BraiN

From The Brain of The Giant Head

Before They Were The ‘Shoemakers’

Last weekend I saw something that I never thought I’d see in a million years, and no, I’m not talking about Ben Wagner’s latest dance moves. Limousines were driving me everywhere. I was offered food every five minutes. Alcohol was free. And when I arrived, an announcer yelled my name into the mic as the crowd went wild. What was going on, you ask?

Jeff and Ann got married.

Now I’m not exactly the sentimental type, since my college diploma is piled somewhere under my dirty laundry and I still laugh at fart jokes, but this special occasion for two close friends of mine almost brought me to tears. (If the LGB danced on your feet, you’d come close to tears too.) So this is column is dedicated to them.

I remember Jeff and Ann before they were "The Shoemakers."

Jeff was a young soccer buff that planned to play professionally, earn millions, and then waste it while supporting his friends’ booze and video game habits. I met him for lunch at the end of every week, affectionately known as "Frisch's Fridays," in which he refused to pay for my food week in and week out. What a bastard.

I remember a young group of boys with plenty of time on their hands forming the now infamous Wet Moose Society. Jeff was a founding member. While groups like the Young Christians of America focused on good deeds and charitable work, we focused our efforts on spreading the gospel of apathy and laziness — two very important causes. One time, one member of the WMS puked all over the side of Jeff’s car while another spent the rest of the night yacking at the Afghan Whigs concert. But Jeff didn’t get upset and took care of his Moose brothers. That was very kind, but I still think the bastard should have bought me lunch.

Speaking of concerts, I can recall a certain Fiona Apple concert where Jeff "Shoe-Daddy" Shoemaker showed off his perfection of the suburban head-bob and the punk-rock skank. I laughed when he not only impressed us, but also impressed the 39-year-old leathered-up hillbilly woman dancing behind us. She offered to take him home and let him "do the two-step mosey" with her. He politely declined, noting that there was only one true woman he would ever do the two-step mosey with.

Ann was also a young soccer star but had an even bigger dream of winning the Olympic Gold for running in track, a sport she practiced each time she chased the getaway mobile after we toilet-papered her house. Two reindeer posed naughtily and one cement pig in her yard later, she got even in a big way.

The Wet Moose crew was catching a bite at good ‘ol Perkins before an evening of mischief. After the checks were paid and the hostess’s hand was high-fived, we dipped into the parking lot only to find that Shoe-Daddy’s car was no longer there. After hours of panicking and a soiling of our pants, we later discovered that Ann and her delinquent friends had copied Jeff’s car keys and moved his car into The Bowl’s lot. It was a prank that had gone unmatched. Until now.

We finally got even, didn’t we Moose fans. We permanently dirtied your floors, Ann. We gave you a never-ending mound of laundry all over your bedroom and piles of beer cans sporatically thrown next to your couch. We gave you something you can’t return to JC Penny or the Gap Outlet. We gave you something that will remind you of the Wet Moose Society every day for the rest of your life.

We gave you Jeff. Glad we got the last laugh.

Congratulations to Jeff and Ann for not only tying the knot, but also letting us all be a part of the wonderful ceremony. I hope you have a lifetime of happiness. And I will know if you do, because Roger and I will be living in your basement for years to come. --The Brain