Invented a texting language to express regret, remorse code.

Manufactured an instrument under the label “Viable Vocations,” the Jeremy VioLin. If you have Chinese-American child, they’re still more likely to be a music prodigy than an professional athlete. Have your kid start with learning the triangle and then work their way towards learning the triangle offense. Unfortunately, Lin’s teammate wouldn’t agree to approve a Carmelo cello.

Founded a combination BBQ eatery and computer center, Hog-n-DOS (for fast service, use our hard drive-thru Windows). We served no ice cream, which really confused and angered customers. One even pulled out a Magnum on us (the covered in chocolate kind). Don’t worry, he’s behind bars now – ice cream bars.

Wrote the titles for Mitt Romney’s Presidential campaign tome, should he win, Mittigating Circumstances, or lose, AdMitt Defeat.

Pitched a marching band make-over show, Sex Cymbal.

Recorded the blanket ballad, “Teach Me How to Snuggie.”

Fermented an Asian wine, Filipino Grigio.

Produced a movie about proposing while plastered, The Five-Beer Engagement.

Brokered deals for two Donald Trump-endorsed e-readers, the Amazon Kindle You’re Fired and the Barnes & Noble Crook.

That's a wrap: Our hip-hop sandwich shop folded.

Developed a swearing Scrabble-esque game, Curse Words with Friends because you can’t spell “fun” without ‘f-u.’

Operated a car detailing and rental service for criminals, A Clean Getaway.

Formed a  boy bard band, Pun Direction, whose forthcoming album is called, As You Mic It. To further taunt Simon Cowell, they all wear cowls and were cloned from Ryan Seacrest DNA (call it the XY Factor) .

Created a game show where contestants identify auto repairs, Name That Tune-Up (alternate title: Your Lucky Brake).

Designed a Michael Jackson-themed juice bar, Smoothie Criminal.

Convinced Facebook to buy our photo program, Instagrahamcracker, which through a digital filter, adds wafers to pictures (tip: be sure to turn off your browser’s cookies when using it), thus instantly making the images appear older, since no one has eaten the sweet snack since the 1950s . We can assure you, Mr. Zuckerberg, there’s S’more brilliance where that came from.

I come to learn that London Bridge isn’t “falling down, falling down.” That’s the last time I trust a nursery rhyme. To make matters worse, the black sheep weren’t telling me if they had any wool, so I came home with three bags empty.

Disappointed not to find the Rolling Stones at Stonehenge. Nor did I spot Emma Stone, Sharon Stone or Stone Phillips. Realized that the only people interested in a circle of standing rocks with a mysterious origin and possibly mystical meaning are pot heads and plan for a “Stonedhenge” park in the states, where we sell Phish ‘n chips.

Despite asking several blokes on the street, no one can direct me toward The Ministry of Silly Walks.

After I accidentally get locked in a bathroom, I start writing the song, “Trapped in the Water Closet.”

Since a sign has been put up at King’s Cross marking platform 9 and 3/4, I move on to my search for duffle coat-wearing, marmalade sandwich-loving bear from deepest, darkest Peru at Paddington Station.

Even among the Brits, there’s no interest in financing my Guy Ritchie parody gay porno, Cock, Sock and Two Smoking Buttholes. Also had no backers for my musical theatre piece, Krumping with Crumpets.

Visited the reconstructed Globe Theatre. Noted the irony that in Shakespeare’s time the shape of the venue was round, while today it’s the audience who is round.

Attempt to break the concentration of the Buckingham Palace guards by asking them how white guys grew such great afros.

Joked that the only work Posh Spice can hope to get is in a deodorant ad, if she’s willing to call herself “Old.”

Hit on what I believe to be a beautiful woman. It turns out to be Eddie Izzard in drag. Time to leave London.

Saw Notre Dame cathedral. Tried to spike a football inside, but security confiscated it. Fun fact: In the U.S., Notre Dame is associated with the Fighting Irish, but here it’s connected to the Retreating French.

Conquered the French in under 3 hours. This is now the Marc de Triomphe.

Since I am a “stranger” in this land, I disguise myself as an author and philosopher, calling my outfit “Camus-flage.” I think he’d appreciate the absurdity.

Try to start an even shorter art movement than Fauvism, named “Favreauism,” where every painting is a portrait of John Favreau. It is widely panned as the ugliest style ever committed to canvas.

