That’s right, folks! It’s a McVicar-style day here at DT!Or not…
I met Brice a few years ago via Facebook, even though we only recently met face-to-face for the first time (that was literally two days ago). It’s strange to say that, ’cause I feel totally at home with the guy. But now I’m positive that he exists, which is more than I can say for the lot of you.
The dude will probably hate me for saying this and ruining his street cred, but I can best describe Brice as one of the most amazing damned fathers I have ever met. He’s a mean little sweetheart all covered in tattoos, with an awesome child-like innocence and a hilarious (but sometimes vividly disgusting) sense of humor. He strokes his goatee while he’s smoking and listening to the inane ramblings of whoever is present, making him look somewhat like a mad professor, but also letting you feel like he’s genuinely considering what you’re flapping your gums about. I’d give a million bucks to see what’s going on in his brain at those moments, but fear that I may find a Justin Bieber film on repeat in there instead of what I might expect…
In his daylight hours, he’s a reporter for a daily newspaper, a husband to a slightly insane (but ridiculously cute as hell) woman, the father of three adorible little monsters (very well behaved, too), and a columnist/writer for Fangoria.
See, one of the best things about Brice is the fact that he’s just. like. me… but different. We love the same music, we love the same movies, and we damn well love the same books. I think the biggest difference here is that he’s skinny, and I’m getting fat from all the cookies I’ve been eating for dinner.
Shit, I’ve been waiting a long time to introduce you guys to this crazy man, and this is the perfect time to do so. So without further ado, it is my pleasure to introduce y’all to one of the poor bastards I howl my ridiculous ideas and problems at – W. Brice McNasty… er… sorry… W. Brice McVicar.
Warning: The following is not for the faint of heart… no pun intended Continue reading