A Second Helping of Ukulele and the Truth about Twilight

Hello fellow outcasts! This past weekend, the Freaks decided to kick it on our own turf, so we could bring you the best of the worst of Livingston at its finest. We began it on Friday, when Abby and I decided to celebrate the birth of our favorite bassist with vegan goodies (Happy Belated Birthday, Hunter!), and were also persuaded to purchase a key lime pie, which went well with the viewing of one of our favorite movies, Forrest Gump. Saturday was filled with AFI Chronicles and Super Smash Brothers Brawl, but the real magic happened on Sunday.

Each year, Brighton Area Schools hosts an art festival, displaying the best art work of students first through twelfth grade. As art fans, we generally frequent the art show, and this year was no exception. Fine young talent was on display, as usual, showcasing the wonderful arts program at Brighton High School (which, unfortunately is one of the first programs cut when the budget gets needy - along with the drama program, of course). Much to my dismay, however, most of the artists showcased were female, and I've been noticing this trend over the past few years. Being female myself, I think it's wonderful that we get respect where respect is due. But come on! I swear, I only saw two displays dedicated to male artists (that weren't graphics displays). We stayed, admiring the art for a while, until things got dicey - we narrowly escaped without being noticed by the notorious Mrs. Peters, our most hated teacher throughout our high school careers.

After the art show, we made a trip to Downtown Howell to see what was hip-happening down yonder. The central parking lot is under construction, so parking was a bit unusual, but we found a spot by the courthouse, where some unfortunate Howell High School senior was getting his senior pictures taken. Inconsequential, since he was obviously a douche, but I couldn't help but admire the photographer's pro-series Cannon. I long for my photography days.

Anyhoodles, we decided to visit our favorite upscale consignment shop, Le Boutique, because we firmly believe that one man's trash is another freak's treasure. None of us had any legitimate money, but most of our shopping excursions lead to shenanigans anyway. After coming across some not-so-friendly patrons of said consignment boutique, we wowed each other with bad fashion (like usual), tried on shoes that mooed, just for the fun of it, and then went on to Dairy Queen to get our ice cream on.

Outside the Dairy Queen, we came across a street performer with a myriad of instruments tossed carelessly into his bicycle wagon. Among these instruments was a ukulele (again with the ukulele?! Come on people, this is Michigan, not Hawaii!), a banjo, a guitar, and some sort of keyboard thing. Inside the Dairy Queen, we came across a rude server who didn't even know what a brownie bottom sundae was. Can you imagine that? Shelby and I settled for brownie Blizzards, while Abby got some funky concoction with whipped cream, oreos, a brownie, and fudge. And ice cream, of course. While om nom nom-ing, we people-watched (one of our favorite past-times), and saw whores and douches, kids, old people, and a strange couple wearing cowboy hats sitting on a bench in front of whatever shop is next door to Dairy Queen. I think it's either a travel agency or a law firm, I don't remember. Then, as we left, a group of girls decided to stare at us like they were intimidating, but obviously nothing scares us. Besides ukulele man.

I have to reiterate this: HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT A BROWNIE BOTTOM SUNDAE IS? IT'S A SUNDAE WITH A BROWNIE ON THE BOTTOM. ADAM CARSON IS VERY ASHAMED. That is all.

After the whole Dairy Queen debacle, we went off to Kroger to get birthday cards for yet another Sometimes Freak, Abby's sister Katie, who lives in Milwaukee and will be twenty-one on May 22.

When we got home, Shelby went to take a nap, while Peanut and I made some headway on our OVER 9000 Rummy Game. Soon after, Ansley, the Freaky Protege, came home from her friend's house with a copy of Twilight in her hand. Which brings me to my next point:

TWILIGHT IS THE WORST BOOK EVER. And if you agree, you must find out the truth about Twilight from Mark (AKA PanasonicYouth), staff writer at Buzznet.com/DF staff member/hilarious guy/my hero. I promise:

1. You will laugh

2. You might vomit

3. You will be in pain

4. You might even cry

So please, do yourself a favor and read Mark Reads Twilight (So You Don't Have To). Even if you already read Twilight, read Mark's version anyway. It's infinitesimally better.

Oh, and then, there's this,

but that's just a bit of trivial nonsense.