Ever find yourself amazed at the brilliance of blog writer Pistols At Dawn but not understandingly completely what he says because he uses big words and references to smart-person-type-things?
Fear not friends, I’m here to help. I’ve taken one of Pistol’s recent blog posts (without permission, naturally) and will deconstruct it for you.
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Pistols @ Dawn |
Poobomber’s Translation |
| Whenever I hear interviews with Hollywood writers, directors and producers, there’s always one constant about how they got their first job: some kid they grew up with in some small town somewhere ended up making it big, and that kid gave the interviewee that break they always needed. And so, I always figured that I could just kick back, wait for one of my childhood friends to strike it rich, and then shamelessly attach myself to their coattails as The Member Of Their Entourage With Even Fewer Readily Discernible Skills Than The Average Hanger-on. |
Pistols says he’d rather let someone else do the hard work at becoming rich and famous, then attach himself to them. Pistols also capitalizes collections of words to turn them into a proper noun which seems like a lot of hard work, but nonetheless adds even more levity to his already hilarious self-deprecating statements. |
| However, as regards this plan for ill-deserved fame and fortune, I have chosen friends very poorly. |
Pistols is not Paris Hilton’s newest BFF yet. |
| Case in point: this weekend, I went to go see an actress friend perform in a play (my least favorite kind of play: a musical with no female nudity) with a group of other friends. Because it was the middle of the afternoon and I was thus only sort of drunk, my friends tricked me into driving (several of them did so by engaging in the very effective strategy of Not Owning A Car). |
Pistols likes titties. His female friend performs in a play which he attends, but the audience doesn’t get to see her titties, or any other titties for that matter. |
| On the way home, one of my friends decided that this would be the perfect chance to show off his new iPod Touch’s capabilities, which, like the iPhone, includes the ability to be an enormous douche to the people you’re out with. While this complaint can’t help but make me sound like Miss Manners or some other boring old out-of-touch biddy with a foot and a half in the grave, I am unclear as to what separates iPhone users from the rest of us except for the fact that iPhone users think it’s perfectly acceptable to play with their phones for the entirety of our conversations. | Pistols doesn’t mention anything about sleeping through the play which would indicate there may have been incidental nudity, but nothing is explicitly stated. |
| Now, I’m a huge fan of not talking to people, mostly because so few of them reach My Own Opinion Of Me on my interesting scale (to be fair, very few people reach my levels on actual scales as well). But if I left my house to drink in a place near you, then the least you can do is pay attention to me for the hour before I pass out or start a fight, because I assure you that I’m far more entertaining than whoever you’re texting emoticon-heavy vagaries to. Most cell phone users have figured this out, but apparently, the iPhone comes with a license to be wholly uninterested in people you’ve known for a decade because you’re really into downloading a fake Zippo you can use for all those times you need to light your e-cigarettes, start virtual forest fires, and burn down the apartment buildings of your Second Life ex-paramours. | Pistols wants an iPhone touch. |
| One such app had been downloaded by my iTouch-obsessed friend, and as I attempted to weave through busy traffic in a part of town I never go to because it’s lame, another friend would call me, wait for my voicemail to answer, and then pass her phone to the iTouch-haver, who would use this revolutionary device to make electronic fake fart sounds until the voicemail would cut them off circa minute three. | Pistols didn’t drive them to any nudie bars on the way home. |
| I should add that they did this multiple times, and howled like banshees for the entirety of it. I tried to shoot them down by saying, “When Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone so many years ago, he had a dream. And a lot of people laughed at that dream, calling it ‘old-fashioned’ and ‘corny.’ But he told all those naysayers to eat it. Because one day, despite what they thought, he knew that one person in a car would use their phone to call another person in a car some four feet away, just so another person can hold up another computerized device with which he would make unconvincing electronic flatulence sounds. Then, and only then, will we truly see God in the machine,” but they were too busy laughing at fake farts to pay much attention to me. |
Pistols should have drove them to a nudie bar. |
| Later, they kept laughing and asking me to play back those messages, as if, like a fine wine or a Taco Bell ground beef-heavy meal in the GI tract, they’d comedically ripened over the ensuing twenty minutes. | Pistols implies his friend’s fart jokes haven’t been repeated enough to become funny yet. |
| In short, none of my friends will ever amount to anything, and I will always be destitute, partially because they won’t ever give me that lucrative job I so clearly deserve, and partially because I’m going to have to pay hundreds of dollars each month for extra minutes just to get a bunch of fart-filled voicemails. Awesome. |
Pistols infers that he needs a new cell phone plan, and also that his friends are all Seth Rogen.
We are left humbled by Pistol’s ability to craft an incident involving no nudie bars into a masterful little story about how his friends sent him farty voicemails. On a deeper level we understand that during these economically unstable times, a viable method of generating low cost entertainment is to associate with other people and to indulge in their own extracurricular activities. Moreover, these other people we label as ‘friends’ often behave in predictable yet unpredictable ways when faced with such things as the tedium of an uninteresting city drive, and that not all persons will meet our expectations. And even though their mannerisms may slightly infuriate us, they endear themselves through such inane acts, and we holistically enjoy their company. Also, I think there was some sort of reference about Pistols being a poor lover in there somewhere, but I’ve failed to find it. |
I have never read Pistols at Dawn. I am appropriately ashamed.
I didn’t read him for a long time, either, for some strange reason. However, his use of the word “triptychs” in a post dragged me into his bloggy world hook, line, sinker and float.
You gotta read Pistols, he’s brilliant!
Wow, this is kind of like when ESPN felt the need to translate Dennis Miller’s references and big words when he was on Monday Night Football.
Except, you know, it’s funny and not lame, which means that it can’t in any way shape or form be the work of some small-dicked loser at ESPN.
Well done, Poo. Well done, indeed.
The craziest thing is he actually talks like that, too!
Heh, this was like a public service.
Thanks Poob!
Excellent analysis, sir. But, even though you’ve written this post directly to him, I will bet x amount of dollars (where x< or= 0, because I don’t even have enough money to bet on a sure thing) that he still won’t bother to leave you a comment.
Oh this was great.
It sounds like PAD could upgrade his entorage simply by stopping by a prison during visiting hours and hanging out with random inmates.
It would make for some epic blog posts, especially when he gets snarky and is pummled by his new buddies.
Sort of like shock therapy for douce bags.
Nice work, how long did this take you?
Actually, the real question is how much work did you have to put aside to do this?
The more work ignored the cooler you are.
Then I’m getting cooler as we speak!