I think we are all very much aware by now of our pal Jimbo’s proclivity to nearly pop a ’roid (or get the—oy!—“hot squirts”) at the mere suggjoostion of “getting new shit,” and by that I, of course, mean procuring a brand new computer, to replace the “steam-driven” one he currently kvetches to no end about.
How many times have us SiteMeter Sherlocks seen in our referral logs, amidst everybody’s up-to-date Windows XP Operating Systems and Mozilla, Safari and Internet Explorer 7.0 web browsers, some poor nebech zhlub from New Jersey, ambling along to keep up with the rest of us, with his Internet Explorer 6.0 supported by a Windows 98 Operating System?
The running joke lately is ‘Honest Injun, I’m getting new shit’ after this, and after that, and when I get back from here, when I get back from there, when I get back from the Post, when I get back from the Thee-Ah-Tah, when I get back from bobbing in my Bodyguard, the Anal Cruise Director, Ken’s pool with the rest of the Usuals, when I get back from Texas, when I get back from Florida…Oy! It’s so silly already that one might almost expect to hear “I’ll get new shit…when I get back from playing footsies with Hillary in Nancy Pelosi’s hot tub in San Franfarookincisco!”
You may say to yourselves, though, “Yo, what’s it to ya?!” Well, lemme ask you this: Have you ever gone onto Parkway Rest Stop, tried to leave a witty comment, and it takes more than five minutes for the damn thing to digest? I’d fire off an email: “Yo, Jimbo…I been stuck on your blog for almost ten minutes!” to which he’d respond [paraphrasing], ‘Buying new stuff as soon as I get back from Florida. Honest.’ Maybe it’s related. Maybe not. Likely not.
The thing is, Jimbo claims he’s a technotard, and I used to call complete and utter booshit because the guy’s a frickin’ lawyer and so he’s gotta have some kind of a techno-cloo, especially if he’s got any comprehensive grasp of what judicial dissolution, dividend property or comparative negligence is. Nevertheless, we get this: “While some people change computers with the ease of changing socks, I am not one of those people. Still, it’s time.”
Anybody wanna take a guess when those words were written? Not last week, or last month, or even eight or nine, or ten months ago. Nah, not our Jimbo. A cursory search through the PRS archives yielded that that post was penned July 14, 2006. Yeah, it’s time. Ha. When alligators fly.
Remember this gem, post-Blogtoberfest, 2004: “…my finger found its way to the front of the farookin’ lens of the [shitty disposable] camera, leaving me with pictures of the center of Helen, Georgia along with my middle finger.” I remember. And so, when Hairboy, three years later, got himself another shitty disposable camera for the Blodger de Mayo in Kerrville, Texas a few weeks ago, I told him, out of the genuine goodness of my heart, “Yo, Jimbo…make sure your finger ain’t in front of the little glass lens thingy,” to which he snapped back, “Ay—don’t start with me!” Da noive-a dat guy.
Out of curiosity, when I asked him last week, “Yo, Jimbo…how’d your blogmeet pictures come out,” and he replied, “Shitty,” well…hell, Hairboy, don’t say I didn’t warn ya. But the funny thing is, in the same vein, he made sure to also mention [again, paraphrasing], ‘I’m definitely getting a digital camera…as soon as I get the new computer.’
Boys and girls, I am not much of a betting woman, but I’d almost be willing to wager a paycheck that dodo birds will proliferate all over the State of New Jersey (a joke in there somewhere), and that California will, one day, become a Red State, when our lovable technodoofus finally does get himself this long-awaited computer and digital camera we’ve all been hearing so much about.
Ya know what, Jimbo…when you get your brand spanking new computer, which will surely put all of our computers to shame (“a big, badass, super-fast computer that will not become obsolete two minutes after I open the box”), why dontcha take a photo of it with your new digital camera, so we could all ogle it, drool, and bang our heads against the wall in Gott-damned farookin’ envy.