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My Gross Story

April 9, 2013 0

I (Ev) posted this sometime back, but it’s worth posting again. Everyone likes a good throw-up story.

WARNING: This story is about me unloading previously eaten food. It’s rather funny, but just wanted to warn you.

One of the things I received from my mom is motion sickness (thanks mom!). The older I get the worse it gets. I have more throw up stories than the Yankees have world championships. My condition is extremely grave, and I have to be careful simply turning the corner in the hallway too quickly.

One amazing Florida morning, when I was in 6th grade, I woke up to a cool breeze outside and some rumbling on the inside. Not being the wisest kid north of the Everglades, I chose to inhale a big bowl of Fruit Loops. (To be honest they were the generic version of Fruit Loops. Well, to be really honest, I have no idea what cereal I ate that morning.)

Waiting outside for the bus, I had that horrible pre-puke feeling. You know what I’m talking about, right? I could tell that it was coming, but I thought it could be overcome through sure will power, so I decided to ignore the warning signs and proceed to get on the bus. That big, smelly, moving bus. With a belly full milk and cereal. Because I’m stupid. It’s like there is a demon whose job is to argue me out of being smart simply to get me to look like an idiot so the other demons can laugh at me.

I was sitting in the first row of the bus, passenger side, when I came face-to-face with the terrifying reality that there was no way my cereal was going to be digesting the normal way today. Looking around for somewhere to let it out, I realized my options were limited. I could splatter it on the floor, but I remembered when another kid did that and it made the whole bus stink, plus everyone screamed and yelled as it rolled down the aisle. There was no way I was doing that. I could go in my backpack but that would ruin it, and I couldn’t figure out how I would get it and the contents cleaned out.

Then it came to me – the perfect idea. I could simply projectile it out the window and save myself from most of the embarrassment. Only a few people would see it and it would be over quickly. I stood up, put my head out the window and let out out a deep, guttural heave. Judging from the force with which breakfast was passing through my lips, matched against the force of the wind pushing against my face, I knew that I was embarking on one of the worst moments of my short life.

Almost immediately people from the back of the bus started screaming. Their windows were covered with…stuff, and unfortunately, some of the windows were down. I still feel badly for Crystal. I hope she was able to get most if out of her hair. Some of the other students kindly informed me that the whole side of the bus was covered. Never had there been such excitement on the morning bus ride – with equal parts disgust and amazement at my talents. The next 10 minutes were horrible, but the worst part was yet to come.

Upon arriving at the school, the entire student body – all 48,000 students (or so it seemed to me) were there to admire my work. I was hoping that if I sunk down in my seat no one would know it was me. But, alas, everyone else quickly exited the bus proclaiming that I was the artist of this masterpiece. Eventually, the bus driver made me face the crowd of jeering hyenas, and I took the walk of shame down the bus steps and off to the the school nurse. The good news is that I had never experienced such loud cheers.

At least I didn’t have to clean the bus off. Oh wait, they made me do that too.

Breaking Up With Your Doctor

February 19, 2013 0

"You Think I Care?"

“You Think I Care?”

I had to have a hard conversation with my doctor recently. We had been seeing each other for quite awhile, but it was time for us to stop.  We needed to break up.  It wasn’t anything he did, it was just that my insurance had changed, and he was not an approved doctor.  Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I brainstormed the best ways to approach the situation.

I considered ways to make it sound mutual. “How do you feel like things are going?  I sense that you have some thoughts, maybe concerns, about our relationship, and I want to be sensitive to you.  If you think we should take a break from one another, I would understand.”

The guilt-inducing approach. “Look, I just don’t feel like you care about me now in the same way you did when we first started seeing each other.”

Compassionate approach. “It’s not you – you’re great – it’s me. I’ve changed…insurance companies.”

I finally settled with the honest approach.  Gearing up for a tearful plea to stay, I said, “Doc, I recently changed insurance companies, and I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to find another doctor.”  Without looking up from his laptop, he replied, “Ok, that happens all the time. If you’d like a recommendation, the ladies up front can help you with that.”

Well, that went better than I thought. He’s probably just trying to stay strong for me. Thanks, Doc.

The Most Amazing Bio Ever

May 15, 2012 0

This Sunday hundreds of people will be tortured for 15-20 minutes as I (Ev) mumble on about stuff at the Parkview High School Baccalaureate service.  They asked me for a bio to use as they introduce me, and I was really tempted to give them this one, but I didn’t…yet.

