Brocktastic

I've been trying to think of a way to thank Brock for the continued generosity and camaraderie he's provided me this past month. So I came up with this shitty solution: a tribute in blog form!


Here he is in all his splendor, preparing to ski I guess. I got this picture from Katy's camera. Sometimes he calls me bennifer and it makes my day. Sometimes in the morning, as he prepares for work by stomping clumsily around his apartment, he wakes me up and says "aww, did I wake you up big guy?" I just cover my head with a pillow and silently curse him before falling back to sleep. Then when I awake again 2 or 3 hours later, I stretch my legs and begin another lonesome day in a Brockless apartment. Oh, I'll go climbing or biking, or do any number of things that are tons better than whatever mind-numbing crap Brock does all day, but it all still pales in comparison to spending time with Mr. Bafford.


See? It's nonstop laughs with good ol' Brocker. Today he told me he wishes he could just exercise all day. When I said that's basically what I did, he directed some delightful profanity at me. But I learned long ago that with Brock, the amount of swearing he does is inversely proportional to how upset he is. When we lived together in college, on returning from class he would often curse up a storm. "What's wrong?" I'd say. "What a clusterfuck this is! I can't find my fucking goddamn cellphone!" Then he'd find it immediately.


I should mention "clusterfuck" again. This is Brock's favorite word. Anything that is slightly askew is deemed a clusterfuck. Shorthand for clusterfuck is CF. Remember this if you find yourself conversing with Brock.


This is Brock Sampson. He is Brock's favorite fictional character. He is the reason our Brock enjoys the Venture Brothers. Now, to his credit, he does seem to genuinely enjoy the non-Brock aspects of the show, but Sampson is without a doubt the reason for his original interest.

If these Brocks were to fight, I fear that Brock Bafford would be killed before even inflicting a bite wound. He is a biter.

He is also a thinker, a drinker, a biker, a climber, and recently, a food dehydrator. He's a regular renaissance man. Also he's a rester, a complainer, and above all, a dead-hooker-joke maker. I won't repeat any of them here, not because of my readers' sensitivity, but because each individual joke isn't very special. It's the sheer number and constancy of dead hooker jokes that makes them special.


It's just a coincidence that I chose this picture to follow the word "special." Really. I just like this picture. It exemplifies Brock's commitment to bike safety. Guess what he does every time he sees a biking hippie without a helmet? Did you guess curse loudly? No? Then you haven't been paying attention.

We always see a number of these hippies on our way to one of the many local dive bars here in Olympia. Since Brock moved here for work, he has been deeply conflicted about the place - on one side is his love for dive bars, and on the other, his extreme hatred of hippies. Happily, his proximity to Katy and his internet friends have tipped the balance in Olympia's favor, and I do believe he likes it here.


Look there. He's as happy as a helpless turtle. I'm pretty sure he's thinking about Olympia there.

Alas, he'll be leaving soon, and I'll be leaving even sooner - I'll be leaving Brock. Today I've come to grips with this, and it's going to be hard to do, but the time has come. By Monday I'll be out of Olympia and heading down the west coast - so Brock, I say so long to you. But perhaps I'll be back after a month or so, for as you know, and envy, and hate, I can do whatever I want.


Thanks for the memories, big guy. I hope this article has left you feeling appreciated, complimented, and not too much insulted. Don't ever change.