Brad Brown

 
Twitter is a service where self-absorbed people (like me) send each other updates as to what we’re doing. For example:

BradBrownDotCom: “My pants are on - it’s time to get to work.”
Aquaman826: “Don’t forget your “Home of the Whopper” belt buckle.”

In the old days before the Intrawebs™ , the equivalent of Twitter was the party line, where you’d dial a number to talk to other losers. Twitter makes such despair more accessible to the masses, and with celebrity spokesman like Ashton Kutcher, it’s bound to become much more popular before it closes due to lack of revenue. Before Twitter disappears, I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon and review my most popular messages (called Tweets). Taken out of context, they’re quite funny, and I feel that I should win an award for my efforts.

If the swine flu gets me, I’ll leave my shark-mounted lasers to the Twitter community.
 
@RoseanneD - a man in a jean vest is 4 men short of the Village People.
 
I’m every woman (with a pot belly & a quick temper).
 
Somali pirates can’t swim.
 
Mounting the lasers on the sharks in an effort to surprise the Baptists while they’re at church.
 
Why is Gail King orange?
 
There’s a very fine line between shish kabobs and fajitas. I learned that yesterday when the kabobs fell apart.
 
If you decide to stalk me, send me a Hickory Farms gift pack with plenty of cheese. Thanks.
 
@MikeDoe - So what you’re saying is that the essential dating toolkit should contain is: Botox, Vodka, and Rohipnol. I’d buy that for a $ .
 
Medieval Times parking lot - 15 minutes - Ford Fiesta jousting. Many will enter, only one will survive.
 
BradBrownDotCom: Census? Will you be carrying a taser for self-defense?
Jebbica: - I’ll just beat potential rapists with my microcomputer.
 
It’s a trip how a programmer could switch so quick from wearin’ Dockers to smokin’ on chronic at picnics.
 
“Failure Coach” - that has a nice ring to it. I’ll see you at the Ramada Inn!
 
Sun visors and sexual assaults decrease with decreasing fraternity enrollment. I kid you not.
 
Why can’t Madonna adopt us all?
 
Who smokes the crack, who steals your snacks? Baby, it’s the guitar man!
 
Does Smokey Robinson have a glass eye? Or is he stoned?
 
Ain’t no party like a Twitter party cause a Twitter party don’t stop. If you see a young metrosexual Twittering, you gots to give him props
 
If I were an astronaut, I could be drinking Tang right now.
 
@pinkshepherd - your productivity astounds me. Are you high on meth?

Photo by Mat Honan

Hungry from a hard day at the chikin samich factory, BradBrownDotCom longingly eyes his tomcat’s drumsticks.
 
Sitting on the couch, just a thinkin’ bout my fitness.
 
@hrtsnlaserbeams - Wait till you get to the monkeys. Odds are one will be masturbating in public. Mark my word.
 
Recession-weary BradBrown.com outraged by smaller scoops at Baxin Robbins.
 
I thought that they were German, but to my surprise, we climbed aboard their taco-shaped UFO, and headed for the skies.
 
It makes my taco pop.
 
Chris Brown and Rihanna record a duet. I’m guessing “Killing Me Softly.” Thanks, I’ll be here all week.
 
The primary benefit of working at home is that if anyone goes nuts and starts shooting, it would just be me. Easy to defend against.
 
I’m going to wrap myself in bacon and assume a fetal position in front of the orphanage.
 
@marvlove - My advice is to panic and trample your co-workers - but use your own judgment.
 
Snapping into a Slim Jim.
 
If the government collapses and we do end up in the Thunderdome, you will know me by the trail of the dead. And my bowl haircut.
 
Christ! Without Blockbuster, there will be no place to get Richard Grieco or Shannon Tweed movies.
 
Remember: Together, we can’t make a difference. Let’s just move to the gulf coast and become shrimp fishermen.
 
The war on prosperity is bringing me down. Let’s quit and move to Costa Rica before China forecloses on us.
 
I think I’m unattractive enough to appear in a Rooms-To-Go commercial.
 
Ask your doctor if Brad Brown is right for you.
 
@ELROSS - You sure have a pretty mouth.
 
Reminiscing about seeing Randy “The Macho Man” Savage eat a bloomin’ onion at Outback in 96. Those are the memories I cherish the most.

 
As you can see, Twitter provides some of the most stimulating one-sided conversation you will find on the Intrawebs™. I highly encourage you to join today and follow your favorite celebrity wannabees, including me!

A Delicious Pound of Cure

• The primary sources of the contagion are swarthy Wal-Mart shoppers. If you must shop at Wal-Mart, coat yourself from head to toe with Purell before entering, and avoid the plus-size clothing area.
   
