Thank you, Señor Twatwaffle.

There is no need to kick Ryan in the balls for his irreverent introductions as he regularly self-flagellates via the sporting medium of KravMaga. Any kind of “fun” that requires groin protection should be questioned, found wanting and no further discussion should henceforth be held on the matter.  Any person engaging such activity of their own volition is likely not of sound enough mind to be writing for the general public. Alas, this is the internet age and our standards have fallen far and hard, people. Take it from a 90s child who still remembers the pre-doge syntax.

How do you describe Ryan.  A crisp, full-bodied carrot liquor with an annoying aroma and notes of total crackpot. As if being an aggressive shade of SunnyD weren’t enough, Ryan is the only person I know who has an eidetic memory for 80s pop lyrics and, as such, functions rather like a violently orange jukebox. One that is constantly on shuffle. And that speaks Catalan. With no off-switch. We’ve checked.

This means that he is my best friend.*

Although not a medical doctor (thank multiple deities), he is capable of curing a slipped disc by making the suffer laugh so hard that they vomit and have to worry about that instead. His talents do not end there, however: having broken the world record for not just the worst cover of “Self Esteem” by The Offspring but the TWENTY worst covers of the same title, Ryan is perhaps the most persistent pioneer in the field of the four-chord song, taking the genre’s merits and strangling them to death for the enjoyment of his fellow musical sadists. Indeed, the name of this very blog is derived from the Latin for: “Holly and Ryan have started a band. Run away. Fast. GO!!!!”

 I now hand you back to my fellow trout to continue this unholy discourse.  

*Yes, I know it’s unfortunate. Also, ‘Becca isn’t my best friend. She’s my best bro and that’s a whole ‘nother level of commitment.