Went a little crazy walking along the river. Later, a doctor diagnosed me as having gone “in Seine in the membrane.”

I must admit, the baked goods here are delicious. The croissants are flakier than Brian Wilson (both the pitcher and the singer).

Expected to encounter an enormous sports store on Champs-Elysees. Then I remembered the only thing the French do competitively is smoke.

Confused a street mime when I suggested he think outside of the invisible box.

After another rude encounter, I write off the French as a people. Quickly extend it to include French Stewart and French’s mustard. Later, determine I have a Louvre-hate relationship with the nation.

Frustrated at the lack of wi-fi at a famous French landmark, write a letter to Apple, proposing they buy the monument and re-name it “The iFfel Tower.”

Spend several hours playing a game where I stop passersby and ask them, “Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?”

After I vogue outside of the fashion magazine’s Paris office, I come to the conclusion I’m Bordeaux out of my mind.

Even after three days, I refuse to surrender to Paris’ charm. I’ll leave surrendering to the experts.

Uncertain if forward John Henson will be able to play, North Carolina commissions Jim Henson studios to make a muppet mimic, which goes unnoticed until Yahoo Sports reports on it, taking Gonzo journalism to another level. Meanwhile, Gonzaga is annoyed it didn’t think of this first.

In a move that surprises no one,  the Wichita State Shockers become the favorite of frat boys everywhere, while Xavier is supported by comic book geeks who hope the special school is full of mutants.

Harvard is disqualified after failing to emerge from the locker room of their halftime matchup against Vanderbilt because they have to cram for their mathematics exam, concluding that game theory is more important than the game.

Kentucky escapes by the skin of their teeth against Western Kentucky, which is an idiom most people in the state can’t relate to.

King of the Castlevania: The only Belmont we're experts on is Simon.

Small school sensation Murray State shows up ready for their first-round meeting, but lose because Jermaine and Bret aren’t present. It makes for a long flight (of the conchords) home.

Disgruntled Orlando Magic center Dwight Howard adds Duke to the list of teams he’s willing to be traded to. Having never played college ball, the NCAA immediately declares him eligible to suit up and asks Duke if there’s anything else they can do to help. Duke requests that the NCAA hire circus performers as referees, so it’ll be easier for the officials to swallow their whistles when it comes to making calls against the Blue Devils.

In an ironic twist, following an upset,vengeful Syracuse fans burn the UNC-Asheville campus to ashes.

Notre Dame refuses to play their scheduled contest on St. Patrick’s Day, citing “religious and intoxicated reasons.”

Your only “sleeper” selection that comes true, is when you correctly predict that your girlfriend will force you to spend the night on the sofa when you put your foot down and declare that you’re watching Creighton, instead of accompanying her to Crate + Barrel. You earn a second stay in the easy chair by choosing Marquette over a trip with her to the market.

After seeing a Hooters commercial for the 1,000th time, you still can’t decide which seems more astoundingly artificial: the women or the food.

I shall hold strong against this temptation.

I believe in taking the high road of low brow humor in defenestration of such a man. There’s plenty of douchebaggery to go around and to immediately jump into that water, thereby displacing the hatred of one minority with that of another carries far too much sad irony with it.

Christie’s a jerk-ass, and as such it is completely irrelevant of any physical weight on the matter and reliant more on the spiritual weight of it all. To that end, I’ve come up with some conclusions as to how Gov. Jerk-Ass (with aspirations of higher political jerk-assery in his future) may have come to such a decision.

Gov. Christie defending his “Bigger than a handful or GTFO!” Bill.

• He’s afraid global warming proponents will be proven correct by strange weather patterns when it does, in fact, start raining men
• Doesn’t want to break the illusion from Harold & Kumar movies that NPH is a drug fueled heterosexual chick magnet who he just might run into some day
• Concerns that Bruce Springsteen will have to change his cover of Tom Waits’ iconic song to “Jersey Boy”
• Belief that” Six Flags” will rename itself “Six F…” – well, you get the idea
• Doesn’t want to lose the privilege of making boobs out of the W’s on Wawa signs by drawing little nipples on them
• The phrases “Can you pump my gas?”, “Skiballing on the Shore”, and “Going down the NJ Turnpike” will suddenly become double entendres
• Really loves Mitch and Cam’s witty repartee on Modern Family and doesn’t want to ruin the illusion
• Will have to think up various excuses to his use of the word “fierce” to describe the NJ Devils
• Mistakenly under the assumption that, while not indulging in orgies, gays are left to satisfy their OCD desires and would therefore undermine him in actually getting the beaches of Jersey cleaned up of all those pesky hypodermic needles
• Took Christmas songs a little too literally growing up, believing that during the holidays he will, in fact, be required to “don we now our gay apparel”
• Will now be considered New York’s “Power Bottom”
• Doesn’t want to see The Sopranos made into a Broadway show centered around actual soprano singers
• Eternal looming question “Overly-teased big haired Bon Jovi fan or Drag Queen?” would damn most relationships from the start
• Worries that official state response to “How You Doin’?” would be “Faaaabulous!”

