Boycotts

I know this may come as a shock, but I frequently boycott persons, places, and things. Here are two of the more recent examples I can think of off the top of my head. This is going to rile me up, but for you, I do these things...

1. Magic Nut and Candy Company: There's a pretty sizable nut shop at my local Farmers Market. They have these really good smoked almonds that I used to get there all the time. The one thing that always really annoyed about this establishment, though, was the fact that the women who worked there were inattentive bitches, but the almonds were so good I kept going back. Just to set the scene, this nut stand is almost never busy. I would go there a couple times a week. And every time I went, the women would either be talking to each other as I stood there, staring directly at them, waiting to be helped, or, if it was just one of them, she'd sit there reading, or literally staring straight ahead at nothing. I always had to say, "excuse me," to get their attention, even though no one was there and I frequented the fucking place. Annoying, I know. One time, as a little experiment, I walked up to the counter, right in front of the woman who was working, stopped, stood there, and stared at her, without asking for help, just to see how long it would take before she offered to help me. There were no other customers. She was alone. Six minutes. Six fucking minutes. Do you have any idea how long that is to leave someone standing there, staring right at you? Try standing still, in silence, for six minutes one time. Let me know how that works out for you. Anyway, I would usually order a third of a pound every time I went, because due to my lack of self-control around food, I would always end up eating them in one sitting, and I didn't want to get any fucking fatter. So after months of patronizing this nut shop, I decided to stop by one fine afternoon for my almonds. I had exactly enough cash to get my third of a pound of smoked almonds. As usual, I waited an unnecessarily long time for the woman to finish her conversation with the person she spends every single day of her life with, and then I ordered my almonds. With zero recognition on her face, she tells me that they only sell a minimum of a half pound (or some amount that was marginally larger than whatever I wanted) at a time. I said, "really? Because I'm here really often and I always order the same amount, and no one, including you, has ever told me that before." The bitch-cunt-robot repeats, "there minimum of half pound." So I took out my four bucks, or whatever it was, held it up, and said, "so you will refuse to take this cash, in my hand now, in exchange for handing a loyal customer the same amount of almonds he purchases every other fucking time he comes here?" . . . "Half pound minimum." "I hope you go out of business, I'm never coming back here again." And I stuck to my word. But, because there's no such thing as a just God, they are still in business. But you can bet I give them dirty looks every time I walk by. Not that it matters, because in all the months I shopped there, they never once made eye contact or even said, "you're welcome," when I thanked them for the almonds. I hate people.

2. Le Pain Quotidien: These French fucks (even though I think they're actually Belgian. You choose a French name for your cafe, you're French). I had been there a handful of times, and, every time, had thought the food was decent but the service sucked. I wasn't morally opposed to dining there, but they certainly left a bad taste in my mouth. Then, this happened: I went there for lunch one day, because there's one up the street from my house, and the person I was with wanted to go, I think. Whatever. Unimportant. Now I sound like a girl; providing unnecessary, boring details of a story that could be cut into one eighteenth the time. Anyway, I was perusing the menu and noticed that it said that all sandwiches were served on wheat bread. Okay. I hate wheat bread, but no big deal, right? This place is a bakery. (For those of you not in the know, "Pain" is French for "bread." Now if you didn't know that, please stop reading. Now. Walk away.) The fucking word "BREAD" is in the name of the establishment! I can obviously get my sandwich on one of the other dozens of types of bread they supposedly bake daily, right? I'm sure you know where this is going. The whore of a waitress, who was a complete bitch from the moment we sat down, finally comes over to take our order. I tell her which sandwich I want, and I then have the audacity to ask what kind of breads they have so I can get my overpriced sandwich on bread that I actually enjoy consuming. The rest of the conversation went pretty much like this:

Whore Waitress: Our sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
Curmudgeon: Yeah, I know, but is there any way I can get it on something else? I don't like wheat bread.
WW: The menu says that all the sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
C: Yes, I read the same menu to which you're referring, which was why I specifically asked what other types of bread I could get my sandwich on, seeing as you're a bakery.
WW: You can't.
(I just stared at her for a couple seconds. She's very rude about it, too. Not apologetic. Not like, "I'm so sorry, but the chef is a fascist maniac who refuses to change things from the menu, and I'll get in trouble if I ask." Nothing remotely resembling effort.)
C: So, you have an entire store of bread inside (we were on the porch), and I am going to be forced to eat bread I don't like if I want to order this sandwich?
WW: (rolling her eyes and exhaling) I can give you different bread on the side and just bring out the ingredients for the sandwich.
(You realize the absurdity of this, right? At this point, I'm wishing a painful death upon her and whoever raised her, so I've given up on being polite. Now I'm my sarcastic, asshole self.)
C: Great. Let's do that. Thanks so much. And if you could, would you mind putting the first piece of bread down first, then the ingredients, then the second piece of bread on top of the ingredients? Because that would be great.
WW: (eyes roll again) I'll bring them out separately.
C: Of course you will.

So, yeah, that didn't end well. I left zero tip for the first and only time in my life, I believe, and I haven't been back there since. And I beg everyone who reads this to boycott with me, and tell other people not to eat there. I really hate that place.

This Song Goes Out To...

I hate talking at the beginning or end of a perfectly good song. Shut the fuck up. I don't mean at concerts, though that's often annoying too; I mean on the studio-recorded tracks off the album. I don't wanna hear your stupid little intro, I don't give a shit who the song's dedicated to, and I certainly don't care to hear your god-awful spoken-word poetry you think belongs at the end of a song for some reason. I'm paying for your music. If I wanted to hear someone talk without listening I'd call my mom or my ex-girlfriend.

You want to dedicate a song or write a poem? Do it in the liner notes. What was that? No one reads the liner notes anymore? That's because you've been filling them with meaningless dedications and shitty poetry, and, as stated earlier, people don't give a shit about your dedications or poetry. So keep them out of your goddamn songs!

Fuckface

Pictures of the most annoying douchebags in the world. Great site: http://antiduckface.com/

(Special thanks to Stephanie Lemelin...)

Trailer Trash

I know I've lived in LA for a long time because when I hear someone say "trailer," I actually think of a movie preview and not the kind found in trailer parks. I hate myself for this.

Vanity Plates Gone Good

I was recently blessed with one of those rare opportunities where you get to see a personalized license plate that's actually awesome. Here's what it was: "FISTER." Seriously. Unfortunately, the car was parked, so I couldn't see what the courageous driver looked like. Wouldn't it have been cool if it had been a hot chick?!

So Easy A Mentally Handicapped Simian Can Do It

Seriously, how fucking hard is it to use a blinker?!

Uh Oh

Now we've really pissed them off:

Old Timer's

When I was little, I thought "Alzheimer's" was actually called "Old Timer's." It sounds the same (you just said it out loud to yourself, didn't you?), and actually makes way more sense; I don't know any young timers who have it, do you?

In fact, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and propose that we should officially switch it to Old Timer's disease. Here's a sample exchange:

Someone: "Ugh, my grandpa tells the same story over and over again."

Someone Else: "Oh, does he have Old Timer's?"

The Original Someone: "No. He's just an asshole."

See?! How much better is that? I'm stickin' to my guns here.

FYI...

I received a handful of less-than-thrilled comments regarding my previous post because some girls are insecure and defensive (though some simply disagreed), so I wanted to say something. An apology? . . . Haha. No! Don't be a ginger 'tard.

I wanted to add that the friend with whom I had the conversation about me hiring a man over a woman was, herself, a female, and she obviously disagreed with me. But because we both believe in equality, we actually put our heads together to come up with a solution to the very problem I posed, which was, if presented with two equally qualified job candidates, and one's a male, and the other's a female of reproductive age, why would I not hire the one who doesn't carry the risk of taking time off for maternity leave? And we decided that the government should impose mandatory maternity AND paternity leave, so that all candidates will pose the same flight risk, thus leveling the playing field, and, creating an overall better quality of life for employees. Eh?!

Well, guess I'll be moving my company off-shore, to a barge, where I can hire all the men I want! Victory! . . . Oh shit, wait. That sounds like some gay, sex, party cruise. That sucks. . . . But that would make a great movie idea! Straight guys stuck on a gay cruise liner! What was that? Cuba Gooding Jr. and Horatio Sanz beat me to it? Foiled again.

Separate But Equal

Right off, I'm going to concede that that is a misleading and insensitive title. But, if you're looking for sensitivity, please stop reading now...

Okay, good. Now that it's just us, let's continue. A little while back, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine about how I've had enough with this bullshit where we define equality as completely ignoring our differences. I'm all for equality, but no way in hell are we all the same! This applies to all differences, racial, national, but specifically, I was talking about gender differences when this came up.

I said, that if I were running a small business, and I had two candidates applying for the same job, and one was male, and the other female, that, all things being equal (as in, I think skill-wise, they would perform at equally mediocre levels), I would choose the male over the female if the female were of reproductive age because there would be the risk of her taking maternity leave. That's a fact. I provided a caveat where, if the woman were willing to sign a contract that said she would not get pregnant while under my employment, then that would work for me. Is that sexist? Maybe. But it seems to pretty clearly be the smarter move for my company, does it not? Let me again state, that this is in a case where both candidates are equally qualified. If the woman were better qualified to make money for my company, then fuck that guy she's going against, because I will hire her. People, women in particular, react rather negatively to that overall sentiment, but I don't understand why I should be willing to risk my financial independence because I have to pretend that these biological differences don't exist and won't affect me.

You want to call me sexist? Fine. You can go ahead and call me intelligence-ist, too, because I also refuse to hire stupid people. Why is that any different? Half the population can't help being born female (not that I even think that's a detriment; I'm just making a relevant point), but far more than half the population can't help being born stupid. And guess what? If I have a sales position that would generate greater income if it were filled by a more attractive person, then I will discriminate based on physical appearance, not because I hate ugly people (but c'mon, seriously, right?), but because that's what's best for my company! In fact, in that instance, that position would be more likely to be filled by a female...of reproductive age (because we all know women are no longer attractive after that window, am I right?).

