Bevvy G

It’s that time of the year- the time when all the bloggers and influencers bust out their holiday gift guides to “help” all of us buy gifts for our friends and family members. You know, the friends and family members these influencers have never met, but are just sure will love the (sponsored/affiliate-linked) overpriced and patently ridiculous gifts they push us to buy.

Like the $50 Yeti fishing bucket on a certain blogger’s men’s gift guide. Literally, do any of you know of any man who would want a $50 BUCKET? Or anyone, for that matter? If someone ever gave me a $50 bucket, I’d smash them in the face with it. (unless, of course, it was a champagne bucket engraved with my initials or something… but a Yeti fishing bucket? Yeah, that would be Exhibit A in my assault trial.)

Another favorite that I’ve seen on several influencers’ men’s gift guide? A multi-tool. I just have to break this shit down to y’all right here and now. If your dad doesn’t have a multi-tool, he’s a fake dad. And if your husband doesn’t have one, HIS husband does, OK? Seriously, bloggers? You think that a) guys don’t already have one of these and b) that you can pick out the best one? Actual quote from the same bozo blogger’s gift guide, regarding a multi-tool: I think this is so cool! It has 11 tools. What a coincidence- the same amount of brain cells that the author has!

Another popular gift item that Nordstrom is paying influencers to shill bloggers are adding to their gift guides? Barefoot Dreams blankets. This is popular on the “parent” gift guide. Because what parent doesn’t want their child to spend nearly $200 on a blanket so they can wrap up in it, and then spend the post-holiday hours and days wondering where they went wrong and somehow raised a schmuck who buys $200 blankets.

Oh, and don’t forget the pet gift guides! My God, how could these bloggers sleep at night if they weren’t linking $200 dog cameras so neurotic pet owners everywhere can watch their pets defecate on the floor while as owner slaves away at a 9-5 jobs in order to buy a $200 pet camera!

Being the largely popular blogger/influencer that I am, I’ve decided to jump on the bandwagon this year and give you, my wonderful readers who obviously can’t think for themselves some gift ideas for the special people and mongrels in your lives!

For Dad:

Duh.

For Mom:

A new CrockPot.

Because one of hers will only stay on “hot” and we can’t have any good Midwestern moms without a full arsenal of CrockPots! MamaG, did you decide which model you’d like to add to the collection?

Also hot this year for Mom?

Mostly just because she’s jealous of the gray ones Dad’s going to get.

For Pets:

A few drops into their food each day and you won’t have to worry about a pet gift guide next year! (I know I’m going to catch hell for this one, but I never claimed to be a moral compass, OK?)

-Beverly “I Refuse To Click Your Links” Goldenstein

OK, so when I did a quick Google search of Donkey Ball to confirm the (ridiculous) name of this fundraiser, I came across the article below. Please read in its entirety before coming back here for Bev’s thoughts.

The Dark Side of Donkey Basketball

Donkey basketball, or donkey ball, is not uncommon at school fundraising events around the country. Ummmm, it’s not?!?!

dribbling, for obvious reasons, isn’t part of the game. Oh, but it’s damn fun to picture, isn’t it, friends?

The Humane Society of the United States and the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals have come out strongly against the sport. PETA claims that donkey basketball teaches kids to be cruel to animals, and that the game represents unfair treatment of the beasts because they’re “dragged, kicked, and punched by participants who have no animal-handling experience.” 

Camie Heleski, an animal science instructor at Michigan State University, told the New York Times the worst part is just that “it is probably somewhat confusing to the donkey.” Oh, really? You mean donkeys aren’t inherently good at basketball? Also, what percentage of a donkey’s day do you think is spent in a state of confusion? Because I’m willing to bet it’s at least 98%. 

One of the oldest, Buckeye Donkey Ball, has been in operation since 1934 (the company also provides services for donkey baseball, donkey racing and regular donkey rentals, in case you were in the market). I included this quote purely as a public service announcement for any of you who might be struggling to plan an upcoming holiday event.

