To be fair, I'd prolly be Jay because I'm the loud and obnoxious one, but I don't think Ashley is cool enough to be Silent Bob
Anyway, it was fun, but still, it's not like school, where there are fifty people in a ten second walking distance whose rooms you can bust into and see what they're up to. For all that I gripe and moan about school slowly killing off little pieces of my soul in a long and grueling process, when I come home for summer there is a significant lowering of my wacky adventure quotient. No more late-night journeys to find weird little diners that had awesome nachos and sundaes and were open at 2am (Howley's, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere). Man, the first time we tried to find Howley's was an exercise in GPS ridiculosity:
Sophomore year was winding down, we were trapped in finals much like I was a few months ago. One Thursday night found me seated at a table with a motley assortment of people I was friends with but didn't really hang out with as a regular thing. These people were Alan: a debate dude who owns a Star Trek outfit, Wes: aka wolverine aka the man with the van, Jill: gossip queen of the wild frontier, and Brenda: who I am obviously friends with now but at the time merely knew her as the purple-haired chick who always had a camera. We were all finals-ing and miserable when suddenly Brenda or Jill (I don't remember who, this was a year ago, cut me some slack) stood up and declared:
"A grand eff on this shit! I know of a diner that serves wondrous brownie sundaes and is within driving distance!"
Something like that, anyway.
So we piled in Wes's van, grabbed a GPS and with only the vaguest idea of where the balls we were going, set off. When we started, we had the GPS set to what I like to call James Bond, because it was a smooth British voice telling us:
Except...James stopped talking to us. Were we not worthy? Did we offend? Was he set to Stuffy British Arsehole and we didn't know it? These are questions that cannot be answered. All we knew is that the dulcet tones of Navigator Bond had left us. So as Wes soldiered on behind the wheel, Alan hunted through other voices, switching to Cantonese for laughs.
Oh my goodness.
If James Bond ignored us, the Cantonese setting, which bewildered me too much for me to give it a name, NEVER STOPPED TALKING. AND IT WAS WONDERFUL. Unfortunately, as I do not know Cantonese (it's on my to-do list) it's kind of difficult for me to transcribe it here, also because I feel like it somehow makes me a racist ass-butt. Here goes: Basically, it would yell out things in Cantonese like (phonetically anyway) "Wing dey mon dah! Song cal min dey! Won tol mong raw!" at random intervals, and as we would get closer to a place where we were supposed to make a turn, it would get increasingly louder and more insistent and frantic-sounding, as though it was certain we would miss the turn and desperate to make sure we didn't:
"Wing dey mon dah! Wing dey mon dah!!! WING DEY MON DAH!! WING DEY MON DAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, WING. DEY. MON. DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!"
And somehow, we managed to get to Howley's. And indeed the brownie sundae was sweet. And yes, having typed that out, I do feel a tad uncomfortably racist. But as the musical Avenue Q teaches, everyone's a little bit racist:
Because even racism is better when you use scenes from Bleach!
So yeah, not much adventuring going on now. My local partner in random-outing crime, my best friend Jon, is currently running loose in New York instead of playing here with me, so if you happen to be anywhere in the area of New York City and you see a big gay Latin guy with glasses prancing around, possibly singing showtunes, feel free to trip him, laugh, and say it's from me. Because that would fuck with his mind. Yes, only together can we incite confusion and terror into my best buddy. One last thing before I go on my merry way (and a what a merry way it shall be): the ever-delightful and always insightful Facebook fan page has been topped out at 85 fans for somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty years and that makes Insecure Cynic sad inside. So join dammit! And if you already have, force your friends to do it too! Cuz all the cool kids are doing it. Don't you want to be cool too? Be cool. (Also help me get more fans than Dogs In Tuxedos and Top Hats, for personal reasons). Ok, whoring time is over. This is Sugary Cynic saying "Wing dey mon dah!"
"You're not an accessory to a murder! I am merely forming murder and robbery strategies," -Ashley, in one of those brief moments where I am genuinely afraid of her