GagDragon

Posts Tagged ‘fight!’

Joel & Tim almost break up.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving. The green bean casserole was spiked with manichevitz, the turkey was deep fried in calamari intestine, and the half crocked polka quartet hired to play the GagDragon Thanksgiving was on it’s second run-thru of the entire College Dropout album from Kanye West.

The following transpired in between bites of a meal many would forever refer to as: yummy ass bomb ass grub.

This is the conversation as recorded by Tim’s dog while wearing a Princess Leah outfit. (the dog was wearing the outfit, im serious)

Joel: dude, that mountain goats album is gayer than you sucking on the toes of Reggie while watching FAME

Tim:  that’s pretty gay but not as gay as Panic! At the Disco which by its very name is gayer than Dids at a preschool Halloween parade dressed like a vampire doing trouser puppets

J: you shit on them, you shit on my father.

my father built this city on rock and roll and caprylic acid

you dissing that gay ass band that I’m gay for is gayer than people hating on Kalel for getting more pussy than anyone else who makes fun of his alien brow, which by itself is gayer than 10w30 motor oil cascading down Reggie’s love handles in slow motion as an industrial sized fan blows cornbread crumbs onto his pasty white rumple smooth skin

T: well considering I only like one mountain goats song, your accusation of me loving them like I love Reggie is tantamount to you skinning my next door neighbor and flying his skin as a kite over my house attracting buzzards and gawkers to the neighborhood thus lowering our property value to the point that white trash like Hustle Crowe and William Dafoe can move in.

J: willEM dude, willEM

WILLEM DAFOE

and your assumptions that I would ever skin a human being is akin to your, quite frankly, completely homosexual obsession with blasting people with music, cause if you think about it, every time you deliver a music “blast” you experience a sense of release and relief similar to the unmentionable act of ejaculation. I think you should change the name of your blast to reveal what it actually is “Tim’s daily musiculation” – your email is your jizz, which freaks me out cause that might mean that your TPS reports are your feces and an article on cutting out processed foods from your diet is likened to your ear wax.

What happened to you Tim? You’ve changed.

T: how dare you accuse me of changing.  you might as well have pissed on the graves of my ancestors who are buried in the Smokey Mountains in coffins made of tin roofing because that’s all they could afford, meanwhile you and the other fat cats in your fat cat lives used all the coal they mined while getting black lungs and rickets and you repay them by driving minivans and listening to creed.

J: hey hey hey, I might drive a minivan now and I might have rickets, but godDAMN you Tim for ever insinuating I’ve ever pissed on a grave that didn’t deserve it. And if you were there that night in the graveyard all those years ago, you might’ve been privy to the séance where I was given the right to USE the word privy and other terms that are synonymous with the word privy. You and your assumptions, you know what happens when you make assumptions? JESUS KILLS PASSION FRUIT CULTIVATORS AND PROCESSORS, meaning your previous Fruitopia beverages wouldn’t be available at their current market price, you uppity son of a prison guard’s son. and I’ll have you know I feel inspired when I listen to creed, because my arms ARE wide open, TO EMBRACE YOU AS THE BROTHER I LOST TO CANDIDA ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!

T: are you somehow trying to pin the death of your brother in Candida on me?  HOW DARE YOU!!!!!  You know we were only naked for protection from the cold.  It is a proven fact that when you embrace in the nude the heat transfers faster, as for the ropes and the auto-erotic self-asphyxiation, well, that’s a private matter.  You know Wallace had a curious nature.  It’s not my fault he drank Murphy’s Oil in an attempt to catch a buzz and couldn’t undo the rope in time to save himself.  YOU KNOW I DIED A LITTLE THAT NIGHT AS WELL!!!!!!!!!!

J: You. Are. Pathetic. I don’t forget things as easily as you might think timothy SNUGGLES baker! We all know your rule against snuggling except for the two weeks leading up to the Ides of March, I find it a bit suspicious that Walleye died in FEBRUARY! Unless you’ve miraculously been cured from your self inflicted restriction from intimate human contact in a horizontal fashion without letting the rest of the world know through your two blogs manwhocantcuddleceptforthetwoweeksleadinguptotheidesofmarch.blogspot.com and fearofcuddling.wordpress.com!

you are beyond reproach Tim. if i knew what a reproach was, id shove it up your personal space issues having secular monocle wearing sarsaparilla ingesting ass!