Donkey ball’s infiltration of American life has even resulted in a parody in The Onion; a SportsCenter-esque bit about a two-year-old donkey who was called up to the pros. The donkeys in that spoof aren’t cartoons, but they aren’t far off. When you remember that the game forces real animals to participate in basketball whether they want to or not, the whole sport may seem a lot less amusing. Oh, I’m sorry… “forces real animals to participate in basketball whether they want to or not…” This isn’t the fat kid being made to play basketball in gym class, only to be mercilessly mocked on the bus after school every day. It’s not some knock-kneed asthmatic dweeb cowering in the showers so his classmates don’t see his pasty-white toothpick legs or the largely overweight girl whose parents won’t buy her deodorant who would like to literally sink into a hole rather than play basketball. It’s a donkey. It doesn’t want to or not because it can’t want to or not. It’s not like Dauber is being forced to play basketball instead of following his passion of learning French. Dorthy’s not missing out on working her side job to make money to support her family by playing fundraiser basketball, guys.¹ I’m not worried that Darryl is being pulled from his cancer-curing research to take a shit on a gym floor in some small town in the Midwest, whose school needs money to support something needed for actual human children. Dauber and Dorthy get some exercise and attention for a few hours and probably a little extra hay in the trailer ride to and from the gig. Hell, maybe they even get to meet and mingle with donkeys from other farms- a networking event, of sorts! Last I heard, Dauber has an interview with Wells Fargo and Dorthy has been connected with Kim Kardashian’s ride share program to help the previously-incarcerated get transportation to job interviews, work, and other events! Darryl doesn’t network in the trailer, guys. He brings his laptop and field notes so that he can relentlessly pursue his lifetime dream.

The cancer cure? No. Finding his next. Sometimes, it just ain’t. that. serious, y’all.

All kidding aside, I still find Donkey Ball funny as all hell and if you don’t, well, don’t let the door hit ya…

-Bev

¹Yes, I spelled Dorthy that way on purpose. So that you guys could remember my favorite Dorthy, the duplicitous deserter. (Mom, that’s a link you can click and follow to the old post)

Just imagine my surprise when I was casually scrolling through my friends’ Snap stories last weekend when I came upon cousin Bessie’s story- of donkeys strolling into my high school gym.

Asses. On the gym floor.

LITERAL donkeys in the gym.

I immediately contacted Bess for the details and, turns out there’s a company that rents out donkeys to come and play basketball as a fundraiser. I tried to rewrite that sentence like six times to make it make more sense, but it’s not possible to make that sentence make sense.

Bessie’s husband, Alfred, is the athletic director at my former high school, so he and some other staff members participated in the absolute MADNESS that is apparently called Donkey Ball.

Now, I (quite literally) don’t really even know what else to say, so, just… check these out. Like, if you do anything today, watch these videos.

Alfred’s entrance. He’s at the end there. You’ll be able to tell which one he is because his donkey shits all over the gym floor.

The video obviously showcases a missed shot. But…please note the dude on the left trying to mount dat ass.

My favorite part of this video? Bessie giggling in the background and the random brown donkey tied to the bleachers in the upper right.

https://vimeo.com/manage/372540376/general

Seems like this guy should’ve made this one…

In the video below, your attention will be drawn to the guy in the blue who nearly gets bucked off dat ass as Donkey Ball quickly segues to Donkey Rodeo. But please watch this video for a second time and watch the slow struggle of the man in pink on the left of the screen. Possibly my favorite two seconds of Donkey Ball.

Oh God, I can never top this F.A.F. y’all.

-Beverly “That’s My Hometown” Goldenstein

P.S. Please go watch the slow struggle of that man in the pink. (Also, there’s another really funny video that I can’t edit correctly to conceal Alfred’s [and my hometown’s] identity. If you can’t get enough Donkey Ball, shoot me a text and I’ll send it your way.)

