The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘diary’

Duggar Family Neighbor

My name is Bob Santos, I live next door to the Duggars, and here are some of my journal entries.

June 26 – I hate my realtor. He knew. He definitely knew. And he scheduled a showing for me at this house while that damn family was on vacation. ‘Why has this place been on the market for 726 days?’ I asked, ‘oh, sometimes people just don’t know a good thing when they see it!’ I hate him.

July 2 – It’s like Lord of the Flies next door, I swear to God they use an honest to goodness conch shell to call for dinner time. Do they eat out of a trough? How does that work even?

July 15 – I was convinced the parents didn’t even teach all of their children to speak. I thought they had a series of mildly sophisticated grunts that they used. I just kept hearing these series of grunts out of one of the windows that’s always open and it seemed a logical conclusion. But then I realized it is just a bathroom, and there is a constant stream of someone pooping. WHAT ARE YOU FEEDING YOUR CHILDREN!? Those poor souls need more

August 1 – Took a two week vacation … burned all of my hours already this year. I just had to get away. On the plus side, I came back and there was a note from the Duggars welcoming to the neighborhood. The signatures from all those kids made me picture the bottom of the Declaration of Independence.

August 7 – I was barbecuing out back when one of their kids, who knows which one, popped his head up and said, ‘I smell meat.’ Then he turned his head in my direction and sniffed while staring at me. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight.

August 15 – Apparently burning your own house down for insurance fraud is difficult to successfully do. I’ll keep researching though.

August 22 – I think the older demon spawn are at school finally. Oh no. You don’t think the parents are going to use this as an opportunity to make another one? Please no.

August 29 – One of the kids invited me to dinner at their house. I am conflicted. If you could, would you take a brief trip to hell to see what it’s like?

August 30 – I am reminded of Colonel Kurtz. The horror. The horror. We had spaghetti for dinner. I brought a bottle of wine. I drank 3/4 of it.

September 7 – House is on the market. I’ll take the loss.



Full Bags and Brains

What a trip! What an adventure! When I get home I’m going to pull up Skype and talk to my rents. It’ll be nice. I think I may go ahead and record the stories I tell, so that when people at work come up to me (one at a time, mind you) and say, “how was the trip!?,” I can just play the recording.

Wait, why am I preemptively angry about this? I should still be in a chocolate-filled, booze-filled, you’re-so-pretty-it-hurts-me-and-makes-me-wish-I-had-better-than-20-20-vision-filled daze!

I am excited about the gifts I bought for my family.

For my brother – a post-it note with a drawing I did of me in front of a wall
For my sister – a packet of ketchup from Germany that says “ketchup” (they have the same word for ketchup! How zany is that!)
For my mom – a list of names that would be cooler than mine (Thor, AppleSauce, Lean Geraldine, etc)
For my dad – a shoe (unknown size, presumed female shoe based on the heel and pink polka dots)

The best part of the gifts is that I got/made all of them when I was really drunk.

Home of the Free, and the Rave

I really wish I had thought of this title back when I was in Amsterdam. How perfect!

Today we are going around asking people if their windmill is running, and then we’re going to say “well you better go catch it!!” After seven tries we’ve discovered not nearly as many people own windmills as we’d first suspected.

Seeing some guy in his 50s/60s, with nice silver fox hair, and a rich guy sweater (you know, it looks very plain but the fabric is insanely nice) – you’d think he’d be BOUND to own at LEAST one windmill, right? Wrong. I know, it feels wrong to even say wrong.

Actually. Wait. I bet Germany is just full of liars. I can picture it now.

“Yah. Zee tourists aw hee-awh.”
“Oh? Mine gootness. Letz play a joke on zem, yah?”
“Oh. Yah! How goot, mine friend!”

I can’t wait to leave!!

Oooh, a chocolate shop! How adorable!

Oktoberfest Lesson

In Germany you can get really drunk. Especially when you drink. And drink. And drink. And try to say the word ‘lederhosen’ but instead just giggle til you can’t breathe. And drink.

Today I am sitting on a couch. Moving very little.

Yesterday J kept doing the funniest thing. He would start to laugh. Then that would make me laugh. Now that I think about it, it was probably only funny because I was so, so very drunk.

I’ll take this opportunity to do a little reflection:

Pro for America – I speak the language

Con for America – When I return I will have to work

I can’t believe I thought about work! I have two days of vacation left. I am now going to purge the thought of work by singing to the porcelain pal. I call this one, “ashfuhgsighasilgu” (that’s the sound of me puking).

You’ve Fest with the Rest,

Now Fest with the Best! Here we are in lovely (what country is this?) Munich!

Am I the only person who hears Munich and pictures an evil Vampire? I’m on constant Vamp-watch. I told J about this and he just sighed and shook his head. I told him I still had his back and he did this thing where he loses me in a crowd. He’s always challenging my “have your back” abilities – and I’m up for the challenge.

I don’t want to brag, but the more I’m touring around Europe, the more I feel like Wesley Snipes in Blade. Only I’m not black. And I don’t have any weapons. And I’m not that fit. And I don’t actually believe in Vampires.

I guess what I’m saying is I just seem moody. But hey, if it’s good enough for Blade it’s good enough for me!

Ok, back to looking for J.

Sesame Street vs Muppets

I learned from a twelve year old Swedish boy that the Muppets were a humor television show. And Sesame Street was an educational and humor television show. And that, apparently, I shouldn’t take either of them for gospel.

After he gave me this little speech I asked him where he got such a nice pair of sassy pants from. Did they come from the sassypants store? Or was it a mega store? Maybe 2 pairs of sassy pants for the price of one? Or was there a sassy outfit, with a flippant scarf, a saucy beret, maybe some fresh sneakers? Did it also come with a copy of, “Oscar Wilde and You – Get Your Intelligentsia Bitch On?”

I have to admit I maybe went on a little too long with the sassy pants schtick. That’s only about a quarter of it. Still, it’ll be cool having pictures of me with a black eye in Europe. I plan to print out one or two of those picture and write an amazing story on the back of one of the pictures of how I got the black eye. It will involve a twelve year old who, despite my valiant efforts, could not be rescued from the land-shark. Though I will manage to save the bus full of Swedish models/masseuses/cake-makers. It will be glorious.

Hersky-Bersky Land

That’s right, friends! I’m in Sweden! Home of the hersky-bersky! I have yet to see a single chef, but I’m sure they’re around every corner.

Do you think, in Sweden, 90% of the population are chefs? Because I think so too!

These guys are good at keeping a straight face during a joke, too. Because I go up to people and I say something hysterical like, “hersky-bersky-ursky-mursky?” (Which is a very funny knock-knock joke in the language of the Swede) and they don’t crack a smile! It’s a country full of Leslie Nielsons!

Half Leslie Nielson, half chef. It can’t get any better!

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