Of Wife Swaps and Tea Bags
If Phil was the ying of guest posting then Greg is the yang. Greg is a hard rocking dad of two hard rocking boys and runs the blog Hopeless Cases. In just a few paragraphs my mom is going to hate him.
Please welcome Greg!
When I got the guest blogger booty call email from Whit, I knew something was up.
I checked the time stamp and it told me it was sent around 2am in the morning.
When someone sends you the login password to their domain after midnight, clearly they must be drunk.
I became giddy.
I had visions.
This was going to be like Wife Swap :
I was going to drink Whit’s beer and fuck his hot wife.
All because he was too busy blogging here, here and here, and couldn’t find the time to tend to the homestead.
I would feed his kids Pop Tarts for dinner and let the laundry go unwashed.
Oh, and I would sit around naked, scratching my balls, reading from Whit’s exhaustive library of literature.
I would update his blog with nothing but haikus every day…
My sweaty ball sack
Tea bagging his neighbor’s face
Sweet Jesus! What Joy!
But then I realized he’d probably toss my name on the site and suddenly I’d be a Google search away from my family.
Sorry for using the word “fuck” mom.
I decided instead to write about how Whit and I are like cyber bros.
Just depends on what continent you currently reside on.
We both are writers and dads so we tend to write about dad stuff like hangovers and bodily fluids but that’s not to say we both don’t enjoy knocking out a good short story.
And both of us aren’t afraid to get all metrosexual and fuck with our hairstyles.
Damn, sorry again mom.
We are both big fans of music like our other brother in arms Cynical Dad.
But I must confess I’m not some Twitter douche like those fellas.
We both are the proud fathers of two amazing boys with Whit’s orbit just about a deuce behind me – I know he reads my blog to see what the future holds for him as dad of growing boys. Soon he to will have his coolness questioned by his offspring.
And lastly, we both have aspirations of an on-screen love affair with Scarlett Johansson.
Okay, so maybe that last one solely belongs to me.
And maybe Whit didn’t really give me the password.
Or let me fuck his hot wife.
Or feed his kids Pop Tarts for dinner.
Or, sadly, tea bag his neighbor.
But he did allow me to stand-in for a day and ride the Honea Express - nothing shows true friendship like stunt-cock blogging.
Thanks Whit, you da man.