****WARNING: This blog post is probably better left unread by parental units; also possibly Becky Boydston. Just know, this is definitely a PG-13 sort of a blog post. Thank you for your understanding. ****
So! Whitney Houston would have you believe that the greatest love of all is crack, and/or loving oneself. I humbly suggest that the greatest love of all has been exhibited today by Smoove D and Smoove D’s special lady friend Claiborne, who have given me a gift the likes of which will never be surpassed.
They have OFFICIALLY entered a phrase into the lexicon, a phrase partially popularized by yours truly. Now, credit where credit is due – I didn’t invent this phrase. It came into being on www.thebestpageintheuniverse.com. DO NOT GO THERE. Unless you like crude, racist, insensitive, vicious humor. I actually don’t much care for Maddox, the guy who runs the site. That said, he is in possession of a certain sort of brilliance. He’s kinda like Charlie Sheen, except he’s been Charlie Sheen since the late 90’s, full bore tiger’s blood for more than a decade.
As it so happens, Maddox once took on women’s fashions. This is what he had to say about baby doll dresses:
As it turns out, R.I.P. my boner is a really useful phrase. For example, at our New Year’s Eve party, everything was hoppin’ along, and then the music shifted at midnight to Auld Lang Syne, a particularly mournful version of it, and wow, man – R.I.P my boner.
As you can imagine, life offers too many R.I.P. my boner moments. Moments where high hopes and good times are dashed against the jagged rocks of reality. Fortunately, the act of saying, “R.I.P. my boner” at the moment of disappointment can help restore those good times even as threaten to fade away. This has been my experience, in any case.
And so, in honor of the many good times restored by this very useful phrase, Smoove D and his lady friend set forth to institutionalize the awesomeness that is R.I.P my boner.
And they did so – with gusto.