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Sunday, January 30, 2011


My maternal step-grandmother is dating a blowhard.

You know, the kind of guy who brags about his kids' accomplishments-- even though his kids are in their sixties. He rattles off his children's gross annual salaries in polite conversation, says things like, "They're doin' pretty well for themselves," and proudly proclaims, after recounting some errant hardship of his youth, "I turned out okay."

Granted, my grandfather was no prince, but I think she's taken a bit of a step down.

Being a bit obsessive about my own meekness and humility (can that be true if I am making a statement like that?), I bristle in the presence of blowhards. They make me uncomfortable, embarrassed. In a word: not so fresh.

What are they trying to prove?

Whom are they showing up?

How small are their penises?

Is it dinner time yet?

Will Burt Kwouk ever make another movie?

Whatever will we use our $25.00 Fandango giftcard on? There's nothing worth seeing.

You know what I'm saying, tough guy?

Right. So. Blowhards. Fucking annoying & such.

Because I absolutely despise this personality type, I am not acquainted intimately with too many blowhards. I am, however, on one or two of their Undisclosed Recipient email address lists. Apparently.

This sort of thing happens when you are just universally loved and adored by such a diverse cross-section of the human condition, as am I. Hahaha. That's funny blowhard talking fun times.

Although I'm not sure, because I really haven't given this too much thought-- I think some people go on a continuum from Asshole to Blowhard. When you brag about yourself, you're an asshole. When you move to becoming a nonentity who is forced to brag about your kids, I think you become a blowhard. That's not to say that you can't be a blowhard about yourself, but it becomes much more annoying when you transfer onto your offspring.

And, of course, you have to do it in a super-obnoxious way.

I received the following email last night from a blowhard on whose Undisclosed Recipient list I must, for some reason, dwell.

Which is awesome.

I have omitted, obfuscated, redacted, and altered the contents of the email to remove personal, identifying details to prevent this blowhard from finding out I posted his email and possibly resulting in some very annoying litigation. Believe me, I'll do almost anything to avoid having to sit in a courtroom anywhere near this guy.

I have re-named the individuals in this email Blowhard Dad, Blowhard Son, and Blowhard Fiancee. Because I'm clever.

"Subject: Blowhard Son is Both Employed & ENGAGED!

Dear Family & Friends:

1] Last Thursday, Blowhard Son finally landed a full-time legal position at a law firm in the western United States.

2] Blowhard Son had moved there last April to be with his long-time lady friend, Blowhard Fiancee, Esq. Blowhard Fiancee is a California lady...[insert name of prestigious college] undergrad & [insert name of prestigious law school] law. They met while clerking for two different judges some three years ago at [insert name of prestigious legal institution]. At present Blowhard Fiancee is a litigator.

3] Within the past 24 hours, Blowhard Son proposed & I am informed by a reliable source (his sister/my daughter) that Blowhard Fiancee accepted! I am thrilled, happy, and having a 2nd shot of single malt whiskey as I type this! I know NO further details, so don't ask this mushroom for any more detailed, cogent and/or relative details.

I can say that last Thanksgiving, Blowhard Son asked me for my Mother's engagement ring. My Mother's diamond, plus 2 rubies for Blowhard Fiancee's birthstone that Blowhard Son added, form the setting. My parent's[sic] platinum wedding bands were also recycled.

Blowhard Son's e-mail address is:

That's all for the nonce.

Blowhard Dad"

I was going to pick this letter apart and discuss and dissect each annoying, blowhardian point, but then I was like, really? Do I really have to do that? Doesn't this asscrap speak for itself? Doesn't it stink to high heaven? Aren't you disgusted and chagrined? "2nd shot of single malt whiskey?" "Long-time lady friend"? Capitalizing the "M" in "Mother"? "That's all for the nonce"? Jesus fucking Christ. Let's all rejoice in this festive occasion the way the Romans would have and we can all throw up on each other.

For the nonce.

1 comment:

  1. My favorite part is when he calls himself a mushroom. Blowshroom? Blushroom!


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