Awww... Am I hurting your feelings? Well, you'll have plenty of time to cry about it at home because my imaginary company will not be hiring you, because Curmudgeon, Inc. doesn't have time for overly sensitive pussies.

I mean, listen, I want to be a professional athlete. But guess what? In some crazy scheme to turn a profit, it turns out all these professional sports leagues discriminate based on physical prowess because THAT'S WHAT'S BEST FOR THEIR FUCKING COMPANIES! I'm not gonna go whine about it and sue them for discrimination just because I wasn't born 6'7" and don't possess the skill set they need to make money. Nobody's going to line up to pay money to watch me play basketball. In fact, every Monday night, I have to pay my money for court time.

Look, I know this all sounds a little harsh, and that sort of thinking is, in a way, what contributed to our current economic mess, because corporations can justify a lot of terrible things under the umbrella of "doing what's best for the company" (which maybe throws into question the viability of an economy based entirely on the free market/capitalism--not that I have any better suggestions at the moment), but my point is just that we're all different. And we discriminate against each other all the time based on these differences. I mean, Jesus Christ. Have one conversation with a friend about dating and you'll quickly be reminded of how discriminatory we are. Too short. Too fat. Not the right religion. She eats her peas one at a time. Unfair discrimination is clearly wrong, but not all discrimination is unfair. Our differences are real and we can stop pretending they're not for the sake of faux equality. Different people have different advantages for a whole host of reasons. And what's an advantage in one situation can be a disadvantage in another.

And for the record, I do support affirmative action, because minorities, specifically black people, were very clearly systematically and institutionally discriminated against in this country, in an attempt to keep them from ever being able to socially and economically establish themselves enough to be upwardly mobile and compete with white people. I don't think an underqualified applicant should be chosen over a qualified white applicant, for example, but I do think if both a white and black applicant were overall, equally qualified, the black applicant should be accepted, because statistically speaking, he/she probably had a much tougher road to reach that same level of achievement as the white person he/she would be competing against.

Furthermore, people often shy away from stereotypes, and generally for good reason, but I don't know... Lots of Jews do have big noses and are good with money, though not all of them. Take my mom for example: she doesn't have a big nose and she's terrible with money. Lots of black guys love big asses and can jump high...but not all of 'em. Many Asians are hard workers and bad drivers, but not--well...maybe with the driving thing...uhhh... A lot of Russians love vodka. A lot of Australians surf. A lot of Middle Easterners eat hummus. You should take everyone you meet on a case-by-case basis, but it's kind of nice to have cultural differences, no? Life would be painfully boring without all these differences. I wouldn't want to travel around the world and have everyone and everything be exactly as they are in my home town. How much would that suck?! It's bad enough that every corner of the globe has a Starbucks and McDonald's. Do we have to homogenize the people now, too?! We're different. Stop being pussies and trying to be the same as everyone else. Figure out where you fit in given your physical and mental capabilities, and deal with it. I will never be a Major League Baseball pitcher. It's okay. Accept yourself and embrace our diversity because life would be way more dull without it...unless you're a goddamn queer! (Joke.)

So maybe not "separate but equal," so much as "together despite different?"

Yet Again, I Am Right

This here article says that grumpiness promotes clarity. So hows abouts that?! The professor who organized the study is quoted as saying, "Negative moods trigger more attentive, careful thinking, paying greater attention the external world." Now, personally, I think paying greater attention to the external world is what triggers negative moods, because it's the stupid, unaware people who walk around blissfully oblivious to their surroundings . . . but, hey, who am I to say? I'm just the rational, lucid-thinking curmudgeon:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8339647.stm

(Special thanks to Helena for sending me the article...)

Which Came First, The Slob or the Failure?

Your car isn't your bathroom. In the last five days, I've had the pleasure of witnessing drivers doing the following:

1. A woman putting on deodorant.

2. A woman doing her makeup.

3. A man shaving.

4. And, my favorite/most utterly repugnant, a woman popping multiple pimples in her rear-view mirror.

Aside from the obvious dangers inherent in performing these acts while operating a motor vehicle, they're just plain disgusting.

I also noticed that all four of these people had really beat-up, piece-of-shit cars. Coincidence? No, obviously not. These people are fuck-ups. Do your grooming at home. There's a reason everyone else does. Because it's repulsive to look at, and because they want to succeed in life.

Halitosis

Q: Is there anything worse than being stuck in a conversation with someone who has bad breath?

A: Yes, plenty of things (read my blog).

But seriously, if you have bad breath, become more self-aware. Chew gum. Brush your teeth. Something.

Lemme Guess, You're Going As A Whore

Ahhh, Halloween. The holiday that makes it socially acceptable for women to dress like the pieces of meat they claim to not want to be categorized as. You call it a "sexy" nurse, we call it a "slutty" nurse. (Curmudgeon's note - A lot of women get mad or upset when you make these comments. They say something like, "a male-dominated society has dictated these things, etc." Guess what? If all women got together tomorrow and unilaterally agreed to only wear baggy sweatpants and sweatshirts whenever they leave the house, guys would still be lining up to fuck them. There's something innate there. In the free market of flesh, men's supposed dominance isn't the sole force responsible for women walking the streets in spandex, mini-skirts, and low-cut tops. I'm just sayin'...)

Seriously, is this holiday not the clearest reflection of the fact that humans are just another species of animal? I was watching the Birds of Paradise episode of Planet Earth (possibly the best program ever made), and witnessed the male birds, with their ornately elaborate plumage, dance to attract the females, who, themselves, looked rather drab. And that's what we do on Halloween. People say that everyone dresses up, but women don't really dress up so much as they dress down, just being their naked selves. Men are the ones who don elaborate costumes and dance around like drunken morons trying to attract the attention of their skin-flaunting counterparts . . . so they can bang them.

Hmmm . . . now that I think about it, I guess that's pretty much the same as any other weekend. Oh well. So much for that.

Happy Halloween, you scantily-clad, beautiful beautiful whores . . .

Midgets

So that last entry about the obsolescence of phone books reminded me of something that's been bothering me for a while: When did "midget" get replaced by "little person?" I'm all for eliminating offensive terms . . . but only when they're actually offensive. I feel like in this case, the change was actually made for the worse. At least "midget" denotes some sort of condition; it seems diagnosable. But "little person" seems way more demeaning, doesn't it? It's like saying, "yeah, you're like a person, only littler." Isn't that worse? Can someone please explain to me why that was determined to be the preferred nomenclature?

Phone Books

Why are phone books still being delivered to residences? I still get multiple phone-book deliveries every year. This practice can't be environmentally sound. Besides, when's the last time anyone actually even used one of these things?! Honestly. Well, other than as a booster seat for a small child or midget (I know, little person. Blah.), or to beat a confession out of a murder suspect in some crappy cop drama on TV. It just becomes a nuisance to have to carry it to the recycling bin. This seems like something that could be very easily remedied, no? If we just start eliminating all of these little inanities the world could be a much better place.

Can You Do Me A Favor?

Does it make me a huge asshole that I hate when people ask for favors? My stomach just turns when I hear someone say the word, "favor." I hate when they leave that message on your voicemail, "Hey, I have a favor to ask. Call me back," but they don't say what the favor is! So when you call back, you don't know if they're just going to ask you to check online for what time the movie starts, or if you're walking into an ambush, and they're going to ask you to drive them to the airport at 5:45 in the morning!

I especially hate when people spring surprise favors on you when you go to their houses! "Oh, now that I have you here, maybe you can help me hang this 150-pound painting, or move this colossal oak dresser into the basement..." What the fuck?! They totally blindside you with this shit. I only came over to pick up your daughter, or you invited me over to watch the game, or whatever. Any way you slice it, I wasn't mentally prepared for heavy lifting! I need to be in the proper mindset. I didn't stretch, I didn't wear heavy-lifting clothes . . . I wouldn't have fucking come!

The ultimate favor people ask is to help them move. And my answer to that is, NO! I specifically pay way more money than I should to hire movers when I move, because I don't want to break shit, or injure myself, or socially pressure other people to move my stuff. So if I won't do it for myself, I'm not doin' it for you. If I really really like you, I might offer to pay for the portion of the movers' fee that would cover the amount of help that I would have contributed. That's my final offer.

Don't Bring Me Down

If I'm on vacation, do me a favor, don't bring me down. I don't want to hear about your negative shit while I'm trying to escape my reality. And if I call home while I'm away, keep your office drama to yourself. Someone died? Don't tell me 'til I get back. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information when I'm 6,000 miles away anyway?

My little brother just got back from a vacation in Sweden, and when he was there, he was out one night with some friends of a friend, one of whom decided to get really drunk and open up to him. She got all serious, telling him about how her mom died, and blah blah blah... Shhhhhh. Easy, Debbie Downer. I'm on vacation. Save it for people who have to deal with you regularly as a part of their realities.

T'd Off

If you pronounce the hard "T" when you say "mature" and/or "often," please don't ever talk to me.

Is The Death Penalty Too Harsh?

Ugh. This fucking Balloon Boy thing. The dad, Richard Douche, or whatever his name is, actually preemptively wrote theme songs for two reality show ideas he had (by the way, doesn't he look exactly like the bad guy, Crisp, from Kindergarten Cop?! http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0879186/ ). Can we please have him killed? Throw Jon and Kate in there while we're at it.

Anyway, I've been kind enough to provide a link to those theme songs. You should listen to them. At first, you'll want to kill yourself. Then, you'll come to the same realization that I did: that you're not the one who should have to die, he is!

http://www.tmz.com/2009/10/20/richard-heene-balloon-boy-reality-show-theme-music/

More Like Michael PUBE-le

What's the deal with this Michael Buble douche? Why am I seeing his CD everywhere now? (Ooh, Crazy Love, what a thoughtful, original album title: http://www.michaelbuble.com/store/product/crazy-love-standard-cd .) I heard someone say he's the new Frank Sinatra. Oh. I didn't realize we were looking for another Sinatra. I must've missed that memo. Does anyone actually miss the real Frank Sinatra?

