I Want to Buy an Electric Car
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The Boy's Club for MenEvening folks. Yeah, I had a mental breakdown at work today. I didn’t yell or hurt anybody, but I decided I couldn’t work in that hack shop one more minute. Being the sensible person I am, I called JDubs for advice: answer this question lover – do I stay at work and have a coniption fit or do I quit? She said if I can’t stand it, just get out now (and she works in HR). “No two weeks?” I asked. She said, “You had a similar break down two weeks ago and two weeks before that. I don’t think I can listen to this song and dance in another two weeks from now. Just quit.”
I said, “What about money and evrything else?”
“We’ll figure it out later. Just get out,” she said. And she hung up. I sat there for a moment thinking of all the reasons not to quit and then remembered the reasons I should. My happiness is important. My sanity is important. I deserve better. That’s true. Without haste I went to my boss and told her this is it, “this job is killing me.” No notice. Just ‘poof’. I’m gone. Hardest decision I’ve had to make in a long time. Best choice I’ve ever made. Hooray me! I now have the opportunity to be what I want to be, a sex toy salesman/ventriliquist. Now the work worth doing begins and I couldn’t be more frightened.
- Big deal Wolfy. Marge is my soul mate. Now show me some inner peace or I’ll mop the floor with ya’.
Sometimes I think I’m being really funny. I’m engaging conversation with strangers and they’re thrilled and captivated; laughing at my every word. And then it hits me. Everything I’m saying is a recital of Simpson’s quotes and situations that I’ve stored away in my subconscious. “Remember the episode when Bart was a baby and Homer wanted Bart to call him ‘daddy’ and after several tries he called Homer, ‘Domer’?” I know that was a funny episode. I know that was a funny event. But in that instance I’m no more than a hack. Simply put, I’m stealing material from other people in an attempt to prove my funniness. The problem is that it works. People love Simpson related stories and quotes. “Do you remember the episode with the Bear Tax? Homer and Lisa are standing in the front yard opening mail and Homer gets his pay check. He’s wondering why his ‘pay is so low’ and Lisa says it’s the Bear Tax that Homer so triumphantly demanded. Then Homer outrageously exclaims something like, ‘I don’t want to pay the bear tax, let the bears pay the bear tax. I pay the Homer tax.’ And Lisa responds by saying, ‘Dad, it’s the Home owner tax.’” The Simpsons are so damn funny. Do you remember how funny that was? Well, I do. And now, in some hacked up version of the real story, you’ll remember it, too. I’m so funny. You’re welcome.
Looking good in your pull over hood,
But I know you look better without the sweater.
Show me your boobs. Can I hold them now?
I’ve been sitting on my hands for several reasons;
Your flesh is warmed by my touch.
Nipples are nature’s stick candy, sweet and pointed.
I am a pedantic romantic.
You’re foolish for letting me near you.
Don’t put your shirt on yet.
Dammit!
We’ve all ventured out into the expanses of the world gleefully returning full of knowledge. Such life lessons always prove to be invigorating and help guide us through life’s meaningless journies. Here are 10 tidbits that I’ve picked up along the way that I remember everyday:
He ate a bunch of rabies ridden clams and wants a kiss
10. “Wild animals don’t make good house pets” – We tried keeping a wild raccoon once. His name was Ricki; Ricki the Raccoon. He ate all of our mollusks and gave our cat the worms.
9. “Rock always beats scissors” – I learned this the hard way…watching a Bud Light commercial.
8. ”Poop stays in the toilet” – It certainly doesn’t belong in my hands or mouth. It took me months to get the stains out of my moustache.
7. “Gay-for-pay is straight” – Life is about doing what you love, not loving what you do. Don’t define yourself based on one experience you had during your “best years”. You’ll just end up confused; ass-a-throbin’.
6. “Pack it in, pack it out” – Showing respect for the world outside of yourself will convey just how incredibly unselfish you are. And isn’t that what it’s about…You?
5. “Cock, step, punch” – I learned this playing high school football. You have to stay low and maintain good technique. Don’t forget to throw out some “pass” and “ball” calls, too.