T: I will not have you speak ill of my family’s tradition of March snuggling.  It dates back to when we came here as indentured servants.  DO NOT FORGET that my family was already out of indentured servitude and then on to share cropping when the first member of your family made their way here to avoid the fucking potato famine in that third world nation you called Ireland and I called Europe’s Mexico.  So save your holier than though attitude for someone who is below you on the social scale bucko.

J: hey pal, to insist upon reprimanding me as Irish isn’t as much of an insult to me as it is to your geography. My Luxembourgian four fathers (and you know my two dads was a spinoff of my four fathers), worked very hard to have the highest GDP per capita in the world and your complete negligence as far as your heritage is preposterous. my growth in the hips hop has taught me it is not where you are from, it is where you are at and right now, regardless of your ancestors servitude or share cropping abilities, you are acting like a little bitch ass. I’ll see your conundrum and raise you a parsnip puree you insensitive fuck!

T: oh so I’M THE INSENSITIVE FUCK NOW?!?!??!  If you recall it was you that took my motorcycle and sidecar for a joy ride to the zoo, kidnapped a silverback gorilla named James Ellison Jr and let him drive while you sat pants-less in the sidecar drinking grain alcohol and eating french fries.  Luckily James Ellison Jr is a hell of a chopper driver and he got you home in one piece, however the same can’t be said for the side car which is covered in vomit, skid marks and greasy finger prints.

J: you and I both know that fucking gorilla is known on the internet as Reggie, and its fucking obtuse of you to continue to ignore the fact that you wanna hang out with a fucking wild zoo-residing animal rather than me! Fuck your sidecar bitch! We earned the money to buy that blasted contraption together during the summer of 1995 while working as water ski performers and instructors in Wisconsin Dells and for you to consistently refer to it as YOURS. YOU FORGET THAT THE Y DOESNT APPLY THERE SINCE ITS OURS NOT YOURS. and I used every super wash token I could find to clean that bitch out and you STILL found ways to sabotage my detailing job by bringing your overweight girlfriend Arlene in there and using her nose grease as a dupe “french fry grease spotting” – I take offense to your constant need to bicker with me. If chuck norris would’ve signed YOUR breast instead of mine we wouldn’t be having this conversation now would we!?!

WOULD WE?!

T: oooooooohhhh sure Chuck Norris, Chuck Norris, you always bring it back to Chuck Norris, well buddy two things one, IT WAS NEVER ABOUT CHUCK NORRIS.  It was about this habit you have of taking the things I want.  You don’t care about Chuck Norris, and you know I have been dying to have him sign a body part.  Just like you don’t care about Carlos Mencia but you know I have ALWAYS wanted to give him a handy, so what happens?  We meet Carlos, give him a ruffie and you stroke him off while I’m driving to the abandoned storage unit.  Remember Wolfgang Puck?  I always wanted him to make me a gourmet pizza out of panda bear meat, I even managed to pay a drifter to kill the one in the San Diego zoo and bring me some of the meat, and you had to go ahead and make a stew out of it to impress that girl with the one arm shorter than the other.

J: THE GIRL WANTED STEW DUDE! What the fuck does it matter if it was panda or half digested waffles in the gut of a bloody Irishman!?! Tang is tang! We have that fucking TATTOOED ON OUR BACKS for christsake! Mine is in graffiti and yours is in Olde English! Look in a mirror twice dude! Read it yourself! It’s on your FUCKING BACK IN INK! we vowed never to get in the way of each other’s tang, and we haven’t, yet you seem hell-bent on making everything tang-ish FULL TANG STATUS!! Well IT ISNT! chuck norris, Carlos Mencia, Wolfgang puck, whatthefuckever, what about Bob Ross! I wanted to be body painted by the late great bob ross and you go and milk the guys fucking cows and churn his butter before his cockadoodledo cockadoodledooed dude! For every one of these so-called “tang ganks” you’ve thrown back at me, there’s a 4:1 tang gank ratio there that you’re ignoring that you’ve done to me Chauncey!

REMEMBER THE SUMMERS EVE INCIDENT OF 1999?!

**both turn away from each other and the silence of October 2009 begins.**