I keep seeing this floating around on Instagram…

and I love it because…

a) I like funny people on the Internet (I wanna be a funny person on the Internet!)

and

b) it just made me laugh thinking about how the Goldenstein residence Wi-Fi has no password, as no one can get close enough to Smoke and MamaG’s house to steal their Wi-Fi.

Because if you did get, Smoke would come out and hunt you down in his undies with a flashlight. Remember that? If not, catch up (or even if you do remember, reminisce) here and then here. Oh, Lordy.

-Beverly “I Come By It All Honestly” Goldenstein

To any of you who have ever sneezed while you had a slipped/herniated/extruding/bulged disc (27 second mark):

-Beverly “Ibuprofen for Breakfast” Goldenstein

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted and, let’s be real, it might be a hot minute until I post again!

But I recently had to stop at the store on my way home from work for two items (brow pencil and mouthwash) and I kept repeating “browthwash” in my head as I left work, and I just wanted to let you all know know that it’s really still same shit different day over here.

Now, just listen to (literally) the first 3 seconds of this… Then back to regularly-scheduled programming.

-Beverly Browthwash Goldenstein

I’m back in Mayberry and have been busy celebrating ‘Murica with my family and friends in the area. (Sidenote: I like it when July 4th is on a Thursday. 4-day party, anybody?) Due to the high volume of alcohol being consumed for the past 36 years few weeks, my good buddy, Edith, and I decided to take a break last night to do a good deed for our parents and their friends. Basically, our parents and many of their friends were attending a big “all-school” class reunion last night in Thornville, and Edith and I offered to stay sober and drive the revelers home to the surrounding small towns. Edith and I thought it’d be kind of a “hoot” if you will…. we’d take a night off from slamming Coors Lights, maybe make an extra buck or two to put toward our road trip next week, and we’d probably end up with some good stories.

Wanna know how it went?

a) We didn’t get any rides. None. These folks have zero problem drivin’ dirty, I guess.

b) I fell. 

I. Fell.

I was 100% sober.¹

And I fell in the middle of the street. Just ditched it.

I had on a pair of (really cute) slides, hit a patch of loose gravel on a slight downward incline, and lost all control.

Edith kindly asked if I was OK before snapping photos of me on the ground.

I also have a picture of me on a gravel road next to a corn field with my pants down checking for knee injuries (they were minor). It’s a spectacular photo, and if you’d like to see it, please text me individually. (It’s not too risqué or anything. I just don’t feel the need to have these Thunder Thighs on the internet, man. And, yes, I’m deeming Thunder Thighs a proper noun.)

So, there’s what happens to me when I decide to spend a Saturday night (possibly the most beautiful Saturday night of the summer, by the way. Absolutely perfect weather….) sober. The Lord quite literally strikes me down.

So, now I’m sitting at Smoke and MamaG’s kitchen table mainlining mimosas and writing this post.

Kidding, Mom! I’m drinking coffee and submitting my contact lens rebate like a grown-up. I’ll probably manage to break a rib in the process.

-Bev

¹Disclaimer: I had gone out on a boat with Bessie and a bunch of her friends earlier in the day and had a few drinks, but I balanced with tons of water, ate a lot of dip food, and hadn’t had a drink in at least four hours when this happened.)

What you say: “Bev, are you going to the parade?”

What I hear: “Bev, are you going to go sit in the sweltering-ass sun to sweat your balls off, get weird tan lines, and watch horses shit in the street? There will also be the occasional siren to set off your startle reflex, but it’s OK because when you piss your pants, it’ll just blend in with your ass sweat.¹ Oh, and maybe a small child will come dangerously close to being run over by a tractor ten feet away from you!”

So, no. I’m not going to the parade you sick bastards.

I’ll be there for the buffet after though.

Cheers to America and all that though.

