Despite another shoveltastic morning, I think it's time for a little Friday morning positivity. Here are a few reasons to feel good today:

- I finally tasted the sweetness that is Blue Ribbon Barbecue in Arlington. Mmmmmm goooooooood. They don't have any beer and the seating is a little spotty, but the actual barbecue is top notch. It makes the ribs at Redbones taste like a pile of moldy buffalo scrotum. Let's face it - Redbones has been getting by on reputation for a while now. Let's pick it up a little, fellas.

- Scamper is going to be on the radio. Fa fa! Tuesday night (March 1, for those of you playing the "Scamper On the Radio" home game) at 9pm on WMBR 88.1FM. I totally heart being on the radio. I get all excited and goofy. I'm going to try to work some weird words and phrases into the interview section. If you have any requests, let me know. So far, I've been challenged to use "Darryl Hall" and "scrumtrilescent" in the same sentence.

- The pope's going to be okay! Again! He's my personal pipeline to Jebus, you know.

- February is almost over. February is crappy, but at least it's short. March is long and crappy, but at least we have our residency at the Abbey to keep you entertained. Oooo - check out the line-up. It's residencerrific!

- A lot of people have been asking me for advice lately. Despite the frequent references to mermaid-fucking and uses of the phrase "moldy buffalo scrotum," I apparently come across as a pretty wise and centered cat. So as an experiment (and more importantly, a way to fill up space when I can't think of anything to write in my journal), I'm going to transform this space once in a while into an advice column.

So if you've got a problem, a quandary, a pickle or a poople, you can email your buddy Brendo at brendan@scamper.net. I promise I will keep everything completely anonymous. Just please don't email me saying you're going to hurt anybody or kill yourself or whatever. Seriously - don't do it even as a joke. I'll just make a flip remark like "Can I have your stereo after you're gone?" and then you'll die and I'll feel bad.

- Spring training has begun. Hee hee.

Anyone else got any reasons to feel good today? Don't be shy - sharing is caring. I just made that up.

The stupidest sign posted in the kitchen area of my office this morning:

If anyone has borrowed my Tigger mug, please return it. I need it.

And no - I don't work in a pre-school. The best part is that it was not handwritten, but printed from Word. Someone took the the time to walk back to their desk, select just the right tone for their gentle-but-firm Tigger note, picked the right font size, aligned it correctly, printed it out and hung it on the pantry door for all to read.

There are some truly wonderful things about working in an office such as this one (we sell cock rings and cock ring accessories). I work in the very busy front desk/call center area of the building and it's usually pretty hectic. Some times of the year, I'm personally taking hundreds of phone calls from angry customers. You'd be amazed what can go wrong with a cock ring. And people get pissed.

To counterbalance this, there are entire departments in my building who do nothing all day. NOTHING. I should amend that - they eat donuts sometimes. Technically, that's "doing something." But really, they just sit around and do nothing.

Usually, the lack of evenly spread work doesn't bother me, except on those rare occasions in the middle of a hectic day when I've got 15 calls in the queue and I'm trying to answer them all frantically and sweating and cursing the day I took this job... and I get an email like "Please put the milk back in the door of the refrigerator!" And then the urge to kill starts to rise and rise and rise.

So today, I thought I'd open the comments forum up to people who want to bitch about their day jobs. Let's prevent a murder today, friends! Have at it, hoss.

Many things are afoot in the Scamper camp as we approach our March residency at the Abbey Lounge in the SVille. What? You hadn't heard about the residency? I pity you, ignorant foo'.

In the meantime, my friend Brian in LA posed the following question to me via email and I'm racking my brain for the answer:

"What would you rather fuck: a mermaid (hot female on top, fish on bottom) or a reverse mermaid (fish on top, hot female on bottom)?"

Personally, it would all depend on the state of the mermaid's vagina (scales? no scales?). But on first instinct, I think I'd have to go with the regular old mermaid, because at least there's a woman's face, breasts, etc. If you're fucking a reverse mermaid, I don't care what wacky position you manage to get her in - there's no disguising the fact that you're fucking a fish. Maybe some of you could live with that the next morning, but I don't think I could.

Any thoughts?

