I don’t know why people think they have to be entertaining when they’ve invited you to their home. You’ve invited me, I brought beer, you have food, I’m sure there’s a TV, maybe a large backyard, that’s all you have to do. You didn’t invite me over for a show. You invited me over to eat and drink and talk at your home so you didn’t have to leave, you lazy ass.
But, people do. The moment I see an easel or hear the word ‘pictionary’ I’m looking for methods of egress up to and including burrowing through the walls.
Up to this point these people have not tried to entertain. They’ve allowed us into their home, that’s the end of their involvement with my night as far as I’m concerned.
But something was gnawing at me. Something ticking. Something in the shadows. Some thing was going to ruin my evening.
“What’s the worst Ben & Jerry flavor you can think of?” Glowingly said the hostess. I shot a glance at the host and it must have been withering because he scurried directly to the cheese table and started gnawing with intent.
Now please, do not for a moment think I consider myself all that funny but why do others think they’re funny? I have a pretty extensive comedic pedigree and I know my funny failure rate is high. But other people seem to think every humorous utterance that bubbles up in their brain pan is a shiny gem.
The woman next to me says something like Sneaker Stench or some such gem. Then the flood gates open and oh the festivities flow! Road Apple Ripple! Grade School Paste! Chocolate Flavored Vanilla! Ho! Ho! Hot Sauce!
Then the celebrity brands make their appearance! John Travolta’s Happy Ending! Lady Ga Garlic! Bill Burrberry! Elton’s John! Brad Olive Pitt! Taylor Swiffer!
I’m already digging an escape trench on the property line with a spork when someone, I don’t know who but, if I ever find out, I will transform my trench into a grave and make them disappear, calls out,
“Chris! I bet you have one!”
In the chamber with your name on it, bitch!
The thing is I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. I know there’s a guy huddling beside a tree fondling the bark . A woman pretending it’s the most exquisite flower pot ever. So, to me, it is my responsibility to help alleviate the stress and strain on these nice people. After all, they’re only here for the beer. They didn’t know they were going to have to perform.
“Ah, well,” I say putting down my spork. “Yeah, ah, I guess I can come up with one.”
I see people, the people enjoying this adventure, the people I’ve come to loathe, smiling. They don’t know me, for if they did, they would have an expression closer to that of my girlfriend. A combination of hatred and fear. This is not unique. I see that most times she knows I’m about to open my mouth.
Remember, I am not doing this for any other reason than to allow the tree huggers and flower watchers in the crowd a safe moment to beat a hasty retreat. I am Mr. Public Service.
“I think the worst Ben & Jerry flavor ever would be Jenna Jameson’s Creampie.”
Right away I see movement, a groundswell actually, of knowledge about what I’m talking about combined with an almost equal amount of people trying not to have to explain it to the less porn savvy.
Either way, I have caused another out of control freight train of comedic horror to pull safely into the station and come to a full and complete stop.
You are, my gentle friends, welcome.