New Grammar Issues

Is it Bluetooths or Blueteeth? Well, I guess if you have more than one of these things, proper grammar probably shouldn't be your biggest concern...

Peeing in a Black Toilet

Anyone else think it's gross when people put things on the floor right next to or just behind their toilets? Like books, magazines, extra toilet paper, etc. Have you ever had the misfortune of peeing in a black toilet? You can see every last drop of splash-back, and that's when you don't miss (which, for the record, I never do . . . never do don't miss . . . as in, I have good aim. Whatever!). I will never read a magazine, even if it is in a little rack or basket, that's resting below the level of the rim of the toilet. And you shouldn't either.

Rationalization

The mind is an amazing thing.

I like staying up late. Love it. In fact, I honestly can't remember the last time I fell asleep before 2:00 AM, and that includes international travels. Wherever I am, it's like my body won't let me fall asleep before two in the morning...at the earliest. I love the quiet, and the privacy, and the freedom. When I'm up really late, I feel like I hit the PAUSE button on the rest of the world, and while everyone else is frozen in time, I'm doing shit. I'm writing, I'm watching movies, I'm jerking off... Whatever. I never claimed to be curing cancer during this time. I just like that it's my time, and no one else exists. Sometimes I even feel like I'm being super-productive and, like, gaining on everyone, or even getting an upper hand, because they're all asleep! Take that, sleeping morons! Just laying there, all useless-like.

Now, as a result of staying up late, I also sleep in pretty late. While I wake up before 11:00 AM more frequently than I go to sleep before 2:00 AM (which we've established as never)...it's not by all that much. So, the counter argument, often championed by my father, is that while I'm sleeping like a "lazy bum," his preferred term of endearment (closely followed by "stranger," used when, God forbid, I don't call for more than 24 hours), everyone else is being really productive and passing me...in terms of net productivity, or something, I guess? Anyway, that's when I say, yeah, while every other schmuck is out there from the break of dawn, running around working his/her ass off, I'm enjoying some pretty sweet R.E.M. sleep! Who wins in that scenario, huh? So, overall, looks like a win-win for me. The Curmudgeon: 2-0.

Like I said, the mind is an amazing thing.

Madventures

Madventures is this awesome new show I relatively recently discovered on The Travel Channel. It features two Finnish dudes, one of whom I'm convinced is a genius, and the second of whom pretty much stays behind the camera, who travel the world sampling the generally weirder aspects of foreign cultures.

Anyway, tonight's episode, set in China, included a vignette on a small town that is pretty much dedicated to producing people who can perform circus tricks/acts, like juggling and acrobatics. Kooky Chinese and their crazy numbers games. I couldn't find a shorter link, so just go to the 9-minute mark and watch from there. It's just the last two minutes:

Fuck Allah!

(Disclaimer: this is directed at the fanatical Muslims, not the moderate, normal ones. If this doesn't apply to you as a Muslim, then I'm not talking about you. It's that simple.)

Fuck Allah. In the ass. Without lube. That's right. I said it. What are they gonna do now? Put a fatwa on me? Go for it, you pussy cowards. Shit, Salman Rushdie had a fatwa put on him, and he ended up banging Padma Lakshmi! I'd roll those dice. (Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with women? They wouldn't even give these pictures to a first grader as one of those "what's wrong with this picture?" assignments because it would be too easy: http://www.evilbeetgossip.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/padma_salman.jpg and http://neoneocon.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/padma_lakshmi102.jpg .)

But for real, Islam has got to be the most insecure of all the religions, by a mile, right? They freak out about every little thing. If you were so confident that you possessed the Universe's ultimate truth, wouldn't you be a little more relaxed about things? Remember the Danish cartoons that included caricatures of the prophet Muhammad? Oh no! Political cartoons that lampoon a religious figure! How dare those Danish?! They're always such instigators. It's not like Muslim countries have been publishing propaganda cartoons of money-hungry, hooked-nose Jews with impunity for centuries or anything.

I mean, the Danish? C'mon. Denmark is consistently ranked among the happiest countries, as having among the highest income equality, as being among the least corrupt . . . it was the first country to legalize same-sex marriage, and in 2009, was ranked as the second most peaceful country in the world, behind New Zealand. They're not a real angry bunch looking to offend, you know. Yet, as a result of the printing of those cartoons, people were KILLED! The Muslim community was so enraged by this freedom of expression, that actually facilitates the acceptance and propagation of their very religion, ironically, that all over the world, they took to the streets in protest, many times violently.

If I had those Danish cartoons, I'd re-post them right here. I don't give a shit. Actually, if I weren't so lazy and I had the technological savvy, I'd find them, print them out, blow them up, videotape a dog taking a huge shit on them, and then post it on YouTube. (Ooh! Just found these on Wikipedia. I'm kind of shocked that they'd be on there. Wonder if the link will even work: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/75/Jyllands-Posten-pg3-article-in-Sept-30-2005-edition-of-KulturWeekend-entitled-Muhammeds-ansigt.png )

Why do we tiptoe around this crap, too?! People died over these cartoons, and still, somehow, the Western World ended up apologizing. How the hell did that happen?! For what?! I'm all for acceptance and tolerance, but not when such a large group of people trample on other people's most basic rights and liberties and defend such deplorable actions as being part of their belief system.

And I know not all Muslims feel the same way about this. At all. In fact, I'm sure there are Muslims who are the most pissed off because this just brings more undue hatred and judgement upon them. And I feel terrible for them. Like all Jews felt extra shitty when Madoff got caught, and when those Rabbis got their organ-thieving ring busted up in New Jersey. I get it. It's like, c'mon, fellow Jews, we don't get enough crap as a people that you have to go and pull this garbage? But still, I watched a lot of news in the wake of that Danish cartoon incident, and every Muslim reporter I saw prefaced everything he/she said with some version of the following caveat: "Well, you have to understand, in Islam . . ." Uh uh. Sorry. I don't have to understand shit. If you can't just say that people are wrong for killing other people over a cartoon, fuck you.

And you, over there in the corner. Yes, you, Evangelical Christian. Stop nodding along. You're just as fucked up. I feel like when the fundamentalist Evangelical Christians call out fanatical Muslims, it's like in prison when the murderers and rapists single out the child molesters for attack because they're the real bad guys. Really, murderers and rapists? You're going to serve as the moral compass? Thanks, but no thanks.

You Fucking Ungrateful Bitch!

Has anyone seen this Chase credit card commercial they play all the time?

This guy is all sweet and he asks his wife if she wants to go on a romantic vacation together using the points they've accumulated on their credit card, and she's like, no, we can't. And he's like, no, the points don't expire and blah blah blah. And again, she goes, nope, no can do. And he persists, explaining, seriously, we can use these points for pretty much anything. And then she goes, "I know," and looks down, with a raised eyebrow and sinister grin, at the new dress she's wearing, that she obviously purchased using the points he wanted to use for a vacation for the two of them, without even consulting with him.

But here's the kicker: then the guy smiles at her lovingly! Yeah fucking right!

Ooh! I found a link for it! See what I'm saying?!

J35U5 CHR15T

Saw a couple license plates recently that I felt needed to be mentioned: "JEZUS <3 S," (that <3 is supposed to be a heart, because they actually paid extra to have a heart on their license plate) and "J35U5." So not only was I stuck behind these terrible drivers, but they combined two of my least favorite favorite things: personalized license plates (which are especially irritating when the owners go to such great lengths to get their messages across, even when it requires creative misspellings and numbers in lieu of letters) and Jesus.

Here's another one that pissed me off the other day: KARRPDM. I think they were in a Wrangler. This is supposed to say, "Carpe Diem," I presume, the famous Latin phrase, made even more annoyingly famous by Dead Poets Society, that roughly translates to "seize the day." Ugh. Shave your armpits, lady, and get out of my face. Seize my balls! . . . In your mouth. Hippie.

That's Soooo Pedestrian

...Now, speaking of people being awful drivers, I have to admit, when you think about it, it's really not a surprise given how terribly they walk. I mean, how spatially unawares are most human beings? Seriously?

Think about how aggravating it is to navigate your average pedestrian thoroughfare. You have the zig-zaggers, who mindlessly cut diagonals, succumbing to their every fleeting whim with no regard for those around them. "Oh, there's a dress I like." Zig. "But wait, there's a poster for a Lindsay Lohan movie I want to see." Zag. "And there's a bird!" Zig. "OMG! Beyonce has a new album out!" Zag. You get the idea. You can't pass these menaces because you never know where they're going next. Every time you go to step around them to the right, they go right. You think you're clear to pass on the left? Nope. That's where they're going too. Fuck you, zig-zaggers.

Then there are the stop-short-ers. "Oh, shit. I just remembered that I forgot to tie my shoes. Let me stop immediately and remedy that." You know what else this jackass forgot? That he's in the midst of a semi-functional society that includes individuals other than him. There are people behind you, asshole! Gradually pull your fat ass over to the side, and lace up somewhere where I can continue to pretend you don't exist. This guy probably ties his laces using the two-loop method. Better yet, he probably wears Velcro . . . or Tevas with socks. Asshole.

Related to the stop-short-ers are the people who were never moving in the first place. People who think it's okay to just park themselves in the middle of a busy sidewalk and talk, or look at a map, or figure out why their IQs are so low. The best part is, these people see you. They make eye contact with you as they recount their stupid fucking insignificant daily dramas to their idiot friends who don't even care, and loudly, at that, since they want everyone to hear them because they feel like they have something important to offer society (which, largely, they don't), but they still won't get out of your way even though they're clearly blocking your path. And what's worse, you can say "excuse me" six times, at full volume, but they can't wrap their brains around the fact that they're the ones being rude!, so they don't react. At this point in my life, I give two "excuse me"s, the second one being significantly louder and more obnoxious than the first, before I resort to just pushing my way in between them . . . which, ironically, they always find to be rude. In a related note: another fun thing I do is, if I hold the door for someone and they don't say "thank you" (don't worry, I give them a full two-second count. I'm not a total asshole), I give them a nice, sarcastic "you're welcome!" Try it. It's fun. People need to feel bad about being self-absorbed. It should sting enough to keep them from repeating their actions.