• Contrary to popular belief, consumption of bacon prevents swine flu due to the pork antibodies that are prevalent in bacon. Two strips of bacon consumed daily can reduce your chances of getting the swine flu by 70%. This tip brought to you by the National Pork Producers Council.
   
• Drink heavily. That way, if the ravenous pigs chase you down and eat you, it’ll be a relatively painless experience.

How to Cause Panic in Others

• Pour Bacon-Bits on your shoulders and then walk into a public location, like a subway station or airport bathroom. When someone asks you what it is, feign surprise and start yelling “Oh Jesus, it’s swine flu dandruff!” Pause, eat one, and then follow up with a loud “…but it sure is tasty!”
   
• Post a “Closed because of swine flu” sign on the window of your favorite grocery store.
   
• Adopt a pot-bellied pig and take him to Pilates class with you.
   
• Place a hot dog in the collection plate during a church service.
   
• Discretely conceal a sausage before your next prostate exam.

How Bad Could It Get?

• Your face could fall off just as you are about to receive the Nobel Prize, causing shouts of “Hey, it’s Mickey Rourke!” from the audience.
   
• While biting your nails, your hands could start to taste delicious, and you might eat your fingers to the bone before your co-workers at Quiznos can stop you.
   
• Oprah could turn into a zombie and start eating her guest stars. I can just picture her eating Mary Kate Olsen (the skinny Olsen twin), then gazing into the camera and saying “Tastes like chicken! Now welcome my next guest…”
   
• Your zombie cats might eat you if you fall asleep while watching Ghost Whisperer.
   
• Obama could take over the ailing pork industry because it’s too big to fail. Pork missiles will then become the primary weapon against Islamic terrorists.
   
• Angelina Jolie might start eating her children after adopting them. Secretly, Brad Pitt would be relieved.

 
I got married on April 3rd. This is my story.
 

Place Cards

My fiancée sent me to the FedEx Kinko’s (Store #1567) at noon to pick up the place cards, seven hours before the wedding. I was greeted at the print center by a sheepish Indian named Alex. “I’m here to pick up the place cards for the Long/Brown wedding,” I said. After searching under every counter, a look of awareness dawned on his face, and he walked slowly back over. “I’m sorry. We used the wrong paper (because you were high?), and I’ll have to reprint them. It’ll be 2:30 before they’ll be ready. But we can deliver them to you when we’re finished. I know it’s your wedding day and the last thing you need is a screw-up with the place cards.” “Excellent, my man,” I replied. “Send them to this address in the Rancho Relaxo subdivision.” I scribbled my address on a card and left the store.
 
2:30 came and went, but alas, the place cards were never delivered. At 2:45, I called Kinko’s and axed to speak to Alex. “Which one do you want?” the woman axed, “We have two employees by that name.” “Fantastic. I’d like to speak to the stoner in the print shop who looks like the Indian guy from the Harold and Kumar movie.” “One moment,” she replied. Seconds later, Alex answered. “Alex - it’s Brad Brown - calling about the place cards.” “Oh yeah, let me call the delivery guy….[on hold]…They’ll be there at 3:30.” “Sweet f**k Alex, I won’t be here at 3:30. Deliver them to the DoubleTree Hotel, where my fiancée is at.”
 
Never use vulgar language with a passive-aggressive print-shop employee making minimum wage - it’ll only make things worse. In our case, Alex had them delivered to the actual wedding venue at 5:30 without informing anyone, while my fiancée waited miles away at the hotel for the delivery.
 
Early the next morning, under the cover of darkness, I cut the brake lines to his Geo Metro, and thus the cycle of aggression was complete.

And Your People Shall Be My People

After the sixth time that the Reverend Cleotus Jefferson referred to my fiancée as Misty, she leaned forward, gently tapped him on the lapel, and said “My name is Christy.”
 
“Sorry,” he apologized, and then he continued on with the ceremony, referring to her as Christy once, before reverting to Misty for the rest of the ceremony.
 

A Best Man’s Toast to Brad

“I have known Brad for a little over a decade now. He is the only person I know who has mastered the art of the CraigsList posting, as his late night antics have become legendary in certain circles.”

 
You could have heard a pin drop.
 

It’s a Small World

At the brunch the day after the wedding, I was sitting with my nephew, chatting about his upcoming career decisions.

“I’ve got a phone interview with Disney today,” said Billy Brown-Montague (of the Texas Montagues).
 
“Aren’t you worried about the little kids running up full force and ramming their heads into the crotch of your Mickey Mouse costume?” I asked.
 
“No. I’ll take testicular trauma over unemployment any day,” he replied.