With Angelic Host Proclaim
Expect short posts this week as I am surrounded by family and loved ones and all sorts of other things not conducive to blogging.

I know you're all dying to know what Pops got for Christmas this year.

In terms of material things, I got bupkes. Exactly what I asked for, incidentally.

Actually, that's not completely true. My wife and I got each other the same thing we've gotten each other every year since we've had kids: massive credit-card debt. It's become so predictable, I don't even bother wrapping it anymore. It's one of those special, special gifts you have to not save up all year in order to be able to not afford it when the holidays roll around. It's the kind of thing you can only manage with lots intense and special lack-of-planning.

She doesn't know this yet, but I've already gotten her (and myself) the same thing for next year.

Beyond that, I did get one other thing.

Keep in mind that some gifts can't be measured by size or shape or debt-incurred. Some speak straight to your heart.

This story is slightly complicated, but it's worth it.

Last Wednesday, devoted first-generation Bucketeer, the lovely and talented SJ put up this post about someone called Raul Julia Levy. Not Raul Julia, but apparently (not for sure, but apparently) his offspring.

To her post I made the following comment:
I would never have sex with that man. Mostly because no tabloid would pay me for the story if I did. I'm holding out for Wilmer Valderrama.

Har har, right? Juvenile, crude, lame pop-culture reference. Predictably Popsian. Not particularly offensive, I don't think, unless he'd had his heart set on having sex with me. Anyway, I forgot about it right around the time I made the comment.

And then, as if borne on the wings of Christmas angels, yesterday I got the following e-mail:

yo se lo que puedes hacer con tus dos titulos de histotia pendeja metetelos por el CULO



Raul

And it says it's from rauljuliajr@hotmail.com .

All of the joy and wonder of Christmas, right there in my free e-mail account (which is, to be fair, popsbucket@hotmail.com ). The only thing dampening my joy was my lack of familiarity with Spanish. I put it through BabelFish, but apparently BabelFish doesn't like translate abuse and potty-talk.

Desperate to know what was said, I referred the matter over to the lovely and talented Kati, whose blog is the Official Pops' Bucket Department of Teen Angst and Spanish-Language Translation. She also sometimes functions as the Bucket Ambassador to Armenia, but that status was provisional and then revoked when she returned from Armenia and was not caught smuggling hash out in balloons in her stomach.

According to Kati:

It says (or at least the best approximation of it that I can give you would be): I know what you can do with your two degrees in history asshole, shove them in your ass.

Anyways, that cracks me up. A lot.

Normally I would be offended that Kati would take such pleasure in seeing me misused in a foreign language, but I must say it also cracks me up. A lot.

It's a Christmas miracle.

Thanks, SJ. Thanks, Kati. Thank you, Jesus. I am one happy blogger.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 11:54 AM