Helloooooo, and welcome to My Article, My Article, and Me, an op-ed column for the mod-ren era. I’m your Hard Drive columnist, Author McEl-Boy, and — hey, just real quick, folks — I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been binge-listening to a lot of My Brother, My Brother, and Me lately and ever since then, these good good McEl-Boys have gotten all up inside of my word brain and replaced the way I enunciate words with their parlance and now I’m completely trapped like this and it — no joke — it fuckin’ suuuuuuuuuucks.
Seriously, I’m not joking. Let’s just send jokes out of the room for a second. Go on, get outta here, jokes. And don’t get me wrong, mon frère — when I first woke up like this yesterday, I thought it would be great for my career! I love the McElroy family of podcasts, and I figured my metamorphosis into a pseudo-McElroy meant I could finally become a beloved internet personality like Justin, Travis and Griffin and finally make my meemaw and pap-pap proud. But ever since I started mimicking those good good boys, all of my friends have suddenly packed their bags and moved away. Everyone I know has abandoned me. I am an empty shell of a man. Hot dang!
By far the worst part of this is that I’ve written into MBMBaM several times already trying to ask for the brothers’ help to undo the curse their diction has placed on my psyche. I can’t stop talking like them if I tried, and even when I try to write down what I’m feeling, I slip into their delightfully silly trademark banter-y style. I feel like Frasier in the middle of one of his classic escapades and Garfield on a Monday morning all rolled into one. Hey, what if Garfield and Frasier traded places? I bet it would sound something…like this!
Oh no, it’s happening again! The transformation has begun! Quick, get away before I start free-associating for the next 50 minutes! This has been a cry for help, kiss your dad squuuuuuuuare on the lips!
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