Indulge your inner Phid

Well, its 9/11 again. Screw mourning. Screw vengeance. On my planet, 9/11 means Phid. (It also means scar tissue (don’t ask), elephantitis (REALLY. DON’T. ASK.) and having a stripper buy you smokes and give you her phone number (life is good) but these will wait for another day.)


This is Phid. Sort of. He is older now than at any time in his past. (Your life is surely more complete knowing that, isn’t it.) Anyway, without 9/11, there would be no Phid. Imagine a world without Dave. I can’t. You can’t either. So in honor of pre-“9-11” 9/11-ness, celebrate Phidness wherever you find it.

For example, without Phid, “Penis Rock” in Boulder would be just another bit of granite with a lame ass name like Devil’s Thumb, so don’t underestimate the impact of Phidon anyone’s life.

True Story: Without Phid, I might not have learned that girls have to pee too, just differently. (As a seven year old, I had no idea.) Thanks Phid. (Note to pre-teens everywhere- Barbie is as useless as GI Joe for learning biology. Same with JC Penney’s catalogs for that matter. Fortunately God invented Victoria’s Secret for future generations to learn from, if Phid is not around to explain it.)

Without the intrinsic Phidness of


There would not have been the cheap ass imitators like

Luther Campbell (


Assmunch (

Sorry Phid- no mountain tops or Powerpoints this year, but you get the idea, you old fart.

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