Shape Up or Ship Out

Today’s Bastille Day episode is sponsored by Perrier. Perrier, if you can’t drink water like an adult and need some coaxing so your pee isn’t hot neon yellow. Perrier, expensive fart water. We have a bushel of Perrier on site, which means I’m now passing gas like I just ate at The Melting Pot without actually eating any solid food. The Melting Pot, relive prom night with warm cheese! That’s a free plug The Melting Pot – you’re welcome. I’ll see you in a mall.

Speaking of malls, our guest just came back from a shopping spree and is sporting some sweet new casual street shoes.  Jacques de Flesselles! Unfortunate casualty on July 14^th, 1789! The last provost of the merchants of Paris! You look homeless from the ankle down!

HB: I like the kicks, Jacques!

JF: Merci! They’re Shape Ups, so I can look cool AND tighten my core.

HB: Great! Hey, I’m so sorry you were shot and decapitated.

JF: That’s ok. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong provost of the merchants.

HB: And you had come from a middle-class family, pulled yourself up to a higher tier, only to be murdered by the rabble.

JF: I tried. Took out some loans, went to Paris State, where I majored in finance and sports science, and then joined up with the local fraternity chapter of La Petit Mort.

HB: Like jizz?

JF: Wasn’t my idea. They had the connections to become a royalist.

HB: Means to an end via semen. Nah, I get it. What did you parents do?

JF: My dad was your typical middle-class Frenchman: worked as a line cook at The Melting Pot, which is basically heating up cheese in a pot. And my mom, ironically, was the hostess. Decent gigs.

HB: Ah, fuck! That’s why I was thinking about The Melting Pot…

JF: It mainly caters to high school pre-dance dinners and uncles taking their nephews out for a nice meal.

HB: I’m aware. Anyway, so you were just hanging out and you got cut down at the onset of the revolution? Bummerz.

JF: Yeah, all these angry dudes were like, “Where the guns at fancy boy?” And I was wearing some shoes with buckles on it, not these Shape Ups, so they fucking shot me. Whatever, I feel if I had on different shoes they wouldn’t have murdered me and put my head on a stick.

HB: Or they would’ve taken your shoes and some random dude would be storming the Bastille with a pair of Skechers Shape Ups on.

JF: You hungry?

HB: Yeah, I could eat.

JF: Go to the Pot? My mom’s working a double.

HB: Sure, I’ll carry your head.

Game Night!

This week’s guest, his second appearance, is fan favorite and prominent military adviser Miles Standish. Miles, as we all remember, was an English military officer hired to oversee the settlement of the Plymouth Colony by the Puritans in the early 17^th century. Little known fact about Miles: he’s an avid board game fan and Officer of Fun at the colony. Miles has been so kind as to sponsor this episode with his own patented game: Stick N’ Stick. Stick N’ Stick, who’s stick goes farther? Hard work and sheer grit will tell for this game of labor and unrelenting perseverance. Stick N’ Stick! For ages infant to 32! Push that stick with the your other stick! Stick N’ Stick. Livestock or Autumn corn harvest acceptable payment methods. Stick out with your friends with Stick N’ Stick.

HB: Miles, good to have you back! And agree to disagree about the spelling of “old” because there’s no “e,” pal. Actually you’ve been adding “e’s” to every scrabble word you’ve put down.

MS: We’ll call it a tie. Again! Ha-e

HB: Hahaha! Don’t add “e’s” to your “ha’s,” we’ll just edit that out. Seriously, where are you getting all those “e’s”?

MS: I brought the Puritan version of Scrabble, which contains 75 “e’s” and 6 consonants.

HB: For those at home, Miles is showing me a box painted in the drabbest color of gray.

MS: The colony was opposed to the original beige coloring, as well as any form of lettering. So, here you have the deluxe second edition.

HB: Oh, that’s fun. Also, I’m guessing Stick N’ Stick catered to your audience a little more?

MS: Yeah, my first prototype was Stick N’ Anvil, but a lot of people found it too racy, and actually a little easier to move the anvil. So, I went with two sticks with both sides sharpened. It generally just gets stuck after your first move.

HB: So…no one usually wins?

MS: No, which is part of fun. Also, the added risk of impaling yourself keeps you on your toes.

HB: Any other favorites? Stick N’ Stick sounds like a winner, but I think everyone wants to know your all-time favorite game night games.

MS: Sure, sure. Um, I’ve always been a fan of Witch, Witch, Witch.

HB: Oh, I’ve heard of this, it’s like Duck, Duck, Goose.

MS: Exactly, yeah. Good for the kids, and everyone has kids, so. But yeah, you walk around a circle patting the heads of each person until you grab the Witch. At this point everyone gets up and helps carry the “tagged” Witch – both because everyone can get involved and because the Witch will be scared shitless, so you want to hold the flailing arms.

HB: Sure, sure.

MS: Hopefully there’s a water source nearby because you’ll throw the Witch in a pond or lake, whatever, where they’ll end up drowning.

HB: Okay, say there’s not a pond around?

MS: This is the beauty of Witch, Witch, Witch – you can improvise by either tying up the Witch and slowly placing rocks on them. Or, you can grab a stick from my game Stick N’ Stick and drive it through their temple. And then you start anew! Can go on for hours, which is what a great game should be!

HB: Miles! Such a shameless plug for Stick N’ Stick! Hahaha.

