I could mock Eli – yes, Eli from the class of 2005 – hit the easy target, but instead let us all tune in for the following finer points:
- My boy Marv-O looks like he’s at sea, a very rough sea at that, and will soon be in need of some motion sickness meds.
- Marv-O’s sea-worthy movements are so out of control he has to hold tightly to Jeremy (aka J-Dub) the whole time.
- A little heads up to Envy: Cripple doesn’t actually rhyme with cripple. Perhaps ripple, triple, nipple – any of these would be acceptable substitutes.
- At the 2:06 mark, Envy exhibits his greatest talent of all – making his arms disappear. Sadly, they are never seen again.
- “That was great. It had to better than last time,” says my boy Marv-O. What exactly happened last time? Did one of the rappers pee his pants?
I remember my own wedding as if it were yesterday: my best friend getting wasted and then projectile vomiting after the rehearsal dinner, my mother’s third husband getting into a screaming match with my soon-to-be mother-in-law the morning of the big day, and my spouse’s drunken childhood friend giving the toast to end all toasts, chock full of f-bombs and air drumming.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have an Uncle Sal, aka Ashley, to make the day fully complete by devoting a song to us that may or may not have won the Grammy a couple of years ago. Does anyone else think this guy bears a striking resemblance to a cross between Harry Dean Stanton from his Pretty in Pink days and Boris Karloff as the monster in Frankenstein? Oh and, Ash – can I call you Ash? – methinks the DJ was trying to do you a favor by keeping the volume low on your mic.
With each note, the suspense builds. Nostrils flaring, eyebrows quivering. Is he going to burst into tears? Have an orgasm? Make his head explode? Attract a goose looking for a suitable mate? No. He’s just going to sing us five octaves on the pee-ana and then walk away, with his completely non-ironic facial hair and striped shirt fully intact, leaving us breathless and wanting for more.
Still need a costume idea for Saturday? At all costs, avoid throwing on a long brown wig, toting around a framed picture of Billy Ray Cyrus, throwing peace signs and twanging, “It’s Miley, y’all!” Why would you when you can go as Creepy Clown Girl (pictured above)? Note: You’ll need a pal with you dressed as the TV.
Why the mask, Creepy Clown Girl? Were you embarrassed about being seen reenacting Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” video? You couldn’t have been as embarrassed as your co-dancer, who opted only to have her hand pictured, or the TV, who really had no say in its starring role in the performance, or Purina, which accidentally sponsored the whole thing.
Here’s why this guy makes my stomach turn: It’s not the sight of his pasty, shirtless man boobs – or his equally pasty butt (at the 1:24 and 1:28 marks if you want to shield your eyes). It’s not the erratic, spazzy dance moves. It’s not even the off-base lewd gestures – though, sure, all those things definitely help. It’s the strong hunch I have that this guy sees this as serious foreplay for the sex he’ll obviously never have with women he’ll probably never meet – unless they happen to wander into his windowless basement apartment. As you know, his parents live right upstairs.
@notverytalented
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