Mel Gibson Slipped Me a Mickey
Day 685, 14:52
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Published in USA 
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by
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by Rex Object
Mel Gibson Slipped Me a Mickey
[img]http://i684.photobucket.com/albums/vv202/RexObject/mel-gibson-crazy-beard.jpg?t=1254783762[/img]
Ed. Note: Identify the most improbable development: a) Rex found the only bar on Mars, b) the bartender there revealed himself as Rex' father, or c) his father is none other than Mel Gibson. If you answered d) all of the above, congratulations, and welcome to Rex' world. Admission is free, and you get what you pay for.
I'm very much accustomed to being knocked on my butt at a bar, but only in the literal sense. Never before, however, had I been floored by a shocking revelation (well, there was that one time in Montreal, but in my defense he sure LOOKED like a woman.) That said, it's not every day that the bartender informs you that he's your father and, oh by the way, Mel Gibson. Still, I didn't become the world's greatest journalist without a jaded sense of distrust: questions needed to be asked. "OK, Mr. Gibson, if you are in fact my father, answer these three questions. One, where is my birthmark and what shape is it? Two, what is my favorite alcoholic beverage? And three, can you lend me money and not get all particular about what I might use it for?" I felt fairly confident that I was holding up three fingers at that point, but to be perfectly honest copious amounts of scotch and Mars' thin atmosphere had made me a bit woozy. Well, woozier than normal.
He exasperatingly sighed and paused dramatically (it must be an actor thing) before answering. "Fine. First of all, it's not a birthmark, it's a scar. You got it on your junk when you propositioned your kindergarten teacher, who I should point out, was a nun, and she clobbered you with the business end of a ruler. Oh, and it's in the shape of a ruler."
Ok, that part was true, and if the truth be known, given its location and shape, it had come in handy no shortage of times when my lady friends wanted to gauge the length of my…interest.
"The second one was a trick question; you love all alcohol equally. You tell people it's because discrimination's not in your heart, but the fact is you're just an alcoholic. And finally, the answer to the third question is NO. You'd just spend it on booze, broads and bombs."
My. God. It was like he was looking into my soul! Maybe he IS my father, I thought. Still, what are the chances that I'd run into him after all these years in the only bar on the planet Mars? "Right now you're thinking, 'what are the chances you'd run into your father in the only bar on the planet Mars, right?"
GET OUT OF MY HEAD, I thought. Actually, it turns out I said that out loud. Getting woozier and woozier. "Er, um, maybe. Go on."
He smiled knowingly and offered me a drink, as if he knew I'd be powerless to resist the offer (oh, wait, he did correctly surmise that I'm an alcoholic.) "The fact of the matter is that our meeting here was inevitable. It is the empirical truth that governs the First Rule of LULZ, and it is more than undeniably true…it's beautiful." He lost me at that point, but not because of anything he said ("something-something-truth-something-so mething LULZ,) but rather because I was quickly losing consciousness. This was not an unfamiliar or unwelcome sensation, as I've passed out more times than your sister at frat parties. Still, I was able to make out the last words he spoke before I slipped into inky blackness.
"…and that first rule is, 'through LULZ, all things cool are possible." I don't know if it was the booze talking, or my weak grasp on consciousness, but something told me, at that moment, that truer words had never been spoken. Well, unless those words were "never hit on a nun who teaches kindergarten and has ninja skills with a ruler."
What?!? Where the heck is this going? Does this story even have a point? And ending? Am I wasting my pathetic eLife reading this junk? All (or possibly none) of these questions will be answered if you subscribe to Penguin Bowling Balls. Oh, and even more questions may be answered (but probably not) if you donate, no questions asked, to the Cacophony Society…you know, for the LULZ!
[img]http://i684.photobucket.com/albums/vv202/RexObject/mel-gibson-crazy-beard.jpg?t=1254783762[/img]
Ed. Note: Identify the most improbable development: a) Rex found the only bar on Mars, b) the bartender there revealed himself as Rex' father, or c) his father is none other than Mel Gibson. If you answered d) all of the above, congratulations, and welcome to Rex' world. Admission is free, and you get what you pay for.
