Going to the mall is serious business. You never know who you're going to run into so you have to be prepared for anything. One of the first steps in accomplishing this feat is assembling the proper attire. I don't know about you, but when I go to the mall, I go to make everyone else look stupid and ugly. I want to look so good that no one else can even remember what made them think they needed to be alive. This may sound harsh and cruel, but just look at it this way, it isn't.
So, now that I've got myself looking so good that even my pet goldfish finds a way to drown itself, it's time to hop in my car and cruise to the mall. As I'm cruising I have to make sure I'm getting into the zone. I need to mentally prepare to shock and awe all those who think they can look at me without being shocked and awed. To do this I simply drive with my head out the window to make sure other drivers see what I'm putting out there. I know they like my stuff by the way they ignore me. Yeah, that's right, I see you ignoring me over there.
Half the time, someone will swerve into my lane and start beeping at me while I'm cruising. They like what they see and they're just coming over to tell me. They even go so far as to tell me that I was the one swerving into them. Yeah, OK, good one guy. As if I even need to look at the road to drive. My style drives for me.
Usually I don't even end up making it to the mall because someone wants to tell me how good I look so badly that they crash into me. Then they get all embarrassed and act like I hit them. I tell them that I understand what they're doing, but they're still going to have to pay for the damages. They usually get angry and threaten to call the cops, but I persuade them not to by smashing their phone. After that, I drive away and look back at them with an "I forgive you" look on my face. But that usually encourages someone else to crash into me.
If I do happen to get to the mall then it's time to really shine. I strut my stuff so good that other people can barely move. Yeah, you just stand there in the window and act like your a mannequin, it's fine with me. I'm so busy being cool that sometimes I even trip over my own pant leg. People point and laugh as if to say, "Can you teach me?" But I can't. Or maybe I just won't.
Eventually, I'll do something like tumble into the water fountain and security will have to come and escort me back to my retirement home. They like to say things like I'm having another end of life crisis. Either way, once they get me back to the old folks home, I know I'll be breaking hips everywhere I go. When you're this smooth, there's going to be casualties.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Everything Causes Cancer
I hate how everything causes cancer these days. It's making everyone into paranoid freaks, especially me. I can't go anywhere or do anything without having the eerie feeling that cancer is waiting, watching. Whenever I walk down the street, go to the park, or drive downtown I find myself nervously looking over my shoulder. Don't even ask me to go out at night. Forget it. Cancer is an efficient killing machine and probably nocturnal too. Every time I walk down the sidewalk in the dark I think I hear the heavy breathing of something behind me. "Cancer?" I say quietly.
Don't even get me started on grocery shopping. Cancer is lurking in every aisle, inside of every box and carton. When I creep into the cereal aisle and look at all the brands, all I can see are Frosted Cancers, Shredded Mini Cancers, and Cancer Crisp. I know food is its favorite hideout so I have to be extra careful.
If you look at the ingredients of any product, it's no wonder it causes cancer. When the list of ingredients on a bottle of water is 9 miles long, you know there's a problem. Under the allergy information it might as well just say, "This product probably definitely causes cancer."
And there's another thing with today's products; everything contains corn. I mean, I can see certain cereals being made with corn, but when corn was the first ingredient on a bag of apples, I knew something wasn't right. Corn probably causes cancer. Is it a coincidence that they both start with the letter 'C'? Of course it is. But it still probably causes it. That's what I'm saying.
Sometimes I feel like I should just build a box and get inside but I've heard right angles cause cancer. There is just no escape. It's everywhere. I'm probably getting cancer just by thinking about it. Even the sun, who was supposed to be our friend causes it.
With my luck, when I do get a mole and go to the doctor to have it checked out, I'll get that one doctor who never agrees with the other 9 out of 10 that you see in those commercials. He'll take one look at my mole and tell me it's just an m&m or something. I'll say we should run some tests to make sure, but of course he'll just disagree.
