Poor George has forbidden my posting this video because he is in it. So I'm hiding it in my archives (which Poor George never reads) and am asking my blogger friends to direct their readers to it. I won't get caught because Poor George can barely stand to read my blog let alone anybody else's.
However, if you stop hearing from me for an extended period, go ahead and notify the police because it will probably mean that George discovered the posted video and murdered me.
That being said, this may be my favorite Mama Gin video yet because it is so illustrative of what we deal with almost every day.
In tonight's episode we witness Poor George trying to practice his bass clarinet while being subjected to Mama Gin's usual litany of "advice" to the tune of "find gurlfriend get marry have baby!"
He tries just about every trick in the book including tuning her out, arguing back at her, and finally, his attempted coup de grace of blowing an incredibly loud, shrill, high pitched bass clarinet note to try to scare her off.
Of course none of the above have any effect on Mama Gin. She would continue to harass Poor George if a hydrogen bomb went off twenty feet from her. "Ma, your face is melting off!" "But Georgie get marry have baby!" would be her reply, no doubt.
I've provided a partial transcript below although much of the dialogue is in Chinglish - which is mostly Chinese with the words "gurlfriend" and "get marry" peppered throughout in English.
MG: [Chinese . . . ] gurlfriend, get marry!
PG: I don't want to get married, I'm with Tom!
MG: What, gurlfriend no likey you?
PG: No, no likey me!
MG: [Various Chinese reprimands]
PG: Mo gurlfriend, mo gurlfriend! (Chinglish for "No girlfriend, no girlfriend!")
MG: [Chinese rebukes]
PG: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!!!
PG: No, no, can't do that.
PG: [Chinese] and something about California
MG + PG: [Chinese banter]
PG: (noticing me with the camera) STOP IT! What are you doing? You're recording this, I know you are!!! Get out of here Thomas!!!
CP: Ok, bye bye.
PG: (begins playing the bass clarinet)
MG: [Chinese], despite George's playing
PG: COME ON, I'M PRACTICING!!! GET OUT OF HERE!!!
PG: I DON'T WANT A GIRLFRIEND!
The rest of the video depicts Poor George trying to shoo her away by playing shrill notes on the clarinet, while I move the camera to include shots of our really cute cats.
Our friend Sarah looks on from across the table as Poor George bites into his first ever corn dog. He gave it a 5 out of 10. I can't help it if he's out of his mind.
I was sitting here being impressed with myself for taking such a cute picture and was marveling at all the bright colors - so I decided to enlarge to take a closer look and just noticed the woman behind George - she is covering her mouth and has this horrified look on her face. I'm even more impressed with myself now!
A Mormon Temple Recommend. You need one of these bad boys to get into a Mormon temple.
And if you think you'll get your hands on one of these before you fork over 10% of your pre-tax income, you'd better think again.
Lulu recently had a boring dream with me in it. I should be so lucky. What kind of dreams to do I get? Well, last night I dreamed about Mormons.
This sick occurrence is probably due to my recent online fight with Pussy Boy (aka Sushi.) Pig fucker.
In this dream I was at a mall that was for some reason attached to a Mormon temple. For my non-Mormon-watching readers, a Mormon temple is where card carrying Mormons perform all the creepy rites they stole from the Masons more than a hundred years ago. They do things like baptize their dead relatives and seal themselves to their families for all eternity.
Sounds kind of like going to Hell to me, but I guess the Mormons like it.
Only Mormons in good standing (read: the ones who regularly fork over 10% of their pre-tax income) get to enter the temples. To be admitted you have to have a special card called a Temple Recommend, given to you by your local church leaders after you hand over those checks they use to purchase all that celestial underwear and the really gay looking white garments they make you wear inside the temples. (A lot of that money also goes to helping suppress the gays, but we've already discussed that ad nauseum on this blog.)
So anyway, I dreamed that I was in this mall and got a bug up my butt about wanting to get myself inside that temple. So I started scheming on how to get my hands on a Temple Recommend.
I ran into one of my law school classmates who is a nice Mormon girl (as if there is such a thing) and asked if I could borrow her Temple Recommend. She said "sure, why not?" and handed it to me.
I approached the mall door that led to the temple and started worrying that they would notice my Temple Recommend was issued to a female named Stephanie and that my little plan might not work.
I don't remember anything else. I guess this story isn't even very interesting, except to note that these God damned Mormons, in addition to not letting me get married, are now ruining my sleep. Fuckers.
I am Coaster Punchman and you have just entered my world. I rule it with an iron fist, so if you're looking for First Amendment protection, you will not find it here. I have a now deceased crazy Chinese mother-in-law, and sometimes I wear Crocs around the house. I don't like flip-flops or Mormons. I'm also a cyberstalker by trade -- so I could look up all sorts of random shit about you if I wanted, but I probably won't because I'm pretty lazy.