Earlier this week, my friend (and guest blogger), Cynthia, brought herself and her penis to come see me. Cynthia’s visits are like a hug from dear, sweet, little baby Jesus, and I look forward to them–no matter how infrequent they have become. We have lives–what can I say? What are you gonna do, right? I was just glad that she was able to come to visit on a day where JoJo and I could both see her. It makes JoJo (the missus) so happy to make her “Allen’s girlfriend is coming over” joke. I don’t want to take that away from her.
When Cynthia arrived, I told her that I’d made cold-brew coffee for us (we all know that I faked that shit), so we’d have a tasty little treat while we visited.
Just as we sat down to catch up, each of us with a tumbler of “cold brew” in hand, Cynthia turns to me and says “So…when do *I* get to see Coot-Coot come out?”
Apparently, Cynthia had learned from reading my blog (like the rest of ya’), that my overly tired self-turns into my alternate personality “Coot-Coot” when I try to overcompensate with massive amounts of caffeine. And Cynthia was chomping at the bit to see me act like a cracked out leprechaun. I mean, not that she hasn’t seen me act a bit…off…but she has never met Coot-Coot.
I had to apologize and explain to my dear friend (and her penis) that Coot-Coot is a manifestation of overly-tired Allen colliding with overly-caffeinated Allen.
Since I was well rested, and I only had enough “cold brew” for each of us to have one cup, there was no way in Hell that Coot-Coot was going to make an appearance. I told her that she would have to deal with my normal nonsense of excessive talking and joke making. Which, if I’m being completely honest, is quite a bit to deal with, to begin with. Ask JoJo, she’ll tell you. Maybe not Tom Cruise level crazy, definitely not Gary Busey level crazy, but maybe somewhere between Kirstie Alley and Billy Bob Thornton levels of crazy. Not that that sounds appealing at all.
However, I really wanted to do my best to bring out a little Coot-Coot for Cynthia, even if it meant that JoJo would have to put me down at the end of the night. I’m used to it now. She slips a little Benadryl to me or gets out the blow darts, and the next day, we’re back to what passes for normal around here. So, after we had caught up and finished our cups of cold coffee, I suggested we all pile into the car and hit the CJ’s drive-thru. I mean–a really good, real cold-brew might do the trick. Maybe Coot-Coot would emerge? Only one way to find out. I tried to make Cynthia and JoJo just as excited for the adventure as I was pretending to be.
Cynthia was on board, but JoJo insisted that if we went, *I* had to drive.
Me: I *can’t* drive, boo.
Me: My license expired. You know that.
Me: Since you’re the driver in this marriage, we didn’t see the point of me renewing my license.
Cynthia: Oh. My. God. Really?
JoJo: *Sighing* No.
Me: *nodding my head at Cynthia* I can’t legally drive.
JoJo: Get your keys and get your fatass in the driver’s seat, Coot-Coot.
Me: *drooping head and going to get keys* You’ll all be sorry!
So…I ended up driving us to CJ’s–which is the first time that I’ve driven our car in about five months. Okay. That’s not true…but I’m not afraid of a little hyperbole if it is a) funny or b) helps me get my way. Regardless, I drove us to CJ’s, we got our sweet cream cold brews and headed back to mine and JoJo’s house.
Apparently, the extra caffeine helped, because I went slightly Coot-Coot on the way back to the house.
Someone–I can’t remember who, which is surprising since there was only 3 of us (and Jolene) in the car–mentioned “French kissing”. Without missing a beat, I theorized that since French kissing was putting your tongue in someone’s mouth while kissing, German kissing was probably when two people go “butt-to-butt” and their…um…buttholes…touch. While this made Cynthia and I cackle like crazed loons, it was a highly disturbing theory.
And it made me realize that I should never force Coot-Coot to emerge. It’s like Regan trying to summon Captain Howdy. Something is going to go terribly wrong.
I guess the moral of this story is–don’t try to summon Coot-Coot, because you end up with a working definition of “German kissing”–and it’s not pleasant. Coot-Coot will come when he feels the time is right. Just let it happen.
Until next time…