1:3 Odds a despondent Aaron Rodgers pantomimes hanging himself with his imaginary championship belt.

10:1 Odds we dub his maneuver the “discount double choke.”

1:10 Odds Al Michaels spaces out and thinks he’s calling the Indy 500 race.

1:20 Odds Giants WR Victor Cruz puts a literal spin on his salsa dance celebration but dunking a football into a jar of salsa if he scores. 1:15 Odds he does the limbo under the goal posts.

1:25 Odds Pats coach Bill Belichick switches from a sleeveless hoodie to a hood-less one.

1:50 Odds Madonna brings Tim Tebow onstage during halftime for a duet of “Like a Virgin.”

1: 100,000 Odds Tebow then converts Madonna to Christianity.

1:75 Odds a confused Harrison Ford is spotted at the game wearing a fedora and holding a bullwhip because he noticed “Indy” has been trending all week.

2:1 Odds Giants coach Tom Coughlin’s face turns all colors on the Homeland Security’s terror alert level chart before the game is over.

Aaron Rodgers has gone to the State Farm upstate.

1:5 Odds Chad Ochocinco will change his name to “Uno Super Bowl-o” or “Cero Super Bowl-o,” depending on the outcome.

1:500 Odds Pats TE Rob Gronkowski spikes the ball so hard that it leaves the Earth’s atmosphere.

1:1,000 Odds it collides with an NBC satellite, causing a temporary blackout for TV viewers.

1:20 Odds Eli Manning gets choked up after the game.

1: 30 Odds he gets choked out… by jealous brother Peyton.

1:50 Odds Pats enormous DT Vince Wilfork gets injured and has to be carted off the field by a forklift.

1:80 Odds versatile Pats WR/DB/returner Julian Edelman is asked to call plays.

1:15 Odds he’s asked to star in an NBC series.

1:100 Odds that if Tom Brady wins his third championship the Tea Party will nominate him, as a true Patriot, to run for President.

50:1 Odds Brady, should he accept the nomination, will immediately be beating Mitt Romney in the polls.

1:200 Odds New York’s game-day ritual consists of listening to They Might Be Giants, watching Little Giants and shopping at a Giant supermarket.

1:300 Odds New England counters by watching The Patriot, Patriot Games and It’s Pat: The Movie.

1:15 Odds that more Americans who DVR the game fast forward through the football to watch the commercials.

Take his latest boast for instance. By the end of his second term as president, Newt has promised that he’ll establish a colony on the moon. While its primary function will be as port of call for future expeditions to Mars, I can only assume it has the secondary function of housing his disposed of wives.

I can’t say that I’m the biggest Gingrich supporter in the world. I may have on more than one occasion claimed that the Jay-Z/Kanye West “Watch the Throne” album name is also applicable as a warning for anyone who follows him after using a restroom. This interstellar project would fit his M.O. though (divorcing himself from a dying planet in order to shack up with a newer, hotter celestial body) so I’m fully ready to sign those papers and get him off this rock.

People have questions how such a plan can be put into action. I’m happy to answer.

Where is the money from this going to come?
We’re hoping to mine the moon for precious moon rocks, which as we all know is actually the primary ingredient in Splenda. Failing that, we’re pretty sure Ron Paul is secretly a leprechaun and will give us his pot of gold if we can only catch him…

Where is the technology going to come from to make this possible?
You forget that  the GOP has had a long established R&D department. They managed to keep the fear engine running 10 years after 9/11. It’s also a lesser known fact that they’ve already established nanotechnology used in the design of several automatons that look and feel just like real people. Incidentally, should Newt win, Romney will be broken down into his smaller base parts and used in the shuttle construction.