And how about slow-moving groups? No, yeah, it's totally cool if you and your fanny-pack-donning family gaze up and marvel at the tall, shiny buildings as you walk five people across at no more than one mile per hour. Enjoy the view. It's not like you're part of a civilization in which other people are actually trying to get somewhere, or anything. No, but seriously, go the fuck back to Kansas and get out of my way. I'm trying to get an iced green tea at Starbucks so I have something to drink while I listen to music at the book store, where I only have an hour before I have to rush home to watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenge because my DVR is broken.

Learn How to Drive (insert stereotypically bad driver)!

How many near accidents do I have to have with Asian drivers, Mexican gardeners in beat-up pickup trucks with dangerously protruding rakes, ladders, and garbage cans, and Orthodox Jews driving minivans stuffed to the brim with kids, before I can make mercilessly obnoxious generalizations about these people's terrible driving with impunity? At what point does their consistent and reckless endangerment of my life afford me that right? Just a question.

Sir, No, Sir!

I was recently wearing this old ARMY T-shirt I bought at a thrift store years ago at a party, and this girl asked me if I was actually in the Army. So I said, "you know how in the movies, when they have those big, fancy galas, with rich people, and important political figures, and there's always the erudite Englishman who says something like, 'Well, if Churchill had the right mind to reposition our young troops on the Western Front, then perhaps we could have avoided such a long-winded--' at which point he always gets cut off by the token, high-ranking, heavily decorated, cynical soldier, who gruffly barks something like, 'Have you ever killed a man, son? Have you ever held your dying best friend in your arms, with his entrails spilled in your lap, as he chokes on his own blood while he tries to relay his last words to you, but you can't understand him because of the gurgling sounds?' And then the British guy turns pale and it's an awkward moment for everyone? . . . Well I'm the English pussy who has an opinion but isn't willing to fight."

A long-winded answer to a simple question? Perhaps.

Virginity?

I have a friend who claimed to have lost his virginity at a party in high school, but I disagreed because he only squeezed in like half a wiener, and for just, like, three thrusts, at that. And no one came. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember the exact details, but it still raises the questions: what constitutes losing your virginity?

Is there a minimum number of pumps required, or is it instantly snatched (pun intended) upon first penetration? After you've already lost your virginity, do the rules for what constitutes sex change? Are the first-time rules more stringent or less? Is it only if someone orgasms? That can't be because I think there are actually women who have, somehow, never managed to do so. Is it different for a guy and a girl? Is it when your Uncle David makes you sit on his lap, naked, in the coat check room at your family reunion in 1984? (Just kidding, Uncle D. Your secret's safe with me.)

Anyway, that's all. Was just wondering. Thoughts? . . .

Screw the Box of Chocolates, Life Is Like A Starbucks Straw

Whenever I go to Starbucks, after I order my drink, I always grab a straw (my drinks always require straws because they're always cold because I sweat profusely if I drink anything hot) from their little sugar/milk/condiment island while I wait, in order to maximize efficiency. Obviously. But at this one Starbucks I frequent, they always provide a straw when they serve you your drink, so I always end up returning to the aforementioned island to put the extra straw back.

Finally, after this specific Starbucks provided the straw with my drink in enough consecutive trials, I decided to not take a straw in advance of receiving my drink, in order to, once again, maximize efficiency.

So, what happened? Of course, that was the first time they didn't provide a straw with the drink. Foiled! Naturally, my trust totally betrayed, I took a straw in advance the following trip to this Starbucks, only to be provided with a straw, forcing me to once again return the extra straw. So then, I figured the one time they did not provide the straw was the anomaly, and the next time I felt comfortable not preemptively snatching a straw, only to once again have the proverbial rug pulled out from under me when they didn't provide the straw (I even thought maybe it was some inside, practical joke among the employees, because I'm always paranoid that people in service positions are constantly fucking with their customers in order to stave off boredom, but I paid extra-close attention, and if they were doing this intentionally then they should be nominated for Academy Awards, or something).

Anyway, it finally occurred to me, after taking yet another superfluous straw, that my Starbucks straw experience is a metaphor for life: in the Starbucks of life, always get your own straw, because as soon as you take it for granted and start expecting one, it won't be there. In fact, if you take a straw, and they give you one too, don't put the extra straw back. Keep it. Just in case. Because one time, they ran out of the long straws, and I so wished I had kept even just one of those many straws I'd returned to the island because I ended up having to drink a venti through a short straw. Yeah. I know.

Racists...

So two white guys are walking along, when they see an interracial couple pass by, a black dude with a white girl. One of the white guys stares at the couple and turns to his friend, a little disgusted, "Ugh, I hate it when black guys take our girls . . ."

The friend looks back at his racist buddy, a bit incredulously, and says, "Our girls? That girl was over 200 pounds. They take the ones we don't want . . . like the Mexicans, with our jobs . . ."

Sweaty Balls Be Gone!

A friend of mine came up with an awesome idea the other day: ShamWow Boxers!!! Brilliant, right? Super absorbent, and you can wring 'em out with ease. Plus, it would be made in Germany, and "you know the Germans always make good stuff" . . . Always, Vince? Really? How about those ovens and human lampshades, asshole?

"On Accident"

I hate when people say "on accident" instead of "by accident." This is done primarily by idiots, or, as we used to call them growing up, Southerners.

Fake Eyelashes

C'mon. Really, girls? Be reasonable. If they're excessive enough that a guy can tell they're fake, you're probably wearing glitter, too. Also, you're probably a whore.

n. Shit, adj. Shitty

How do you spell the adjective form of "pus?" Like, "clean your wound before it gets all ____."?

Give Credit Where Credit's Due

And today's credit goes to . . . WOMEN!

I was talking to a friend of mine today, and he was telling me about some girl with an amazing body who he's been hooking up with. Now, this friend has seen thinner days, but he's not fat. Here's what he said to me:

"I don't know why girls with such tight bodies hang out with fat-asses like me. I think I'm pretty physically repugnant by this point. . . . I don't care how funny a chick is; I ain't goin' down on her if I can't fit my head between her thighs."

Well put, my friend. Further reinforcement for why women aren't funny because it doesn't really serve them any purpose, incidentally. But, females . . . god bless you guys. You will put up with a lot more physical imperfections than we will. And we're grateful. Or at least we should be.

No, You Don't Understand...

First of all, anything that follows "no, you don't understand," is probably going to be an extremely irksome statement. But what I wanted to say was, I hate people who think you can't understand something unless you've personally experienced it . . . which, shockingly, I know, usually only happens when they've experienced something you haven't. Pretty much never happens the other way around.

They always say stuff like, "no, until you've had children, you have no idea what you're talking about," or "you've never been poor, so you don't understand," or "as soon as you've had your arm shredded and ripped from your torso by a rabid wolverine, you have no clue."

Ever hear of a little thing called "empathy?" Well, clearly, these people are so severely self-absorbed that they're totally incapable of seeing things from another person's point of view, which is why they project their own shortcomings, a lack of perspective, onto you. Yeah, your plight is so unique that no one could possibly understand what you're going through. (That would've been in Sarcastic Font.)

Listen, buddy, I don't need to commit a murder to get that it's a bad idea, okay? You're not special.

(I can't even be bothered to think of a title for this one)

Have you ever accidentally hit the UNLOCK button on your car keychain, or whatever it's called, and even though you're clearly way out of range for it to work (like, the car isn't even in sight), you hit the LOCK button immediately afterwards just to be safe?

Redundancy

Is it weird that if I'm about to get in the shower right after I take I piss, I still wash my hands in the sink first?

Michael Vick

Black people were way too blindly supportive of this guy when he first got arrested, and white people are way too anti-Vick now that he's out.

Yes, he was an asshole who tortured innocent dogs. Then he lost millions upon millions of dollars and spent almost two years, I think, in a fucking ass-rape-friendly federal prison as a result. That's a long time (especially given the short sentences other NFL players have received for crimes against ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS! If people weren't so obsessed with plugging their emotional voids with overly affectionate animals who were inbred with the sole purpose of being adorable, then people wouldn't be so goddamn emotional about dogs, and this wouldn't even be that big an issue in the first place. And sorry, saying that is not the same thing as condoning animal cruelty). He gets to go back to his job now. That's fair. Everyone calm down.

More Stereotyping

And why do white trash people revere Mustangs? . . . And eat baked beans?

Photos for Thought

Why do Asians photograph their food?

In-Laws

Is it just me, or is the whole thing with calling parents-in-law "Mom" and "Dad" absolutely retarded? No one's fooling anyone. We all know who belongs to whom. It's just awkward and forced. I don't get it.

Bearing Gifts

At what age did it become mandatory to show up with a gift when you go to someone's house? I hate this rule.

If you ever come to my house because I fucking invited you, don't feel obligated to bring something unless I specifically ask that favor of you. Seriously, don't invite me over your house if you expect a gift. Don't do me any favors. When I ask if you need anything before I come, that's your window of opportunity to be honest with me. Don't say, "no, I think we have everything we need," if, in fact, you don't have everything you need and are really expecting me to bring something. Deal?

Now go fuck yourself.

Our Insignificance

Came across this quote today by Stephen Jay Gould, a big-time scientist (formerly; he's dead now, seemingly sadly, though I didn't know the guy), regarding the fact that there seem to have been many failed hominid evolutionary branches, and ours was the one that survived:

"One of the hardest ideas for humans to accept is that we are not the culmination of anything. There is nothing inevitable about our being here. It is part of our vanity as humans that we tend to think of evolution as a process that, in effect, was programmed to produce us."

Well put, SJG.

Hands Free

Automatic doors, and motion-sensor sinks, soap dispensers, toilets, and paper towel dispensers make me very happy...

