So I am not a grammar geek by any means (check my previous entries! I suck at the grammar!!) but I spotted this written on a roofing company’s truck this weekend and it really cracked me up:
“We fix other guy’s mistakes!”
Okay, again, not a grammar geek, and I know what this truck is trying to say: other roofers are making mistakes, and we will fix ‘em for you.
But as it stands, with that apostrophe where it is, that quote pretty much says: “My name is Guy and I am a roofer. However, there are a bunch of other roofers named Guy out there and damnit, they’re making roofing mistakes left and right. Those other roofers also named Guy suck! But, don’t you worry. I’ll fix Guy’s mistakes for you!”
Dear Chicagoland: if you’re smart, you’ll just go ahead and stay away from all area Roofers named Guy in the first place. I mean, those roofers pack nail guns and who knows how long this Roofer-feud has been going down, so you just go ahead and take your business someplace else. You don’t want your roofing needs to get in the middle of that.
Right. While I am at it, you want more word wackiness? Recently, I went with a friend of mind to a restaurant on our work-sponsored lunch break to watch some baseball (by the way, the restaurant rhymes with TGI-there was no other place carrying the game she wanted to watch so there was nowhere else to go) So, while we were there, she ordered a big old slab ‘o Nachos for lunch.
But apparently everyone on earth was there watching the game and craving some TGI-Nachos, because when she ordered, the waitress informed her sadly, “Oh, I am sorry! We JUST ran out of Nacho-Meat.”
Which was fine. My friend is actually a vegetarian, so it’s not like she’d order the nachos with it anyway.
But, “out of Nacho-Meat?’
It sent us into hysterical giggles. I mean, the waitress classified it not as “raunchy-ass grade D ground beef cooked to death and tarted up with not-so exotic spices,” but … “Nacho-Meat”.
You know, like the meat procured from the elusive Nacho-Beast that roams free in the rural areas of eastern Oregon or something?
Seriously, after the waitress left, we spent the next five minutes or so trying to visualize the elusive Nacho-Beast.
Me? I guess I am not so imaginative, because my Nacho-Beast looked something like a buffalo, but smaller with udders that also makes its own Nacho-Cheese Stuff.
My friend however, admitted that sadly, she immediately gave in to horrible stereotypes. Her Nacho-Beast, while looking something like a buffalo, sported a Sombrero.
But seriously, Nacho-Meat! Loved by sports-watching TGI-patrons all over! Toby Keith would probably write a song talking 'bout his right to eat Nacho-Meat and kick ass! God bless the Nacho-Beast!
Other than that, my holiday weekend was just fine thank you. I spent the last four days getting up early, heading to the “beach” (read: huge-ass quarry-pool down the street with sand and grass), swimming in cool water, drying off in the sun*, reading books, getting too much sun, then rolling home early in the afternoon to do some napping, then waking up in time to go and drink too much beer.
Over. And over again.
Dear USA: If Sloth becomes an official Olympic sport: I am your girl.
* I have since decided 2004 is the year of the tan. I have not had a real tan in years, mostly because of you know, skin cancer fears. I am rationalizing this year’s irresponsible decision based on the fact I smoke so lung cancer will probably get me first. And really, is there anything better than rediscovering the satisfaction of peeling off a huge sheet of skin after the season’s first burn (you know, after the inital PAIN subsides)? Oh please, don't front. You know what I am talking about.