How would we power such a machine?
Newt has a plan involving liquifying orphans and the homeless that he’s discovered makes a powerful rocket fuel. This is also doubly helpful for dropping those employment rates. The pitch to a new labor force – “Exciting availability in advancing technology job market. Little to no experience needed. Lots of travel abroad, chance to see the stars. Power the new wave of American exploration!”. There’s also word we could use the sexual frustration of the sexless marriage between Michelle and Marcus “I’m not fooling anyone with this hetero routine” Bachmann.

What nation’s jurisdiction does the moon fall under?
America has established several precedents involving such disputes, notably citing the landmark case of “Finders and Keepers” (with the tangential law being established as the “Losers Weepers” bill). While not iron clad, we plan on licking it first and telling China “If you want it so bad, have it, but it’ll have our spit all over it”.

Should we worry about any hostile extraterrestrial life?
Of course not.  As soon as we get there, then they’re the aliens. Which means they’re on our land and must leave. We’ve also watched Superman II on repeat and we’re pretty sure we could always launch them into the phantom zone should the need arise.

What sort of alternatives to this have been proposed?
While a trip out to space is of course the ideal, we’ve also offered up several back up plans. We’ve yet to develop foreign relations with Hogwarts, drill to the center of the Earth to looking for a tunnel to China, nor asked Doc Brown to harness any sort of flux capacitor. Obama thought we should invest in renewable resources along with exploring opportunities in our tech sector and skilled labor markets. What an ass.

Rick Santorum: Is so pro-family, that he only buys family-sized portions of products (no Kraft Singles for him) and hasn’t watched TV since Family Ties went off the air (with the exception of Family Feud). If elected, will change the Constitution to allow children to vote, so he’s guaranteed at least 20 votes from the Duggars’ household alone.

Rick Perry: Wants to eliminate not only departments of government, but also department stores. As commander-in-chief, will order veterans returning from Afghanistan to bomb Bloomingdale’s. To atone for the racist name of his family’s vacation written on a stone, will ask Sly Stone to be his running mate, reasoning that the best way to get out of a funk is to get into funk.

Herman Cain: Sexually harassed The ‘Noid, which was thought to be impossible, due to the creature’s lack of genitalia. His 9-9-9 plan is actually 6-6-6, he just mistakenly read his deal with the devil upside-down.

Michelle Bachman: Under her suit jacket, she’s wearing a straight jacket. Under that she’s wearing a corset. And under that she’s wearing a necklace with a vial of Billy Bob Thornton’s blood (yup, who he gave it to when he and Angelina broke up).

To court the youth vote, Perry will now say "my bad," instead of "oops."

Newt Gingrich: Actually left his own campaign months ago, asking to be released from his “Contract with America.” The Yankees immediately signed him to a 4-year, $70 million deal.

John Huntsman: Influenced by his time as ambassador to China, his immigration plan is to build a “great wall” around the U.S., covering it in duck sauce, so it’s too slippery to scale. Instead of  counting on a cabinet for counsel, he will seek advice solely from fortune cookies (it’s the same method he used to learn Chinese and pick lottery numbers).

Ron Paul: Even after learning he’s a man, still has a crush on RuPaul. Isn’t even interested in the office of the President, just enjoys being asked hypothetical questions, standing at podiums and wasting other people’s time. In other words, he really misses high school debate.

Mitt Romney: Has decided to embrace his “vanilla” image, hiring Vanilla Ice as a consultant, who has devised a three-point plan for Romney to “stop, collaborate and listen.” Intends to fake his own death before next November after learning that voters in a tiny Michigan town elected a deceased man mayor.

When I was 10, I brought her breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day. She sent it back to the kitchen and said if I didn’t learn to poach eggs properly I wouldn’t even be fit to operate the griddle at Denny’s when I grew up. When she got out of bed, she spanked me with a $1,000 spatula.

Mom told me to make my bed. When she came to inspect it, she said I had to re-do it because didn’t meet five-star hotel standards. Another time my sheets were tucked in sloppily and she forced me to lie on the bed and piled throw pillows on top of me until I could barely breathe. Later, she sent me to live at a Days Inn for a week as punishment. I saw enough stains in that place to last a lifetime.

