i coulda won a lowered chevy citation, but you wont hear me complaining. born on a pontoon boat off frisco, i first met karisa at the dairy queen in mundelion. she worked the drive thru. she kicked ass at dipping your cone into the chocolate sauce and getting it hard real fast.
certified genius and future farmer of america karisa is the oldest of nine girls each born two years apart from the next.
her youngest sister is ten.
when i first saw her i have to admit, i thought, i could make a ton of money off that shit. but i was lazy and illprepared. she has a photogentic memory, the liver of a bear, the nerve of a backyard possum, and the strength of a nasty fart. but shes quick on her feet and knows eight languages so i keep her around in case i need verification that someone called me an asshole in mandarin.
people ask all the time and since im now married i can tell the truth and admit that yes ive kissed karisa three times.
the first time was the night that the patriots were handed that snowy playoff game at foxburough. i had 50 bucks on the raiders and i was forced to pay up but i didnt have the money so they made me kiss karisa who had been eating philly cheesesteaks with extra onions throughout the fourth quarter. this was during the time that she was smoking a pack of marlboro reds a day. more when she was drinking. right before she puckered up someone handed her a toasty warm slice of garlic bread. truth is more pungent than fiction.
after the count reached ten she removed her tounge from my mouth and a tear rolled down my face and they said dont cry the raiders will come back next year but it was the onions. onions always make me cry. i spit a tiny one at the tv and dabbed at my face with a viva.
you know that shit was a fumble.
afterward she kissed my cheek and whispered that the raiders just sucked and i needed to deal with it. and then she threw me into pool.
the final time we kissed was in a cab ride coming home from marc browns house after the zwan show on four twenty of last year. we were drunk off our ass cuz the mc had just tossed a rager and she and i drained every bottle of champagne in the house and i had done some damage on the captain morgans singlehandedly.
we were sliding around the backseat of the cab as he screeched around the corners of hollywood driving as fast as humanly possible and on the long stretch up vermont into the griffth park hills of her hideaway we realized that we’d known each other all these years and we hadnt really kissed. ever. not real ones at least.
neither of us wanted to do it. what if it ruined our perfect friendship. what if it came to the surface during an xbi mindreading. what if she, like all the others, fell in love with me and could no longer be trusted or counted on as a peer.
and before we could talk ourselves out of it our dude took a quick turn and we slid into each others arms and went for it.
and if i wasnt so fucked up that night perhaps i could tell you if it was any good.
which is maybe why i dont drink any more.
and maybe why karisa is always trying to get me wasted.
happy birthday rock idol home improver beastie girler do it yourselfer off road driver ms pacman loser.
maybe one day you’ll shed your shyness learn how to hold your booze and let your hair down.
until then i promise to keep photoshopping your pics so you look halfway hot.