Without further ado, the recap of Greeber's bachelor party this weekend:

- I volunteered to drive myself, JDog and Jordan down to New York City. This road trip is always fun... until you actually get into the stress-filled labyrinth of taxis and anger known as Manhattan itself. I don't know if you've driven in New York lately, but if you're anything like me, it's guaranteed to fill you with a seering, white-hot rage. I mean, O.J.-level rage. But seriously - the only reason I ran down that obnoxious 10-year old in the Yankee cap with my car was that I really, really loved him. (recycled from Brendo's Best Jokes Collection, copyright 1992)

- When we arrived at the parking garage, Jordan and Joe peed for a combined 20 minutes. The stuff just kept coming. It was really extraordinary. It's like they were camels or something.

- We convened with the other members of the bachelor party at the Port Authority bowling alley for some beers, games and good times. Pete watched with obvious, almost sexual envy as an Asian teenager absolutely destroyed Dance Dance Revolution. You've got a long way to go if you want to compete in the big city, 12-Gauge.

- Oh, and Nate and Mike made a surprise appearance in the Rotten Apple. Apparently, they didn't have plans for the night, so they just got into Mike's new car/toaster and drove. They ended up at a bowling alley in the Port Authority building in New York City. Of course they did. Why wouldn't they? Makes perfect sense.

- After bowling, we went to dinner. Across the restaurant, a group of young ladies were having a rowdy celebration of their own - a bachelorette party. Now we were talking. After a few drinks, the bachelorette herself came over and asked what our deal was. When we told her, she replied "We figured you guys were either a bachelor party or a Dungeons and Dragons convention." Ouch. You know - when a group of girls get together, they're just mean.

- Many drinks later, it was time for some serious debauchery. I mean, this was a bachelor party, right? Bring on the skanks, right? Wrong, actually. You see - Greeber is only heterosexual in the absolute most basic definition of the word. Most of the accoutrements of being a straight guy completely escape him. So instead of shoving dollars across the silky, cocoa butter-covered skin of a smiling-on-the-outside-bitter-inside "law student" in a spangled g-string, our party ends up at a piano bar singing Elton John songs. Read that last sentence again. It actually turned out to be really fun, but Jesus Christ. I could almost feel a clitoris growing out of my body just being there.

- Luckily, my heroic New York buddy Nick came to my rescue. While the others were belting their way through the nineteenth chorus of "Tiny Dancer," Nick and I snuck out of the piano bar to visit a local strip club. Sadly, the bouncer didn't like the way I was dressed and wouldn't grant me admittance. Apparently, a black hooded sweatshirt and work boots would offend the delicate sensibilities of the young ladies rubbing their bare asses in guys' faces for a dollar. It's like the Russian Tea Room in there, apparently. Fucking Manahattan.

- At the end of the night, I got my sweet revenge on the cruel world by keeping the six of my closest friends that were crammed into a hotel room with me awake all night with my buzzsaw-like snoring. Any of the other snorers out there? Have you ever woken up after sharing a room with a group of people to discover they're all mad at you? But they can't really say anything, because they know it's not your fault. They're just sort of quietly angry at you. It's awesome.

That's about it. It was actually a great time and I did manage to spank and dry hump Gordon a few times, which is all you can really ask for in a bachelor party. Oh, and I officially hate New York City. There are Yankee fans everywhere.

This weekend, I am trotting down to the Big Apple for Greeber's bachelor party. Some predictions:

- Going into the weekend, there was some question as to whether Jordan would actually be able to attend, due to a previous girlfriend-related commitment. Prediction: Jordan will show up, but will be wearing a flowered skirt and a tampon in his vagina.

- If history is any indication, I will - when approached by an unattractive stripper - slap a dollar in front of Pete and say "It's his birthday." Pete will then respond with "For your birthday, remind me to get you a root canal."

- While eating a pastrami on rye from Katz's Deli, Joe will visibly orgasm, ruining everyone else's dining experience.

- Eric the best man will start out the evening as a responsible adult and end it as a quivering ball of infantile human flesh. It will be, in a word, hilarious.

- Gordon's right nipple will never feel the same again.

- I will feel gross for about four and a half weeks.

I'll let you know how it all turns out on Tuesday. Have a nice long weekend, and don't forget about Nate at the Abbey tonight.