Shuttlecock

I passed one of those airport shuttle vans today, and on the side of the van was written, "We're on time or you don't pay!" Oh, gee, thanks. So if you don't properly perform the sole purpose for which I am hiring you, and I miss my $500 flight as a result, you'll forget about the $20 I was supposed to pay you to make sure I caught that flight in the first place? Yeah, that sounds fair. And that goddamn exclamation mark is just adding insult to injury, too, because it's like it's telling me I'm supposed to be excited about this worthless guarantee.

This isn't Domino's fucking Pizza, people! How about, "We're on time or you don't pay . . . the $150 it's going to cost you to reschedule your flight."? That would feel a little more like justice.

And speaking of Domino's, has anyone seen these new Jim Breuer Pizza Hut commercials, where he screams, "jackpot!" with his retarded, crack-baby eyes? Now's when I would say something like, "my, how the mighty have fallen," but I think you have to have been mighty at some point in the past for that idiom to actually apply. Pizza Hut really loves these no-longer-famous, sketch-comedy-show dropouts. Remember, Tommy Davidson, who I recently saw in a Las Vegas strip club bathroom wearing track pants and a blue tooth, used to do their P'zone commercials? Ahhh, Tommy D...

Have You Seen This? Have You Heard This?

I hate when comics open up with their little "how we doin' tonight" schtick. We'd be doing a lot better if you'd start telling jokes, buddy. If I wanted to overpay to answer questions I'd call my grandma in Israel.

Too Soon?

Is it wrong that the whole Josef Fritzel thing ( http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/04/28/austria.cellar/ ) reminded me of the following incident? . . .

I was walking with a friend one day, long before the aforementioned story broke, when we saw a pretty hot, young, high-school girl walk by with her parents, wearing a ridiculously, inappropriately short skirt. I commented to my friend, regarding the girl, "this is why I can't have a daughter." And he responded with, "Tell me about it. If my daughter dressed like that, I'd shackle her in the basement and lock her away . . . and then I'd bang the shit out of her!"

I love my friends.

Your Ass Looks Amazing in Those Jeans

There needs to be a universal font or color to indicate written sarcasm. That would save me a lot of trouble.

Mazel Tov!

One of my best friends, since first grade, is getting married this weekend. I love him like a brother . . . and for one fateful summer, like he was Heidi Klum . . . And his wife-to-be is pretty awesome too, which is so great and important, because how much does the prospect of your best friend marrying a dirty dirty bitch whore suck?! But all of this brings me to my unfortunate conclusion: weddings are so fucking presumptuous!

So let me get this straight, you two have been dating for the last six years, and now we're all supposed to feign excitement at the notion of you two . . . continuing to do the exact same thing you've been doing? Only now, it's going to cost me.

There's the bachelor party planning, the bachelor party itself, the tux fitting, the final tux fitting, the tux rental fee, the dress rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, the photo sessions, the wedding gift . . . and this guy's as low maintenance as they come. He didn't even make us do an engagement party or anything.

Girls have it even worse! I mean, I have to do all that shit, but at least the guy's usually apologetic about it. "Sorry. I know this is a pain in the ass. It's a pain in the ass for me, too, trust me." Girls don't apologize for this stuff. They demand. It's their day and they'll be DAMNED if you're going to ruin it.

If you're a female, and you're remotely close to the bride, you have so many more responsibilities than guys. There's the bridal shower, of course. Then they have the bachelorette party, but it's so much more serious than the bachelor party. Girls send out formal invitations, they have to buy penis straws, and penis veils, and those stupid fucking tiaras! Women also have to incur the insane cost of the inevitably ugly bridesmaid dress. You know the bride always picks ugly, foofy, bow-laden dresses intentionally because she wants to make herself look extra good. And the girls really have to pretend to be excited about every step of the process or the bride will never forget. It'll be 20 years later and she'll be like, "remember how Gina didn't smile in our wedding pictures? She ruined the whole day."

And then there are the secretly bitter, jealous bridesmaids whose boyfriends haven't proposed yet (assuming they even have boyfriends) even though they've been together for two years already and they're not getting any younger, so they're resentfully gritting their teeth the whole time. You never hear a groomsman lean over to his buddy and whisper something about how he wishes he were the one getting married.

Phone Sex

A little while back I was talking to a friend of mine who was in a long-distance relationship, and he was singing the praises of phone sex. So, the curious chap that I am, I asked him to give me an example of what one session might entail. This is what he said (roughly):

"Okay, so the most recent time, we pretended like we were in my bed, naked, and, you know, we started talking about kissing each other and touching each other, and I was telling her how hot she looked, and how hard I was, and how she has a beautiful pussy . . . and I was getting really horny, so I said, 'I'm gonna put my cock inside you now.' But she was like, 'no, no, don't go inside me yet!' But I was like, 'Too late. I'm going in.'"

At that point I stopped him and said, "dude, that's not phone sex, that's phone rape! You phone raped your girlfriend!" He had phone rape.

That's all.

Not Cheating

A couple years ago, a friend of mine was really bummed about breaking up with his girlfriend, so he booked a trip to visit me in LA at the same time a bunch of "the guys" were also going to be in town, so that he could distract himself and have fun. He booked the trip about six weeks in advance, I think. However, just days before he was set to leave, he and his recent ex-girlfriend reconciled and got back together (probably because she was scared of what he would do on his mini-vacation).

When he got to LA, and saw all the beautiful, albeit retarded, women that this city had to offer, he found himself feeling a bit shafted, having suffered for over a month, missing his ex, looking forward to being a free man for this trip, only to have her take him back just days before his departure.

Thusly, we invented the ridiculously titled, Travelocity Rule of Retroactivity. (Rolls off the tongue, eh?) Said rule states, if you book a trip with the guys whilst single, even if you get a girlfriend before the time of the trip, you are single for that trip. That's a rule.

D8-ing is H8-ing

So, having recently come out of a relationship, I came to a really annoying realization the other day: I have to re-enter the world of dating. Now, I know a lot of people get excited about being single and meeting new people, but I write a blog called The Curmudgeon because I fucking hate people. Even the ones I know and choose to spend time with get on my nerves, so you can imagine how I feel about new ones.

Seriously, what a fucking nightmare dating is. People are just awful. With all their issues, and insecurities, and their baggage, and their bad habits, and even their good habits, and their stupid comments about how much they like plays or art, and their having had sex with anyone else, and the shitty music they like . . . And then there are all the stupid goddamn questions you have to ask: Where are you from? Where'd you go to school? What do you do? How many siblings do you have? Oh, you have a dog? Oh, it's little, white, and fluffy, and bites, and pees on the carpet? How adorably cliche. What's it's name? God! I want to blow my brains out all over my shower tiles just thinking about it!

And those are the ones who actually make it to the dating stage! Those are the better ones! The percentage of the population that's actually physically attractive enough to be dateable is minuscule! Seinfeld put it best, so I'll let him do the talking:




I know, I know . . . when you find someone you actually like, it's not such a chore to inquire about their interests and past, because you genuinely want to know. But seriously, how often does that happen? Fuck.

8 is H8

I was strolling through West Hollywood the other day when I came across a license plate that read, "8 IS H8." Now, for those of you who don't know, West Hollywood is a supremely gay neighborhood, like Chelsea in New York City, and the 8 on the license plate was referring to Prop 8, the proposition in California that prevents homosexuals from getting married. And for those of you who are retarded, this license plate was expressing the fact that Prop 8 is hateful, hence the "H8." This made me think of two things:

1. It reminded me of how fervently I despise personalized license plates, or "vanity" plates, as they're otherwise known, and more aptly, I must say, because if you have one, you are vain and a douchebag. I mean, the lengths that these people go to to try to express something that's neither funny nor clever is mind-boggling. So many of these plates are entirely incomprehensible because so many of the letters essential to literacy are missing. You know what, if the one you wanted was already taken, move on, man. It's clearly not that original anyway.

Here are some recent winners:

"4 G-MA." I'm sure Grandma is really proud.

"SCPRNCS." It took me a minute too, but then I remembered I live in Southern California where people actually think USC is a good school. It's SC Princess. Yes. I know.

"SPRFCL." Superficial, of course, though it should stand for super-fecal, because you are a piece of shit for putting this on your car.

"BORJWAH." This one just enraged me when I saw it. I was behind this person at a light, and wanted to get out of my car, rip their plate off, and beat them in the face with it like Donny "The Bear Jew" Donowitz beats Nazis with a baseball bat in Inglourious Basterds. I looked up "bourgeois" just to have some fun with this, and it said, "middle-class," or "dominated by materialistic pursuits." Wow. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Finally, I have to confess, I did see one that I actually liked one time. I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, on one of LA's crowded freeways, when I see a license plate that's clearly personalized, but too ridiculous to figure out: "FTBKPSY." My blood immediately begins to boil as I pull up alongside this heathen to see what kind of mental midget wastes her time and money on such an indecipherable public display. And there she was, in all her glory, an obese black chick, with long acrylic nails, shiny sunglasses, happy as hell, singing her ass off. And all at once, it hit me. Her license plate stood for . . . FaT BlacK PuSsY. Amazing. And I love her for showing me that even stupid things can be done well from time to time.

2. But I digress. Back to 8 IS H8. The second thing it made me realize, though I didn't want to admit that it had this impact on me because I want to discourage vanity plates, is that it reminded me of how infuriating the whole Prop 8 issue is. Eight really is hate! It's kind of crazy when you think about it. Prop 8 is a hate crime perpetrated by the government, that specifically targets and discriminates against them homosexyal types (that's not a typo; I'm just being a jackass because I feel like that's how a bigot would say it). Any other acts that discriminate against people for being members of a specific group, based on race, or sexuality, or gender, or religion, among other things, are considered hate crimes.

