2011 – “There’s a phone on my butt…”

When, at sixteen years of age, I shot up to 6’3″ people started to ask me “How’s the weather up there?” Being a shy kid, I really did not know what to say then. Later, I would have all manner of answers after shooting up past 6’6″, but the best one was always “There’s a phone on my butt. Why don’t you call and find out?”

Okay, I used it rarely because I really hate slamming people. It was generally reserved for some real smart-ass who thought himself cute or clever when he noted that I was tallish.


It’s been “Butt Week”. All week-long my friend “Triple X” has been making “Mac has a Big Ass jokes”. He even envisions my bicycle complaining when I climb on. Why is he doing this all of a sudden? Well I publicly preyed upon Triple X in a very fun gag on the Shuttle one morning on the way up to the County offices.

Of course Triple X is not his name, but I call him that because he looks like a larger, more muscled black Vin Diesel (that’s right. You heard me correctly…MORE muscled). The man looks downright menacing but is, in fact, a sweetheart of a young man. We hit it off right away.

But that morning, on the crowded shuttle, none of the other 18 passengers except Young Thom knew that Triple X and I are good friends. So when I started fugging with him about his “gay shirt” (hey it had some kind of “queer gold piping/blink stuff laced through it”) and then, poking him with my finger across the shuttle aisle asking if it had “two guys kissing” on the front the whole bus froze with fear of a possible Royal Racial Rumble in the Shuttle!

Triple X glowered at me and hissed under his breath as I got off the bus “You will pay for that.”

“Understood” I said cleanly.

And I did…for days. MacButt jokes.


Then last week, after my Netbook was stolen by Tweakers I went back to my room and my phone was missing after just a few minutes.

(Note: Tweakers are like Alcoholics except it’s drugs and while an Alcoholic will borrow money and pay you back way late or never at all, a Tweaker will steal your stuff then help you look for it. That’s the basic difference.)

I freaked out and had a conniption in the Dining Room once I could not find it. It was the straw that broke the Mac’s back.

Now I say “conniption” because technically that is all it is. But when a guy 6’7″ with arms as long as Jordan’s starts waving them and booms his voice about something stolen it looks more like, well more like the beginnings of a Royal Rumble on a Shuttle. It scares everyone but close friends or bunkmates.

So Gregor, unfazed started to call my phone and told me so. “It doesn’t matter!” I yelled. “They make us keep it on vibrate!”

Gergor wisely ignored me and simply kept calling. Then my upper  bunk mate Ricky offered to help me look for it.

Suddenly in our dorm room we could hear thew “BRRRRR” of the phone! Frantically I clawed at the bedding searching. Nothing!! “BRRRRR, BRRRRR, BRRRR” “Dammit! It’s here somewhere!!”

I calmed down and sat on the bed knowing that it was inevitable we would find it.

Then I felt my Butt “BRRRRRR”.

There was a phone on my butt. Why didn’t I just call and find that out?


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