A Face for…Not Vlogs

Last night, JoJo (the missus)* and I were lucky enough to have our friend Cynthia (ya’ know, the one whose penis I love?) come over to “chillax” for several hours.  Due to my going “work at home”, and Cynthia studying a lot for her career move, and JoJo’s odd work schedule, all three of us hadn’t been in the same room in many months.  It was bordering on depressing, and I spent many nights awake wondering if God had forsaken me.  Okay.  That’s not true.  I sleep like a baby most of the time, and then wake up with a manic energy that makes JoJo pray for an embolism to take her out by lunchtime.  But I often miss Cynthia.  And her penis.  We’re stardust afterall**.

So…I had texted JoJo over the weekend while she was at work, foaming at the mouth, announcing that Cynthia was coming to visit both of us.  Her response?

“Are you cooking dinner for me and your girlfriend?”

She’s a laugh riot.  Like, she should totally write this blog. 

So, I reminded JoJo that we are currently working on a lifestyle change*** and anything that we’d all want to eat wouldn’t work with said change.  I then let her know that Cynthia is trying to change bad habits, too, so our normal feast of McNuggets and Little Debbies would have to be passed up.  Instead, we would all have to suck it up and be healthy.  Only massive amounts of coffee and cigarettes**** would be allowed.  Because that’s what skinny people consume.  That and their own tears and their sublimated rage over how “rose gold” was a “thing”.

Side note: if the Tobacco Industry self-funds a “non-biased” study showing that cigarettes are actually healthy, especially for passive smokers and pets, I’m jumping on that bandwagon so fucking quick.  

Note to self: send e-mail suggestions to Tobacco Industry.  And Hostess.

The early evening finally arrived, and Cynthia showed up late as per usual*****, and we all got down to four hours of catching up.  The normal stuff was discussed, such as careers, our families, our home lives, who we hate simply because we can, any new thoughts on the best way to overthrow a small South American nation, ya’ know, normal banter.  This might be a good time to mention that Cynthia (and, presumably, her penis) will be starting her own blog in the not too distant future.  Though, unlike my train wreck of a mess blog where there’s no discernible topic or structure, hers will be about health and wellness for the most part.

Because of this, we were trading information, tips, the best articles we’d read on blogging, funny anectdotes, etc.  The whole time, JoJo was checking out, huddled under a blanket (the windows were open and the fan was going, and Texas was a chilly 70 degrees), slowly getting closer and closer to dozing off.  Yes.  When Cynthia, JoJo, and I are in the same room, JoJo’s thought process is “Aw, shit.  Now there’s two of ’em. Either I fall asleep or fake my own death.”  JoJo tends to take the path of least resistance.  So far.  Regardless, Cynthia was laughing at some utter nonsense I was carrying on about–and suddenly got very serious.

“Personally, I feel you should do vlogs, too.” Cynthia stated matter-of-factly.

Actual picture of me considering her statement

I just smiled and said “While, I appreciate that you find me funny.  I have what’s called a ‘face for radio’. I mean, my own wife says that I have a face that could sell gravy.”

At this point, JoJo snuffled in her pre-doze stupor.

“Why won’t you two let me sleep?”

Of course, then Cynthia and I had to discuss, loudly, that JoJo probably has sleep apnea and needs a sleep study.

Honestly–never has someone listened to me talk, found me funny, and then pointed a camera in my face to save that mess for repeat viewing.  They actually listened to me talk, thought I was funny, and screamed “Get this fat fuck a keyboard!”

So, basically, the moral of the story is: don’t be my wife.  You get no respect.  And two, one day I plan to have my own line of canned gravy (but unlike Paul Newman, I won’t be giving my profits to charity–unless Phillip Morris International, Inc. qualifies******).  And three, I won’t make you all suffer over making the difficult decision about whether or not to watch my jowls flap as I carry on about funding studies that find the chemicals in cigarettes beneficial to a house cat’s health.

* I mentioned that JoJo is “the missus” in every blog in case people are new to the site.  And to prove that I could actually find a wife.  And a smart, beautiful, loving, mostly stable one at that.

** Cynthia and I are so alike mentally that we say we’re born of the same stardust at the creation of the universe and now have come back together.  JoJo calling Cynthia my “girlfriend” is unneccesary, but I guess it’s understandable why she does it.

*** We don’t call it the “D” word because then JoJo breaks out in hives.  More on this in a later blog post, I’m sure.  Or watch CNN for breaking news about two fatties having a knife fight in a Walmart parking lot.  Your call.

**** No.  We didn’t smoke cigarettes.  But, like Little Debbies and Chicken McNuggets, they were sorely missed.  But there was coffee.

***** The excuse this time was “she had to run into the store on the way”, yet she didn’t have any bags with her when she came.  JoJo and I were secretely hoping she’d show up with snacks and we’d have to eat them to “be polite”.

****** Fuck you if you don’t find a joke about the Tobacco Industry funding an “un-biased” study with the sales from my line of canned gravy funny.  

Until next time…