- I recently discussed how awful it would’ve been to be Geena Davis on the set of A League of Their Own. She would’ve had to hear Rosie O’Donnell, Penny Marshall, and Madonna talk to each other in their horrible voices all day, while Tom Hanks does that annoying half-yell of his in the background. A friend whom I was discussing this with brought up the point “Yeah, but at least she got to go home and have sex with Jeff Goldblum after.” Touche, Goldblum.
- People say things like “There’s nothing funny about kids starving in Africa!” or “There’s nothing funny about all the pandas not-fucking themselves into extinction!” but this isn’t true because when I hear jokes about those things, I laugh. People should take out the “There’s nothing funny about” and just go right to “killer mudslides!” and then I’ll make up my own mind about how funny it is.
- The best part about winter is that it makes it really easy to tell if someone’s a crackhead from a distance. If it’s minus 20 and you’re walking around with your jacket open, you’re either a crackhead or a showoff, and I don’t want to be friends with either.
- I can’t think about my hair or fingernails for too long because I start to get freaked out. They contain none of my actual DNA. They are random bits of protein growing out of me. They are like very uninteresting alien creatures, using my body as a vehicle for them to collect grease and hot sauce. It all seems like the plot of a lesser John Wyndham novel. I’m going to stop talking about it.
- It drives me insane when people refer to the shark in Jaws as “Jaws”, as if that’s its fucking name or something. ‘And when Jaws comes out of the water and rolls that kid over! Oh man!’ Give me a break. Sharks don’t name their pups, and if they did, we wouldn’t be able understand what those names are. And I also highly doubt they would give them a name like “Jaws.” They’d probably just go with the shark equivalent of “Cody.” They wouldn’t do their own shark-child the injustice of giving them a name that makes them sound like a man-eater right off the bat. That’s like if someone named their kid Crystal Diamond and then was surprised when she grew up to be an exotic dancer. Sharks are so misunderstood. They're a lot like us. We have nothing to fear but our own ignorance and going swimming on our rags.
- Sometimes, at work, when people are putting a movie on hold over the phone, they spell their names out for me. Sometimes it’s a name where a spelling is warranted, like Kryzjstof or Andrijana. Sometimes it’s a name like fucking Ted. If you have a name like Ted or Mary or Janet or Phil, never ever ever spell it out for someone. It makes you seem like a retarded asshole.
-What I want to know is how cats can eat the same boring food everyday and yet somehow manage to take the grossest poops in the world. What is wrong with these cats?
- Lately, I’m all about pets you can wear out in public around your neck. Ferret? Rad. Snake? Right on! I’d like to take it further and branch out into more exotic long pets. I’m saving up to buy some sort of neck shaped plastic bag I can store a moray eel in. Fuckin’ A.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Set 4.
- There is a Cadbury factory that I walk by on my way home from work every night. As soon as I start going across a certain bridge, the smell of warm chocolate rides the breeze up from the factory grounds and into my nose. It is a delicious smell. I would probably look forward to that part of my walk a lot more if the bridge wasn’t in a creepy, isolated industrial park. It’s hard to think about enjoying a chocolate bar while you’re also worried about getting murdered and left on the side of the train tracks.
-Sometimes at work, when I have to look up the title of a film for someone, I almost accidentally read out a porno title that is listed just above the actual movie I’m looking for. The other day someone asked for “Please Dare Me”, and I almost said “Yes, we have a copy of ‘Please Cum In Me Again’.” Luckily I caught myself mid sentence, because that would’ve taken some awkward explaining.
-The worst is when you find a weird sticky stain on the front of your pants and you just honestly have no idea where it came from at all. Is it food or just random daily goo? Who knows.
-I would be more interested in getting pregnant if I could decide what I could give birth to. I’d way rather have a litter of puppies or a bag of Snyders of Hanover Hot Wing pretzels over raising children who will eventually hate me.
-Today at work I turned to a coworker and said “Man, I don’t know why I’m so tired.” But then I remembered that I drank a coke at 3 am and decided to read about Charles Manson and was afraid of getting ritual murdered after that, so I just stayed up until dawn because, in my mind, murderers are like vampires and they can’t operate in sunlight. It’s good to see that my fears have matured over the last 23 years.
- At night there is a sound outside my window sometimes that sounds like a wet towel slapping a brick wall and I don’t even want to know what it is.
- I can’t do cocaine because a) I have no interest in it and b) I would behave like a hummingbird with Asperger’s Syndrome if I even touched it.
- A good lesson in life, and one that they should teach in school, is that you can’t always follow a miscarriage joke with a simple “C’mooooon”. Sometimes it just won’t fly, no matter how cool you play it.
