I heart my nerdy blog buddies.

Written by Justin Azevedo | 21 February 2011

Why? Well...

they don't fucking mind that I swear a fucking lot.
they don't think it's weird that I have to find out the answer to every question.
they suffer in Vancouver 364 days of the year and yet still have an awesome attitude. 
they come from Florida to watch a team that they once thought spoke french.
they want to meet me to see if my hands can keep up with my head.
they are an incredible depository of stats, numbers and other things I can use to win arguments.
they write on a site that could be mistaken for pornography if you looked at it the wrong way.
they drink quite a bit.
they talk on some random dude's podcast every tuesday.
they escape the clutches of the wifey to come drinking.
they know everyone.
they can descend into frat-boy quite quickly.
they think my OCD is funny.
they think my hopeless romanticism is funny too.
they inspire me to pay $5 for a seat cushion.
they allowed me to not be "that quiet nerd".
they take my calls on the radio even though sometimes I speak way too fast for most laypeople to understand me.
they make me like Joker by way of Photoshop.
they know the "chance flames make playoffs" (sic) is now around 56%.
they have mysterious connections. 
they suffer in -20 degree weather to watch an awesome hockey game.
they smuggle Fireball into stadiums.
they like to be called the same name as a candy bar.
they play pool to decide who buys me shots.
they make sure I'm still coherent after said shots. 
they treat me like a younger brother.
they only called me George three times.
they give me a bed to crash in and an awesome breakfast.
they absorb information from the TV even when they're unconscious. 
they wear helmets skating.
they stop using the dipsy doodles.
they organize a search party for me, even though I'm standing at the bar.
they buy Heritage Classic donuts.
they kinda suck at pool.
they don't call me fat...most of the time. 
they allowed me to work up a final tally of 1 Newcastle, 2 Jack and Coke, 6 Cuervo, 3 Patron and 5 other random shots.
they recorded me doing some stupid shit for posterity's sake.
they made sure I didn't lose my tie. 
they gave me an assist on American Pie, which was nice because apparently I sounded like a dying cat.
they love my 19 year old naivete.
they know who I am simply by the argyle sweater vest. 
they call me PG-13.
they think I'm kinda cool for some reason. Still trying to figure out what that reason is.
they come out to a place far away from home after a big day, while sick, and somehow put up with me for the whole night-even though I was completely wasted, kept asking questions and roped them into singing a duet about pre-wrapped sausages, money, treehouses, green coats and Dijon ketchup. Maybe choosing a song that was 8:13 was payback for all of that.

So, thanks, everyone, for making this weekend so fucking awesome. I'm sure I'll see all of you again at some point.

They were singing,
"Bye-Bye, Miss American Pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin, "this'll be the day that I die."

:)