Don’t Matter If You’re Black Or White. Just Pick One.

Posted on June 29th, 2009 at 2:57 am by blunt delivery

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Don’t Matter If You’re Black Or White. Just Pick One.

No, this isn’t a tribute to Michael Jackson.  Hi, you must be new here.  Pleasure to meet you; although I hate the word “pleasure” and refuse to use it accept over internet introductions.

As mentioned, last Thursday was my much unanticipated and begrudged birthday.  Although I didn’t exactly get what I wanted - which was another year of my life back, to be wildly successful, and to have a never ending supply of buffalo wings and Edys peach pie ice cream [which much to my utter horror I have discovered is a limited edition] - the world did suffer a loss of tragic proportions with the passing of it’s King of Pop and Fair-Feathered Farrah.  I like to think I got even.  But don’t think I’m without compassion for the rest of you.

michael_jacksonyoung-1Dear World,

You seem to be freaking out a bit. Do you need to borrow some of my mom’s Xanacs?  Cus they’ve certainly come in handy during the past ten few years of my life.  And I could definitely hook you up with some. I know where she hoards hides them.

Just asking ‘cus I care,

Blunt.

P.S. Sorry I had a birthday. 

Speaking of Michael Jackson, my parents were at my house when “the news” surfaced.  My mom, a long time supporter of Michael, was beside herself. She didn’t quite collapse in the same fashion as Elizabeth Taylor, but nonetheless, she was stunned.

Me: I just got like 8 texts saying that Michael Jackson died.

Mom: JACKSON?  What?  That can’t be right. 

Me:  No, I just checked the computer, he’s definitely dead.

Mom:  You’ve got to be kidding me?  HOW?  When?  WHERE?!? 

Me:  MOM. 

Mom:  Mmmm… that’s sooooo sad.  So talented.  Nobody could entertain like him.  Well, Elvis.  Except him.  Michael and Elvis.  Ugh….and he died too early too. 

Dad:  But he was so weird.

Mom:  He was a tortured soul, Denny.

Dad:  He molested little boys.

Mom:  He was really messed up.  And he had an awful childhood.  Besides, you don’t know that for sure.

Dad:  Sherri, they found boys’ underware all over his house. 

Mom:  Well, that’s true.  I forgot about that.

Me: So did you make me a pie or what?

Now.  The real reason why we’re here - I need your help.  I’m starting a couple new categories here at Blunt Delivery.  Oh, they’re good.  They’re so good.  But one thing at a time darlings.  First, I’d like to introduce you to Lisa.   Sorry Lisa, I just outed you and used your real name for lack of creativity at 4 am.  And also, sorry for writing your name on your boob.  Much like The Kenny Chronicles, I will be posting our shenanigans around this blog for your enjoyment.  First up:  The Night We Met Centennial While Being Serenaded By Bagpipes.  But I can’t post it yet, you wanna know why? 

acoustic

Can’t decide what to call the category.  As you can see from what we wrote throughout the night on a dirty cocktail napkin, we had several ideas of our own.  You wouldn’t understand them, however, without a complete explanation of our night.  Please don’t try.  I’m looking for an all-encompassing name that would sum up our somewhat risky adventures of randomness.  So, please give me ideas. 

dsc_2644

I repeat, I WILL NOT tell the Centennial [yes, as in Bi-centennial] story until I have a category name.  You WILL NOT see hide nor hair of Lisa until I have a category name.  But I WILL pull this car over if you don’t cooperate.   If you give me a good one, well, I might just do something nice for you. 

 

 

 

P.S.  Michael,  I’d like to just say that I’m sorry for that Halloween blog I wrote last year, where I used a close up of your face and said something to the effect of “count your blessings.”  I’m not sure exactly what it said, but it was definitely out of my normal good character and sound judgement.  So just for that, I did fashion a tribute of sorts.  And this is how I shall choose to remember you, always.

michael-jackson-greatest-performances

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