03 July 2012

Adventures in Nationals: Knights and Cowgirls

Sunday, Day 1. I've watched the sunrise, got stuck in a runoff trench, and clouted my cranium on the pool floor pretending to be a whale. And it's not even nine o'clock yet.

We were on a roll, so when we found ourselves left alone in the hotel, keeping up the momentum was obligatory. So we thought "Hey, we've been in Colorado for more than twelve hours now. Our friends are probably already filing our wills!"

So, to reassure our existence, we decided to conduct a few thoughtful e-mails for our lovelies. Here's a few of our masterpieces:

Subject: cast yourself into oblivion!
This is my last warning, Knight of Gondoriam Pimpsnezzle! If you do not comply, we will pickle your half-righteous short-triters! If you do not give me the plans in a well-packaged envelope with a red ribbon on a rotten abondoned tree stump TONIGHT at the NORTH gate instead of a paper mache National Geographic magazine in a waterlogged cabin at the west wall like you did LAST time, I will personally persnicket your nose.
You are a shineloving conehugger! You are a juicemongering scoodlebossmer! You are a dangerous shipman!
IN ADDITION to aformenetioned threats, I now have your dear friends Raymond and Nathan held hostage and am now in the process of reversing their digestive tracts.
In complete, entire, whole, and unadulterated sincerity,
JAHELM BUCKRIDER
Lord of the Bothmenian god, Keeper of the Snapple.

Ironically, our friends' last name is "Knight". This made the e-mail a huge success.
Our next victim had a much less hostile letter.

Subject: IF YOU ARE READING THIS THERE IS A REASONABLE CHANCE THAT YOU DO NOT PLAUSIBLY EXIST
I mean, come on, EVERYTHING is metaphysical anyway. Have you ever thought of the scientific precussions that came with assuming that the fourth level of neurotecnology would implement undefined reality abstractions? The psychoplexical realities associated with the fifth anti-dimension of Hallsharn prove that the Eversword must exist! Oh, and need I mention that this is NOT Raymond and Nathan typing this e-mail. This is actually Raymond's said-to-be-deceased older brother who is a hypotechnophonetical engineer. My name is Yano Evenshchwart R##sk8>?lk;. and the ? is silent.
Don't talk to strange men.
With a high quantity of love and affection, Your humble servant,
Yano Evenshchwart R##sk8>?lk;.

But our finest composition was composed singularly by Nathan, who seems to have a natural talent for speaking in this dialect. It was the shortest one, but it had us in stitches for a straight thirty minutes. It was titled:

Subject: Yo dawg puppygirl
You got some mad bawlin' skills wit yo dogbrowmandawg, you know what I'm sayin' cowgirl? I mean please dawg, dis stuff is there, you know, it's like there, girlydawg! Now you own me up sum hot diggity dang dog hippie cakes, you cool wid dat, cowdog?

Dis bein' from yo' hot dippity dang brohicks all da dangdest mile frum Colorado and having sum o' dem hallucination babies:

Raymond and his brodawg Nathan

It was such a tour de force, we sent it to all the girls we knew. Okay, not all of them, only the ones we thought would garner a satisfying response. 

Yeah, it was a big hit.

RE: Yo dawg puppygirl
I am flabbergasted.

RE:
I HAVE PEPPERSPRAY!!

And my personal favorite...

RE:
Alright... I'll give it my best shot:

Yo, wuzzup, doggity dawg dude brohicks brotha', dis girlydawg gottit skills slippin and trippin likea diggitydawg, bringin dat heat from da chillin city-a Seattle, babydawg!  I be makin some a dem hot diggity dang dog hippie cakes like a dawg, my brotha, bringin it hard.  Dey be comin to ya, my brohicks, dey be comin trippin like der no tomorrow!

Wen dey be ready for my brotha, they be comin flyin like a brohawk to you, my doggity dawg brohicks brotha, you best be gettin ready for dem all.

Feffy and her brobunny Checkers

And that's just day one.

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