Allllllllll righty then gang...time for two truths and a lie! I'm going to give you a prompt followed by a brief description of what happened. Two of them are 100% completely true (scout's honor) and one is complete bullsharky. Can YOU guess which one is the lie?! Comment here, e-mail me your choice, text me, call me at work, carrier pigeon or slide into my DM's.
The power is YOURS!!!! ![]()
I have/had two different birth certificates.
Medical technology has come a long way since 1986, and along with it medical record keeping and patient record organization. For those of you who don't know... I am Victor Salvatore Dellisola IV. Note the roman numeral 'IV'. Yes, I am the 4th in a line of Victors traced back to the motherland of pizza, pasta and terrible fashion. Apparently this was a bit too much to handle for the employees of a Salt Lake City based hospital (name withheld to protect the innocent). On November 11, 1986 I, Victor S. Dellisola III was brought into this world. Victor S. Dellisola III was ready to shine his light on the world! Wait hold up... What?!? People can't be born TWICE (I mean physically, not 're-born' in the meta-physical sense). I was supposed to be number 4 not number 3! Number 3 already happened! Needless to say my dad was VERY confused. Best part is it made it through the various doctor/record-keeper signatures not realizing my dad had been born again while still very much alive. Almost made it 24 hours before my Mom was like "Uhhhhh, I definitely don't have two husbands one of whom is a day old." The hospital fixed it and I'm not sure the original exists now, but I'm still confused to this day. Was I supposed to be my Dad? Was he supposed to be me? If I have a son should I skip V and go straight to VI just to screw with everyone?
I helped the lead singer of Godsmack finish a poop.
So there I am dropping the Browns off at the Super Bowl in the local hockey rink. Good old Ristuccia Arena, (former) home of your Boston Bruins. Now I didn't play hockey so I must have been there to watch a friend play. It was either junior or senior year of high school. I'm sitting there taking care of business when someone walks in and starts pooping next to me. I finish up. Wipe. Flush. Wipe again because I had nachos and cheez-whiz. Flush again. Before I leave the mystery man in the stall next to me asks something to the effect of... "Hey dude, can I ask you a favor. Got any paper in the stall over there? Embarrassing but I'm clean out, sorry dude." "No problem man!" I said as I obtained his two-ply relief. "Thanks kid." said the mystery voice. I washed up and left the bathroom, but hung out around so I could catch a glimpse of the victim. Low and behold out walks Sully Erna, lead singer of Godsmack. It was unmistakably him. He might actually be an inch or two shorter than me, which is impressive. And the little star tattoo under his eye. Yep. Helped Sully take a dump. "I'm not the one who's so far away, when I feel the paper enter my A-e-a-e" -Godsmack-PooDoo
I got lost at a circus and rescued by a clown.
Ahh the local circus... a hellish landscape of sugar, tents, and tortured animals. My parents decided to take my brother and I to the Big Apple Circus for a family fun day. I have no idea how old I was but I was young... very young. Like formative year young when any amount of time alone with a clown was enough to scar you for life. We moved here in the early 90s after Dan Dell was born, so I'm guessing 5 or 6. So there I was at the show, inside the big ass tent. From what my parents tell me I took it upon myself to wander off in search of popcorn or quite possibly the nearest exit. Long story short I got mega lost. My mom and dad were freaking out. But it's totally OK because a circus clown saw a young crying child (me) and decided to take it upon himself to help me find my parents. HOORAY! I try not to use the F-word when blogging but I'm going to make an exception here... FUCK THAT SHIT. I remember flashes of this clown bringing be around from person to person trying to find my parents. And that face... that FACE! I'll never forget it. One of those sad hobo-ish clowns. nightmare fuel. A full trail of tears later I was reunited with my parents. But not after being dragged around the depths of circus HELL hand in hand with Bozo the Bum clown. ![]()
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We've all seen them. Those uber-lame "motivational" posters with corny quotes that look something like this... Or this... Here's the thing about the internet. The internet will troll and manipulate ANYTHING and ANYONE. NO ONE IS SAFE! And motivational posters are no exception. Enter the "de-motivational' poster. Leaping Christ in a handbag... See what I mean? Now there's this whole sub-genre of de-motivational posters that involves posting lewd/funny/shocking rap lyrics on photos of beautiful scenery. And the results are HILARIOUS! The fusion of hip-hop culture and nature's best is truly a sight to behold (not to mention right in my wheelhouse of funny). So, here are a few I put together! Feel free to use them as your phone/desktop background. These are all 100% legit lyrics from real life rap songs. I looked them up. Future actually gets paid thousands and thousands of dollars to say "Alert, alert, alert, alert, alert, alert".
Remember learning cursive penmanship in... what... 3rd grade? Letter after letter,
word after word until it was PERFECT. And I vividly recall using that special paper with all the guide lines on it... like training wheels for pencils. As the saying goes, "If you don't use it, you lose it". Other than my sginature, the last time I penned anything in cursive was the MCAS or my SATs circa 2003. My everyday signature is its own beast. Take a look.
Quick? Yes. Reproducible? Yes… to me. Cursive? Hardly.
Thus, I decided to test my cursive mettle and write out the cursive alphabet as best as I could from memory. Pinky promise I didn't cheat and look beforehand... wouldn't have been as good for content. Let's take a look at the whole shebang before we dive into the finer points...
Now here's what it should look like according to Google search "Traditional English cursive alphabet".
Not bad... not great. Let's break it down... DX style.
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First Row: Aka 'The D-saster'
It was going fine until I though the alphabet went ABCG instead of ABCD.
Second Row: A-H
Not too shabby. Might actually be my best row. Aside from some random subjective swirly swoopage on B, F, and H I think it looks pretty good. Tell you what though, I sat there thinking about C for a solid 2 minutes. It's so damn SIMPLE! No way is a cursive C that simple... has to be a random swirl somewhere. NOPE. If anything I over-did it.
Third Row: I to O like Idaho (no, YOU da ho!)
Not good. Left a hook off of I, uber-exaggerated swirls on K, L is too blocky. And Christ in a handbag what happened with M and N?!? How many humps does a camel have again? No excuse, I panicked. I don't have Parkinson's yet so I can't blame disease. My O looks like the start of a Clip-Art baby face.
Fourth Row: P-V Herman
Solid row. Pointy-ass V but I'll take it. Forgot the basket on the T like I did on the I, but again, I'll take that shit. This row is kind of like the team that makes the playoffs every year, but never wins the championship.
The Final Row: Dubya to Z
And one of life's great mysteries remains: How the F do you write a cursive Z. I feel you Billy. Rirruto. |
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