After awhile, as the mole grows, I'll finally find a doctor willing to treat it. And sure, this may sound great, but that's when I remember that there is no cure. Instead, I'll be pumped with so much radiation that I'll wonder if the doctor's really trying to help or simply trying to kill me before the cancer does. As all of my hair falls out he'll probably be thinking to himself, "Your move, Cancer."
Anyway, the way I look at it, I'm doomed. Cancer is out there silently stalking and can take any size, shape, and form. It can strike at any time and even if it doesn't kill me, the doctor will. The world's a dangerous place, people. Just keep your head up and stay away from those Shredded Mini Cancers.
Don't even get me started on grocery shopping. Cancer is lurking in every aisle, inside of every box and carton. When I creep into the cereal aisle and look at all the brands, all I can see are Frosted Cancers, Shredded Mini Cancers, and Cancer Crisp. I know food is its favorite hideout so I have to be extra careful.
If you look at the ingredients of any product, it's no wonder it causes cancer. When the list of ingredients on a bottle of water is 9 miles long, you know there's a problem. Under the allergy information it might as well just say, "This product probably definitely causes cancer."
And there's another thing with today's products; everything contains corn. I mean, I can see certain cereals being made with corn, but when corn was the first ingredient on a bag of apples, I knew something wasn't right. Corn probably causes cancer. Is it a coincidence that they both start with the letter 'C'? Of course it is. But it still probably causes it. That's what I'm saying.
Sometimes I feel like I should just build a box and get inside but I've heard right angles cause cancer. There is just no escape. It's everywhere. I'm probably getting cancer just by thinking about it. Even the sun, who was supposed to be our friend causes it.
With my luck, when I do get a mole and go to the doctor to have it checked out, I'll get that one doctor who never agrees with the other 9 out of 10 that you see in those commercials. He'll take one look at my mole and tell me it's just an m&m or something. I'll say we should run some tests to make sure, but of course he'll just disagree.
After awhile, as the mole grows, I'll finally find a doctor willing to treat it. And sure, this may sound great, but that's when I remember that there is no cure. Instead, I'll be pumped with so much radiation that I'll wonder if the doctor's really trying to help or simply trying to kill me before the cancer does. As all of my hair falls out he'll probably be thinking to himself, "Your move, Cancer."
Anyway, the way I look at it, I'm doomed. Cancer is out there silently stalking and can take any size, shape, and form. It can strike at any time and even if it doesn't kill me, the doctor will. The world's a dangerous place, people. Just keep your head up and stay away from those Shredded Mini Cancers.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Origin of Misfits
Once upon a time long, long ago, there was a wee little beaver that lived in a lush, green forest called Canopy Grove. And, as any wee little beaver would do, he merrily chewed down trees to make a dam on the peaceful, bubbling creek that ran through the heart of his forest home.
Then one day, as he was just sinking his teeth into a healthy, young maple, he realized something troubling; he was stuck. Try as he might he just couldn't seem to free his over-sized, bucked teeth from the grip the tree seemed to have on them. He pulled and pulled with all his might but to no avail. The tree wasn't letting go no matter how hard the wee little beaver tried.
So there the beaver was, stuck in the tree, exhausted, and wanting nothing more than to be in his cozy beaver home.
As afternoon faded into evening, the beaver began to fear he'd never escape this death grip that the seemingly innocent maple tree had on him. As he began to panic, he decided he would give one last whole-hearted tug before all daylight had slowly crept away from the forest. He pulled and pulled with every last ounce of everything that was in him, and even some that wasn't. And then it happened, the beaver went springing free from the tree and tumbled backward on the forest floor. He was finally free.
He quickly scampered back to the safety of his sturdy beaver home, curled into a little beaver ball, and, with a huge sigh of relief, passed out.
The next morning the beaver woke up with a new zest for life. He was alive and well and couldn't wait to get started on all the new projects he wanted to begin. This was such a joyous day. He had been granted the gift of life. As he happily marched to the exit of his watery home he looked down and gazed at his reflection in the crystal clear, shimmering creek. As he stared he was suddenly struck with a horrifying discovery; his two front teeth were missing.