4. ”If she looks like a man and she talks like a man, she’s alright with me” – Expanding your horizons starts with accepting people for who they are, who they’re not, and who you thought they think that they thought you were.
3. ”Two hands when you’re learning” (thanks Brandon!) – Whether it’s riding a bike or dishing out your first “blowie”, two hands when you’re learning will keep you working hard towards your goals.
2. “Always come prepared” – Preparation is the key to success. Just like bringing a joke book to a gun fight, kids are a terrible mistake. Wrap your (or your partner’s) ding dong up in a condom and you’ll avoid my mother’s 3rd and 4th mistakes (me and my twin)
-And Finally-
1. “There’s no such thing as too much lube” – Designated lubricants like veggie oil, silicon based slickers, lotion, spit and telephone books all exponentially increase fun.
Teeth strings for the plucking.
Sometimes you go to Pittsburgh and your teeth hurt. There was a building called the Dentistry. When you went there an irate Aussie was working beyond the counter. In a thick Australian accent he said, “You like your teeth and so do Aye!” You were frightened about the insurance. No copay? You were vulnerable then. The Aussie glanced up from his stack of answers holding a knife to your face like a pen to paperwork and quietly barked, “I’m not from around here.” Shhh. You take the clipboard to the lobby. The lobby? The lobby. All of the white magazines and doors were covered in copy from covers to floors. You filled it out. Your appointment was sooner than it was. “You get in the chair,” he said. The gas passed. “Don’t forget your toothbrushes for the long trip.” Not again today. The Aussie gripped a knife in his hand’s palm; his main digits were thumbs. He has your teeth in his stack. He was nice enough to leave you smiling. It is what it is. You’ve always looked taller. The Dentistry was a building in Pittsburgh. It was made from teeth. They had rot. You can whistle again.
He's as good as dead anyway; he's not even wearing a helmet
Here is a very simple method to destroy a fly using only your bare hands. This act will not only kill the fly, but also teach valuable lessons to his next of kin. C’mon, really? You’re having second thoughts. Don’t think of his family. Just do it. He’s dirty. You know where he’s been: poop, vomit, trash. And that was just breakfast. He’s spreading disease on you. Ew. Grow a pair and kill him. Everyone else is doing it and here’s how…For this task, you’ll need a set of hands. You’ll also need enough patience to wait for a good moment to strike. For this to work, there’ll need to be a single fly bothering you; more than one and it’s a sign you’re dead and rotting. Usually, if you’re focused at work or peacefully enjoying the day, one will come along. When you are sufficiently bothered, you’ll need to pretend that you don’t care that the fly is buzzing around. Don’t flail as you will only briefly scare it away, thus making the annoyance last longer. Act naturally and he’s sure to fall into your trap. Once he’s comfortable flying near you, you may start the procedure. First, see where he likes to go. In the two flies I’ve ever dealt with liked my skin. Maybe it’s because I smell like sweat and garbage. When I gently shooed them away, they would fly up, circle in the air, and then land on my desk. Based on these experiences, I undoubtedly say that all flies will repeat this. Next, you’ll need to position yourself in a way that you can easily clap your hands together directly above the fly. Now, wait for him to land. When he settles on the desk, slowly move your spread hands about 3 inch above him. He should be centered between your soon-to-be-clapping/killing hands. Finally, when he takes off, which he will…Clap! If you missed, repeat this process until the bugger is dead. Ta da! Congratulations! You’ve just committed murder.
I’ve always wanted to be a stand-up comedian. Looking back over the years, I’ve gotten a huge response from people just by talking and acting the way that I do.
I read this article that explained making your friends laugh doesn’t actually make you a funny person. Sure, my friends laugh at me, but they laugh at lots of other stuff, too; real comedians, for example, or the musical stylings of the Play-him off cat (see below), to name something else.
Fortunately for me and my dream, I have an uncanny ability to make strangers laugh or, at the very least, cringe. While I believe in my inherent abilities to humor people, my desire to get up on stage is hindered by a small hurdle. Quite frankly, I am scared to be on stage. I attribute the fear to a poor performance I gave in the third grade. I was playing Anonymous Man #2 alongside the wonderfully talented Falon Mahoney in the Westgate Elementary sensation, A Christmas Carol. I had one line – “I’m just a man whose anonymity should remain intact”.
