JB, that jolly joker, took a zinger at me!
Well, we all have fun with these little internecine ribfests. Let’s see how this works:
JB Doubtless’ Resolutions:
13. Absorb the fact that Bruce Springsteen makes $20 million a year, while I get the occasional sixpack for playing bass at the Clodhopper Lounge in La Crescent; therefore, my opinion is worth nothing compared to his.
12. Figure if Joe Carter’s farts smell like petunia or hyacinth.
11. Kill me some of those damn Huguenots!
10. Once and for all, supress his history as a latte-drinking Boston fern-bar denizen who told the birkenstock-clad babes that he really DID dig the Indigo Girls, before word gets out!
9. Hit a layup before Berg does.
8. Find the “cool” kids who used to swipe his lunch money, and exact revenge, thus putting his lifelong demon to rest.
7. Commune with his long-lost soul brother, Jeff Fecke.
6. Get those dang Larry the Cable Guy tickets!
5. Find another big-dollar scotch brand name to drop.
4. Eradicate the last traces of book-larnin’ from St. Thomas-trained vocabulary, pass self off as down-home working-class hero.
3. Stare out window late at night, nurturing the inner child as he wonders if there’s something missing.
2. Find therapist, work out long-standing resentments against Elder. And everyone.
1. Pull head from Vox Day’s butt.
Informed sources tell me he’s already got three of ’em done!
Oy. Haven’t had this much fun since sixth grade.
I’m off to learn the bouzouki. That’ll be 25 and counting, baby!
(Note to JB: “Bouzouki” isn’t an anti-tank weapon. Or is it?)