So why isn't Proposition 8 a hate crime? Oh, wait, because in the bible, that was written, and repeatedly revised, by man, God said being gay is bad. I forgot. My bad. God, who, if you actually read the bible, you'd know would be serving several consecutive life sentences for all of his innumerable hate crimes, said being gay is bad. It's absurd! I actually had (tried to, at least) a conversation with someone who vehemently opposed gay marriage. When I asked her why, she said, "because, well, what's next? People can marry their pets?!" And I said, "actually, that probably wouldn't bother me either, as long as they weren't sexually molesting their pets, but how about we just limit marriage to HUMAN BEINGS!" In her defense, she actually did get really quiet and said, "I hadn't thought of that."

Then again, what do I know? I'm just a Jew who's going to hell because I haven't accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior. Religion wins again.

Hot Mess

So I keep forgetting to mention that my good friend's band, Cobra Starship, just released a new album two weeks ago entitled, Hot Mess. It features the hit single, and yes, it actually is a hit!, "Good Girls Go Bad," which in turn features the vocal stylings of Gossip Girl's Leighton Meester (if you like that show and that's the sort of thing that impresses you).

You know how when you order a salad with bacon, sometimes you wish it were just the bacon? Or when you have a cupcake with really good frosting, you wish it were just the frosting? Or when you have Sour Patch Kids, you wish it were just the red ones? Well this is the bacon, the frosting, and the red Sour Patch Kid...

For your convenience, I've embedded the video for the first single. If you like it, please buy the song, or the whole album, over at iTunes:

FU, Penguin

I was at Borders tonight with my little brother because we had time to kill before watching Brad Pitt murder Nazis, and we came across a hilarious and amazing book called, FU, Penguin, by a tragically little-known Matthew Gasteier. I say tragically unknown because he cracked us up, but I don't actually know the guy. He could be a total prick. Yo, Matt! You'd better be a good guy because I'm telling people to check out your book! If you're an asshole, go fuck yourself, and I rescind my endorsement of you and your creations. Otherwise, check out his book if you get a chance: http://www.amazon.com/Penguin-Telling-Cute-Animals-Whats/dp/0345518160/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1251269162&sr=8-1

Also, he has a blog (shocker): http://www.fupenguin.com/

World's Worst Lie

I was craving pancakes the other day, so I decided to head over to a local, hole-in-the-wall diner to satisfy said craving. When I opened the menu, I was not shocked to see the declaration, "World's Best Pancakes!" But then it struck me: what a load of bullshit. World's best? WORLD'S best?! Really?! I'm so sick of this phrase on menus and every other store sign. "World's best ice cream," "world's best stereo systems," "world's best cat litter." Seriously, I typed "world's best" into google, just as an experiment, and the number one item that came up was "world's best cat litter." I don't know if that illustrates my point about the abuse of superlatives or is a sad statement about the abundance of pathetic, lonely cat people. Probably both.

The point is, to claim that whatever you're selling is the world's best is just preposterous! So I'm to believe you went everywhere in the world, and found that of all the products that do the same thing as your product, your product did it best? I mean, I'm not a mathematician or anything, but chances are pretty good you're a huge liar.

I'm fine with "award-winning," but it had better be a legitimate award. I don't want to see "award-winning pecan pie" on your menu only to find out your neighbors held a pie competition in their backyard and your pecan pie came in second place . . . although at least that still wouldn't be a blatant lie . . . technically speaking.

"World's best" only sets the bar too high anyway. They should do a better job of managing expectations. Even if the pancakes were great (which they were, in this most recent case), you're probably going to be disappointed after all the "world's best" hype. There's no way they can live up to that. They're doing a disservice to themselves. The truth is, that claim is so absurd that people don't even pay attention to it anymore, and it just throws everything else your establishment advertises into question, like when Holden says he's a terrific liar at the beginning of Catcher in the Rye.

Same thing goes for "world famous." If I live up the street from your establishment, and I've never even heard about your "world famous" goulash until just now when I walked in, then it's not world famous.

I actually just had a quick conversation with my little brother about this, and we were saying, that somewhere in the world, they actually do have the world's best pancakes. But even then, that's subjective, obviously. So we agreed, that menus should have to say, "voted world's best," and then specify by whom, and in what year, so that they don't get complacent and decide to rest on their laurels. That's all.

Nice Honkers

I hate people who honk immediately when they come to pick someone up. How fucking rude and self-centered are these assholes? There's unwritten pick-up etiquette, that should probably be enacted into law, that clearly states (if you're not a selfish retard) that there's a whole check-down list of behaviors before resorting to honking your horn. Let me preface this by saying that between the hours of midnight and 10:00am, you are not permitted to honk your horn at all . . . whatsoever.

First, before you even get there, you text or call to alert the person mooching a ride to your imminent arrival. Then, when you get there and they're not outside waiting for you, which they never are, you text to let them know you've arrived.

Now, wait one to two minutes . . .

If they don't respond to the text, then you call. If they don't pick up the call, wait another one to two minutes . . .

If you still haven't heard from them at this juncture, you may opt to send an optional follow-up text letting the person for whom you are waiting know that he/she is being an asshole. You're being kind enough to do the driving; the least he/she can do is be punctual. How hard is that? (Answer: apparently very hard.)

Finally, at the five-minute mark, you are permitted one quick "toot" of the horn. Not even a "honk," but a "toot," if you will. This lasts a mere fraction of a fraction of (that's not a typo) a second. You cannot, under any circumstances (other than for dire, life-threatening emergencies . . . or sex), lean on your horn. It's not everyone else's fault your buddy's rubbing one out before he leaves, or your girlfriend is still flat-ironing her frizzy pube hair. Your asshole friend's douchebaggery is not everyone in the neighborhood's problem! Seriously. If you honk your horn for a sustained length of time, or multiple times, just to alert one inconsiderate prick to your presence, then you're even worse. At least your friend is only silently inconveniencing one person, whereas you are being more offensive than a dingleberry entangled in the assy taint pubes of Jared Fogle and Kirstie Alley's love child . . . if they were permitted to breed . . .

Animators Are Sexist

Has anyone noticed that all the human women in Pixar movies look the same? The men are all pretty varied, in body type, facial structure, hairstyle . . . but look at the women in these things. They all have similar haircuts, the same body, the same face.

I don't think it's conscious, but it is rather conspicuous. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the kids who were comic-book-obsessed, Dungeons-&-Dragons-playing, math nerds grew up to be adult computer nerds who aren't really all that familiar with women. So when they create all these strikingly similar female characters, they're not actually being sexist, but, in fact, just experientially deprived of sexual variety. They're just tapping into their limited experience of what they've gathered a woman should look like.

I tried to find a few stills from a couple of these movies to illustrate my point, but I couldn't find anything that great. I think these kind of give you the idea:

http://l.yimg.com/eb/ymv/us/img/flickr/56/95/003525675695.jpg

http://www.imdb.com/media/rm639473664/tt0317705

http://content8.flixster.com/question/34/25/58/3425582_std.jpg

The Ephemeral

I hate that some of the best things in life are so fleeting.

Good TV shows like Arrested Development and Dog Bites Man (a severely under appreciated work of genius) get canceled too quickly because people are morons, the honeymoon period of a relationship passes too fast because women are ungrateful, a good cookie is done before you know it, orgasms are over in just a few seconds, and vacations... Vacations! Man, it feels like you just got to wherever you were going and you already have to pack to head back to the airport to leave. It sucks.

But my guess is, that's probably what makes all those things so good, huh. Sad that people need to have things disappear to be reminded of how awesome they are.

Only Sailors Use Condoms!

Really, Science? Is this the best you can do? How badly do these things suck?! Kids aren't having unprotected sex because they're irresponsible, or lazy, or under-educated. They're having unprotected sex because condoms fucking suck, and sex feels a gazillion times better without them!

You'd think they'd be working around the clock on this problem. There can't be much money in physics or geology, but I bet if you came up with a contraceptive that actually let you feel your cock being enveloped by the soft, comforting vaginal canal, you'd be neck deep in cash. You'd be bathing in gold coins like you're in motherfucking Duck Tales!



Seriously, shouldn't there be some new, revolutionary condom on the market at least once a year? I know they release these new ones that are supposed to be thinner and feel better, but they're exactly the same. Give me a protective spray, or something. That's it! A spray-on condom! No? Can't that be done?! Please!

I mean, the dudes who made Extenze are raking it in, and that's probably just a goddamn sugar pill! Shouldn't the money be incentive enough? C'mon, Science. Get your shit together.

I almost feel like there's some right-wing, Evangelical Christian conspiracy limiting government funding for condom research because Jesus wants us to have even more retarded babies who flagrantly sap Earth's limited resources. So once again, this all brings us back to the evils of religion. If there were a God, we wouldn't need condoms. Case closed.

Additional Wasted Talent

Two important names I left off my Wasted Talent post: Chris Farley and Mike Tyson. They were awesome but could've been even awesome-er. Sad . . .

Wasted Talent

I hate wasted talent, yet find it completely fascinating. Darryl Strawberry and Kurt Cobain are two of the most tragic yet enthralling figures of my lifetime. Neither lived up to his immense potential, but I never tired of watching either one of them.

187

I was talking to a friend today, and she commented that there's someone in her life who she would gleefully murder if she were guaranteed not to get caught. She said she'd gut him like a fish and then bathe in his blood-soaked entrails. Okay, she didn't say that last part, but that's not really the point. The point is, it made me re-ponder a question that I probably ponder way more often than is healthy: do I think I could commit a homicide and not get caught?

Yes. That's the short answer. Let me clarify that I'm referring to premeditated murder, of course. If you do it in the heat of passion, you're gonna fuck up and make a mistake. Anyway, I think I've watched enough episodes of First 48 (AMAZING show, by the way. Watch it!) to know that these degenerate criminals get caught because they're stupid . . . usually. Sometimes there's some really awesome detective work. A lot of the time, in fact. But even with great detective work, so many of these cases hinge entirely upon either an anonymous tip or a confession.

