Fri 11 Apr 2008
Short answer: yes. But being as how it is his birthday today and he is my brother, I thought maybe you folks could go into a little more detail about what makes him so dang keen. While some of you may be familiar with him (e.g. for his Arlo Guthrie impersonation or for his hotdog-waggilin’ antics), direct knowledge is not required, I don’t think, to participate here. You could probably just make things up out of thin air and they’d turn out to be correct, because that’s approximately how awesome he is.
So lay it on me. What makes my brother so totally frickin’ sweet?
Posted by Josh Millard24 answers so far!
There was that one time when he wrestled a bear in a polka dotted dress while falling off a cliff.
I still haven’t figured out how he got the dress on the bear AND found the perfect bag and pumps to make it pop. That Alex Millard is quite a guy.
Alex Millard is cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.
Facts:
1. Alex Millard is a mammal.
2. Alex Millard fights ALL the time.
3. The purpose of Alex Millard is to flip out and kill people.
If you don’t believe that Alex Millard has REAL Ultimate Power you better get a life right now or he will chop your head off!!! It’s an easy choice, if you ask me.
Alex Millard is sooooooooooo sweet that I want to crap my pants. I can’t believe it sometimes, but I feel it inside my heart. This guy is totally awesome and that’s a fact. Alex Millard is fast, smooth, cool, strong, powerful, and sweet. I can’t wait to start yoga next year!!
We were both passengers on Oceanic Flight 815, which crash-landed on an island in the South Pacific. Only eight of us survived the crash. We landed in the water. I was hurt, pretty badly. In fact, if it weren’t for him, I would have never made it to the shore. He took care of me. He took care of all of us. He- he gave us first aid, water, found food, made shelter. He tried to save the other two, but they didn’t-
I heard if you stand within three feet of the guy, you gain an inch in girth, y’know, down there. S’what I heard.
You know, before that night I met him in downtown Rangoon, I don’t think I’d ever met anyone who could better me in Indian leg-wrestling (Ozark rules), but better me he did, and danged if he wasn’t such a good sport about it that I ended up buying his drinks that night. He could spin a wild tale of his adventures and I was happy to sit in the large group that encircled him and listen. At the time all his stories seemed to be so full of truth I’d have elected him President, Pope and Homecoming King on the spot, but with the light of day, I couldn’t repeat them without them feeling like shallow things, made of cardboard and tinsel. It not that the stories were wrong or untrue, it’s just I’ll never be the story teller he is. I could go on, but he’s out there doing things right now that would make mere mortal men’s blood run cold and doing it with panache and style and a witty comment too, so I’ll let him write the rest of the tale. Godspeed, my friend.
I heard that Alex Millard invented giving. And that if you cut him, he bleeds awesome.
He’s a good cook!
Allex Millard is a brilliant theoretical physicist, thrust into a desperate fight for survival when a Black Mesa experiment in high level physics goes horribly wrong. In the process, he becomes one of the leaders of a resistance movement against aliens who invade Earth through dimensional rifts created by the “resonance cascade” inadvertently generated by the experimental project.
There was this one time in church when I started singing “Praise Alex Millard from whom all blessings flow/Praise Alex Millard all creatures here below/Praise Alex Millard above ye heavenly host/Bring Alex Millard some buttered toast.” Just then the stained glass image of Christ on the far wall began to weep leaden tears, the preacher began to speak an ancient Romulan dialect, a giant crow with grey feathers appeared on the communion table that stood before the pulpit, said, and I quote, “Mrowr,” and then? That twitch in my eyelid that bugged me for like three months? Totally went away.
Josh’s Brother Alex = Abhor Her Sex Jolts.
Happy birthday.
Alex is totally frickin’ sweet for the following reasons:
-bargain prices on art work of all kinds (offer only good for Roommates, Spouses, Dudes who ask nice)
-suppression of his allergies via direct injections to the eyeball OR regular pills for cats he hardly knows
-general handiness
-A deep and personal love of the same games I like
-Alex once defeated an army of mole men, thus saving the earth from damp and moldy enslavement. Boffo.