She had me save my earwax in a jar, then when enough had been collected, taught me how to turn it into a scented candle. All the candles in her house are made from either her own earwax or that of the help, which she steals from them while they sleep.

Mom routinely washed my mouth out with soap. Not because I had misbehaved or said something inappropriate, just because she thought it was “good hygiene” and the best way to get the germs toothpaste missed.

If Mom was hosting a dinner party, I was expected to greet the guests at the door and offer to take their coats. I was expected to wear all the coats given to me until the guests left. Ditto with scarves, shawls, gloves, galoshes and hats. You could say I was an “accessory” to abuse. Or that  I literally had the wool pulled over my eyes. Did those last two sentences just give away that this book was ghostwritten?

At age 8, I baked a batch of brownies for my mom’s birthday. When she found out I had used a mix, she refused to eat them and instead used them as doorstops and paperweights. She then made me write “Betty Crocker is a whore” 100 times on a sheet of paper.

(Ear)wax on, (ear)wax off was part of Alexi Stewart's upbringing.

In 2006, I suggested an article for her magazine about how to tell which potholders are right for you. She rejected it because she said she believed in potholder polygamy and that it was impossible to pick just one perfect pair. She then slapped me several times with a velvet oven mitt.

After unsuccessfully trying to fold my napkin into a crane, she crane kicked me. Following a failed second attempt, she hired Ralph Macchio to crane kick me.

For my 18th birthday, Mom promised me a “motorized, wheeled machine that all my friends would be envious of.” She bought me a carpet shampooer.

While Mom was in prison serving her five-month sentence for insider trading, she stabbed her roommate and proceeded to tastefully decorate her cell with her victim’s entrails. She also started selling sequined shivs to fellow inmates.

In the summers of my college years, I interned for the home goods collection that bears her name as a thread counter. When a sheet set says 300, I can confirm that it actually is. The rough part of the job was that Mom made me use an abacus and Roman numerals.

Mom’s secret hobby is writing erotic fiction involving Mr. Clean and the Brawny man. One scene features a feather duster and is too filthy to describe.

The Hunger Gay-mes: In a recent interview actor Thomas Jane implied that when he was struggling to find work early in his career, he used to trade sexual favors with men for sandwiches. We think it’s best to leave the pastrami in the past. Reuben there, done that.

The irony would be if he used Tide: The man accused of poisoning trees on Auburn’s campus on behalf of University of Alabama supporters, apologized for his actions. Those at the school still think he’s the root of all evil.

Rock the vote: Presidential candidate Rick Perry has been facing accusations that his family rented a property with a racist name, which was also written on a stone on the grounds. It makes sense, since Perry has always been boulder than the rest of the Republicans running.

Putting the ‘strip’ in “comic strip”: Tom Wilson, the creator of the funny page’s Ziggy has died. To honor the character, we’re taking off our pants and heading to the nearest complaints counter.

Everybody hurts, especially their fans: After more than 30 years together, the band R.E.M. is breaking up. We can’t wait for Michael Stipe’s tell-all: Whiny, Unhappy People.

We don’t mean to of-fender: Jennifer Lopez is appearing in commercials for Italian car-maker Fiat, but the vehicle is nothing like her, since it has almost no trunk.

Justice is blind to prices: A report exposed that for a 2009 conference, the Department of Justice spent $16 each on 250 muffins. That’s an eye-poppying amount. Next time, buy the off-bran.

For who the dinner bell tolls: Texas has terminated last meal requests for death row inmates. From now on, the only thing fried will be the prisoners.

Farmers are the original pitchfork media and they prefer musical acts like The Cranberries and Korn.

Bad Road Trip: Actor DJ Qualls claims he was beaten up by Vancouver police after he tried to stop a bar fight. This is the worst hit in  Canada since Nickleback’s last song.

The birthday cookie is HTTP: Google turned 13 on Wednesday. Now that it’s become a man (at least in the eyes of its Jewish users), we were going to get it some dirty pictures, but it seems to already have a sizable stash of them.

Don’t have a cow: Tyson is recalling over 130,000 pounds of ground beef over contamination concerns. That’s a lot of chuck to chuck.

They were buzzed at the time: Tom Cruise and Tom Brady have trimmed their long locks. We at Concentrated Awesome have thinning hair, so we find their actions barber-ic.

Change your tone: Reebok is paying $25 million to settle a suit over claims its sneakers make calves and butts firmer. Nike encouraged customers of its competitor to take legal action, adopting the slogan: Just Sue It.