I'm very much accustomed to being knocked on my butt at a bar, but only in the literal sense. Never before, however, had I been floored by a shocking revelation (well, there was that one time in Montreal, but in my defense he sure LOOKED like a woman.) That said, it's not every day that the bartender informs you that he's your father and, oh by the way, Mel Gibson. Still, I didn't become the world's greatest journalist without a jaded sense of distrust: questions needed to be asked. "OK, Mr. Gibson, if you are in fact my father, answer these three questions. One, where is my birthmark and what shape is it? Two, what is my favorite alcoholic beverage? And three, can you lend me money and not get all particular about what I might use it for?" I felt fairly confident that I was holding up three fingers at that point, but to be perfectly honest copious amounts of scotch and Mars' thin atmosphere had made me a bit woozy. Well, woozier than normal.
He exasperatingly sighed and paused dramatically (it must be an actor thing) before answering. "Fine. First of all, it's not a birthmark, it's a scar. You got it on your junk when you propositioned your kindergarten teacher, who I should point out, was a nun, and she clobbered you with the business end of a ruler. Oh, and it's in the shape of a ruler."
Ok, that part was true, and if the truth be known, given its location and shape, it had come in handy no shortage of times when my lady friends wanted to gauge the length of my…interest.
"The second one was a trick question; you love all alcohol equally. You tell people it's because discrimination's not in your heart, but the fact is you're just an alcoholic. And finally, the answer to the third question is NO. You'd just spend it on booze, broads and bombs."
My. God. It was like he was looking into my soul! Maybe he IS my father, I thought. Still, what are the chances that I'd run into him after all these years in the only bar on the planet Mars? "Right now you're thinking, 'what are the chances you'd run into your father in the only bar on the planet Mars, right?"
GET OUT OF MY HEAD, I thought. Actually, it turns out I said that out loud. Getting woozier and woozier. "Er, um, maybe. Go on."
He smiled knowingly and offered me a drink, as if he knew I'd be powerless to resist the offer (oh, wait, he did correctly surmise that I'm an alcoholic.) "The fact of the matter is that our meeting here was inevitable. It is the empirical truth that governs the First Rule of LULZ, and it is more than undeniably true…it's beautiful." He lost me at that point, but not because of anything he said ("something-something-truth-something-so mething LULZ,) but rather because I was quickly losing consciousness. This was not an unfamiliar or unwelcome sensation, as I've passed out more times than your sister at frat parties. Still, I was able to make out the last words he spoke before I slipped into inky blackness.
"…and that first rule is, 'through LULZ, all things cool are possible." I don't know if it was the booze talking, or my weak grasp on consciousness, but something told me, at that moment, that truer words had never been spoken. Well, unless those words were "never hit on a nun who teaches kindergarten and has ninja skills with a ruler."
What?!? Where the heck is this going? Does this story even have a point? And ending? Am I wasting my pathetic eLife reading this junk? All (or possibly none) of these questions will be answered if you subscribe to Penguin Bowling Balls. Oh, and even more questions may be answered (but probably not) if you donate, no questions asked, to the Cacophony Society…you know, for the LULZ!
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Comments
wow no offensie that was a good story, but subscribing takes up all my space, so no 🙂
Finally, a clear an cogent explanations of the US's insane attacks this morning.
Thank you.
Timing is everything; I posted this seconds before eRep crashed. Again.
Clearly, eRep is in agreement with Mel; it's all about the LULZ.
Lol, nice.
And that birtmark would come in handy wouldnt it?
lolwin
...I'm confused.
Voted.
Drinking with Mel Gibson, ninja nuns, ruffies? Better than my Sunday night which consisted of vodka from a plastic bottle (cuz I'm classy) & goDaddy.com commercial clips (cuz I'm a deviant)
Yet another fantastic article Rex!
I haven't had this much fun since sliced bread!