Guest Column!

Due to Comcast being a bunch of nut-humping douche-mongers, I am once again without internet. As such, we are pleased to present a guest column, from one A. Sean Feddish:

We at Blogspot apologize for the following inconvenience, but today’s instalment of Fletcher will be cancelled due to unforeseen technical difficulties (note: read as debilitating flatulence). However, we at Blogspot value all of our loyal readers, and have instead replaced your normal cup o’Fletcher with new, 100% Irish, slow-roasted A. Sean Feddish. Again, we apologize whole-heartedly for this unforeseen circumstance, and hope that you will tune in tomorrow, same bat-time, same bat-channel.

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Allow me for a second to introduce myself to all of you there reading this in cyberspace (1, 2, 3…wow Fletcher, you’ve got quite the fan base). My name is A. Sean Feddish, and I am one of M…er…Fletcher’s "sometimes" friends (basically, he wants nothing to do with me when he invites all of his high-brow, Ivy League alum friends over to his haute-couture inspired-Potomac penthouse for Sunday afternoon high tea, yet suddenly I’m the most popular guy on the other side of the Beltway whenever the ol’ "Iceman" is looking for "a few good wingmen" [yes, I know I just mixed up war movies, but like I said, he’s the one that got all the brains]). Yup, I’m the wingman…always have been, always would have been if someone wasn’t on the path to matrimony. Stupid Fletcher… couldn’t even remember rule number seven (it’s tattooed on your favourite butt cheek stupid).

7) Marriage is nothing more than a mutual arrangement between two consenting adults aimed at maximizing assets and assuring future financial stability allowing for eventual consummation as means for transferring said wealth to a future generation (Feddish et al 1999).

But I digress. Fletcher has always been a good friend, even from the first night we met when he regaled me into the wee hours of the morning with stories of his childhood when he was a successful young actor, fairly attractive and going places. Makes you think, huh? I mean, in an instant your entire life can just spiral down without warning. Makes me wish I was doing something meaningful with my life these days instead of clicking on all those ad links on Fletcher’s page so that he can keep racking in the nickels and earn a decent living wage from all of his ungrateful readers. Anyway, what I wouldn’t give to back in college and on the prowl with good old Fletcher at my side. Wow, I remember this one time when Fletcher and I pulled these two girls at the Beta Mu Chi Spring Panty Fling. I believe it went something like this:

Fletch: A. Sean! Check out those two chicks dressed as bunnies. Which one you want?

Feddish: Wow. It’s so on! I’ll take the Asian one.

Fletch: Good, ‘cuz I’ll take anything.

If the Resident Female is reading this, I’m glad to hear that Fletcher’s standards have gone up, because he really hit rock bottom a few years back when he kept hitting on all those women at the Weight Watchers meetings. Not that I’ve been a beacon of success either, but even a fat, balding, mildly unattractive Mormon like myself can get laid in Japan (all it takes is 1/127,417,244th). God my life is pathetic. I should’ve ended it all in high school and at least scored a full page in the year book. Now all I’ve got to show for 25 years worth existence is this one time appearance on Fletcher’s Blog and my back hair. Well, at least no one can take away the latter from me…