Little Lewis enjoys country music. Like, car radio pre-sets enjoys it.
Little Lewis owns "Cowboy Up" paraphernalia. In case you have never seen any Cowboy Up-related paraphernalia, I have given an example, below:
I'm sure I don't need to explain to you how hideous this crap is, as you are probably cringing in your seat and maybe throwing up a little bit in your mouth at this very second. When I found said Cowboy Up-related paraphernalia on Little Lewis' person, I sneered, "Oh my god, you are so 909." LL didn't know what being 909 meant, which was obviously further proof of his 909-ness.
Little Lewis is a fan of organized religion. A #1 fan. Like, if the Christian Community Church were a baseball team, Li'l Lewis would have season tickets behind home plate, hats, t-shirts, one of those giant foam fingers, penants, a coozie (inside of which would be some kind of non-alcoholic beverage, perhaps Yoohoo), and a ball signed by all the members of the Holy Trinity plus Dr. James Dobson, Billy Graham AND Pat Robertson.
Little Lewis is a republican. No, actually... he's a Republican, capital "R." Like, pro-war, pro-Bush, pro-clubbing baby seals -- the whole bit.
Now, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the only thing worse than a Republican is a Born-Again Republican... but I'm telling you anyway. Ahem: the only thing worse than a Republican is a Born-Again Republican. Who is your brother. Because then you end up receiving a keychain from them for Christmas that has the following image on it:
And then when you smirk so flagrantly your mom can practically hear it, she will turn to you and say, "*SIGH* -- Jesus doesn't just save the USA, Becky." Except she probably won't call you Becky, because I'm betting that's not your name.
Anyway, those are just a few of the ways in which Little Lewis is SO not me, so the opposite of me, so completely and entirely the antithesis of me that I fail to understand how when we are in the same room we do not cancel each other out and just disappear off the face of the earth forever and ever, amen.
SO, I was filled with delight when Little Lewis' 21st birthday rolled around a couple weeks ago.... AND all his of-age friends were out of town... SO! I could finally get my claws into the little Puritan and show him how much fun Irish car bombs and lemon drops and red-headed sluts can be!! Hooray!
Of course, when he found out what I was planning, he said to me, (and I quote), "Ok, but I'm not going to do anything immoral." (WHAT!) But then he redeemed himself a moment later by saying, "Ok, but if I'm making out with someone you can't stop me." So maybe we really are related after all.
I rounded up some fellow sinners to take the kid out and show him how a 21st birthday is done. Our first stop was the IO West for a little improvisational humor and a lot of damn cheap beers. (It should be noted that when Little Lewis was telling me what he wanted to do for his big day, he said that he wanted to see a comedy show, and that it should be "clean." hUh?) (It should also be noted that I have been seriously missing out by not spending more time at the IO, as it is a) super cheap, with super cheap drinks ($2 PBRs!!) b) hilarious c) features a handful of F-list semi-celebrities and d) is TEEMING with hot dudes. Hot dudes who are FUNNY!)
Anyway, here are some pictures of us at the IO. You can tell which one Little Lewis is by his tongue, which appears to have a life independent from the rest of his self. And it is actually photographic evidence that the two of us are indeed related, because we both have the same horrifying spawn-of-satan eyes.
But in case you can't tell, it goes Emily (drunk eyes), Little Lewis (Lucifer eyes), Madeleine (ginormous baby-blue eyes), Me (pupils of fire), Marcy (four eyes).Stay tuned for Part II, in which much bull-riding is done by all.
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