America's favorite drinking game called "icing" -- which involves presenting unsuspecting victims with a delicious Smirnoff Ice -- continues its reign of terror.
First it was an Internet sensation, then it appeared right here on this blog, and now it's come into my real life. One of my buddies was unfortunately iced last week at a fancy art show. Check out the video of his sophisticated icing below:
It was way back in 2004 when I wrote the very first post on A Blog About Things and six years later I'm still at it.
Since its beginnings -- and including this post -- I've written 1327 entries in total, which seems incredible to me, but I guess that's what happens when you write about "things"... there's always something to write about.
Thanks to everyone who reads the posts and watches our videos and leaves comments and shares everything around! Many more years to come!
Every Friday between Memorial Day and Labor Day I'm going to be featuring guest bloggers as a part of my "Summer Fridays" series. This week's entry is republished with permission from Matthew F. of To Be That Guy, because I thought it was so funny when I read it that I had to share it with everyone.
Have you ever had a bad date? I don't just mean a date that made you think, "ehh, this isn't going anywhere." I mean a date that made you want to punch yourself, made you wish that you hadn't washed your hair and dirtied a clean shirt, made you wish you had stayed at home and cried, or maybe pulled out all your eyelashes. Tonight I had one of the worst dates. To clarify, I don't mean just one of the worst I've had; I mean one of the worst dates to have ever occurred, right up there with one of Joran van der Sloot's dates.
When the guy -- who we'll call "Squealer," for reasons that will soon become clear -- called me this afternoon to figure out the details, I got my first warning sign. He made some crazy statement -- I can't even remember what it was because it was so nonsensical -- to which my response was, "um... I don't know what that means." and then came the scary part, his response: "Well, get ready because that's just the first of many quips I've got planned for you tonight [insert squealing laughter]."
When Squealer caught my eye and walked toward me, my heart sank. Please don't be him. Please don't be him, I thought as a hipster walked toward me in the skinniest of circulation-cutting-off-est jeans I've ever seen on a purported male of the species. Worse, this thing was wearing a beret - a beret!!!!!!! - and a flannel shirt that looked like something my grandma wore (yes, it was definitely a woman's. No doubt.) In the '70's. Even disregarding the woman's shirt, it was 100 degrees and humid out. Who is this person? And -- oh god -- why is he walking like a fashion model? Oh god, why hast thou forsaken me?!