I bombed in front of the whole school, parents and talent scouts. I forgot the line. I stammered on my speech and on my feet. I tripped into the set and knocked over a backdrop which broke a spot lamp above the stage. It fell directly on top of our school’s only prodigy and the play’s leading man, Nathan Hale. He was injured instantly. After that hack job, I second guessed myself whenever I got in front of an audience bigger than five deaf-mutes.
The underlying problem may be that I have just convinced myself that I’m scared. I haven’t actually performed on stage since then and it stands to reason that I don’t know what I’m scared of. I’ve always heard that courage is something you gain after you overcome your fear.
Maybe the best way to achieve my goal is to just go out there and give it a try with my nerves fluttering. But if I accomplish my goals, what will I have to complain about not achieving?
I took a picture of my perineum using a mirror. This isn't it.
There are a lot of things out there that keep me indoors and away from windows. My life revolves around avoiding things that scare me and wearing hair nets. As much as I’ve tried to overcome some of my most basic fears, I always find ways to reinforce them. The following is a compilation of the 10 worst times I’ve ever been scared:
10. My poop turned blue for three days after eating TCBY’s Arthur the Aardvark’s Cotton Candy flavored frozen yogurt.
9. After snapping some voyeuristic pictures behind a circus tent, I was mauled by a black bear.
8. I was unable to take back a pair of denim jeans at the Gap. Now I just keep things.
7. I got a bee sting on my boner. (Thank you, Johnny & J-Pa)
6. I cut my perineum (see left; “incision”) on a barbed-wire fence while tobogganing in France. I had to wear a heavy flow maxi-pad for a week. (And that’s the closest I’ve ever been to a woman.)
5. I was held at knife point at a McDonald’s drive-thru for sarcastically ordering a “Crappy Meal”.
4. I held a pee in so long playing the drinking game Edward Forty Hands that urine sprayed out of my nipples.
3. My mother adopted me from my grandmother.
2. Thinking I had found the last morsel of food in my house, I once ate a lot of cat food.
-And Finally-
1. A maniacal and murderous clown named Adam who lives in a brightly colored school bus parked in a mountain meadow is stalking me via MySpace. (My real name is Liz)
Can you even f#ckin’ believe how close we are to the future? Tomorrow is coming? Yeah, right. Tomorrow is already here, and I’ll tell you why: I was sitting on the couch the other day with my beautiful flat screen television radiantly glowing with syndicated entertainment. As I sat poised in front of the TV’s warming vibrancy, I was surfing the interwebs with my lap top. It struck me as odd when, in the middle of Hulu.com’s presentation of the Office, TBS was running the same episode. Thanks to the bitchin’ audio setup I have on my teev and the hair raising volumetrics on the laptop, I was hearing Micheal Scott’s brilliance in this awesomely, staggered double stereo echo deal. As awesome as it was, I realized that TV is a medium for showcasing regularly scheduled programming, syndicated and new, that no one is watching. Even if you turn it on, you’re not even really watching it. As people grow into the future, they are beginning to crave interaction. Just like your very Jewish mother or dust collecting Nintendo Wii, people want things they can control. What’s on TV cannot be controlled and “regularly scheduled” has become as offensive a term now as cum drunk gutter slut was back in the 90′s. Even though you can’t control what’s on TV, just like catching your roommates doing sex, you can control what you see. Computers, specifically ones connected to the Internet, have the distinct advantage of allowing viewers to tickle their entertainment fancies whenever and with whatever they want. TV is competing with OnDemand programming and huge caches of videos (television shows, movies, amateur porn and everything in between) on a slew of websites. I believe that the only reason that TVs even exist today is that they are pretty to look at. It would be so much simpler if there was a more complicated technology that combined the visually appealing format of television with the computing power of a computer. Fortunately, for us future dwellers, this technology already exists. It’s called imagination. I believe with a little know-how and a lot of money, we have the power to dream up something more futuristic and technologically advanced than the archaic drudgery of today. I look forward to that time now.