Good friends,

Don't have plans for tomorrow night? Of course you don't, you pale friendless loser. Why not come by the Abbey Lounge in Somerville and check out our own certifiably sexy Nate Rogers? No Prob Natebo will be one of the few, the proud, the performers doing duets with the incomparable Jason Halogen of (strangely enough) the Halogens. Also slated to perform with Jason:

Brett Rosenberg
Luke O' Neil from The Good North
Rod Eymael from The Drags
Geoff Hayton from Flyover States
Possible other guests TBA

This night will be almost exactly like Ray Charles' recent duets album, except Jason isn't a blind black heroin addict. Jason also won't be portrayed by Jamie Foxx in his biopic (he'll be portrayed by a reanimated Redd Foxx).

The show is from roughly 7-9pm tomorrow night at the Abbey and it's FREE, you pale cheap loser. It'll also be a great opportunity for you to get a sneak preview of Scamper's home for the March residency. You'll be there every Wednesday night in March, won't you? I'll miss you if you're not.

In other news, I saw Finding Neverland last night and got my serious cry-cry face on. Damn.

You know I usually try to keep it positive, my little water buffalos. But I'm cranky as all get-out this morning. First off, for some unknown reason, I've got that godawful John Mayer "no such thing as the real world" song stuck in my head. Have you ever heard this tepid pile of wolverine dung? Apparently, he wants to run through the halls of his high school and scream at the top of his lungs that there's no such thing as the real world. Wow - that's deep, kid. What an original, completely grown-up conceit for a song. Certainly such profound thinking could never be found in your average fat 14-year old goth chick's Hello Kitty diary. I'm so glad you have a record deal, you fake-Dave-Matthews-voice-having blissfully talent-free retard. If it weren't for that guest appearance on Chapelle's Show, we'd be hunting you for sport by now.

More importantly, I had the following conversation with my tax returns this morning:

Me: Okay, so carry the two and... wait, I owe you money?
1040: That's right you do. Pay up.
Me: How could I possibly owe you money?
1040: You can see it right there. Carry the two...
Me: Yeah, I know how the math works. But how could I owe you money? You jack like 15% of my salary every week. That's not enough for you?
1040: Nope. We've got to pay for stuff.
Me: What kind of stuff?
1040: War. And the children. Don't forget about the children. And... let's see... education and Jesus and God and the Bible. You know, good stuff like that.
Me: Why don't you just take what you need out of my salary every week and leave me alone?
1040: Because we don't want to. Pay up.
Me: Oh well - at least rich people pay a lot more than I do, right?
1040: Actually, funny you should ask that. We actually give their corporations billions of your tax dollars every year.
Me: Wait - you do what?
1040: Yeah, they have all these loopholes and incentives. It turns out that people who don't make much money pay the most. Isn't that funny?
Me: No, it's not funny at all. It's enraging, in fact.
1040: I meant funny to us.
Me: I'm so angry.
1040: Yup.
Me: But there's nothing I can do about it, is there?
1040: Not unless you're a billion dollar corporation. Are you a billion dollar corporation?
Me: No.
1040: I guess you just have to bend over and take it then.
Me: That sucks. But you know what sucks even more? That John Mayer song.
1040: That one about high school? Yeah, I hate that one.
Me: Tell me at least he pays a lot of taxes.
1040: Will it make you feel better?
Me: Yeah, a little.
1040: Sorry - he's a corporation. Now pay up, jerk.
Me: I hate you.
1040: Yeah, I get that a lot. (singing) "I want to run through the halls of my high school..."

My friends and I are the New England Patriots of pub trivia. If you show up to compete against us, I hope you like second place. Because that's what you're getting. Second. F'ing. Place.

This past week was no exception. It was another dominant performance by your brainy suds-loving heroes. It seems the drunker we get, the smarter we are. There was an unbalanced amount of TV and movie questions, so the deck was heavily stacked in our favor. Cartoon questions, sitcom questions - they basically said, "Hey, Brendan - here's a question to which only a giant friendless loser like you will know the answer. Have fun, you enormous fucking nerd." That's the sort of zone I was in. I mean, why don't they just ask me from whom "Rowdy" Roddy Piper won his first WWF Intercontinental title? (Bret "Hitman" Hart and no, I didn't have to look it up).

They even had a Star Wars question, which led to the funniest exchange of the night between Tom and Lara, our team's married ubercouple:

Tom: This is the first trivia night I remember where there wasn't an astronomy question.

