ANDER

I tell most people “Doof” is “food” backwards because it’s easy to say and remember, but that’s just a coincidence.

Growing up, my brother and I gave our action figures extensive lore. All our Legos, Megamen, Magnets, and Pokémon came together with a thick backstory, fully documented across eight PowerPoints.

The unifying, Avengers-level thread was a pair of Turtwigs named Cpt. Underpants and Dr. Doofuspants. (Believe it or not, we only plagiarized Underpants. Doofuspants came before Doofenshmirtz.)

Nonetheless, these turtles were the sacred, hand-picked by God, protagonists with immense plot armor. The created planets. They ran universities. They survived apocalypses. The defeated Mario and Sonic in the Olympic Games. They were our dreams in turtle form.

While my brother has since shed the Underpants nickname, Doof lives on. It’s my gamertag, the name of my vlog, my license plate, the turtwig tattoo on my left knee. My imagination hasn’t fluttered since, and that is no coincidence.

The Three Amigos
Interstellar
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
What Dreams May Come
Whiplash

Californication (excluding S7)
Peaky Blinders
The Sopranos
Friends
Avatar: The Last Airbender

On A Pale Horse
Women
Hunger
Ask The Dust
Once A Runner

During my childhood: Call of Duty (BO2).
During the pandemic: Rocket League.
During office hours: Runescape.

In 2019, I went to an establishment (I use that term loosely) by the name of Hot Chicks House of Chicken. It was a little out of the way, but the yelp reviews were mouth watering.. After a 40 minute drive, the chicken was as good as mine. If it was anything like the pictures, oooohhh boy, I was going to feast!

But no. The pictures didn’t matter. The drive didn’t matter. Happiness didn’t matter. After meticulously crafting my order with pickles, provolone, and love, I asked them if they have bleu cheese. To which they painfully replied, “wE oNLy caRrY rANcH.” I was speechless. How could they alienate half of their audience? It’s not even that ranch is bad, it’s fantastic with pepperoni pizza. But if I’m going to a chicken joint, I expect them to have both ranch and bleu cheese. Otherwise, they have forsaken their duty and privilege to serve half of all humanity! I promptly left.

They gave me blue balls for bleu cheese and clearly I’m still butt hurt about it.