Trust me. It takes a lot less condoms than this to make a baby.
JDubs dropped a heavy simile on me the other day. She said, “A life of work is like going to school.” She explained that when you’re first starting off, it’s like kindergarten and you learn and grow. As time moves on, you advance and you mature and you grow hair in places that you didn’t know you could. She said that one day, each person becomes the Dean of Students in the college of his specific field.
I’m trying to apply her example to my life. I am currently employed behind the scenes of an abortion mill. I work in a warehouse where, among other things, I ensure that death centers are well stocked with coat hangers, lubricant and trash bags. Additionally, there is such a huge collection of condoms that I can take a swim through like Scrooge McDuck used to in his coin vault (Either that or I’ll try them all on). It’s not as fun as you’d think as I do this ad nauseum and I am very unsatisfied (murdering fetuses is great and all, but…it’s kind of boring).
When I reflect back on JDubs statement, I get a sense that “Work is like school” does not apply to the folks that aren’t in the right school. I feel that I’m not even enrolled. I’m like a twelve-year-old in preschool masturbating not-so-covertly in my greenish overalls while everyone else is awkwardly moving away. In this strange land, I look like one of those ADHD kids that can’t be trusted to roam freely. I’m tied to a tree with a leash and harness that closely resemble a monkeys tail (kind of like this…Philip from SNL). Not only am I not a growin’ and a learnin’, I’m actually getting dumber and less anxious to go to class. What’s worse is that I tied myself to the tree and only I have the ability to escape. But I won’t. My spirit has been diminished. You might as well ask a Senior to buy me a carton of smokes and leave me to die; unfulfilled, miserable, and retarded.
I have learned from this example that I alone hold the key. I can register in any school that I want. I am well qualified to start at the bottom anywhere. Even idiots get to succeed at work (just look at my boss Mrs. Stransard). So I know what I am going to do. I am going to break free. I’m ambitious and I know more about what I want to do than ever before. Look out School of Tap Dance For the Blind, Deaf, & Dumb; Here I Come! I’d better bring some of those condoms;)
My knowledge is limited (there’s not much room for argument about that). But in attempt to capture more information about the world, I have curiosities that conjure up questions. These questions are usually so inane that they don’t warrant real answers. I’m looking for something more entertaining than truth…I’m looking for hypotheticals. I’m mostly interested in speculation. If you’re not asking “what if?”, you’re not capturing all the information, whether it’s logical or not. What is knowledge more than the thoughts a person believes in?
Today, I’m interested in gaining insight into the physics of thongs. More specifically, the “what ifs” of thongs. Imagine a woman wearing a pair of thong under-panties. For the sake of this thought experiment she is in a forest wearing a thong; there are no pants, no bra, only high heels; her large tan breasts with their perfectly sized and symmetrical nipples are exposed; she has nice hair. What happens when she craps herself wearing a thong? My first thought is that the poop hits the thong underwear and splits directly in half like a cheese slicer through sharp cheddar, thus, making two separate piles of dump on the ground. But that might only happen if she’s squatting.
What if she’s standing up? I suspect that the poop might split within the confines of the thong area only to be pushed back together again by the pressure of her cheeks. The mess created by this set of events could be demolish my ability to watch her. If she does this into a cup with another girl there to drink it, however, it could become an internet sensation. There a lot of things to think about here. Do girls actually poop? My sources tell me no. Judging by the smell of my mom’s farts, that might not be true. There are too many questions. These are just things to think about. I will just stick with what I want to believe. And that is naked girls in thongs should do whatever they want as long as they don’t mind me taking notes.
Where losers pay to stay
There are few places in Las Vegas more worthy of a stay than at the Excalibur Hotel and Casino. In the past six years of my life I have spent many Red Bull/Vodka induced sleepless nights on the premises rolling hot dice and spraying myself for bed bugs. Games you will be sure not to lose.
I highly recommend partaking in the Australian-inspired all male review, Thunder from Down Under. Nothing is surer to get the joey out of your pouch like a ninety minute strip tease of strapping young blokes.
