This is part two of a five-part series. For part one, click here.

Hello, class. Welcome to Mitching 102: Advanced Mitching.

In this class, we’ll build on yesterday’s lessons, providing some new twists and turns.

Here’s another early example of Basic Mitching, from when we gathered in Kansas City:

NB: For some reason, his phone autocorrected “Mitchell” to “MITCHELL.” I thought it was funny, so I left it like that.

Some eagle-eyed students may have noticed a theme beginning to present itself during yesterday’s lesson, and now I would like to bring that additional step to the forefront.

Immediately after posting as your opponent, “like” and leave a comment on the post itself. I prefer to leave a comment expressing disgust and dismay, both at the act of soiling oneself and at the “choice” to describe the act in detail in a public forum. This serves three purposes: One, as a sort of “tag” to claim credit for your work. If your comment falls within a minute or two of the post itself, it acts as a blame-taker, alerting future comment viewers that you have performed this devilish stunt; Two, it adds a level of humor, as you can ramp up the chuckles by compounding the situation; and Three, it propagates the post. Any additional “likes” and comments push the post up in Facebook’s algorithm, ensuring that your masterpiece will be seen by more people.

At the end of 2014, Mitch came down to Texas and we all attended Fun Fun Fun Fest. It was a fantastic time. As he was packing up to go, and loading stuff out to the car, I offered to create a driving playlist on his Spotify.

I did so, and the playlist is awesome, because I am awesome and Mitch is awesome and the taste that we share is awesome.

But as I crafted that playlist, I also crafted something else:

A true masterwork, if I do say so myself.

This brings us to another facet of Advanced Mitching: drawing from life. Mitch did, in fact, eat all of those things while he was here; thus, the described outcome is not outside the realm of possibility. Additionally, Mitch himself had posted on Facebook about some of those very meals, providing an added level of realism to the supposed pants-shitting. (NOTE, however, the repeated declarations of identity: “Mitch here;” “This is Mitch;” “This is Mitchell telling you about it.” This is in keeping with the first rule, that any posts should be clearly and apparently not by the actual Facebook account owner.)

This brings Mitching 102 to a close. Join us tomorrow for MITCHING 103: SUPER ADVANCED MITCHING.

In keeping with the general chronological timeline, however, I present the following:

At this point, I was just waiting for Mitch to return the favor. I knew it would happen at some point, so I’d be peeping around corners whenever he was nearby, and changing my iPhone password all the time. Last year, when we were in KC, Bill tried to do it on his behalf– he was checking in on the cats, and got on my desktop to see if I was still logged into Facebook. He had this work of beauty prepared:

UH OH! I MADE AN ACCIDENT! Keef here. One minute I was sitting in thoughtful reflection and the next IT. FELT. LIKE. SOMETHING. WAS. ALIVE. INSIDE. ME. WELCOME TO BROWN TOWN! I am pouring buckets of chili cheese out the ample legs of my Manpris like so much Ebola. I’M SWIMMING IN IT! IT’S FILLED UP MY SHOES AND SOAKED MY SOCKS! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! THE HORROR! THE HORROR! This is totally Keef, by the way. Totally KEEF!

Luckily, I wasn’t logged into Facebook. Preserved by my paranoia once again!

That said, note Bill’s skill in crafting this fine Mitch. I do occasionally wear Manpris, providing realism to the scenario; there are repeated declarations of identity (“Keef here;” “This is totally Keef, by the way;” “Totally KEEF!”). Plus, it’s pretty goddamn funny.

More lectures in this series:

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