Blockbuster meet ball-buster: Netflix has announced separation of its and movies-by-mail and movies online services. Customers are doing less streaming and more screaming – until they’re blu-ray in the face.

Complimenting both the audience and my own writing skills will clearly be the focal point of our new business plan.

We’re insistent on driving this this rickety ass wagon directly forward (and right off the cliff ahead). We’ve provided you some laughs (3 and a half by my count) over the years and we think we can streamline our pop culture references for those who happen to drunkenly wander into the dark alley that is our comedic shanty town.

I’m going to miss Marc’s hoo-ha (in the straightest way possible).

Naming Conventions
We weren’t going to break up the Concentrated from the Awesome (you don’t split up the children). The only fair way seemed to be pistols at dawn for rights to title of the blog, but Marc felt that living in NYC gave me an unfair advantage in terms of firearms. Instead we did the exact opposite – pissing contest at dusk. Despite my having a good 50 lbs on him, he managed to keep the naming rights. Color me impressed. I’ve instead settled on Diluted Okay-ness.

Athletics
After 14 hours of trading off between Madden impressions and reenacting Al Pacino’s speech in Any Given Sunday, Marc talked his way into keeping sports and all sports related media. Baseball, Football, Hockey, you name it, is in Marc’s territory now. He then went on to bounce a basketball off my head and ask me to cry.

Van Damme
A hotly contested issue, how do you share such comedic, action packed, silver screen gold? Originally we mentioned figuratively chopping him up like a bucket of KFC where “you get the legs, I got the muscles and those piercing eyes” until our significant others began to seriously question our sexual preferences. At gunpoint, Marc won all his action movies except for Street Fighter and the one dancing scene from Kickboxer.

Time Wasting
Marc would get lollygagging, tomfoolery, buffoonery, capering, clowning, fooling, rough-housing, pratfalling, cavorting, romping, rollicking, frolicking, cutting loose, cutting up and horseplay. I would get shenanigans, goofing off, slacking, cracking, loitering, bumming, slumming, crumbumming, boondoggling, monkeying around, mulling over, milling about, daydreaming, pipe dreaming, spacing out, zoning out, dawdling, loafing, oafing, and procrastinating.

Monkeys
Chimpan-A through M for me, Chimpan-N through Z for Marc. Marc would also get poop flingers, pickpockets, and knife fighters, while I would get monkey butlers, ninja monkeys, and circus monkeys.

Video Games
Marc brought a power glove to a zapper fight. Minus the aforementioned sports media, all video games fall within my domain. I tossed him a bone and gave him the Virtual Boy and the Wonderswan. He promptly threw them right back at me.

Candy
We’ll unfortunately have to separate peanut butter from chocolate. Reese is going to be fucking PISSED at us.

Facial Hair
Marc and I had to do some wheeling and dealing to come to a consensus here. Marc’s facial prowess does give him an edge in deciding – I’ve seen the man fall asleep on the sidewalk for 20 minutes with his 5 o’clock shadow and he sanded down 4 inches into the cement. That said, I conceded all beards goatees, and van dykes to him, which includes Chuck Norris’s himself. I, in turn, get all ‘staches, including those from Mario, Tom Selleck, and Rose O’Donnells. Hitler’s kind of a mixed bag to say the least.

Zombies
We mutually agreed I’d be NY’s only hope against an undead plague when it strikes.

Politics
We were confused as to how to divide bullshit until we came to the realization neither of us could handle it all single-handed.

Jersey Shore
Legitimate claims were held by both sides to this throne (a porcelain throne most likely). Jersey is Marc’s homeland and who better to crap on them than someone from The Garden State – except most of the cast comes from Staten Island, falling under New York territory. How best to decide? Marc would give up JS rights (which has a ceiling of about 3 years, and that’s generous) for a first round pick in the next Kardashian cluster fuck, with a Lohan return-to-rehab kicker. This may in fact be the only time anyone has ever fought over (instead of with) these people.

Music
I assaulted Marc by calling him “ol’ honky” until he gave up in confusion and disgust. I get rock, jazz, blues, and rap. He got polka and country.

Simpsons references
I think I embiggen the role necessary but Marc feels he’s way more cromulent for the responsibilities they entail.

Closing up a Post in a Sensical Way
Meh.