My Brother and the Big Can
Yesterday, my brother -- let's call him Bloogie, because that's what I call him -- and I went on a wacky adventure that is a long story in itself that has absolutely nothing to do with fish or big cans, although it does involve burned pizza, a rather nasty conversation about a camping trip, and an under-construction pita restaurant.
When we got back to the home environment, our neighbor -- let's call him Marco, because, frankly, I don't know his name -- was standing outside his house. Marco runs a restaurant supply business out of his house, so it's not unusual to see him schlepping a commercial refrigerator or the like up or down his driveway. This time, he had one of those coolers you see at convenience marts with sodas in them. This thing was about three feet tall and looked like a Red Bull can. We got out of Bloogie's truck and Marco called out, "Hi! How's it going?"
Bloogie called back for everybody on our street to hear, "Great! I love your big can!" And I laughed and laughed.
About ten minutes later, after we'd gone inside and I was busy drinking a Cherry Coke and Bloogie was doing something on his computer, he suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked up. He asked, "Wait, did I tell a guy I liked his big can?!?"
I said, "No. You told a guy you LOOOOOVED his big can!" And I laughed and laughed some more.
And then this morning at church, before Bloogie got there, I put a note in the sound booth where Bloogie runs the sound for the church service. The note said: "I love your BIG CAN." I forgot to take into consideration the fact that Bloogie is not the only person who sits back there.
This other fellow -- let's call him Pooger -- sits in the sound booth as well although I don't think he actually does anything back there. As soon as Pooger got there, Bloogie handed him the note and said it was from me. Pooger avoided me after that.