATE
I hope I win. I collect BFF's like they're porcelain Virgin Mary figurines.
I can't offer you nookie, Zibbsy (unless you're into that and get me REALLY drunk, like dead-drunk), but we can sure have a swell time at Sea World together.
I wonder if Bizarro Zibbs wears a mask and cape?
Or maybe just lacey panties.
Scope, I've never been accused of being a lady but I'll accept your invitation to sit up front. I'd rather not be able to say the phrase, "I see dead people"...and actually mean it.
A day with me as your friend:
First of all you have to fly to Spain were I live.
Then I would invite you to eat a paella on a restaurant in front of the beach.
Then realizing I cannot understand a world of what you are blabbing about, because of your "too american" accent, I would drop you off to a local "puticlub" and I would pick you up before your flight back.
By the way..I bet you've never being offered so many female bodies in real life!
*Puticlub=burdel
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