I was talking to a male friend from high school the other day, and as sometimes happens, our conversation veered into a discussion about boys and girls. “I only crush on rock star boys,” I said. He told me he had a secret: He wasn’t really a breast man, when it comes to the ladies.
“Me either,” I said, “Boobs are so overrated these days.”
HS friend replied, “Yeah….Have you ever seen any?”
Ooh burn.
They aren’t that small, but thanks.
—————-
You know the drill. Secret. It really is real. It really is coming.
I’m tired of your “secret.”
Everyday I look for it and everyday I’m disappointed and driven to drink hard liquor. A fifth or more of Irish whiskey, generally. Hoo-wah Bushmills!
I spend the afternoons in an alcoholic haze, unable to function properly, occasionally passing out and waking hours later to find myself in a puddle of my own urine and/or excrement.
I can only imagine that my liver is slowing hardening and taking on the appearance of an old cracked NFL pigskin. Two days ago I came close to drowning in vomit, as I had apparently passed out on my back in a hammock.
A big thanks to my wonderful neighbor Carol Perkins who suctioned my “sick” from my mouth and throat when she found me comatose in aforementioned hammock. Thank you also to Carol’s daughter Regina who happened to be selling fundraiser t-shirts for her cheerleading squad and alerted her mother in hysterical tears that I was “dead on the porch.”
Upon regaining conciousness, I purchased 48 shirts. That said, if anyone is interested in a pink tee sporting the “Regional Cheer Champs” Seaview High Jellies mascot and the slogan “To Cheer Is Da Bomb!!!” I am selling them at a ten percent discount.
My addiction to your so-called “secret” is turning my life upside down. In less than three weeks I am supposed to be hosting (in my home) two LDS missionaries for a year all the way from their native Utah.
I am supposed to be a role model for these young men, to guide them in their spiritual lives, yet here I am, still drunk from yesterday and nursing a hangover with a bottle of gin. I don’t even have the decency to use a glass.
If the stake president uncovers MY secret (due to YOURS, obviously) I am sure the Elders will be placed in a home with values and certainly no booze.
That being said, I must insist upon the revelation of your news by tomorrow or I will be forced to smoke the joint in my underpants drawer that has been tempting me since I launched this sinful addiction to the sauce.
Marijuana, of course, being a “gateway drug” could certainly propel me past the point of no return, into the big dark world of heroin, methamphetamines, and sucking d*ck for crack.
I implore you then, creator of Hannihouse and tasty Jewess, to save me from myself. Until then, I will continue this fine afternoon to drink myself into oblivion and pray that the stomach acids from my retching will not eat away the enamel of my million-watt smile.
Shalom.
I think I agree with this fine lad (or lass). I too have been waiting in egger anticipation for this so-called secret of yours Hännibus. I too have found myself glaring at my browser window time after time wondering what might come the next day.
On my desktop I double-click the Internet Explorer shortcut and before my homepage can load I click the HanniHaus.com link in my favorites column. As I wait the 2 or 3 seconds for the browser to load your site, I giggle with delight, saying aloud (really – I say it out loud), “Surely she will have posted the secret today”!
Alas… I am left completely dissatisfied.
As I click the most recent of posts and quickly read through the entertaining tid-bits you deal out every day, I soon reach the bottom to find that, yet again, I will have to wait for your secret another day.
While I haven’t picked up any self-destructive habits, I have been suffering from dissociation behavior. I can’t seem to trust anyone. Why, just today I went to a local drive-through burger joint for one of those fast-food salads that are so healthy. When I finished telling the loudspeaker what I wanted, the voice on the other end told me the woman in the second window would be happy to take my payment. I found myself unable to trust that there would be a woman there to take the cash from my fist or that there was even a second window. What if it was all a ploy? I could have been on one of those goddamned Punk’d shows or something! I don’t want to be made a fool. So I sped off with out going to the second window. As I left the scene, I noticed that indeed there had been a second window.
I felt tired after that ordeal. My distrust for another human being cost me a very healthy and delicious meal. If only I had developed the social skills to deal with that situation or had an example of someone instilling trust in me in the past… maybe THEN… maybe then I could have been living large with my pseudo-salad and super sized Coke. Instead I went to Wendy’s and had a burger and fries! At least at Wendy’s I knew I could trust the loudspeaker man – because I could see the windows from the big menu thingy. But how long can I keep this up before I start looking like that guy Jared from the Subway commercials before he started the Subway Diet©? He was wearing some big f*cking pants Hänni!
Hännibus – you have to come clean to us. It’s gone on for long enough!
Spandex Shorts Rock!