I can’t properly speak to the question until we have killed him and eaten him. Dibs on the leg!!!1
I heard that Alex Millard invented the internet. And that he can change himself into a Samoyed at will. This was how we won the Cold War, due to Alex spying on the Russians as a Samoyed. After that was won, that was when he got bored and invented the internet so his brother Josh would have something fun to do, cuz he is that kind of guy.
Happy Birthday!
Alex Millard once rebalanced my tires using nothing but a tin can lid and an intense glower. The Toyota never ran so smooth. Happy Birthday!
Is this the Alex Millard who knocked me up at the senior prom and then skipped town? He was pretty awesome, all right, but I’d had a whole lot of sloe gin fizzes and Chex Mix by then, and many a year has passed in the interim, so I may be misremembering somewhat.
I’m going to be honest - a few years back, I was in a pretty bad state. I was living in some squalid flophouse in La Paz; I had a crippling addiction to illegal stimulants, and my drug and gambling debts had every gangster from Puerto Aguirre to Cobija putting a bounty on my body parts. Also, my haircut was ill-advised in the extreme. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any lower, Alex Millard appeared, a shining angel cresting the brow of Despair Hill. Despite the fact that he had never met me before, had no idea who I was, and at first sight was physically repulsed by my appearance, Alex went above and beyond to help me out. He gave me a roof over my head where I wasn’t surrounded by whoremongers and junkies, gave me a great recommendation for a hair salon, acted as a go-between for the gangs and embezzled several thousand dollars from a children’s charity just to pay off my debts - without ever taking a cent for himself.
Also, he totally hooked me up with this Bulgarian lab-made amphetamine derivative called Smock, which got me through the next couple of years on less than seven hours sleep in total.
So yeah, sweet dude.
I never met Alex Millard, but my grandpappy did. He told me about how on one golden hot summer morning a stranger came walking over the hill. He had a good-natured smile on his face and his countenance seemed to glow from within as he stepped foot upon my grandpappy’s farm.
The drought had affected the county hard, and the people’s hearts had turned greedy and desiccated like the parched ground that only broke up into depressing grey clouds of dust and sucked up any moisture that touched it.
My grandpappy was a goodhearted man, but he was a cautious man. Times being what it was he couldn’t help but eye the stranger warily. The stranger only gave the name of Alex Millard, but couldn’t give a town or family to tie to it. He smiled as if he’d stepped into Paradise itself in front of my grandpappy’s porch. He asked if my grandpappy could spare some water and a bite to eat.
My grandpappy would’ve spit on the ground if his mouth wasn’t so dry, but before he could get in a word edgewise; my grandmamma came out on the porch and invited the stranger in.
The stranger sat down at the kitchen table. My grandmamma dipped a dusty glass she’d tried her best to wipe off into an old washbasin half-filled with water from the pump before it had gone dry.
She then sliced two generous slices from what was left of the bread, and slathered it lovingly with all the butter she had scraped from the bottom of the crock. She cut off the crusty bits off of what left of the ham and cheese and put the sandwich on a chipped plate decorated with daisies and set it in front of the stranger with the glass of water. It was all they had until grandpappy could head into town for supplies later in the day, but that was a can of worms entirely its own thanks to all the things that had been purchased on credit.
The stranger thanks her profusely with such genuine gratitude, that to this day whenever grandpappy tells this story she interjects to add he had thanked her so sincerely, that looking at the stranger’s well-set ruddy face with its unassuming smile a piece of her heart fell in love with that strange and broke away from her heart.
Alex Millard had polished off the sandwich and swallowed the last gulp of water when my grandpappy sidled up to the table and said with a harrumph, “Well now that you’ve eaten, maybe you can help us around the farm a bit. We’re just a childless couple with only ourselves to tend to this old farm.”
My grandmamma shot him a look that would’ve felled a possum out of a tree 50 yards away, but the stranger stood up and patting my grandpappy on the shoulder said it was only right that he should help out.
