Uncle Bart and Aunt Sue babysit.
For reference, Liv is cousin Gert’s daughter. You may remember her from this epicness.
-Beverly “Who Wants to do the Fast Food Taste Test With Me?” Goldenstein
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Bevvy G
Somethin’ ain’t right on the technical side over here at bg, so it’s Daily Mail Monday on Thursday, and I don’t wanna hear about it, OK?
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I’m not about to get political here, but… this is absolutely the strongest argument to save the USPS.
-Beverly “Wouldn’t Have Pegged Her as an Alison, but OK” Goldenstein
I was recently invited to a backyard happy hour/hangout that I really didn’t want to attend, so (naturally) I lied to the hostess and said I already had plans to go on a walk with a friend.
Then I wrote down the fake plans in my planner so I wouldn’t make any stupid remarks via text or accidentally post something incriminating on Instagram.
If anybody’s wondering what it’s like to make plans in your 30s.
-Beverly “I Can’t Make it This Time” Goldenstein
Here’s a little story about a real lime crime I recently saw being committed.
A real missed opporboozity.
Someone really failing to captequilize on a lot of money.
A true a-salt on profit potentials!
OK, I’ll stop now. Or, rather, I’ll start.
I recently (finally) purchased a desk on Amazon so that I could have a “space” where I can work from home since it seems this bullshit isn’t going away anytime soon. You all know that Bev trying to put together a desk would… not go well, so I asked my friend and neighbor if he could assist with the task and I’d pay in drinks and snacks.
He was more than willing to help, so an hour before he was set to arrive, I called one of his favorite Mexican restaurants to order some queso and margs for him (and his wife and me) while he worked.
Now, one year ago, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of being able to pick up margarita pitchers to-go, but it’s 2020, and I think we can all agree that margarita pitchers to-go is the only positive thing to come of this bullshit year (right?), so I asked the restaurant how much a pitcher of margs was. The employee told me that they didn’t have to-go pitchers available- only individual margaritas- and I (was slightly stunned and) said that I’d call someone who did.
And I did. And they were delish.
Long story, but I happened to be on this same restaurant’s website the next day, where the main page was this:
I can only think that this is because of my (maybe slightly haughty?) comment and their loss of business from the previous day.
I mean, I think I’m out here startin’ margments, guys.
-Beverly “You’re Welcome, MyCity” Goldenstein
Oh for the love of God.
-Beverly “Just Stop” Goldenstein
But do you guys think a crazy dog owner bit its balls and that’s how it got spooked?
-(Barnum and) Beverly Goldenstein
Sent around 1 am from Buenos Aires.
-Beverly “He’s the Next Rick Steves” Goldenstein
P.S.- How many of you are singing, “Buenos Aires, Argentina” in your Capital Rock voice?
Dog owners are the worst. Right up there with dental hygienists.
-Beverly “Let. It. Go.” Goldenstein
While we’re on the subject of Smoke Goldenstein fixing shit for people, I thought this might be a good time to share another story of his heroics. This one took place last summer- you know, when we could all be together- indoors or out- with reckless abandon. This story, again, involves the pool and Timmy and Keith’s house. I was over there hanging out with Keith, Gertrude, Clark, Bessie, all their kids, as well as Agatha (one of my high school besties) and her kids who also live in Mayberry.
We adults were just hanging out with some cocktails while the kids swam, and Keith fired up the grill to throw on some stuff for dinner. We turned our backs on the grill area to sip our beers and pay attention to the… you know… kids.
A few minutes later, Agatha’s oldest son, Eli, looks up at us (sitting right in front of the grill, but with our backs to it) and says, “Hey, Keith, I think your grill’s on fire.” Keith smiles and replies, “Oh, thanks, Eli, but we just started it to throw some stuff on for supper so it might be a little smoky.” Agatha thanks Eli for being safe and we continue our adult conversation. But little Eli ain’t no punk, and he says something that prompts us to turn and look at the grill, which is… in fact… on fire.
Like, flames shooting fire.
Things are a bit hazy from here, but basically, Clark jumped into action and reached into the grill to turn it off/shut off the gas, I ran into the house and found baking soda, Keith got on the phone with Uncle Bart or Aunt Sue (who lived in the house for years prior to Timmy and Keith’s recent move), and Agatha, Gert, and Bess looked on in horror.
We managed to quell the flames, but none of us felt very safe about the potential of gas still flowing out of a pipe that is connected to the LP1, so who did we call? Ol’ Smokey G, of course!
Smoke threw on his “thongs”1 and headed over to check out the situation, and if I recall correctly, we had actually taken care of all the potential hazards, and Smoke really just checked over our (OK, Clark’s) work, and headed home. But not before one of us could capture this piece of photographic evidence:
Remember, kids, only you can prevent grill fires!
-Beverly “Proud Daughter of Smokey the Bear” Goldenstein
1I literally have no idea what this really means but I think it’s basically unlimited gas.
2These are what he refers to as his “thongs” and if you ever slip them on to take out the trash, grab a beer out of a cooler in the garage, etc., you better put them back in the exact position you found them on the rug.
Remember how Uncle Bart is a seed salesman? Well, sometimes he’s asked to appear in seed ads for the company.
And sometimes he wears pleated jeans to do so.
-Beverly “That’s my Drunkle!” Goldenstein