Mike, Nate, Flynn, and I are on our way to the beach house we rented in Michigan. It’s located some ways off the main road, requiring a series of twisty turns through the greenery. Mike asks me to review the directions on the Post It notes she scribbled out the other night while speaking to the lady who owns the beach house.
Mike: What’s the next turn?
Me: Port Sheldon Road to… Who the hell is Ron Butternut?
Mike: What?
Me: It says right here: “Ron Butternut.” Who is this Ron Butternut? ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH HIM!?!
(I point at the directions, knowing full well it says “R on Butternut” [Right on Butternut Road] Mike laughs.)
Mike: That’s an awesome name. You should make him a character in a story.
Me: Except it would be funnier if it were “Ron Butternuts.” I’d have him address a audience like this: “Hello, everyone, I’m Ron Butternuts. SHUT THE HELL UP.”
(Mike and I laugh.)
Throughout the week we kept speculating on who Ron Butternuts was, and so forth. Finally, one night, on our way to get ice cream in Holland, MI, we bring up Ron one too many times for Nate’s taste.
Nate: (Shouting) No! No! It’s NOT Ron Butternuts!
Mike: Oh really, bud? What should his name be?
Nate: It should be RON SUGARNUTS!!!
Hilarity ensued. Also, he’s absolutely right.
