Last week I wrote about Lonnie’s Easter egg hunt. No one saw it because Vice is so hip they think things people spend an hour writing should only be visible to the web-viewing public for 1/4th that amount of time before being hidden away in the intraweb like the Ark of the Covenant in Indiana Jones. It is beyond annoying and boy does it motivate me to keep writing this bullshit.
But I do it for Lonnie. Because Lonnie is a bright shining star just waiting to be discovered. Or at the least, waiting for lunch. Then supper. Then breakfast. Then repeat.
Last week I mentioned Lonnie was coming over to color Easter eggs and that he’d probably try and eat an egg whole, with the shell. He proved me wrong. I tried to feed him an egg with the shell still on but he wanted nothing to do with it. It might have had something to do with the three pizzas that we ordered and the fact that Lonnie ate one to the head.
My mother-in-law always gets me cool, goofy toys because she knows, like the child in her daughter’s stomach, I am quite juvenile. I like to play with toys and dress up in costumes and make up songs that neither rhyme nor have rhythm. One of my costumes is Super-Cow. My nephews love it. Rightly so; it is awesomo. So for Easter my mother-in-law found me a toy cow that poops out jellybeans. Anything that poops is bueno. To me. Not to Lonnie. I tried to have him eat some of the poop beans but he outright refused, believing that they were actual turds.
The funny thing is that when we filmed the VBS Unsolved Mystery of who shit on the carpet at my in-laws house, Lonnie or the cat, Lonnie had no problem eating the fake poo props. Lonnie is a complex fellow, I suppose.
This one portrait from Easter is of my father-in-law Russ’s removed herniated belly button. Many people I’ve emailed it to were grossed out by it. I think it’s cool. Mostly because I think Russ is cool. I thought it was cool when his old, broken belly button noticeably stuck out four inches past the rest of stomach. That’s just me. The guy can do no wrong in my book.
I still have to show you the rest of the Australia photos. And Monday, on Hitler’s Birthday, we go find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. Tuesday we leave the country. Who knows when I’ll write another one of these things? And if Vice keeps being gay about how long they’re visible the answer may be never.
For more Chris go to Chrisnieratko.com or NJSkateshop.com