Kevin gears up.
Kevin is a good and seemingly normal citizen. He has a passion for travel, especially to warmer places. He is a runner (and runs, gasp! gasp! marathons), kayaker, scuba diver, mountain biker, commuter cyclist (he cycles through the year to work whether it’s raining snowing, sleeting or, I’d bet, earthquaking). He observes life as he goes, then adds his own brand of flavour as he writes about it.
He’s also an artist, and a craft beer aficionado (understatement) and brewer of his own fine craft beers. Basically, he is the kind of person you’d think could not possibly have time to post on Facebook, yet he somehow manages it. This is good, because it keeps his avid readership from feeling deprived and having to get violent with him.
Mundane everyday things morph into the bizarre under his watchful eye and skewed mind. His updates range from tales of his running/riding adventures to philosophical questions about humpday or the end of the world. But why talk about these updates when it’s easier by far to simply share a Kevin Update Sampler? These updates are from the past month or so, a mere drop in the bucket of the pure dizzying insanity that has been posted over the years:
Moms and Pops at my house for Thanksgiving! Momma gonna slap me and say "whatchoo photoshoppin' cats for anyway? Lemme see those hands... yep, they soft, like a man who spends his day photoshoppin' cats, ain't worked an honest day, I reckon."
. . . is going home to a dark house with no electricity, and a refrigerator filled with beer that isn't optimally cold. The champagne-filled hot tub may not be 104 degrees like it should be either, it may be like, 102, or even lower. This must be what the cavemen had to suffer through during November storms.
Thursday is Thanksgiving; working people who get Thursday and Friday off from work should know that Humpday (observed) is today. Important to remember is that on the real Humpday (Thanksgiving Eve), you may be already visiting with relatives, or preparing your home for the holiday, so it certainly makes more sense to celebrate Humpday today, so as to not ruin Thanksgiving like last year.
Do you know that feeling when you have deprived yourself of a quad grande latte for several weeks, and after visiting Starbucks, and getting over the confusing fact that they are completely decked-out and balls-deep in Xmas, you are at work, and you are taking your first sips of a quad grande latte, and you're naked? Yes.
Does anyone know someone who ever clicked the 'call' button next to the 'message' button on someone's profile? I reckon I do... well, I DID, because now they're gone. Don was his name, and folks around these parts say that men in Facebook blue uniforms came in the night and took him away. When my neighbor Jeb noticed a ruckus next door, he says he saw the men in blue loading Don into a van, and when the uniformed men noticed Jeb, they looked at him and pointed their thumbs to the sky and said "you like this." And they were gone, poof, in a dark sinister blue smoke; and Jeb? Well, he ain't been the same since.
My apologies to veterans for believing you were invariably veterinarians as well. I thought it was a package deal; serve in the military, spay or neuter a cat, then you're a vet. Again, my apologies.
Today I am thankful the robot army didn't break into my house and rummage through my underwear drawer, as they are known to do. You might think that, being robots and such, they could, with high accuracy, refold my underwear, but they don't, they just don't.
"I miss the political ads already, so I am crying a little while watching some stupid ad for hot pockets, and trying to glean some political message from it." I'm Kevin Ducoing, and I approve this message.
Dear drivers; it is dark when I ride home, from now until some time in February. Please be gentle and watch out for me and the other idiots who insist on bike commuting all winter. I promise I will not hog the road like some bikers do, nor will I attempt to look like a racer by wearing bike shirts with logos all over them. Thank you.
OK November, I don't like you, and you don't like me. Let's just avoid eye contact; I'll pretend the leaf-choked storm drains, and the flooded streets are hilarious, you can laugh at my water-filled running shoes, then we can part ways. Thanks.
. . . can only hope that you loaded the dishwasher properly tonight, and that your dishes are sparkly clean in the morning.
. . .is helping a friend remove a tree from their yard. My method of berating the tree until it leaves didn't work, so we'll probably have to cut it down. Ha, get it? Leaves?
Remember when you Photoshopped your first cat? We at Cat Photoshop® headquarters do. I mean, we don't remember when YOU Photoshopped your first cat; we're not spying on you or anything... what we mean is that we remember Photoshopping OUR first cat. It's a hell of a feeling, isn't it? By the way, you look great in the shower, are you working out?
. . . always finds the shapes of US states in his partially eaten sandwich. Right now he is destroying Louisiana, which tastes like peanut butter. Wait, maybe it's Minnesota. Whatever the state, peanut butter is delicious.
12 consecutive days of full work days ends here! Weekends, I love you. Yes, I'm naked now.
. . . hopes everyone is having a festive 'International 23 Days Before End of World' Day. May your remaining days be filled with excessive... whatever it is you do that normally gets you suspicious looks, or arrested.
It is December, and now that the season is upon us, you should know that it is OK to say "Merry End of Days" or "Happy Apocalypse", or even "Happy Zombie Death to All," but not "Happy December" or "Merry possible last Holiday," is weak and stupid, and diminishes the true meaning of End of Days.
As you can see, without my daily dose of Kevin photoshop-cats and updates, life would be a lot less fun. Cheers to you, Kevin. May the update - and that damn cat - be with you.
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The views expressed are strictly those of the author and not necessarily those of Castanet. Castanet presents its columns "as is" and does not warrant the contents.
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