-Sometimes at work, when I have to look up the title of a film for someone, I almost accidentally read out a porno title that is listed just above the actual movie I’m looking for. The other day someone asked for “Please Dare Me”, and I almost said “Yes, we have a copy of ‘Please Cum In Me Again’.” Luckily I caught myself mid sentence, because that would’ve taken some awkward explaining.
-The worst is when you find a weird sticky stain on the front of your pants and you just honestly have no idea where it came from at all. Is it food or just random daily goo? Who knows.
-I would be more interested in getting pregnant if I could decide what I could give birth to. I’d way rather have a litter of puppies or a bag of Snyders of Hanover Hot Wing pretzels over raising children who will eventually hate me.
-Today at work I turned to a coworker and said “Man, I don’t know why I’m so tired.” But then I remembered that I drank a coke at 3 am and decided to read about Charles Manson and was afraid of getting ritual murdered after that, so I just stayed up until dawn because, in my mind, murderers are like vampires and they can’t operate in sunlight. It’s good to see that my fears have matured over the last 23 years.
- At night there is a sound outside my window sometimes that sounds like a wet towel slapping a brick wall and I don’t even want to know what it is.
- I can’t do cocaine because a) I have no interest in it and b) I would behave like a hummingbird with Asperger’s Syndrome if I even touched it.
- A good lesson in life, and one that they should teach in school, is that you can’t always follow a miscarriage joke with a simple “C’mooooon”. Sometimes it just won’t fly, no matter how cool you play it.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Set 3.
-I really hate in commercials for kitty litter how the cats look all happy to be standing in piss covered sand while they shit. There’s no way they’re THAT satisfied.
-Yesterday I was trying to write dog breed specific jokes but had to stop when it devolved into “Golden Retriever? I hardly know ‘er!”
-I was trying to think of the worst way to die and I think it would have to involve getting fire ants in your pee hole. I don’t think that would kill you but you’d pray for death and it would make any other pre-existing way to die a million times worse. “She went peacefully in her sleep. Well, except that there were fire ants rammed up her pee hole for some reason.”
-I lose my appetite when I accidentally watch other people eat. It’s so gross. A wet hole opens up in your face and you shove stuff in it and move the stuff around until it is mushy and then allow it into your body so it can come out your BUTT later as horrible poo. Urgh. The only worse thing to see is an old woman eating scrambled eggs. Awful.
-It’s so much fun when candy is shaped like other, bigger food. I love those tiny candy pizzas and burgers and hot dogs you can get. You can also get candy french fries, candy fried chicken, candy doughnuts, candy ice cream cones. I’d like a company to take it one step further and create gourmet tiny candy meals. Grilled duck breast in a balsamic reduction with a morel and parsnip risotto, but candy! Or maybe make candy versions of things you shouldn’t eat. Candy skin. Candy dirt. Candy poison. Candy medical waste. My dream is that we’ll one day have the technology to make candy versions of our own faces, so that I can finally eat my face.
-They should start producing Coles Notes of those ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books. I’d like a way to tell exactly what adventures I can choose.
-My cheap duvet cover that I bought at Ikea has no buttons at the open end, the stuffing end, and I’m worried I’m going to wake up inside it and also being asphyxiated. “She died doing what she loved best: Thrashing around in her sleep.”
-Sometimes I wonder if a garbage man has ever picked up a bag of garbage, only to have hundreds of used condoms fall out. It doesn’t seem likely but it doesn’t seem totally unreasonable and it does seem hilarious.
-I think a good joke would be to put bacon bits in a jar of brown sugar at a coffee shop.
-Yesterday I was trying to write dog breed specific jokes but had to stop when it devolved into “Golden Retriever? I hardly know ‘er!”
-I was trying to think of the worst way to die and I think it would have to involve getting fire ants in your pee hole. I don’t think that would kill you but you’d pray for death and it would make any other pre-existing way to die a million times worse. “She went peacefully in her sleep. Well, except that there were fire ants rammed up her pee hole for some reason.”
-I lose my appetite when I accidentally watch other people eat. It’s so gross. A wet hole opens up in your face and you shove stuff in it and move the stuff around until it is mushy and then allow it into your body so it can come out your BUTT later as horrible poo. Urgh. The only worse thing to see is an old woman eating scrambled eggs. Awful.
-It’s so much fun when candy is shaped like other, bigger food. I love those tiny candy pizzas and burgers and hot dogs you can get. You can also get candy french fries, candy fried chicken, candy doughnuts, candy ice cream cones. I’d like a company to take it one step further and create gourmet tiny candy meals. Grilled duck breast in a balsamic reduction with a morel and parsnip risotto, but candy! Or maybe make candy versions of things you shouldn’t eat. Candy skin. Candy dirt. Candy poison. Candy medical waste. My dream is that we’ll one day have the technology to make candy versions of our own faces, so that I can finally eat my face.