Once outside, my grandpappy pointed out that the cow needed to be milked. And a small section of the field to be tilled. He also pointed to the barn where jars of unidentifiable foods that had been jarred away were probably quite sour and inedible; and there were bags of dud seeds and grain at least ten year old. All pulled out from a long-forgotten cellar by my grandmamma who was hoping to find something to eat for when things got really desperate. Instead she had just succeeded in cluttering up a corner of the barn.
The stranger smiled and nodded, then gamely began to get to work. My grandpappy watched him for a while, not sure what to make of it and starting to feel slightly embarrassed about the way things had turned out. The stranger started working. Oddly, he seemed to know where everything was as if he’d been on the farm his whole life.
My grandpappy then reluctantly decided to go work on the roof a bit more. Several hours had passed and the sun was now beating down on him at its hottest. My grandpappy decided to climb down from the roof to get some water for himself; he then added he should probably get one for the stranger too.
Staring up balefully at the half-finished roof grandpappy decided wasn’t too worried. It wasn’t going to be raining anytime soon. He sheepishly admitted that he also probably should just let the stranger get on his way.
He walked into the kitchen and asked my grandmamma for two glasses of water, and as he turned around to head out the door he heard the voice of Alex Millard from the porch say, “I finished all the work you had for me. I thank you again very much for the food and water. I think it’s best if I start heading back on my way now.”
“Wait, there, you should have yourself a glass of water,” my grandpappy called back as he opened the door only to find no one standing outside. He looked up and down the dusty road but didn’t see anyone as well.
With the two glasses of water still in his hand he went out to the field only to see that the entire field had been tilled and the earth was now a rich black like the piping hot fresh black coffee my grandmamma would brew.
With his heart pounding like the first time he saw my grandmamma in her cool green dress that one fall night at the harvest dance and with a mouth drier than the earth he went to the barn only to find in the place of the old spoiled foodstuff, gleaming new jars holding treasures such as sweet golden peaches and tomatoes with bite as if it’d just been picked off the vine yesterday. The dusty bags of useless seed and grain were now the finest flour and cornmeal. The cow had been milked, but there was so much milk. And butter even.
“When the hell did he have time to churn butter?” my grandpappy muttered to himself before realizing that in light of the situation that that was probably last in the long list of questions that needed to be answered.
He chewed on his lip as he made his way back towards the house, two glasses still in hand. He needed to figure out a way to tell my grandmamma about this. But then he spotted her kneeling on the ground in front of the porch, her head sagging down.
“Ada!” he cried out as he ran towards her. He stopped next to her to see that she was actually looking down at the ground at a patch of flowers that sprouted from the hard tramped down dirt of the path. Fresh green shivered in the hot breath of the summer drought as little white flowers like spearheads poked up defiantly.
“Oh, Jonah,” my grandmamma said without looking up. Her voice came out a small whisper as if she were talking to herself and not my grandpappy. “They’re Millard’s spears. The last time I saw them was the day the pastor from the church dropped of an envelope filled with four hundred dollars someone had left for my grandmother. It was just enough to save the farm that she was about to lose after my grandfather died. They bloomed the day after a stranger had helped my grandmother with milling some grain. All he asked for in return was some food and water.”
She then looked up at my grandfather with eyes full of tears and a smile on her mouth, “Millard’s an Old English name meaning ‘guardian of the mill.’”
My grandpappy knelt down and poured out one of the glasses of water on the little white flowers.
The drought finally broke a week later when the skies broke and quenching rains fell on the county. That fall at the county fair everyone agreed that nothing the other farmers grew that year grew as bountiful and as large and good looking like what was grown on my grandpappy’s farm.
Alex Millard is more awesome than alien implants!
Akex Millard is an awesome alien implant!
Oooh, I am *so* telling Mulder!
Alex Millard found my g-spot and we never met, nor spoke, nor do I suspect could he pick me out of a crowd. I think he may have been soundly sleeping when he did it, in fact, but it’s really a big deal to me. Thanks, guy.
Alex Millard is so freekin’ great ………
His mama and pappa are standin’ by!
Happy birthday alexander benjamin millard!
It’s always nice to google your own name (lame) and find a link to your cousin.
Hooray for people named Alex Millard!
Alex? Oh. Alex …he’s dreamy.