Wow. I'm still reeling from my New Year's Eve shenanigans. What was I thinking? I mean, I've gone through my entire life feeling like a lonely pea in a pod big enough for two. Whenever I run across someone who doesn't shy away from Crest whitening strips or self-tanning cream I think:
Are you my pea?
More often than not, the object of my affection isn't psychic and can't respond. So, I just stare, and sort of lick my lips. I might even moan. Or pant. Inevitably, I scream "AWOOOGA!" and slap my naughty bum. That's when my pea and I start making out.
If you're judging me right now, I'm going to have to ask you to stop. I never wanted to be anybody's role model. I'm not a girl. Not yet a woooo-man. I'm a Cavalier Daily columnist looking for a pea. A pea I thought I found on New Year's Eve while ironically standing in line to use the bathroom.
I was playing pattycake with my bodyguard and had gotten to the bit about the bakerman -- classic -- when my pea came out of the bathroom looking all cute and stuff. Time stopped. I started hearing wedding bells. They wouldn't stop.
I finally answered my cellie and told Madonna to leave me alone. When I looked back up, my pea was like, "Hey." To which I replied, "Oh my god, happy new year."
Two minutes later we were taking shots of tequila off of Elton John's impeccable navel. I proposed soon after. Not to Elton. To my pea. I was like, "Oh my god. You're beautiful and I wanna spend the rest of tonight with you. Marry me so I can be on the cover of 'People' magazine on Monday." I then ripped off my --
Wait... wait. This isn't how I spent my New Year's. This is how Britney Spears spent her New Year's. God! I hate when I confuse my life with a pop tartlet's. Do over, do over.
do do do do do do
Wow. I'm still reeling from my New Year's Eve shenanigans. What was I thinking? Crikey! I live my life the way I like my cock fights: Wild, no holds barred and behind a dirty Winnebago. I don't shy away from Crest whitening strips or self-tanning cream, and I sure as 'ell won't let my six week-old son shy away from a croc!
Did you fertilize m'wife Terri's egg?
Better hope not, or I'll skin you like I live my life: Wild-eyed, with my shirt off, behind a dirty Winnebago. I'm the father 'ere! More often than not, the media likes to exaggerate things. You have to remember that when you see a video of me dangling m'boy in front of a bloodthirsty croc, what you don't see is m'wife Terri hidin' in the bushes with a bazooka. If the croc gets too close to m'boy, I just stare, and sort of lick my lips. I might even moan. Or pant. Inevitably, I scream "AWOOOGA!" and slap m'naughty bum. This is how my wife knows to lock and load. Half a second later that croc's innards are smeared all over m'face and I'm yellin' up at the sky like a bloody golem after a ring! That's when Terri and I start making out.
If you're judging me right now, m'wife will shoot you in the esophagus. I never wanted to be a father. Sometimes I feel like an itty-bitty girl with pigtails. Other times, when I've gotten a few beers in me, and the juke box in m'favorite pub starts up with Shania Twain -- CRIKEY! -- I feel like a woman.
I'll tell you what I'm not: I'm not a Cavalier Daily columnist looking for a pea. Veggies are for sissies and Democrats. I am a croc hunter! And crikey, I was just trying to teach m'brat m'trade.
Now, to warm m'baby up for peril and danger, I always play pattycake with him. Right at the part about the bakerman -- bloody brilliant! -- Trish releases the crocodile, looking mean as ever.
Time stopped the first time m'baby and m'croc met. I started 'earing angels singing. They wouldn't stop. So, I shot 'em with tranquilizer darts and put m'head in their mouths. Then, when I looked back towards m'boy, I could tell he was sizin' up the croc, angling for a way to ride the fierce creature like a donkey. To which I replied, "Crikey! Hey gets that from his pop."
Two minutes later I was helping m'boy on top of the impeccable reptile. I looked to Trish and said, "Look at 'em! He's beautiful and I wanna spend the rest of tonight with him. The kid's alright too. Now let's all jump on top of the croc so we can be on the cover of "People" magazine on Monday." I then ripped off my --
Wait... wait. This isn't how I spent my New Year's. This is how Steve Irwin spent his New Year's. GOD! I hate when I confuse my life with a crocodile hunter's. Truth be told, I watched a gigantic pear drop in Fredericksburg, Va. on New Year's Eve. Yes. A pear. Then I blew a kazoo, went home and caught a rerun of "David Letterman" with my girlfriend.
What was I thinking?
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