-Bev

¹This ain’t InDEPENDence Day, man.

OK, I’ve hinted at this story a few times and I wanted to actually follow up on one of my “remind me to tell you…” statements that I’ve made about 1,582 of on this blog.

The story is from Gertrude’s going away party from college. She was celebrating in her college town, which is only about an hour and a half away from Mayberry, and she invited her parents (Uncle Bart and Aunt Sue) and her favorite aunt and drunkle (Smoke and MamaG) to join her as she celebrated with all of her college roommates and friends. Being the ever-frugal Germans that they are, Smoke and MamaG shared a hotel room with Uncle Bart and Aunt Sue.

Let’s just say, the party must have been fun, because a certain aunt of mine wasn’t feeling very well the next day. Like, not feeling well to the extent of praying to the porcelain gods. And we all know how horrible that feeling is. The one where you just know you’re going to throw up. The act is imminent. It’s only a matter of time. Nothing stands between you and that toilet. 

But you know what was standing between Aunt Sue and that toilet?

My dad.

More specifically, my dad standing at the sink.

Shaving.

In his undies.

So, basically, MamaG had to grab undie-clad Smoke out of the bathroom so Aunt Sue could puke in privacy. 

While Smokey G stood in the middle of a hotel room in his underwear with shaving cream on half of his face.

So, that’s my family. 

Seriously, between Smoke and Sue, I have enough content for at least five books.

-Bev

You guys know Aunt Sue well. And while I told you recently that we were out of Spot Sue pictures for a while, I neglected to tell you that I had a Stellar Sue Story. Now, I could make this a weekly feature and legitimately never run out of content, but I need to give Aunt Sue a (brief) respite from online teasing, so I’ll keep that series to one story for now (so, you know, not a series at all). I might have to share the shared hotel room story too, but after that? Aunt Sue is off limits for a few weeks. (This break will be conveniently timed with Bev’s presence back in the Mayberry area)

Anyhoo, this Stellar Sue Story comes from a recent interaction I had with Aunt Sue via phone. Keep in mind that, while I consider myself pretty close to my aunts and uncles (at least closer than the average 36-year-old might be) but it’s not like I call them on the phone. I mean, I don’t call anyone. So I may shoot some texts back and forth with my drunkles and aunts, but regular phone calls (or any phone calls) aren’t really a thing.

So, imagine my surprise last Saturday when I came back from the restroom to find a missed call from Sue. I called her back within minutes, thinking something might be wrong back home. Here’s how the conversation went…

Are you calling me, Bev?

Well, you just called me, Sue.

I did?

Yeah- I have a missed call from you like two minutes ago.

Oh, either I called you from my watch or (cousin) Gertrude called you from my car. 

*laughs* OK.

What are you up to?

I’m just headed to the grocery store- what are you doing?

(hard to understand/hear because she’s talking on her Apple watch and must’ve moved it away from her mouth)… We’re just helping Bessie and Alfred move.

Oh, nice! Well, I hope you have a few cold beers waiting for ya for when you’re done.

Well, we were packing last night and I was drinking that whole time.

Oh, good.

I better get goin’ here, we’ve got the van full of stuff to unload. Good talkin’ to ya!

Yeah, you too! See ya in a few weeks.

***********

And then she went back to helping Bessie and Alfred move and I got in my car to head to the grocery store.

And that’s when the voicemail came in.

Cousin Gertrude. In Aunt Sue’s car. Accidental call. Voicemail below. 

**Note: voicemail is slightly edited to protect Gertrude’s and my identities. But she leads off with, “Hey Bev. It’s Gertrude…” Listen to the rest below. (also, I’ve never uploaded a movie from my own computer before, so let me know if it doesn’t work. I probably won’t be able to fix it, but I’ll have Edith and champagne on standby for tech support.)

G voicemail

I just die. I realize this might not be funny to anyone else, but I cannot listen to this voicemail without crying laughing.

-Bev