What I've been able to gauge thus far is, if you know the person you murder, it's probably going to be pretty tough to get away with. But if you can stick to murdering a complete stranger . . . you're golden. Only problem is, you probably really only want to kill jackasses you know. If there's a car involved, definitely burn it. The detectives are always pissed when the car is burned. Actually, I think I'm going to stop telling people how to murder someone and get away with it. As much as I hate people and think there are a lot of humans the world would be a better place without, it's probably the real assholes who would actually follow through with the murders, which would make this post completely counterproductive. . . . Okay, just one more thing, though: I'd probably feed the remains to a dog, or something. I've always felt like that would be an excellent way to dispose of a body. Just don't feed it to your dog, moron.

Bottom line, at the end of the day, it's probably not worth the risk of getting caught or the lifetime of showers that just never leave you feeling clean. If you hate someone enough to murder them, you would never want to risk having them or their loved ones know that you suffered as a result of them. It would really negate the whole point of slaughtering them in the first place, as amazing as that would feel. Just fantasize about it like a normal person and leave it at that. Still, though, I'm just sayin' . . . if it came down to it, I think I could get away with murder.

(Special thanks to Adriana for having violent tendencies...)

Piss Off!

I hate urinals. Public restroom in general, I guess, but urinals are a particularly vile feature. Yeah, in theory they're really convenient, but they disgust me. Everything about them. The gross smell of the urinal cake mixed with the unflushed urine. The splash-back that ricochets off the porcelain when you pee in them. The whole uncomfortably social nature of them. They're so close together, and often there's no divider, and there's usually a puddle of piss at the base of them, and people hock loogies into them while pissing, and then it's eerily silent so the guy next to you tries to make awkward chit-chat.

One of the funnier/grosser aspects is when a guy sidles up right next to you and just shamelessly tears ass. I mean, I know it's a bathroom, but can't you step more than six inches away from me for a second? Imagine how that guy would react if you stood right next to him while waiting to cross the street and just blasted him. Probably not well.

And don't even get me started on the trough. When the trough is in play, people actually think it's okay to squeeze in next to you. It is wholly unacceptable to be handling your dick while in contact with another, strange man. Unless you're gay or in a porno . . . or both. If you need to physically touch another human being in order to take a piss, then you're not being patient enough. If you've ever tried to pee at a trough at a bar, while sober, surrounded by drunk guys . . . then you know it's not possible. It can't be done.

Which brings me to my next point: the best way for me to gauge my level of intoxication is by my willingness to use a urinal. My blood alcohol content is directly proportional to my yen for a urinal. That is, the more booze I consume, the more likely I am to use the urinal. At four drinks, I might give it a shot, although if the guy next to me starts talking, I'll head for the stall. At eight drinks, I'll be the guy talking to you at the urinal, and maybe even patting you on the back as I head for the sink. Because even if I'm hammered, I wash my fucking hands, you savages!

Music Festivals

Is it just me, or are these things severely overrated? I mean, they're usually in the summer, or somewhere hot enough for an outdoor music festival, so if you're on the East Coast, you're dying in the humidity, and if you're on the West Coast, it's all dry and you're caked in desert dirt. (Yes, I know I'm ignoring the entire middle of the country. Who cares? The answer: no one. They don't count anyway.) Then there's the lines, and the crowds, and the excessively drunk people who inevitably vomit anywhere they please, or the really high people who are nauseatingly happy. There are the self-righteous speeches given by the musicians that mercilessly cut into their already-laughably-short set time , because these festivals are always for something, I think. Right? Don't they all have causes? I don't know. Then there are the porta-potties. Everything about those is horrible. The endless line, the nostril-hair-singeing stench, the lack of sinks for hand washing. Ugh. Let's also not forget the astronomically, egregiously high food and beverage prices. Good luck getting a funnel cake and a water for less than 10 bucks. And how about those wonderful occasions when it rains at these things, too? What a treat that is, the muddy mayhem that ensues...

There are so many of these things now, too: Bonnaroo, Warped Tour, Lollapalooza, All Points West, Coachella, and many more. People say, it's a great opportunity to see all the bands you love in one place. I say, it's a terrible experience in which you're exposed to the elements while listening to a lot of bands you don't like just to hear the two bands you actually do like play 20-minute sets that include only one or two of the songs you actually wanted to hear them play. Just go see those bands' shows separately and avoid the debacle that is the music festival.

Oh, and good luck getting out of the fucking parking lot.

Bitches Ain't Shit - An Appendix

Due to some comments regarding my women-aren't-funny post, I will restate: if being funny didn't facilitate men getting women, then men wouldn't be funny . . . and women would still not be funny, also.

There is, however, an argument to be made, that Jews would still be funny. Perhaps their sense of humor as a people has helped them cope with millennia of intermittent but pervasive persecution. Whatever the reason, think about the disproportionate amount of Jewish comics, both male and female.

Weed Ware

I hate people who wear things with marijuana leaves on them. I saw a guy in his 30's wearing a hat with the big green leaf on it today and he looked ridiculous. Seriously? Grow the fuck up. It's not remotely cool. Maybe it was cool in high school, for some people, but c'mon. I mean, it's fine if you enjoy smoking, but that doesn't mean you have to be a jackass. In fact, I think weed should be legalized but wearing clothing with a marijuana leaf on it should be an arrestable offense.

Bitches Ain't Shit (in the Humor Department)

Sorry. I know the title is a little harsh, but the point is, women aren't funny. Yeah, I said it. Think about it. What women come to mind when you think of comedy? Margaret Cho, Rosie O'Donnell, Ellen DeGeneres? Those are some of the few female comedic icons. What do they all have in common? Lesbians. There are certainly great exceptions, Tina Fey, Sarah Silverman, Parker Posey (who, if you ask me, do have some pretty masculine tendencies, but are all still relatively attractive and funny and straight . . . as far as I know), but it seems to me that you usually need some high testosterone levels to be a funny woman (Roseanne Barr and Lisa Lampanelli are straight, too, but fat and manly).

I know this sounds sexist, and I guess it is, but think about your funniest friends, too. They're probably male. Probably. But I'm not just going to make such a radical statement without providing you with what I think is a logical explanation for this: Evolution. As is often the case, this magical Evolution, that a pretty significant portion of the population somehow dismisses in favor of Creationism (oh, Jesus . . . pun intended), does a pretty damn good job of explaining why guys would be funny while girls would not be.

According to Evolution, women don't need to be funny. It's as simple as that. Men do. Men don't care if women are funny, but women certainly care if men are funny. Women didn't and don't need to make us laugh, because we already wanted/want them. And this has been true for a long time. The ability to make a woman laugh has been very important for men . . . I'd say, for as long as we've existed. Women need to have a sense of humor, because they have to get the jokes that the men deliver, but this shouldn't be confused with actually being funny. How else do you explain Jewy schlubs like Woody Allen, Larry David, Jerry Seinfeld, and David Schwimmer being able to attract women? I guess their money helps, too, huh. But my guess is they still did alright for themselves even before they were loaded because they're funny, and women need to be amused in order to be attracted to men.

I'm open to counter arguments, but I don't want to hear, "you're wrong because my friend, Lindsey, is hysterical. Whenever we go out drinking, she says . . ." There are exceptions. I said that. Though your friend Lindsey probably isn't funny to any members of the male gender. And she's probably fat.

Tony Danza

No, this isn't a post about the incredible Italian stallion star of Who's The Boss?. This is about how I love when people screw up song lyrics. The Tony Danza title comes from the fact that someone I know used to think the lyrics to Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" were, "hold me closer Tony Daaaannnzzzzaaaa." And I love that! (I've protected her identity. This is the same person who used to think Doogie Howser M.D. was Doogie Howser AND ME!)

There's the classic Hendrix screw up, where people think he was singing "excuse me while I kiss this guy," which was kinda funny. In "Blinded by the Light," my friends and I used to think the chorus, "revved up like a deuce," was "wrecked up like a douche," though we could never actually explain what that meant.

In a similar vein, I have a friend who always thought "a blessing in disguise" was "a blessing in the skies," and when you think about it, it actually works, which is, I'm sure, what enabled it to persist as a part of his vernacular for so long. I think he still says it to this day, even though he knows it's wrong.

You're Definately A Jackass...Supposably

I hate when people can't spell common, simple words. If you can't spell definitely or supposedly, please take a dip in the crocodile-infested Nile. Another one: when people write "expresso" instead of "espresso." Expresso doesn't mean coffee in a hurry, it means you're fucking stupid.

Commercial Douches

I hate commercials when I'm watching TV. Hate. LOATHE! I 've been known to rage about what I deem to be awful television advertisements to the point where people can't stand watching TV with me. DVR is one of the best inventions in the history of inventions because it allows me to skip these brain-matter-sucking devices targeted at the most mentally weak of the most retarded (i.e. - 99.7% of the population).

But some commercials manage to stand out amidst this sea of inanity due to some truly nails-on-a-chalkboard irritating personalities. Now the Verizon guy and Jared Fogle (the Subway sandwich fat fuck) were up there for a while, partially because they were played to death, and partially because they were the same person. Why marketing people thought that the average consumer was craving advice from pudgy nerds with dark-rimmed glasses, I'll never know. Anyway, my two newest champions of TV commercial douchebaggery are . . .

The Six Flags Old Man, played by some insufferable douche in makeup: http://www.cracked.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/mister61.jpg
Largely because of the annoying music playing throughout the commercial, but also because of his spastic, over-the-top head gyrations when he talks, and because the people who made the commercial think that an old man dancing is funny.

And, The Progressive Auto Insurance Girl: http://intensities.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/flo.jpg
I don't even know where to begin with this one. She's just not funny in any way, and it's clear that she's trying so hard to be, which makes it exponentially worse. If you've ever seen her commercials, you know what I mean, and also want her to be ravaged by a pack of wild, rabid dogs. If you've seen her commercials and think she's funny, please don't ever approach me in person.

