The Expediter

"I am Barzaff The Great. Look into my mullet and you shall see the true meaning of magic."

“I am Barzaff The Great. Look into my mullet and you shall see the true meaning of magic.”

Are you ready? Before you answer that question, you should know that I’m not asking if you are ready for some football. Or a good time. Or a weevil pestilence. But, just so we cover all the bases, if you are ready for some football, you may sit quietly on that couch for seven months until the next season begins. And if you are ready for a good time, please see Brian Johnson, lead vocalist of AC/DC – he will take you bowling. And if you are ready for a weevil pestilence, don’t forget to double-check the chimney. They always come through the chimney. [eyes cloud over, swats back of neck involuntarily] Sorry. I…it’s a long story. Well, it’s actually a short story: weevils came through my chimney and attacked me. Or did I dream the whole thing? Anyway, I was asking if you are ready to leave the house. I ask this because no one is ready to leave our house, ever. So if you are ready, you are a liar. And I like liars about as much as I like weevils: not much. In fact, ever since Kid came on the scene, getting out the door has become a freaking magic trick. I’m not talking about finding a quarter behind your nephew’s ear, neither. I’m talking main-stage, dry-ice, laser-show, two-guys-with-mullets-and-a-tiger (also with a mullet), magic trick. It’s such a production that sometimes I wish we had one of those individuals who works in restaurants and yells at the chef to do stuff faster. “Expediters,” I think they’re called. Sounds kinda like “Expert Biters,” one of the many known aliases of–you guessed it–weevils. I think I need to stop eating peanut butter before bed. It’s giving me weird dreams.

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