Blogging With Keith

Swamp Thing: “So what we’re gonna do is write a joint blog as we’re driving home from this ridiculously long recruiting trip.”

Keith Tronic: “How are you going to blog and drive?”

ST: “You are going to type what I say.”

KT: “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

ST: “You’re stupid.”

For full effect, go to “Summer Hits Of The 90’s” on Pandora and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Kids, everyone has a weakness. For 30-year old stay at home Moms, it’s a six pack of Diet Coke and reruns of Downton Abby, for balding men in their mid-40’s it’s their secret stash of dirty magazines, and for empty nesters living off social security, it’s a smile from their newest grandbaby. But if we’re going to talk about weaknesses for a 28-year old man who holds the Virginia Beach record for fastest time completing the two-pound challenge at Fuddruckers, well, his weakness is IKEA.

KT: “You’re gonna blog about IKEA? Are you kidding me? This is going to suck! Who wants to read about something as dumb as that?”

ST: “I didn’t ask for your opinion about creativity. Now shut your curse-wording face and just keep typing.”

IKEA is kind of like a brothel, minus the fancy lights, dirty music, and tempting women selling their body parts in 15-minute increments. Not that I actually know what the make up of the inside of a brothel looks like, but those are really the only stereotypical things I can think of. Maybe IKEA really doesn’t have anything to do with sexually simulating bathhouses, but the gist of what I’m trying to say is that Ikea is tempting. IKEA is seductive. IKEA makes you want to do dirty things to a seven-dollar lampshade and not light up a cigarette afterwards.

Now please let me explain something; four years ago I didn’t care about IKEA at all. In fact, I was the complete opposite. I cared about new snowboards, midnight bowling in Mesquite, and cheap Chinese takeout. However, over the past few years the douchebag sitting next to me thought it was his job to take me under his wing and teach me the art of becoming a man. This art included discount toasters at Costco and leather sofas that interior decorators would drool over.

KT: “Douchebag huh? That’s what you think of me?”

ST: “When an old married man obsessively tells you to get a couch day after day after day, thinking he is going to shape you into what his definition of a man is, then yes, he is a douchebag.”

The point of all this is that I’ve grown over the past few years, I have stopped caring about miniscule things. I am no longer interested in Madden 2K12, South Park or Dew Pong. As Murtaugh so wisely said, “I’m too old for that stuff.” Instead, I have a fetish for Stokman ottomans, rich mahogany bookshelves, and five-dollar cartons of tupperware. And that is where IKEA comes into play. It is the brothel of home and design. It is the non-sexual fantasy of growing up.

KT: “Are we almost done here? I just feel so unproductive when I am doing this stuff.”

ST: “Seriously, I’m going to punch you in the coccyx if you don’t stop being such an ornery old hag.”

Kids, this is the part where your Uncle Keith’s dead body was mysteriously buried near the hills just outside of Parowan because after a long four days on the road he turned into the cranky 78-year old man he always is, and got tired of having a Bromance with another guy while they jointly shared their thoughts on the glories of the universal fetish known as IKEA. And yes, that’s how this post will end. Because someone thinks that blogging about IKEA is a waste of time and no one will like or comment on this post because it's so boring and worthless! So there! ARE YOU HAPPY?!

KT: “That last line is so stupid.”

ST: “You’re stupid.”