Greg Hanson ruined the Superbowl and trades slaves with Ragnor the Viking

So before the Superbowl I started writing this post about the time my super cool brother Keith and I went to a Notre Dame bowl game in Jacksonville and got chased down some dirt road by couple of homeless people. It was totally funny too. I was going on about how I kept yelling at Keith that I was sure the homeless people were going to stick us with needles and how we couldn't remember where we parked the car because we left it at some abandoned carpet factory or something. Yeah, totally awesome. Well I let too much time pass and now what could have been a relevant post relating to a current event (i.e. the Superbowl) sounds lame and random. In it's place I will tell you about my arch enemy, Greg Hanson, of Greg Hanson & The Backroads, and how we came to be pitted against one another. It is not random at all.

My husband and I moved into our current place in September of 2007 and shortly after set up a new home phone line. Almost immediately we began getting calls for a Greg Hanson. At first it was just one or two a day. "Is Greg Hanson there?" We got off with an easy "you have the wrong number." However after about a month the calls started getting more and more numerous and got kinda shady. "Is Greg Hanson there? Well when was the last time you saw him?" We were like "We don't know the dude, you have the wrong number."

A few months into it we started getting close to 20 calls a day from various flooring dealerships asking for, you guessed it, that rat bastard Greg Hanson. When we asked to be removed from the list the people would tell us that someone named Greg Hanson recently went to a flooring expo and put his name and number in the main box to be contacted by every flooring vendor in the tri-state area. Motherfucker.

A couple of months and hundreds of calls later the flooring assholes stopped calling. Yes, I know we could have simply changed our number, but I wasn't going to let these flooring jerks and the evil Greg Hanson determine my fucking destiny. I had stood up against my tormentors and had emerged victorious. Or so I thought....

It was at this point that we started getting downright harassing phone calls. They would call and ask for Greg Hanson of course, and when I told them they had the wrong number they would say things like "Are you sure you don't know Greg Hanson? This isn't Greg Hanson's mother?" And I would be like "no, I wasn't lying the first time, YOU HAVE THE WRONG GODDAMNED NUMBER!" To which I received a reply like"We know this is you Mrs. Hanson, we need to talk to Greg now." I couldn't believe it. I said "listen you fucking bitch, I'm only 30 26 years old. Any kid I could have would not be old enough to be getting phone calls from whatever gestapo you represent. I am not Greg Hanson, I am not Greg Hanson's mother, I have no idea who Greg Hanson is but I swear to you and to Jesus Fucking Christ that if I ever meet that son of a bitch Greg Hanson, harassing phone calls from little 'I only finished the 11th grade' bitches like you are going to be the least of his problems! Now stop calling!"

After this I decided to make it my personal mission to find this Greg Hanson and take him down personally. I figured there must be some kind of reward for his head, and at the very least I could stop cursing people out on the phone in front of company. My first stop was Google of course. Google that I love with every inch of my Greg Hanson hating being.

The first few results were promising, although somewhat intimidating. Dr. Greg Hanson is the US Senate’s first Chief Information Officer. Well I'm not going to fuck with anyone in charge of my information. I once screamed at a lady at the drivers license place and subsequently failed my vision test seven times in a row despite not needing glasses. Dr. Greg was out.

The next candidate for my plan of vengeance was Greg "Digger" Hanson, a Hollywood stuntman who has worked on such film gems as "Good Luck Chuck" and "Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed." He seemed like a possible match since those films were huge flops and probably left him without much money to pay off his creditors, but then I realized that stuntmen are typically testosterone fueled idiots and would not need to hide behind a wrong number if he had done someone wrong. He would accept, no seek the confrontation that would arise from him being a deadbeat and not paying his bills. Again I was left without a target for my rage.

The third Greg Hanson I found was a lawyer in Minnesota no less. Who could be more likely to receive a bunch of pissed off phone calls than a lawyer with cheated clients? I felt like I had found my man and began leaving him threatening messages in earnest. "Greg Hanson, attorney at law! After almost 2 years of harassing phone calls from all the people you have pissed of, you leave me no choice but to challenge your ass to a duel. If this is THE Greg Hanson, meet me by the Spoonbridge with the giant cherry on it, downtown Minneapolis, Friday at 9 o'clock! Don't fuck with me Hanson!!!"

That Friday I got to the Spoonbridge early so I could set up a trap. I know all lawyers like Life Savers candies so I set a trail leading to a spike pit that I dug that morning. I sat in wait for what seemed like hours. By 12:30 I knew Hanson wasn't showing. I figured I had the wrong Greg Hanson because I explicitly told him that if it was THE Greg Hanson, he'd better be there. I went home and sent him a letter stating that I must have the wrong guy. I even included some of the Life Savers (I wiped off most of the dirt first) as a peace offering. I didn't hear back from him, but I think he forgives me.

The only possible Greg Hanson left was a country singer. Greg Hanson of Greg Hanson & The Backroads. At first glance this looks like your normal average country band. Until you get to their drummer.

WTF? This dude is no country band drummer! He's no drummer at all. He looks like a 1989 IBM programmer with bad, photoshopped long "drummer" hair.

It all began to make sense. This "band" is obviously a cover for some seriously dark, underground shit. His clearly phony band members, his cliche list of favorites, (seriously, your favorite way to relax is to "Ride the 4-wheeler or horse through the pastures on parent's farm near Wilmot." How fucking naive do you think I am Greg Hanson?!?) along with his association of LeRoy VanDyke, a known fast-talking auctioneer leads me to believe this Greg Hanson is running some kind sick, illegal auction. Maybe even a human slave trade auction. Yeah, that's probably it. Well I'm on to you, you sick fuck Greg Hanson. I will bring down your dirty human slave trade if it's the last thing I ever do! I brought down my Girl Scout troop leader in the third grade for skimming the top of the cookie sales, don't think I can't do the same to you!

And for any of you that doubt me, here is the proof. A picture of Greg Hanson with Ragnor the Viking, who is the Minnesota Vikings mascot, and also suspected of being a trader of humans.

*Update- The date stamp on my blog is clearly fucked up because if I had posted this before the Superbowl took place it would not make any sense. Unless I am traveling through time without my knowledge which totally makes sense because I never know what day it is and frequently find unexplained bruises on my body. That could also be explained by all the drinking.