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Clubhouse Closeout Origin Story

Clubhouse Closeout Origin Story


What up, humans? It’s your favorite, half-man, half-possum, Crazy Eddy. THE SURGERY WAS IRREVERSIBLE!!!! I bet you thought I was gone forever after goodr’s Overstock Oversale. Well, you’re wrong, just like my wife was wrong when she said, “You’re not really going to turn into a possum and change your name to ‘Crazy Eddy’ and leave your family to go live in a dumpster.” WHO’S THE FOOL NOW, SHAINA?! WHO’S THE FOOL NOW?!?!?!

I pitched goodr all kinds of alliterative sales -- the Fantastic Firesale, the Horrific Half-Off Hullabaloo, the Derr Derr Derr Dippity-doo-dah Discount Disco Dance - but they rejected every one. I’m not ashamed to say I cried. Just like I’m not ashamed to say I live in a dumpster and eat insects, worms and small rodents. Go ahead and say it’s gross, haters. You know what’s not gross? My waistline. CRAZY EDDY’S A LIVING THIRST TRAP!!!!!

After going on a sadness bender, I woke up in a dumpster by the Septembera National Golf Club in Septembera, CA. So I stretched my weird claw hands and creepy tail, and went for a stroll on the course. That’s when I saw it: a BIG ASS MESS left by partygoers. There were liquor bottles, hats, shoes, skivvies, socks -- I mean, no socks, there weren’t any socks, I didn’t eat them -- electronical doohickeys, golf thingamjigs, and sunglasses. Not just any sunglasses -- goodr golf sunglasses WITH FLAMINGO EYE TECHNOLOGY!!!!!

That’s when a lightbulb lit up over my head! Literally. I was standing under a light, and it exploded, raining broken glass on my noggin. Got cut up pretty bad, and passed out. When I woke up in the hospital, the owners of Septembera National Golf Club offered me ANYTHING to make sure I didn’t sue. I said, “OKURRRR! I want to throw a Clubhouse Closeout Sale for those goods left behind! AND I want the ‘closeout gray’ sunglasses!’

Obvs, they caved to my demands, or you wouldn’t be reading this. The point is, every decision I’ve made in life -- to get controversial plastic surgery to become a possum-man, to legally change my name to ‘Crazy Eddy,’ to leave my family to pursue my dream of living in a dumpster, to eat insects, worms, small rodents, with a cheat meal of socks, to ask for a pair of sunglasses and an unpaid sales gig instead of a large cash settlement -- was 100% correct. Like I always say: Crazy Eddy isn’t crazy. BUT HIS PRICES ARE!!!!!




Yes please!

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