One Of My Special Skills

Bio for Everett Bracken

Everett Bracken grew up in Lakeland, FL eating fresh-picked oranges, wrestling alligators, and sweating 13 months out of the year. He loved to play baseball, basketball and quidditch anytime he could.  Upon graduating from elementary school, in a bold move, Everett enrolled in middle school.  After middle school, surprisingly, he was selected first overall in the Major League Baseball draft.  Turning down the $4.5 million signing bonus, Everett instead went to high school where he invented the internet.

After graduating from high school, Everett took his talents to Bryan College in Dayton, TN.  He enjoyed much success on the basketball team, averaging 1.2 points per game his Freshman year.  Everett had a roommate, and ate food in the cafeteria.

Everett has spent his entire adult life.  He has worked with teens where he honed his ability to make them feel awkward.  Everett’s special skills include, but are not limited to:

  • master remote operator
  • high volume sleep efficiency expert
  • retelling of other people’s stories
  • accurately hitting trees with little white balls
  • chief statistician for the WNBA

Introducing Everett Bracken.

STORY TIME: HOW TO THROW UP

September 12, 2011 2

This uber-gross story is embarrassingly shared by Ev.  I’ve written some more stuff too.

Of the many things I received from my mom, perhaps the one that I hate most is my motion sickness.  The older I get the worse it gets.  I have more throw up stories than the Yankees have world championships.  My condition is extremely grave, and I have to be careful simply turning the corner in the hallway too quickly.

One amazing Florida morning, when I was in 6th grade, I woke up to a cool breeze outside and some rumbling on the inside of my tummy.  Not being the wisest kid north of the Everglades, I chose to inhale a big bowl of Fruit Loops. (To be honest they were the generic version of Fruit Loops.  Well, to be really honest, I have no idea what cereal I ate that morning.)

On my way to school on the big smelly junior high bus, I began to have that horrible feeling.  You know what I’m talking about, right?

I wish this had been my school bus.

The pre-puke feeling?  I could tell that it was coming, but I thought it could be overcome through sure will power, so I decided to ignore the warning signs and proceed to engage in all sorts of horse-play with my friends.  (It’s like there is a demon whose job is to argue me out of being smart so that I can look like an idiot, and the other demons can laugh at me.)

I was sitting in the first row of the bus, passenger side, when I came face-to-face with the terrifying reality that there was no way my cereal was going to be digesting the normal way.  Looking around for somewhere to let it out, I realized my options were limited.  I could splatter it on the floor, but I remembered when another kid did that and it made the whole bus stink, plus everyone screamed and yelled as it rolled down the aisle.  There was no way I was doing that.  I could go in my backpack but the stench would be horrible, and I couldn’t figure out how I would the contents cleaned out.

Then it came to me – the perfect idea.  I could simply projectile it out the window and save myself from most of the embarrassment.  Only a few people would see it and it would be over quickly.  I stood up, put my head out the window and let out a deep, guttural heave.  Judging from the force with which breakfast was passing through my lips, matched against the force of the wind pushing against my face, I knew that I was embarking on one of the worst moments of my short life.

Almost immediately people from the back of the bus started screaming.  Their windows were covered with…stuff, and unfortunately, some of the windows were down.  I still feel badly for Crystal.  I hope she was able to get most if out of her hair.  Some of the other students kindly informed me that the whole side of the bus was covered.  Never had there been such excitement on the morning bus ride – with equal parts disgust and amazement at my talents.  The next 10 minutes were horrible, but the worst part was yet to come.

Upon arriving at the school, the entire student body – all 48,000 students (or so it seemed to me) were there to admire my work.  I was hoping that if I sunk down in my seat no one would know it was me.  But, alas, everyone else quickly exited the bus proclaiming that I was the artist of this masterpiece.  Eventually, the bus driver made me face the crowd of jeering hyenas, and I took the walk of shame down the bus steps.  The good news is that I had never experienced such loud cheers.

At least I didn’t have to clean the bus off.  Oh wait, they made me do that too.

HALF REDNECK

August 17, 2011 2

this attempt at humor brought to you by Ev.  click here for more by Ev.