-They should start producing Coles Notes of those ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books. I’d like a way to tell exactly what adventures I can choose.
-My cheap duvet cover that I bought at Ikea has no buttons at the open end, the stuffing end, and I’m worried I’m going to wake up inside it and also being asphyxiated. “She died doing what she loved best: Thrashing around in her sleep.”
-Sometimes I wonder if a garbage man has ever picked up a bag of garbage, only to have hundreds of used condoms fall out. It doesn’t seem likely but it doesn’t seem totally unreasonable and it does seem hilarious.
-I think a good joke would be to put bacon bits in a jar of brown sugar at a coffee shop.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Set 2.
- I was waiting to catch the subway and I saw an ad that said “Being positive keeps you healthy” and I thought “Not if you’re HIV positive.”
-I don’t care how smart parrots are supposed to be. I can’t respect anything that thinks nighttime and having a blanket draped over you are the same thing.
-I really hate hearing the phrase “What’s the worst that could happen?” It makes me think of all the awful things that could happen. Taking your dad’s speedboat out for a midnight joy ride? Your girlfriend’s face could get caught in the motor and then you’d have to spend the rest of your life feeding her apple sauce from a tiny spoon and trying not to stare at her. Your un-ending guilt would keep you in that personal hell, where your own misery is only topped by the misery of the mangled shell of the woman you once loved. That is the worst that could happen.
-My roommate’s cat obsessively licks the hair off its belly. Sometimes I can hear her making supping sounds in the hall. At times it is disgusting, and at times I envy it. I can’t even come close to licking my own belly. It hurts my neck to even look down too fast.
-I hate the idea of those Camelback water sack things. I hate them because it’s gross seeing grown men in sandals and Oakley’s sucking on a tube coming out of their running shirt. I also hate them because it’s only a matter of time until I buy one and fill it with pudding and get really fat, on the go.
-We have a big box of Milkbones at my work that we give to doggies that come in with their owners. Yesterday, a man was staring at the box for about 2 minutes and then asked “What are those for?” I said “They’re dog treats……..for dogs” but what I really wanted to say was “You are so dumb.”
-I really want to drink whatever’s in the tiny barrels around the necks of St. Bernard dogs in cartoons about the Alps. I bet it is fucking awesome.
-I would not be a good serial killer. I am too small to move bodies or overpower people. I am clumsy and would leave clues everywhere. I would freak out and dispose of people in really sloppy ways, like just leaving their dead body in their own driveway and then having a panic attack and writing a little “sorrysorrysorrysorry” note and pinning it to the body. The second someone asked me what I’d done the night before I would say “Serial murdered someone.” I would keep trophies of my kills all over my house and if the police ever came over to question me, I’d just let them in and say “Sure, what have I got to hide hahahahahaha” and laugh awkwardly and shift my eyes back and forth rapidly. Oh, and I also couldn’t do it on a moral level.
-I am getting to the point where I am beginning to feel like maybe I’m an adult. And then as soon as I think that I realize I am standing in my kitchen licking the butter from the inside of a microwave popcorn bag.
-I don’t care how smart parrots are supposed to be. I can’t respect anything that thinks nighttime and having a blanket draped over you are the same thing.
-I really hate hearing the phrase “What’s the worst that could happen?” It makes me think of all the awful things that could happen. Taking your dad’s speedboat out for a midnight joy ride? Your girlfriend’s face could get caught in the motor and then you’d have to spend the rest of your life feeding her apple sauce from a tiny spoon and trying not to stare at her. Your un-ending guilt would keep you in that personal hell, where your own misery is only topped by the misery of the mangled shell of the woman you once loved. That is the worst that could happen.
-My roommate’s cat obsessively licks the hair off its belly. Sometimes I can hear her making supping sounds in the hall. At times it is disgusting, and at times I envy it. I can’t even come close to licking my own belly. It hurts my neck to even look down too fast.
-I hate the idea of those Camelback water sack things. I hate them because it’s gross seeing grown men in sandals and Oakley’s sucking on a tube coming out of their running shirt. I also hate them because it’s only a matter of time until I buy one and fill it with pudding and get really fat, on the go.
-We have a big box of Milkbones at my work that we give to doggies that come in with their owners. Yesterday, a man was staring at the box for about 2 minutes and then asked “What are those for?” I said “They’re dog treats……..for dogs” but what I really wanted to say was “You are so dumb.”
-I really want to drink whatever’s in the tiny barrels around the necks of St. Bernard dogs in cartoons about the Alps. I bet it is fucking awesome.
