Bartholomew Excelsior Danger XIV is the crotchety little gnome in my head that masterminds more than half of the asinine things I say out loud.
For serious.
He's my friend though too. Not just an insane character I have to blame for my shock inducing statements. Naturally I'd
love to take credit for his ingenious but what kind of a rude sonuvabitch would I be if that were the case. An unoriginal one I can tell you that. Oh how the guilt would eat me alive like an intestinal parasite. That was all Bartholomew. Such a colorful imagination that guy has.
I was recently gifted a real life, tangible, I just might snuggle up on the sofa with him every night while I hoover Reese's peanut butter cups and watch Jersey Shore
* version of Bartholomew. Probably the most phenomenal gift ever bestowed upon me beside Nugget whom I brought forth from my loins and Husfriend who is, let's be honest, undeniably stuck with me for the rest of, well, forever. Coming across Bartholomew was far less painful than the from my loins-ing of Nugget and tends to laugh at more of my jokes than Husfriend (probably only because he isn't "onto me" yet).
This pretty new Bartholomew sits proudly outside my front door to
scare off greet our guests with the utmost class and sensibility. House guests typically prefer to have their weight speculated or be accused of only wanting to raid my fridge for booze. Right? And honestly, if you can tell me any one single thing better than having a rude gnome squatting next to a plant that turned out to be beautiful but smell like rotting emu carcass upon bloom, I will kiss you. Right. On. The. Mouth.
Trust me. You won't be disappointed with my smoochity goodness.
It is highly likely that the real-life Bartholomew will be my mascot for
BlogHer '10. He's eons cooler than that stupid Travelocity gnome. That thing is lame sauce. Always letting wildlife push him around like he's a nobody. Pfffft. Bartholomew is only recently breaking out of my head (and that one time I locked him in the closet) for his worldwide debut and he doesn't take no shit from no one. That's straight baller! Or something.
I'm pretty sure I lost all street cred when I started saying words like "smoochity" and "lame sauce". Damn.
Not to mention people already want to BE him.
*The only time I've ever watched Jersey Shore is when Joel McHale rips into it on The Soup. End confusion.
