Hi Ron! :OP
My boss is turning 75 like a baws! He drink wines I could never afford and has eaten delicacys I am legally not allowed to know about at my income level. What should I bring him for his birthday din-din (on the water in Tiburon)?
David, thank you very much for your question. Real quick though, the numerous grammatical and spelling errors in your original email made me review child labor laws in the United States, and do a bit of research to see if science had successfully replaced a human brain with a half-eaten can of liquor-store smoked oysters. I highly suggest you worry more about not calling spaghetti "basghetti" than finding a bottle of bald eagle tears for your shithead boss. Might I suggest sharpening your stewardship of the English language the same way I did? Get a copy of e.e. cummings' The Elements of Style, crush it up in a coffee grinder, mix it with some bath salts, and smoke that shit out of the chillum you traded your father's golf cart for in Quartzsite, Arizona after a monthlong bender of inhalant abuse and impersonating Tiger Woods. Will it make your van smell like Lou Dog? Yes, but sometimes in life you must weigh the good against the bad.
In regards to your question, I find that the only way to impress an overlord of a higher class is a simple method I refer to as "Goin' Verde," or "Goin' Casa." In other words, you have to find the greenest, slowest, most organic shit ever known to man to win over his Monopoly-guy looking ass. You must deny your initial thoughts and go greener. For example, if your initial thought is "oh man, I bet he'd love this 1992 Cab Sav from the Chilean winery where Augusto Pinochet and Josef Mengele held their Gone with the Windcosplay sessions" just get that thought out of your stupid, hooked-on-phonics-needing head. YOU NEED TO GO GREENER, MOTHERFUCKER. THAT SHIT ISN'T EVEN GREEN, ITS RED. GO TO THE DEPTHS OF YOUR BRAIN THAT HAS BULLSHIT THOUGHTS LIKE "I bet G.G. Allin would have owned a Prius if he didn't vile his veins to Vacaville, so, like, they are pretty punk." Once you are there, just light some scented candles, put on some Coldplay, and think about the greenest, slowest thing you can. That's right amigo, you need to get your boss a turtle dressed as Alice Waters. Welcome to enlightenment, population: US.
Here is the scene: You finish frizzing the final strand of the turtle's wig, and put the final bullshit quote in its head about how even poor people can afford rainbow chard, throw that little charmer into your 1987 Datsun pickup truck, and head to Tiburon with your idiotic thoughts. Once at the party, after you bum out everybody by completely ruining an in-depth discussion about capoeira by calling it "Mexican karate," walk up to your boss, firmly shake his hand while staring him in the eye and say "I love you, sir. You are my special peanut." At that point, pull the turtle out of the Grocery Outlet bag it's been living in for the past five terrifying hours, and make him kiss it. BOOM. Once the applause dies down, put on the imitation Ray Bans you found at Ashby station while stalking that girl from Human Resources, start walking away, but then turn around and whisper "Go verde or go casa."
After that, prepare for an evening of intellectual foreplay and chalices of chardonay with beautiful women from vaguely French, jet-setting bloodlines who have cities named after them in the Rhineland, and skin that tastes of rose petals and hundred dollar bills. Or go home and look on Craigslist for a new job with a uncooked can of Hormel chili and a cat covered in flea bites to your name, because you fucked up and listened to me. It doesn't matter to me. I think you're an illiterate prick. :OP
Ed. note: This is the third in what will now be a regular etiquette series. Read the first two parts here, and send any questions to Editor at EastBayExpress.com, subject line "Ron Kristophone." Also, apologies to "David," Alice Waters, turtles, G.G. Allin, practitioners of capoeira, rich people, and anyone else who may have been offended by the last several paragraphs.