Lara: Yes, there was.

Tom: No, there wasn't.

Lara: Yes, there was. What about that one question about the planet?

Tom: Honey, that was about Star Wars. I don't think that qualifies as astronomy.

Ah, married life.

So anyone want to try to stump me with some useless TV or movie trivia? I promise I won't use the internet to cheat.

Happy Valentine's Day, chimpanzees. If you know me at all, you can probably predict how I feel about this farce of a "holiday," but I hope at least some of you are enjoying your societally pressured displays of affection while the rest of us look at your faux-happy romantic dinners with a combination of pity, derision, jealousy and overall itchiness.

As for me, I avoided the whole "loneliness" problem by kidnapping Keith's baby late last night:




I plan on raising him to lead my unholy army of pickpockets. He's got little hands, you see.

Big big BIG thanks to all the Scamps who braved the whipping snowy winds and the late night set time to rock out with us at Great Scott last night. The ever-popular highlights:

- Our fearless leader Keith, who had been valiantly fighting a bad cold all week, showed up to the venue very very high on cold medication. This turn of events was in turns exasperating and utterly hilarious. To begin soundcheck, we had to pry him away from the video shooting game. Oh, he wasn't actually playing the video shooting game. He was just putting the toy pistol down the front of his pants and quick-drawing it. I swear to Jebus I am not making this up.

During soundcheck I asked him, "Which did you take - DayQuil or NyQuil?" He looked back at me, his eyes glazed and distant, and replied, "Well... it's night, isn't it?"

- Keith's fogginess aside, our peeps came out ready to rock. One particularly exuberant young lady (who shall remain nameless) was not only excited about the Scamperock, but apparently was enamored with her breasts. She flashed her bra to a few random strangers in the men's room and then forced Nate and me to feel her up. It was horrible. Horrible, I say. The sacrifices I make for being a rock star.

- Well after midnight, we finally hit the stage. Great Scott has one of the best sound systems on which we've played, so it felt pretty good up there. I know I've said it before, but being able to perform for you guys is the best part of my life. Once I'm up there and I look out to see you cats and kittens dancing and singing along with the music, I forget how tired, sick and cranky I am. You all rock. I wish I could gently spoon each and every one of you until you drift to into a peaceful fluffy sleep.

Did I miss anything?

Whoo-eee! My back sure is sore from shoveling all that snow this morning, huh?

But let's not look a gift rainstorm in the mouth. The weather gods have been kind to us so that you (that's right! you!) can attend our show at Great Scott in Allston tonight. I have never played Great Scott, but rumor is that it's got the best sound system in Boston. So you'll be able to hear Keith's froggy throat and my voice cracks with remarkable clarity.

Show starts at 9pm tonight. Not sure when we go on, but show up early and buy Keith a hot toddy. Hope to see y'all there.

When Bill Belichick masterminded his third Super Bowl in four years, I thought to myself: That's it. He gets a free pass. Anything he wants to do for the rest of his life is okay by me. Basically, he can bang my mom, record an album of Motown standards, develop a CBS sitcom based on the holocaust starring Margaret Cho and Kathy Griffin - it doesn't matter. He's above criticism from here on in. He gets a free pass.

This got me thinking - who else gets a free pass for life? I talked to a few friends about it, and here's my preliminary list:

- Peter Jackson. If Peter Jackson came up to me on the street and said, "'Allo, Brendan. I'd like to sleep with your wife," I'd hand her right the fuck over. "Sorry, honey - he made the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Go with the man. Yeah, I love you and everything but... did you see that scene where Aragorn rode out of the castle at Helm's Deep? Just go. I'll see you in an hour."

- Paul McCartney. He's been getting some criticism because of the "lame" halftime show, but the man created the Beatles. The fucking Beatles. He can be as much of a cheeseball as he wants in his old age. That bass line of "Lovely Rita" alone earns him a free pass.

- Slash. This is a real borderline call, as it's based on just one achievement: the Appetite for Destruction album. He is such a fucking monster on that record that I just can't see criticizing him for anything else he's ever done. So I'll just avert my eyes during the Velvet Revolver power ballads. That "I Fall To Pieces" song just isn't happening. It's not happening.

