Got a question for y2kemo?
Wow! “Dear y2kemo” requests have been on fire lately. Thanks to all of my faithful who have neglected to get involved. Your lack of effort is inspirational and appreciated. I can only hope that more people are as non-participatory as you.
Today’s head-scratching question comes from big time radio personality, media production entrepreneur, and all around funnyman @joelgillie who writes:
Dear y2kemo… question for you… why do they put braille letters on drive-thru ATMs?
Wow, the response to my “Dear y2kemo” column continues to be underwhelming. Thanks to all who have neglected to get involved. Your lack of effort is inspirational and appreciated. I can only hope that more people are as non-participatory as you. God bless Amurica.
Well, today’s question for y2kemo comes from Josh K., a teenage Internet troll who owns a car, hates The Man, and curses like a sailor.
For whatever reason I’ve been fielding a lot of inquiries (like 17) regarding the name of my site, its URL, and my life in general. Most of ‘em are silly, some are downright inappropriate, and the rest are borderline preposterous. Well, I’m tired of trying to figure out what to do with them so I’m going to make ‘em available for all to see.
Today’s post packages most of the questions in a handy Q&A. As an added bonus, I’ve put together a bit of background on the origin of the URL and the site name. Enjoy.
Wow, the response to my “Dear y2kemo” column has been unbelievable underwhelming. Thanks to all who have neglected to get involved and send a simple flippin’ e-mail. Your lack of effort is inspirational and appreciated.
Today’s question comes from Robin B., a mild-mannered (made up) 30-something bachelor who made a wrong decision in a situation we all know too well.
Dear y2kemo, I was at the pub the other night having a smashing time with my buddy B.W. when things got a wee bit out of hand. It was ladies night and drafts were a dollar. B.W. starts talking to some chick, and everything is going well when out of nowhere the chick freaks. Her face morphs. Her body starts twitching. And then she lets out a blood-curdling banshee scream. Naturally, and without spilling my beer, I go to aid my fellow brethren. Holy motha! There was a huge flippin’ Fruit Bat hanging from the hairs of B.W.’s left cave. Well, that’s when she went Manson on his ace, and things went from bad to worse than bad.