New York's Hairy Taint

So, just as I was actually enjoying my New York City visit, the one consistently positive aspect of this city, the subway system, became tainted. While cycling through the options on the automated Metro Card machine one night, I noticed the 1-Day Unlimited option, or "1-Day Fun Pass," as it's called (because riding the subway is apparently equivalent to being at an amusement park, or something). For $8.25, this option is good for an unlimited number of subway rides during a one-day period . . . or so they lead you to believe.

Turns out, "one day" only means "from whenever you buy the card until 3:00am." Soooo, despite official definitions and scientific calculations as to the average amount of time it takes the Earth to make one rotation on its axis, The New York City Transit Department is okay with REdefining what constitutes "a day" and stealing your money. Somehow, they can get away with claiming that the hour from 2:00am-3:00am counts as a full day. Explain to me how that makes any sense.

Fuck you, MTA! I'm actually going to call to try to get my money back, not because I'm a cheap Jew, but because of principle! Wish me luck . . .

Fuck Your Family

I hate those stickers on the backs of cars that have stick figures of all your family members and the names underneath. Some of the people who put these on their cars are even annoying enough to put their family pet on there too. Ugh.

Congratulations, you were able to breed. Seriously, we don't give a shit about your family, and something tells me there are even members of your own family who feel the same way. In fact, I'm willing to venture a guess that the world would be a marginally (I say "marginally," due to the sheer massive quantity of "things" that make this world so barely bearable) less annoying place without your sticker-happy kinfolk.

One time, I want to read the names under the stickers, pull up alongside one of these cars at a red light, roll down my window, and be like, "Hey, Jane! How are Timmy and Sarah? Ah, they grow up so fast, don't they?" I wonder if anyone stupid enough to adhere these stickers to her rear windshield would even be able to figure out what I'd just done. Another fantasy I had begins much the same way. I pull up alongside one of these cars, roll down my window, and commit a drive-by shooting.

This also brings me to another point about these stickers: don't you think they give a little too much information to strangers? I mean, wouldn't it make sense for a pedophile to hang out near one of these be-stickered cars, hoping the kid gets there first? He already knows the kid's name. That's totally disarming. In my previous scenario, I disarmed the kid's idiot mom by knowing her name, so I would assume the kid is at least as mentally deficient as his mother, no? Just a thought.

(Special thanks to my little cock goblin brother, whom I forgot to thank initially...)

Hi! Welcome to America! Now Tell Me Where to Go.

Why do we always ask for directions at gas stations? Why do we assume these guys are going to be able to tell us how to get where we need to go? I think we expect way too much of gas station employees in this regard.

Think about it. Often, at least in my experience, these employees are foreigners. This isn't even their country, and they could very well be new arrivals, and yet we, Americans, ask them for directions. I mean, put me to work at a Sunoco in Calcutta, and I'm going to be of absolutely zero use to you if you need driving/walking directions.

And even if the employees are American, why do we assume these guys know anything more than how to get back and forth from home to work? How does that qualify them to be omniscient in the way of directions?

My guess is, the assumption stems from the fact that gas station employees tend to deal with a lot of passers-by, but unless these transients are choosing to educate the gas station employees about the local thoroughfares for no clear reason... See what I'm sayin'?...

(Special thanks to the venerable Rabbi D.S.)

Spitters

I hate people who casually and randomly spit in the middle of the street as they're walking. What is that?! I'll tell you what it is; it's disgusting. Now, often it's people with chewing tobacco or smokers (which doesn't make it any less repulsive, but at least provides some sort of explanation), but just as frequently I see regular, non-smoking, non-tobacco-chewing individuals just spit, right there, on the sidewalk, where I have to walk. It's like a mine field out there. How much excess saliva are these people's bodies producing? Knock it off! Or at least carry around some sort of spit receptacle, so normal-amount-of-saliva-producing people don't have to look at/circumnavigate your disgusting globs of spittle.

MJ

Did you know that Michael Jackson's memorial service cost Los Angeles taxpayers almost a million-and-a-half dollars?! California is broke-ass broke, and somehow this was justified! I even overheard one news report yesterday that said, private donations of $17,000 have been contributed to help foot the bill. Really? Seventeen thousand, huh? Thanks for the help. The entire Jackson clan couldn't pool some money together and pay for its own family member's memorial service? Isn't that what any other jackass would have to do?

Seriously, why don't we just line up all the Los Angeleans who are struggling to pay their bills and spit directly into their grease-streaked, sunburnt, leathery, impoverished faces? It would be way cheaper, too, while still conveying the same message, i.e., "we don't give a shit about you."

I wonder if any of the kids he diddled are currently Los Angeles residents. There's gotta be at least one, right? So when you think about it, that kid is paying for the memorial service of the guy who molested him. Nice work, humanity. I'm proud o' ya.

Look, I loved Michael Jackson's music . . . a lot. And, I truly believe that he was a tortured soul, who had little-to-zero sense of what actual reality was. Plus, if we're being technical, he was acquitted. But, I do think we're all glossing over his still-inappropriate behavior with young children a little too much with our gushing, postmortem mania. I'm just sayin' . . .

Ohhh, Movies...

You ever sit around and wonder to yourself, "why is my life nothing like the characters' I see in the movies?" Well, luckily, my little brother and I were recently kibitzing about just that very subject, and we came up with a short list that only scratches the surface of why your life is nothing like movie characters' lives. In short, it's because filmmakers eliminate many of the daily nuisances that we have to endure. Take note:

1. In the movies, no one ever has any trouble finding a parking spot. Even in major cities. Think about how much stress that would relieve in your life.

2. In the movies, people usually don't lock their doors. In fact, often times, they don't even close the door at all. Amazing. Now, sure, many doors lock automatically when you close them, but just for argument's sake, imagine how nice it would be to live in a place where you didn't have to lock, or even close, your door. Pretty comforting, eh.

3. In the movies, no one says goodbye when they get off the phone. People just hang up mid-conversation all the time! Imagine how much better life would be if you just got to say or ask what you wanted, and then you got to hang up the phone without having the awkward, drawn-out, much-longer-than-necessary goodbye portion of the conversation. What a relief that would be! If I call my father, we have a three minute conversation, and then he spends 15 minutes saying goodbye. Ridiculous!

4. In the movies, people have sex in offices. Now, that's great in and of itself, but the part about that that's amazingly impractical is, they always, in a torrid fit of uncontrollable sexual desire, sweep everything off the desk. But they never deal with the fact that someone has to clean that up afterwards! That guy who just bent his secretary over his mahogany work station, will later have to sort through all those scattered papers, struggling to find yesterday's memo about some stupid, sure-to-be-unproductive-and-unfulfilling meeting, and the piece of paper where he wrote down what time his wife told him to pick up the kids from soccer practice, and the Post-It note with the phone number for the new dentist he wants to try out, etc... But we never see the fallout. Life would be much cooler if we could trash our desks, and not have to deal with the aftermath.

5. And finally, in the movies, there is NO clean-up after sex. Zero! Think about it. In every movie, after two people have sex (unprotected, of course--another great message), they just lay there in their own sweat and jizz. No one ever reaches for a tissue, or a towel, or runs to the bathroom. They just blissfully curl up in each other's arms, and proceed to have whatever serious conversation is needed to move the story forward. Seriously, in movies, there is no post-coital clean-up, and I feel like the film industry is perpetrating a grave injustice against the public, especially the youth, by not accurately portraying the shame, awkwardness, regret, or any other of those wonderful emotions that immediately follow god's gift to (wo)mankind. Any kid who grew up a movie fan knows how ill-prepared he was the first time he realized what a hassle condoms were, or that girls are "messy" too. Movies should be rated-R for strong language, nudity, drug use, and now, inaccurate and unrealistic portrayals of sexual activity.

(Exhale)

Life is so fucking exhausting, is it not? I mean, just living is such a drain. It never ends. Well, it does end, but sometimes I really feel, not soon enough. You have to be so vigilant about so many things. Think about all the crap you have to keep track of: you have to pay your bills. Your car insurance bill, your health insurance bill, you credit card bills, your phone bills, your electric bill, your cable bill, your rent, your doctor bills (because the health insurance bill you consistently pay doesn't actually cover any of your medical expenses).

Then there's all the other stuff: you try to exercise, you try to eat healthy, you have to go grocery shopping, do laundry, keep up with your favorite TV shows and see the movies you never got around to seeing in the theaters because you were too busy keeping up with other shit, keep up with emails, work (ugh), shave, shower, clean your room, clean your bathroom, clean your kitchen, wash your dishes, cut your nails, call your parents, get your oil changed, sleep, get your hair cut, make your bed, put gas in your car, occasionally try to go out and maintain your friendships with people who try to make you feel guilty about not coming out enough (where the fuck do they find the time?!)...

And that was the relatively benign stuff! Then there are the bad things, like getting sick and puking your guts out, or having a throat so sore you can't even talk. You get a fever so bad that you can't sleep all night because you're incessantly alternating between freezing your ass off despite being buried under a dozen blankets and being drenched in buckets of sweat, and you say to yourself (after you've finished praying to a God you don't believe in), "I hope I never have to endure anything like this ever again. I can't!" But you will!!! You will get really sick again. And knowing that sucks so bad, and is so daunting! Same goes for any time you break an ankle, or pull a muscle, or strain your back. It sucks! And when you finally get better you think, "never again!" But you know it will happen again! You fall in love and then you fall out. And that sucks. And you go through a whole range of emotions that are so real at the time that you're experiencing them, until you come out of that haze, and you say to yourself, "I'll never go through that again." But you probably will. I mean, even something as mundane as getting an eyelash stuck in your eye. It's so fucking annoying, and irritating, and uncomfortable, and you can't get it out no matter how many times you flush your now-raw eyeball with water. And that won't be the last time!

Does this not exhaust anyone else? How do people have the time or energy to argue about stupid shit like using taxpayers' money to put a Ten Commandments monument in the courthouse of a country that supposedly separates Church and State? Why do people occupy themselves with inanity like John and Kate, or the Octamom, or Lindsay Lohan's repugnant fire crotch? I'm exhausted just thinking about it...