I spent last night sprawled on the couch in front of the television like a zombie, because I’m still sick and was feeling highly pathetic. Mr. Shakes, because he is a sweet and attentive husband, brought me ice cream and sprawled out beside me, even though he hates watching television for more than about 20 minutes. We watched an episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (during which Carson referred to a pair of ugly sunglasses—donned by the straight guy, Perfect Husband—as “horrendo,” which is now my new favorite word), and then So You Think You Can Dance, which provides us with the opportunity to guess how long it would take our graceless fat asses to learn each routine, and whether we’d actually die trying.
It was the SYTYCD results show, and we were predicting who would be voted off.
Mr. Shakes: It’s goona be Doonyelle.
Shakes: No chance. It’ll be Natalie.
Mr. Shakes: Doonyelle.
Shakes: Natalie.
Mr. Shakes: I’ll bet you a sip of poo it will be Doonyelle.
Shakes: That’s disgusting. Perfect Husband would never bet his wife a sip of poo.
Mr. Shakes: Well, I may bet you sips oof poo, but in every oother regard I am awesoome.
Fast forward to the special guest performer, who is Busta Rhymes. (Which was irritating, considering his recent homophobic outburst.) Anyway, I commented that “Busta Rhymes” has always been one of my favorite stage names.
Mr. Shakes: I changed my name to Jiz-E Pimpskweez.
Shakes: What?!
Mr. Shakes: Yeah, it’s my new street name. Jiz-E Pimpskweez.
Shakes: On what street—Crazy Street?
Mr. Shakes: Noo, oor street. When I goo ootside in the moorning, Carl gives me a shoot oot. “Yoo yoo yoo, Jiz-E Pimpskweez!”
[Carl is our superbly nice 80-year-old next door neighbor.]
Shakes: You’re an idiot.
Mr. Shakes: I’m gooing to start poosting oon the bloog as Jiz-E Pimpskweez.
Shakes: No, you’re not.
[He did.]
Mr. Shakes: JIZ-E PIMPSKWEEZ!!!
Shakes: I wish I had a tape recorder, so I could post this on the blog.
Mr. Shakes: Me, too. Becoose then everyoone woold knoo hoo mooch Jiz-E Pimpskweez rooles!
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