I’ve never considered myself a “redneck,” per se.  But sometimes I run across an old photo, and I’m convinced that there would be no way for me to prove in a court of law that I didn’t grow up with a little bit of country in me. And because we here at borderlinefunny.com value authenticity, I want to make a confession – I am half redneck.

Take this photo as evidence.

Dear 12-year-old Ev, wear a shirt. Thanks, 40-year-old Ev

Let’s observe some “highlights” in this photo, shall we?

Muscles - Just stating the obvious here – I am quite the looker.  In fact, my “guns” are slightly larger than the barrel of the rifle, so I’m pretty happy about that.  Because of my tree-like physique, my Maw Maw nicknamed me “Toothpick.”

Broken down car - Everyone knows that one of the first requirements to receive the official redneck seal of approval (which is a case of empty Budweiser cans for your front porch) is to have a broken down car in the yard.  Contrary to popular belief, lifting the car up on blocks is optional.

Gun-totin’ - First, why in the world are two young boys holding a gun with a 3-year-old in the middle?  Second, does it look like we know what we are doing with that thing?  Absolutely not.  Please don’t tell me it was loaded.

Jorts - In Florida, cut off jean shorts never go out of style – just like the mullet.  At least my jeans are about 4 sizes too small; that way I don’t have to take the time to button them, and I get to show off my massive legs.

Barefootin’ - I never wore shoes when I was a kid.  Have you ever felt how stiff the grass is in central Florida?  The bottom of my feet were so tough, I could run through rocks, briers, and land mines without slowing down.

Drunk Photographer? - Who was taking this picture and what were they trying to capture?  I could just hear my mom saying, “Jerry, make sure you get the diving board in there.  It makes us look like we live in a fancy neighborhood.” (Just for the record, my mom would never really say that.)

If you have a snide comment, please feel free to share it in the comments.  I’d love to hear it.

SINGING THE SCALES

July 27, 2011 0

you can't see me, I was on the ground in the back

this attempt at humor brought to you by Ev.  click here for more by Ev.

During the second semester of my senior year of high school, I had to take a fine arts elective in order to graduate.  I didn’t even know art could be fine.  Unfortunately for me, my only option was chorus, and I knew there was nothing fine about my singing.  My only previous experience with singing came when I was forced to sing a duet with my best friend, Todd, when we were in 7th grade…in front of the whole middle school.  The only thing I remember about it was watching our friends laugh at us, and us trying to keep from laughing throughout the entire song.  At least I wasn’t in a stage in my life where the acceptance of others was important to me.

The semester was three days in when I was added to the class.  I show up for my first class and the chorus teacher, Mr. Chamberlain, asks me to sing the scales (in front of everyone) so that he can place me in the right section.  Here is how that conversation went:

me:      Hi, I’m Everett, and I have to take this class to graduate.
Mr. C: You don’t have to, you get to!
me:      No, I have to.
Mr. C: Well, what do you sing?
me:     Umm, mostly top 40 stuff, and some hymns at church.
Mr. C: No, I mean, do you sing tenor or bass?
me:     Yes, I think so.
Mr. C: Why don’t you just sing the scales and I’ll put you in the right place.
me:     I’m sorry, but sing what?
Mr. C: You know, “Doe, Ray, Me…”
me:     Well, I’d rather not.  Maybe you could just put me somewhere and I won’t sing because I don’t want to ruin everything.
Mr. C (folding his arms and leaning back with his eyes closed): Mr. Bracken, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.
me:     That’s easy for you to say, you can carry a tune!
Mr. C: Just do it!
me (with my face as red as a tomato): Doe, Ray, Me…
Mr. C: Yeah, just go stand over there in the back row and don’t sing very loudly.

From that day on, I was in Mr. Chamberlain’s doghouse.  I don’t blame him.  I wouldn’t have liked me much either.  But I just couldn’t leave well enough alone.  I decided that since I couldn’t really sing my own parts very well that I would assist the sopranos by using my amazing falsetto voice.  It would drive Mr. Chamberlain nuts!  He would stop the singing and say, “sopranos, someone is off.  Let me hear you sing that part again.”  Once again, I would assist the ladies, and each time Mr. Chamberlain would get more and more frustrated.  He would shake his head and show the ladies how it was supposed to be sung.  Eventually, he caught on, and I was given the privilege of being in detention.  My baseball coach was not impressed, and I had to run a lot of extra laps after practice.

It was worth it.