There's nothing quite like making fun of someone you love, you've known so very long, and whom you'd occasionally like to find on the wrong end of a prison yard bet.
I tried getting Shane Risher to join Active Rain long ago. While it wasn't an overly persistent effort, I wanted him to join this great network. It wasn't because he had any interest at all in Real Estate. Quite the contrary. Shane has about as much interest in Real Estate as I have in watching him in that amateur German Snuff film he made in his stint in the Air Force.
The real reason I wanted Risher to join Active Rain is because I knew this day would come. I knew that I'd want to give him a birthday gift that wasn't some lame card, some twenty dollar fluffer who I found on Craigslist, or an all expenses paid "one-way" trip to The Cayman Islands with Dustin Diamond as his escort. Nope, I just wanted to roast the guy in the confines of a members only post here on Active Rain. Yet, alas, here I sit having to try to make this PG-13. Here it goes:
- I've known Shane Risher since we were about five years old. I can't recall our initial encounter, which goes to show how un-impressed I actually was. Frankly, I'm not sure if I felt bad for him or if I wanted him around to make me look good. Twenty-seven years later, the former never occurred. If I had a brain in my skull, I would have ditched him after he layered the passenger's side floor of my station wagon with his tonsils & skunked beer back in high school.
- Like any bad couple, we were on and off for years. We'd hang out here and there, but it wasn't until Gym Class at Clarion High School when I knew that I had to let this guy stick around. If memory serves, we had just finished a competitive game of hockey where he was playing goalie and I was playing the part of going behind the net and jabbing him through the net to allow my team to score. Afterwards was shower time, of course. As I sat on the bench, ready to go Val Venis with my towel, I saw the naked body of Shane Risher walk clumsily to the shower. I felt a great sense of relief and self-worth. I felt as if Mr. Ed (me) had just seen Woody Woodpecker's external flaw. At that moment, it wasn't so much that I fell in love with me... it was that I fell in love with not being his naked body.
- We graduated High School together, both with different aspirations and accomplishments along the way. I'll say point blank that he learned more than me, stored away more from his educational experience than I ever allowed. If you really know Shane, you'll realize that he is a damn intelligent guy. So intelligent in fact, that as soon as he saw the opportunity... he joined the Air Force. Now, that can be a wonderful thing to do. However, Shane, being a part of helping to protect our Country from any nasty evil doers is akin to electing Sean Hannity the new face of the liberal movement. Trust me, Risher would succomb to waterboarding faster than Dr. Phil would ruin yet another marriage.
- When Risher came back from the Air Force alive, I was devastated. I had a few semesters to go before I graduated College with a degree I knew I'd never use and with a grade point average that made the "Harvard After-life/Graduate Degree" one less option in my life. Instead, I spent my last few semesters working at a Beer Distributor entertaining Shane's love for music that I loathed. He'd pop in on a weekend and force upon me music that would make John Lennon roll over in Paul McCartney's Grave. I was inundated with The Dead Kennedy's, NOFX, Rancid, Underoath, and some strange band called "Sublime".
- Let us not leave Risher to be a heel in this world, though. The guy has a heart of gold and piercings in his genitals (plural by design, if ya smell what I'm saying) that are capable of rusting as well.
- Shane has lived a lot of his life in a town called Clarion, Pennsylvania. I lived twenty-two of my years spent of this earth the same way. When he texted me saying that he wanted to travel to Allentown, I relunctanly agreed to help him out. Anything for a friend. Risher came, Risher saw, & Risher helped make Viagra a drug of choice for a thirty-two year old man named me.
I really could go off on this guy like there's no tomorrow, yet tomorrow exists and I want him to see this whenever he searches Google for his damn name. Shane Risher, you rat bastard, Sardi loves you very much. Happy Birthday, my friend. Just don't expect me to pay for the Vaseline this time around.
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