Having to listen to anyone talk about anything anywhere is bad enough, but when you combine the impressive powers of banality of a Watertown, MA townie with the vast cultural void of a self-identifying "Italian" and roll all of that into a collapsed circus tent of a giant with a floppy purple eggplant head who spends all his time at the gym rehashing sports talk radio bits with barely interested guys unlucky enough to be standing in his sweat blast zone what you get is the literal embodiment of the List.
So, congratulations everyone. You can stop searching because I found our guy. Turns out he looks a lot like the alternate universe version of Kevin McHale where instead of smoking dudes on the reg on the low post he dedicated his life to dunking cheese pies into his teeth.
In this universe, however this dude is all too real. I sort of want all of you guys to meet him. List field trip?
That reminds me, I need to get one of those speech to text features on my phone because I could probably just point it at his face every day and the List would write itself. That way I wouldn't have to put in all this hard work like I do all the time.
So why not just avoid this guy, you might ask? He's got one of those smoke-burnt fog-cutter voices that blasts everything within a 100 yard radius with sketchy accent germs, and he goes about six foot nine, both ways. Easier said than done. And there's no acquaintance too casual, or too disinterested that won't stop him from calling out across the room in greeting. No worries if there's no one around to repeat ESPN talking points to in person though. He's got the burner on standby and a contact list full of friends to shout at on a moment's notice.
So, stay tuned for updates from my man's daily lectures. Like today's turd-cutter wisdom about ethnicity:
List Man: Hey man. How's the kid?
Quiet Mustachioed Fellow: Good, thanks.
LM: Hey, where are you from?
QMF: Guatemala.
LM: No shit, my wife's from Guatemalan. I been there. Your kid is halfie though, right?
QMF: Um.
LM: Hmmm. He doesn't look Spanish, your kid. He's white.
QMF: Well, my wife is from El Salvador.
LM: Nah, your kid looks white. He don't look Spanish.
QMF: ...
LM: He don't look Spanish.
QMF: Well, I, um...
LM: Yeah, I been to Guatemala once.
[Enters black guy]
LM: What up son? Yo! You get a haircut, my man? You look fifteen.
BG: Yes.
THE END*
*(of everything ever)
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6 comments:
haha, this was pretty funny. gym talk is rugged, sports talk is worse and townie philosophy talk is the worst of all. also, calling someone from central america "spanish." and yet at the same time, political correctness. not sure what to do here... i should call jake, he'll know.
Haha. Jake. Jake always knows. How does this guy have a Guatemalan wife and not know the difference?
homeboy probably watches Big Fan and thinks Patton Oswalt's character is a modern day Jesus or some shit. Or... wait is he somehow worse than that guy?
My man here doesn't know that Patton Oswald exists and probably thinks movies are for fags.
Look at that clothesline up there!
I just saw the dude on the stairmaster and he gave me this sort of sad look. He wasn't talking to anyone, and I thought HE KNOWS.
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