My character is Davy, a Scottish soldier in the British army, and I am supposed to have a “thick Scottish accent.”  Now, I like to think that I’m pretty good with dialects, though I’ve discovered that (somehow) I’m better at speaking extemporaneously with a Scottish accent than I am at applying it to my actual lines in the script, but hey…I’ve got a month or so, right?

Anyway, tonight, I just so happened to find a YouTube channel of a Scottish gentleman named Mark Day, and I will make him my unwitting mentor.  Here is his scathing indictment of the Snuggie, featuring his cat Mr. Saunders.

They do a weekly feature called “Fan Fiction Friday,” wherein they pluck the most horrific fan fiction from the internet and post it with amusing commentary.  Last week, the author was none too pleased and made his outrage known.  Go read the extremely hilarious post at Topless Robot before you do anything else.  I’ll wait.

One of my favorite “WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS?” pics is Grimlock opining about Bay’s Transformers.

I made some of my own:

And here’s one from a pic I took of Bill Stiteler:

And finally, my friend, Twin Cities actress Amber Bjork:

You’re welcome.

Recently, my friend Nick (pictured here) received a few flirtatious texts from a Louisiana number that were clearly not intended for him.  It was still going on when he, Carin, and I were at Green Mill this Tuesday night, so we decided that it was high time he replied.  Nick has detailed the entire sordid tale on his own blog, or you can read his account in full RIGHT HERE!

Nick says…

Hey babe

Heyy mehh foxyy ladyy

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Heyyy babee

Yes, I was a victim of sexy wrong-number texting.

Assuming the problem would resolve itself, I ignored them. I’ve fielded a few wrong-number calls on my phone since I moved to the MPLS, and I figured that this guy would realize his mistake when he sobered up on Tuesday.

I was wrong.

At 7:14 a.m. on Tuesday, I received yet another text from the same number:

Good luckk… This morning with ur dance practice

And again, during Six-Ring Circus rehearsal that night:

Heyy babee

Heyy mehh sexyy foxxyy ladiee

Heyy mehh sexyy foxxyy ladiee
Heyyyy

Annoyed, I showed the texts to my old improv coach, tech guru Chuck, after the show, complaining that I would have to block the number. He chided me, pointing out a potentially-missed opportunity to fuck with the life of a total stranger.

I met up with bupwethern and carinbrat at Green Mill, explained the situation, and unfolded our revenge plot. It started with a text from me:

Hey cutie I missed ya

When we didn’t get a response forty-five minutes later, I sent another message:

Y r u ignring me

Immediately:

What u mean dis is bailey rite

Oh, it was on.

U kno who it is dont fuk wit me… I m wet

Who

At this point, I handed the phone off to bupwethern, who took his time carefully crafting the appropriate response:

U been txting me. I thought youd wanna hear about my dance practice. Ill dace 4 U”;)

What ur name and i memt to send that 2 my gf my bad

Well, the jig was up. The honorable thing to do was confess:

You have been erroneously texting me for the past 48 hours. I do hope you resolve the matter with your “hot snatch.” Best of luck with the poontang, dear sir.
Best regards, Tyrone Bibbins, Esq.

I haven’t received a text from him since.

I had imagined a scenario, though, where I would read a story on nola.com about a young woman tragically murdered by her boyfriend, the circumstances stemming from a misunderstanding over text messages. And then, because there’s something wrong with me, I imagined this:

On the season premier of Law & Order: SVU, a brutal murder, ripped from the headlines!

“What kind of monster would do this, Elliott?”

“This was about text messages, Liv!”

“You don’t understand, detective! She told me she was wet!”

And you won’t believe where the investigation leads them!

Duhn duhn!

…because I don’t want to shatter their belief in crunchberries.

California woman Janine Sugawara lost an historic case today when a judge ruled that a reasonable consumer would know that crunchberries are not real.  The following is ripped from legal humor blog “Lowering the Bar.”

On May 21, a judge of the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of California dismissed a complaint filed by a woman who said she had purchased “Cap’n Crunch with Crunchberries” because she believed “crunchberries” were real fruit.  The plaintiff, Janine Sugawara, alleged that she had only recently learned to her dismay that said “berries” were in fact simply brightly-colored cereal balls, and that although the product did contain some strawberry fruit concentrate, it was not otherwise redeemed by fruit.  She sued, on behalf of herself and all similarly situated consumers who also apparently believed that there are fields somewhere in our land thronged by crunchberry bushes.

This is my own attempt at Spamusement, poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines.

Thanks to Zach Curtis for today’s spam subject heading.

This is my own attempt at Spamusement, poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines.

This is my own attempt at Spamusement, poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines.

In 1936, “Action” Jackson Pollack discovered his trademark style when he shot a fellow spy, spraying blood on a canvas.

Davy Crockett & his faithful partner Ricardo Tubbs successfully defended the Alamo from a force of Indians in Miami, FL. (To which @OnanRulz replied, “Don’t forget David Bowie, who bravely defended the Alamo from Carlos Santana’s troops with his trusty knife.”)

One from @OnanRulz: “In 1912, passenger liner RMS Caribbean Queen, under the command of Capt. William Ocean, hits an iceberg and sinks,” to which I replied, “Capt. Ocean’s last words were, ‘Get out of my dreams and into the lifeboats.’”

In 1977, Elvis Costello suffered a heart attack in his bathroom and died, joining his first husband Lou in death.

In 1990, Muppet creator Jim Henson dies from strep; Sesame Street character Streppy Phlegmstein is immediately retired.

5/7/1718, Bienville founds the city of New Orleans, named in honor of Better Than Ezra’s “King of New Orleans.”

1871, Fire decimates Chicago, as per Nostradamus’ prediction: “Chicago, you’re gonna have a big fuckin’ fire.”

1888: Jack Tripper cuts a swathe through London’s Whitechapel district, brutally murdering area women.

The Stranger Hug
The Breathalyzed Senator
The Ol’ 9-11
The Bathroom Rape Inn
The Sailor and Semen
The Hard Stool
The Marinating Fetus
Bangers ‘n’ Sashimi
The Keg and Flukeworm
Rolling Rock Tavern
Daddy Daycare
Schindler’s Beer List
The Chunky Puddle
Mr. McFeely’s
The Great White Memorial Music Club
Tom Cruise’s Cocktail
The Hemingway and Rifle Inn
Henrik Ibsen’s Drinksplosion
Triumph of the Swill
The Red Roofie Inn
The Sweetbread and Pucker
The Love Taps
The Tap That Ass Room
The Lecherous Bartender
Barstool Night & Gutter Dawn