Excalibur’s fine entertainment reaches far beyond the twenty man-thongs in the dungeon. There are a host of actors to serve thine patrons the frostiest of brewed beverages and cash in thine earnings. “Would thy dainty wench careth for thine frostiest Corona? Please chance thine lucky hand at a gameth of Black Jack, my liege.”
In addition to the wild casino action, you may test your luck at the myriad of arcades just below the casino floor. My favorite is the ATM game; it pays out almost every time.
Don’t press your luck too much and be sure to line your ice bucket with plastic. Many a craps have been played there. So good luck to you and yours. And remember: What happens at Excalibur, costs $400 to abort.
Yeah, kind of like this
I’m curious about retards but I’m scared to approach them. I see Down Syndrome people or wheel-abouts (my expression for the mentally and physically doomed) and my heart aches.
I feel so bad that I can’t even talk to them. I know if I did I would slip up and start asking them math related questions. I weep inside when I see a bus of them pull up outside the mall’s food court.
What, if anything, are they thinking? Do you think that their thought processes are like those of animals?
I heard this argument once that animals don’t have the ability to feel or communicate with others. One justification for slaughtering cows or chickens to eat is that they can’t feel the pain because they’re somehow immune.
Are retards like that? Are they immune to pain? If they can’t feel anything or communicate effectively, do they want to live? Should we eat them?
We’d have to kill them first. According to my speculation, they won’t feel it. Most wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about the injustice they were suffering at the feed lots because they couldn’t comprehend the situation. They wouldn’t know any different.
I can see them getting upset trying to think about the way things could be or couldn’t be or just….UGH, poop! They could just vent their frustrations with poop throwing/eating contests. “Do you smell that, honey? I think they just wrangled up some more ‘tards for slaughter.”
I wonder what they taste like. If only I wasn’t so scared to ask them, they could probably tell me.
I have a theory. It’s not religious dogma by any means. It’s just something that I subscribe to dutifully and practice unwillingly everyday. It goes like this: Imagine a vortex in space. It might look like a black hole sucking a bunch of crap into it, or it may look like the dirt chamber inside one those new fan-dangled Dyson vacuum cleaning systems. At the top and the bottom of this vortex are openings which allows stuff pass through. Now imagine that swirling around inside this vortex from the bottom to the top are a gazillion tiny particle-looking things. I like to think that the particles are the soul’s of everyone and everything that’s dead; from your grandparents’ grandchildren to the parakeet you didn’t feed when you went on vacation to Rome back in junior high school. Each soul enters directly from a person’s death at the bottom and exits at the top at birth. I call this the Soul Hole. (We’re recycling souls, here folks.)
But there are a gazillion souls in there and they can only exit one at a time. So the rule is, the heavier your soul’s burden (I call it surden), the slower the ascent to the top of the chamber. The lighter your soul (or the more gravity defying), the faster your soul will exit the chamber and the sooner you will reenter the world. Along the way, your soul bumps into other souls; it gets to help other souls; it gets held up at knife point by other souls; it completely avoids the other souls. What changes the loftiness of a soul? That’s easy: Satisfaction and Fulfillment from life. If you live a fulfilled life, after you die you will be able to return to life more quickly. If you live a life of dissatisfaction, your soul might swirl around the Soul Hole forever, never to be reborn again.
Notice that this theory doesn’t inherently subscribe to the school of thought of right and wrong, or good and evil. There are virtuous endeavors, but they are entirely selfish. You might really love to kill puppies…so long as it’s satisfying, more power to you (just stay away from me, Mr. Vick). You’re going to pop right out of that hole. On the contrary, you might save orphans and help old people everyday of your life yet hate every minute of it. If this is the case, your rebirth will be slow, my friend.
For me, I’m working toward satisfaction and fulfillment. But that’s the thing. A person can never be too satisfied in life or else he’ll stop trying. Striving to be on top is the only way out. However, if you start believing that there is no top, that the spiraling soul recycling is a continuous circle of life and limbo with no end, then your soul will never be fulfilled or satisfied. It will sink to the bottom of the Soul Hole, thus making way for the souls that want to keep on keepin’ on.
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