- Roman Polanski. This is actually not mine - my friend Andy said: "Rosemary's Baby, Death and the Maiden, Chinatown and Macbeth + wife murdered by Charles Manson = free pass." Polanski, by the way, is one of the few people that's actually taking advantage of his free pass. Which leads us to...

- Michael Jackson. I know, I know - he's a sick sick man. But come on - Thriller? I mean, who doesn't love Thriller? Molest all the kids you want, Jacko.

Did I miss anyone?

It's time to argue about movies. I had my film nerd meeting this weekend and, while there was no clear cut "Best Picture" winner, the following movies received high praise:

Before Sunset
Code 46
Sideways
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
A Very Long Engagement
Stage Beauty
Spider-Man 2

Some other notes:

- Everyone hated The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou except for me.

- Best Actress was pretty split between Julie Delpy from Before Sunset and Jennifer Garner from 13 Going On 30, both of whom I would like to f.

- Million Dollar Baby might be the worst movie in the history of cinema.

- The best actor in Blade: Trinity was NOT in fact Wesley Snipes as Blade, but Parker Posey as Danica Talos. Controversy!

- Everyone liked Anchorman, but no one lurrrved it as much as I did.

Argue away, kittens.

Another year, another Super Bowl in the city of champions. Some highlights from the big game:

- Alicia Keys singing a duet of "America the Beautiful" with a dead Ray Charles while a bunch of cock-eyed deaf and blind kids do sign language and make jazz hands... I'm sorry, but if you didn't find that uproariously funny, you're made of stronger stuff than me.

- Before the game, I wasn't all that concerned about the outcome. I assumed that the Pats would just roll over the Eagles to another easy victory. But when Philadelphia scored first, an old friend came back to visit: sports-related rage. I was yelling, cursing, trying to restrain myself from punching walls. I hadn't had anything to be upset about in almost five months. I remember thinking, "Ohhhhh - this is what I used to be like pretty much all the time." Luckily, roommie Dr. Spenco made some wonderful tacos and delicious apple crisp which calmed my angry little belly down.

- During the halftime show, 12-Gauge reminded me that Paul McCartney did the music for the 80's movie Spies Like Us. This launched a 20-minute bit about how funny it would be if instead of singing "Hey Jude" and "Live and Let Die," McCartney did a medley from the movie.

McCartney: "Welcome to the Super Bowl halftime show. Does everyone remember the movie Spies Like Us?"
Audience members: "Uh... yeah, I guess I sort of remember that movie."
McCartney: "Well, buckle up - it's the Spies Like Us halftime show! Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Dan Aykroyd and Mr. Chevy Chase!"

They come out in the fur-hooded coats from the movie and wave to the confused audience. The big screen shows clips from the movie. The paid extras in the "audience" start chanting "Spies like us! Spies like us!" Just a Spies Like Us-themed halftime show for no discernable reason.

Well, it was funny to us.

Busy weekend in store, my peeps.

Tonight: Fooled By April at TT the Bear's Place in Cambridge. There is a whole lot of rock to be had at this particular show, with Redletter, Rocketscience and Aloud joining in the festivities. This may be the last time you get to see the boys of FxA play together for a little while, as they're all off making records and getting married and shit. While you're obviously not invited to any of the weddings (let's face it - you'd just get drunk and make a scene), you are all invited to the show tonight at TT's, where you can feel free to get drunk and make a scene. Nate will be sober, but he'll be making the scene.

Tomorrow: My film nerd friends and I get together every year with our college film professor (the king film nerd) to talk about the best films of the year. Once again, you are not invited to this event. I've been too busy with the rock to really see all the films I would have liked to see this year. Essentially, I saw Anchorman three times in the theater and that's just about it. Anyone have any suggestions?

Sunday: small Super Bowl party at my house. I hate to be repetitive, but nope - you're not invited. Besides the game on the field, there will also be wagering on the other significant sporting event at the house: whether Joe and Sarah - who have dedicated themselves to healthy eating until their June wedding - will crumble and partake in the many many MANY bad foods I plan to consume during the game. The smart money is on Sarah holding strong, but Joe sneaking nachos. Also, the over-under on Joe's farts during the game is 42. The smart money is the over.

Have a good one everyone - go Pats!

Congratulations to my roommie Sarah for getting into the first of what I'm sure is to be many medical schools. I must admit - it's a little frightening to know that the brightest of our nation's future medical professionals has been known to dance through supermarket aisles singing, "It's taco night! It's taco night!" But congratulations, girl. We're all very proud of you.