-I would not be a good serial killer. I am too small to move bodies or overpower people. I am clumsy and would leave clues everywhere. I would freak out and dispose of people in really sloppy ways, like just leaving their dead body in their own driveway and then having a panic attack and writing a little “sorrysorrysorrysorry” note and pinning it to the body. The second someone asked me what I’d done the night before I would say “Serial murdered someone.” I would keep trophies of my kills all over my house and if the police ever came over to question me, I’d just let them in and say “Sure, what have I got to hide hahahahahaha” and laugh awkwardly and shift my eyes back and forth rapidly. Oh, and I also couldn’t do it on a moral level.
-I am getting to the point where I am beginning to feel like maybe I’m an adult. And then as soon as I think that I realize I am standing in my kitchen licking the butter from the inside of a microwave popcorn bag.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Set 1.
-I like taking shits at work for a number of reasons. One reason is that I am getting paid to shit. It is nice to make money to do something that is easy and necessary, and that I spend a lot of time doing for free. Another reason is because I get to stop working for anywhere from 3 – 6 minutes. I can spend this time doing anything I like, so long as I can also take a dump at the same time. I can read a magazine. I can reply to text messages I’ve been neglecting. I can sit in thought. These are all things I would rather do than work. Another reason I like it, and this is some weird psychological thing, is that I find it satisfying to crap food back onto my job that said job has afforded me. It’s like “Yeah, fuck you, the man.”
-All of Chinatown smells like the inside of a drawer.
-I don’t want to own plants. I own one plant. It plagues me. I have no idea how to take care of it. I might be killing it. I water it when the soil feels dry. I hope that’s right. There are instructions on how to care for it on the little plastic pot it sleeps in, but I already set it in a larger planter and I’m afraid if I pick it up and take it out to re-read the instructions I will drop it and then it’ll be really fucked. A cat can let you know when you’re starving it. A dog gets sad if you leave it in the sun too long. They make sounds and sad eyes that let you know you are a bad owner. A plant says nothing. They don’t even have the will to give up a clue that can save them. By the time their stupid leaves are falling off, it’s too late, and I’m just annoyed about something else to do with my plant (sweeping up dead leaves.)
-Sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier if I was satisfied with boring shit, like Boston Pizza and Michael Bay movies. But then I realize that I would have to worry about accidentally marrying a murderer, because that only seems to happen to boring people.
-I wonder if I have a weird thing with my eyes. I am good at picking up on when someone has a walleye or a lazy eye or a glass eye, and I wonder if it’s because my eyes are weird. Maybe when I look in the mirror they can focus normally. Maybe when I look at a camera they can focus normally. But what if the rest of the time they are goofy as fuck? These are the sorts of problem I worry about.
-I work at a video store. We rent porn films to people. I recently came across two similar titles. One is called ‘100% Blow Jobs’ and one is called ‘100% All-Star Blow Jobs.” I want to know who would be stupid enough to rent the first one, when the second one exists? We should just get rid of ‘100% Blow Jobs’ altogether. I feel bad for it.
-All of Chinatown smells like the inside of a drawer.
-I don’t want to own plants. I own one plant. It plagues me. I have no idea how to take care of it. I might be killing it. I water it when the soil feels dry. I hope that’s right. There are instructions on how to care for it on the little plastic pot it sleeps in, but I already set it in a larger planter and I’m afraid if I pick it up and take it out to re-read the instructions I will drop it and then it’ll be really fucked. A cat can let you know when you’re starving it. A dog gets sad if you leave it in the sun too long. They make sounds and sad eyes that let you know you are a bad owner. A plant says nothing. They don’t even have the will to give up a clue that can save them. By the time their stupid leaves are falling off, it’s too late, and I’m just annoyed about something else to do with my plant (sweeping up dead leaves.)
-Sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier if I was satisfied with boring shit, like Boston Pizza and Michael Bay movies. But then I realize that I would have to worry about accidentally marrying a murderer, because that only seems to happen to boring people.
-I wonder if I have a weird thing with my eyes. I am good at picking up on when someone has a walleye or a lazy eye or a glass eye, and I wonder if it’s because my eyes are weird. Maybe when I look in the mirror they can focus normally. Maybe when I look at a camera they can focus normally. But what if the rest of the time they are goofy as fuck? These are the sorts of problem I worry about.
-I work at a video store. We rent porn films to people. I recently came across two similar titles. One is called ‘100% Blow Jobs’ and one is called ‘100% All-Star Blow Jobs.” I want to know who would be stupid enough to rent the first one, when the second one exists? We should just get rid of ‘100% Blow Jobs’ altogether. I feel bad for it.
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