MS: Ha-e, Ha-e, Ha-e… Ow, mother fucker!

HB: Oh wow, Miles got one of his sticks in his eye. Jesus, man, that looks bad.

MS: Oh, that smarts! Hand me the other stick!

HB: Good idea. Dislodge it with the other stick. Thank goodness it wasn’t an anvil!

MS: I can’t see.

HB: Thanks all!

Bloody Brunch, Britches!

It’s Saturday, so that means brunch! Brunch, bitches! And who’s joining us – my bestie from prep school, Mary “The Britch” Tudor! Mary I, queen of mother f’ing England and Ireland, restorer of Catholicism after her fat, ugly dad went through so many women like a Protestant at a yard sale (her words, not mine – also, no idea what that means)… Bloody Mary!!! Celery salt, celery salt, celery salt!

M: Ugh, pancakes. Just want some pancakes with my…

Together: Bloody Mary!

M: Seriously though, the new job sucks already.

HB: Oh, that’s right, Mary started her first job…ever…at f’ing 35!

M: It’s 2 days a week at Corepower Yoga with a bunch of old divorcees – so it’s like a 40-hour week, mentally.

HB: Like your Mom?

M: Shut the fuck up!

HB: Oh my god, Mary, I thought you were over that?

M: No, shut the fuck up, I told you last week it’s still f’ing bothering me.

HB: Mary went to the bathroom, so it’s gonna be another 40 minutes. (to server) Could we get 4 more Marys while I wait – she’s gonna want, like, three. You know who you look like, Hannah Montana, but like not in a good way.

M: Brrrritches!

HB: Oh thank god, you’re normal again. Here, fugly Montana brought you three more Marys. I’m so sorry.

M: About what, I don’t even know what you’re talking about? I took a nasty vodka shit and cried a little bit, so we’re good.

M: Just don’t bring up Catherine again… I’ll chop your neck off, but not all the way, like only halfway so you’re still alive for a few minutes. You know?

HB: Yeah, Mary, I totally get it. Jesus Christ…

M: I’m kidding!

HB: I know! Britches!

HB: How’s Brad?

M: Oh, you mean Tae Kwan Do Brad?

HB: Huh?

M: Oh yeah, hot Brad from Corepower also teaches Tae Kwan Do at the Y. So, that’s over.

(server spills drink)

Server: Oh my god, I am so sorry.

M: I think you meant to do that.

HB: Mary, please, not now, just…enjoy.

M: No, I think she meant to do that. Oh, what a pretty necklace. It’s a cross, but where’s the crucified Jesus?

Server: I don’t know. My mom got this for me when I was young.

HB: Just run, please. I’m sorry I said those things earlier. She has this effect on me.

M: Oh, your mom’s in your life. That’s nice.

HB: Mary, put down the butter knife.

M: Shut your shit mouth… No, I’m going to put all 5 inches of this dull blade in her spine.

M: I’m kidding!

Everyone: Brithces!!!!

Pornhub Jones

John Paul Jones, Revolutionary War icon and Father of the US Navy, is here to set the record straight about his apparent piracy during the harrowing conflict – he has many detractors among the British, screaming for an indictment. After the War for Independence came to a close, John Paul Jones joined up with the Russian Imperial Navy to continue his craft as a skilled sea commander. Let’s set the record straight.

HB: And I don’t have my computer. Where’s my computer?

JPJ: Hey man, sorry, just wanted to finish an episode of Game of Thrones.

HB: Did you disable my pop-up blocker?

JPJ: I had to, it’s not HBO, so how am I going to watch it?

HB: There’s like 50 tabs open. Where’s your computer?

JPJ: Fried the hard drive, from…watching…too many sports.

HB:  You’re a terrible liar. Speaking of which, you added “Jones” to John Paul to hide from law enforcement? This really happened.

JPJ: Yes, I would don a mustache and confuse the bejesus out of townsfolk with the added surname.

HB: That’s so stupid. Ok, you’ve pillaged my personal computer – and I now have 20 requests from local MILFS who are apparently horny to meet me. All that aside, do you wish to clear your name regarding the infamous Whitehaven raid?

JPJ: You know what sucks about sea life?

HB: Ok, we’re changing the subject. I’ll bite. What?

JPJ: Unless you’re an officer, you have no privacy to watch whatever you want. It’s like having 300 roommates watching your every mouse click! So, that’s what drove me to become a commander – to strive for greatness.

HB: Please don’t wink at me. So…if I’m following, you became the “Father of the US Navy” so you could watch porn in your own cabin.

HB: Again, please don’t wink at me.

JPJ: You know what the great thing about Russia is? No firewalls!

HB: I’m assuming we’re talking about computers and not warfare? …Stop fucking winking at me!

JPJ: Hey, can I borrow your phone?

HB: Why?

JPJ: I want to check the Yankees score.

HB: Fine.

HB: Why does your sports score sound like explicit sex?

JPJ: Because Aaron Judge just hit a dinger!

HB: Phone. Now.

JPJ: This place blows. Internet café nearby?

HB: And he’s leaving. Well, informative as always. John Paul “Jones” is apparently a serial masturbator, may be a pirate, and has the worst sense of computer security.

(Man with mustache knocks on window): Excuse me, sir, I’ve lost my mother and would much like to use your phone to let her know where I am.

HB:  Aw, it’s a kid with a mustache and he’s lost. What’s your name kiddo?

Lost kid: John Paul…Smith?