Now, after two whole weeks of hype, the Super Bowl is finally upon us this weekend. I think this year, the two best teams made it into the big game. In fact, this one could well turn out to be the super bowl of Super Bowls (or quite possibly the SUPER bowl of super bowl of Super Bowls). My predicted final score:

New England 31
Philadelphia 21

It's pretty weird being a Boston sports fan these days. We've had an embarrassment of riches over the past few years. I must admit - I wasn't even all that excited about the AFC title victory over the Steelers. It was business as usual. The Patriots have become a team that you expect to win. You're relieved when they do, surprised when they don't. Are the Patriots now the Yankees of football? Am I a (gasp) Yankee fan?

This feeling first came up during the divisional playoff game. Not only did I fully expect the Pats to moiderize the Colts (which they did), but I was sort of mildly offended that Indianapolis would even dare think they could win. I had utter contempt for the opponent, merely because they were the inferior team. I remember watching Peyton Manning warm up before the game and scowling "Who does this guy think he is? Coming into Foxboro and expecting to win? Fuck him."

From where did this sense of superiority come? The Colts were trying to win a football game. Their only crime was not being as good as the Patriots. Yet, I feel the same way about the Eagles. Not just "The Pats are going to kill them," but "How dare they? They should just forfeit and save themselves the trip."

Is anyone else experiencing this sensation? Or was there always a smug, superior asshole sports fan in me that's just been waiting to burst out?

Happy Groundhog Day, chipmunks. I hope you don't end up repeating today over and over and over again. It seems like I've been living the same day over and over again for years now, but I don't think that has anything to do with Puxatonee (sp?) Phil - it's just the mundanity that is adult life. Woo hoo!

Anywho, there's been a lot of talk lately about lyrics over on the old Scamper message board. I must admit - as the guys in my band will attest - I'm pretty bad at remembering lyrics. For whatever reason, I've just got a bad ear for words in music. I don't know half the lyrics to songs I've been singing live for 6 months now. It annoys Mike to no end. But I mean - fuck that guy, right? Who's with me?

Really, it's me that's missing out, because my fellow Scamperoonis spend a great deal of time and care on their lyrics. And one of the cool parts of being in this band is that I'm lucky enough to hear the stories behind the lyrics. Last night, I got some great insider shit from Nate over a very expensive burger:

Nate: "You know the lyrics to Another Time?"
Me: "Uh... yeah. Sure."
Nate: "That's about this girl from high school who invited me to the junior prom and then sicced her trained falcon on my nuts."
Me: "Wow - that's cool. What about Needless to Say?
Nate: "College - a girl invited me into her dorm room and then sprayed Agent Orange in my eyes."
Me: "Awesome."

So I guess my point is this: ladies of the world - keep dicking Nate over. We're getting some funny stories - and some great songs - out of it.

The following is an actual conversation that took place between Brendan's left arm (Lefty) and his right arm (Righto) at approximately 4:22 AM this morning:

Lefty: YEEEEEEOOOWWWWW!!!!
Righto: I hear you barking, big dog.
Lefty: What the hell is going on? I feel horrible.
Righto: Yeah, me too. Apparently, this big bastard finally decided that it was time to get into shape.
Lefty: What?
Righto: Yup. He started lifting weights.
Lefty: Weights? Like heavy weights?
Righto: They ain't light.
Lefty: But... why would he do a stupid thing like that?
Righto: I don't know.
Lefty: We've had an unspoken agreement going all this time.
Righto: It's been decades.
Lefty: He didn't bother us and we didn't bother him.
Righto: Yeah, it was great. I guess the days of complete and untter inaction are over.
Lefty: I had a nice little atrophy planned.
Righto: I know you did, buddy. That was going to be good. Oh well.
Lefty: Don't "oh well" me. What are we supposed to do?
Righto: We could always jerk off.
Lefty: That's your solution to everything.
Righto: I know. I've got a problem.
Lefty: And what am I supposed to do while you're at it? That's more your department.
Righto: Well... there's no point us being awake while he's sleeping.
Lefty: That's a good idea. Let's wake this son of a bitch up.
Righto: 1... 2... 3...
Lefty& Righto: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!