Editor’s Note: I sat down and wrote this post in one fell swoop, but made some editing choices: specifically to just tell the story, because I have not smoked in a while, and I am bonkers high right now. For everyone’s sake, I decided to cut to the chase, and leave you with the option of reading a short, mildly-embarassing anecdote, and/or follow all the way down my own personal rabbit hole. If you’re into stoned guys rambling, please do enjoy! That version is left fully in-tact and unedited after the horizontal line break. It is however, painful, and should serve as a D.A.R.E. PSA, or at least a warning about the dangers of smoking sporadically, and not realizing how low-functioning you might become.

I just sent this message, with zero context, to two family friends I don’t regularly communicate with, nor are we close enough to comfortably share inappropriate jokes.

So I went down an internet rabbit hole and stumbled upon a comment I made online last year, that I’d totally forgotten about. (I tend to make big decisions and then completely forget them - I’ve had to rename my penis like 30 times because I can never remember the punny moniker I triumphantly settled on

Fucking Facebook does not grant you a paragraph break and a chance to format when you press enter, it just immediately sends your half-baked thoughts across the internets like it’s 2004 and we’re still using AIM. Of course, it also lets me know immediately that they’ve both read the message, and I scrambled to explain what happened and what in the everloving fuck I was actually messaging them to talk about. They had a good “Hahahaha!!!” out of it, but I’m still a smidge embarrassed.


What follows is the stream-of-consciousness as I sat down to write this post; at best I guess I’m aiming for Van Gogh: enjoyable, but unnecessarily blurry, and also insane.

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TW: This post has the glacial pacing of Game of Thrones, but lacks any complexity, substance, dragons, or points. I eventually get to the story, but not before meandering pointlessly and self-indulgently to create this unedited long-read. So you’ve been warned.

Say what you will about Kinja; at least it allows for a thorough drafting process in posting, and even commenting. I am being very charitable here, in not laying all of my blame at Facebook, which, among other flaws, does not accommodate for taking time to think through and format your words. Instead of granting you a paragraph break, pressing the enter key will fire away recklessly, like it’s 2004 and we’re still using AIM. Perhaps you are fully aware of this design-flaw; I very rarely use Facebook, so fuck you, I was not at all prepared for it.

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I have fair few weaknesses: 40/20 vision; a body-fat ratio that can be accurately paraphrased as “gelatinous”; Grass-Types; and needing a fair amount of time to craft my message as articulately, thoroughly, and clearly as intended.*

And lastly, in short, I also also very much lack the ability to discern which words I should use and which words I don’t as much need to use so that I can speak, or write a Kinja post, or like, do whatever really, and not end up making it longer than it necessarily needs to be, and even sometimes I end up using too many words, sentences, tangents, and examples to the point that it detracts from the crux of my message in a way that is bad. Seriously, I understand brevity like I understand Aramaic, or Holocaust Deniers, or Cameron Diaz’s romantic tastes (I’m just not a Jared Leto or Gerard Butler guy, but sure, I get those decisions. I’ll totally give her Jude Law and Keanu without an argument, and I fully support her time with Justin Timberlake, Bradley Coops, and (who can argue?) Tyrese. But A-Rod, Adam Levine, Benji Madden, and fucking Criss Angel? Is she just self-destructive? You deserve so much better; you’ve had so much better! What sort of phases do you go through, Cameron? Fucking Criss Angel?! I really just don’t know. I won’t ever know.) So like I said, brevity is a weakness, which is somewhat tangentially-related to this story.

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More to the point, is the fact that my first idea is rarely my best idea (as proven by my commenting history which is littered with slightly-off-the-mark jokes that needed a second thought, and some Razzie nominated total flops. Another example is, perhaps, this post, although there’s a clear distinction between deliberately clicking Publish after fully spouting my word salad, as opposed to being hoodwinked into broadcasting my quarter-cocked missive.

Before I get to the advertised incident, I need to provide you with a bit of necessary context, of course. Blanka** is the eldest son of the Gorpadoodle family - one of our dearest family friendships; I absolutely count them as family. That said, Blanka’s about 10 years older than me, so there’s still enough distance in the relationship where we don’t tend to make inappropriate jokes, and counting this instance, we’ve e-mailed/messaged each other twice in the past decade - on both occasions I reached out to discuss something Labyrinth-related.

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He very recently wed a lovely woman, and their nuptials were both splendiferous and beautifully captured the quintessence of the couple and their amazing personalities and passions. They’re the only two people I’ve ever met who share and match my enthusiasm for the film Labyrinth, so I literally jumped out of my chair in excitement as soon as the intro to “As The World Falls Down” started playing for their first dance. I was so psyched; I was so moved.

Flash-forward a month or so, and I was at home deep down an internet rabbit hole, when I found a comment I made last year deciding that “As The World Falls Down” should be my wedding song. I was semi-serious, largely because I wasn’t planning a wedding anytime soon, and because I have a big ol’ habit of making huge decisions like that and completely forgetting them. I can relay this tendency in any number of ways; “I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast, guffaw!” would be a very safe, if fucking brutal, example. Or how I’ve named all my cars, but can’t remember any of their names, as a light yet personal case-in-point.

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I started to message both of them via Facebook about the comment and how I’d completely forgotten about it (of course I told them how fucking pumped I was over their song choice during the wedding). The message did not turn out as intended, because Facebook’s “enter key” policy of sending the message kind of F’d me in the D.

So I went down an internet rabbit hole and stumbled upon a comment I made online last year, that I’d totally forgotten about. (I tend to make big decisions and then completely forget them - I’ve had to rename my penis like 30 times because I can never remember the punny moniker I triumphantly settled on

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Went with the ill-advised penis-naming analogy, rethought the decision, pressed enter to start formatting, and boom - weirded the hell out of two family friends. The little “message was totally already read” notification showed up in the bottom of the little message window, and I scrambled to explain why I was actually messaging them in the first place. They’re awesome, of course, and laughed at it, but as a guy who can’t even watch the “Meet The Parents” movies because the cringing gives me physical pain, this was mortifying as heck for a good 20 minutes.

And yasssss, Narc-Paul Gosselaar, I am very high, but can you save it with the high horse so that we can please keep things on topic?

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*I also; lightly over;use semi-colons;.

**Names have been altered slightly to protect identities.

Also, I just remembered that I came up with my shaft’s new name after the last Sex Talk, so I’m going with “Gentleman Jack” until the vicious cycle repeats.