The beaver was paralyzed with utter shock. How could this be, he thought to himself. All the pulling the night before had yanked his teeth right out. As he stood in disbelief he began to panic. What kind of a beaver doesn't have his two front teeth, he thought. He began to think that he wasn't really a beaver at all anymore, but a monster. His mind raced and panic and fear surged through his body. Then, suddenly, his panic turned into rage. He couldn't take it anymore. His wee little beaver brain had snapped. From that day forward he vowed revenge on every living thing he could find.
The beaver charged out of his home and scoured the area looking to destroy anything that moved. Butterflies and dandelions proved no match for the ferocious beast as he brutally batted them down with one swipe of his massive tail. Bunnies and baby deer were sent sailing mercilessly through the air as the beaver darted madly through the forest leaving a wake of destruction in his path.
The beaver was bloodthirsty and there was nothing that could stop him. He barreled through this once placid wilderness just bashing and flailing his giant tail to and fro. He looked like a crazed homerun slugger just smashing anything and everything out of the forest.
He was ruthless and it seemed nothing could stop him. But, just as he was about to reach the edge of the woods, he met a squirrel who was missing its tail. It had been detached by a motor vehicle as the squirrel tried crossing the road, and the squirrel was furious about it. The beaver instantly knew what this meant. Without hesitation he flung the squirrel up onto his back and the two of them went bashing and gnawing their way across the land.
Nothing could withstand the ferocity of this duo. Even political authorities of several small countries such as Portugal and Bangladesh pleaded with the two and gave offerings of money and power, but they weren't having it. They crushed those countries like a couple of tin cans.
It all went on like this until the savage pair ran into a three hoofed billy goat with a beak-less woodpecker on its back. The two pairs joined forces and became a ball of terror just rolling across the countryside trampling, bashing, gnawing, and clawing anything in their path.
As the ball rolled it grew and grew until all the misfit animals of the earth were gathered up into one huge conglomeration. Eventually, the giant misfit ball of madness broke into pieces and collapsed in on itself, consolidating into varies weird new animals such as the giraffe, hippo, and Rosie O'Donnell.
Then one day, as he was just sinking his teeth into a healthy, young maple, he realized something troubling; he was stuck. Try as he might he just couldn't seem to free his over-sized, bucked teeth from the grip the tree seemed to have on them. He pulled and pulled with all his might but to no avail. The tree wasn't letting go no matter how hard the wee little beaver tried.
So there the beaver was, stuck in the tree, exhausted, and wanting nothing more than to be in his cozy beaver home.
As afternoon faded into evening, the beaver began to fear he'd never escape this death grip that the seemingly innocent maple tree had on him. As he began to panic, he decided he would give one last whole-hearted tug before all daylight had slowly crept away from the forest. He pulled and pulled with every last ounce of everything that was in him, and even some that wasn't. And then it happened, the beaver went springing free from the tree and tumbled backward on the forest floor. He was finally free.
He quickly scampered back to the safety of his sturdy beaver home, curled into a little beaver ball, and, with a huge sigh of relief, passed out.
The next morning the beaver woke up with a new zest for life. He was alive and well and couldn't wait to get started on all the new projects he wanted to begin. This was such a joyous day. He had been granted the gift of life. As he happily marched to the exit of his watery home he looked down and gazed at his reflection in the crystal clear, shimmering creek. As he stared he was suddenly struck with a horrifying discovery; his two front teeth were missing.
The beaver was paralyzed with utter shock. How could this be, he thought to himself. All the pulling the night before had yanked his teeth right out. As he stood in disbelief he began to panic. What kind of a beaver doesn't have his two front teeth, he thought. He began to think that he wasn't really a beaver at all anymore, but a monster. His mind raced and panic and fear surged through his body. Then, suddenly, his panic turned into rage. He couldn't take it anymore. His wee little beaver brain had snapped. From that day forward he vowed revenge on every living thing he could find.
The beaver charged out of his home and scoured the area looking to destroy anything that moved. Butterflies and dandelions proved no match for the ferocious beast as he brutally batted them down with one swipe of his massive tail. Bunnies and baby deer were sent sailing mercilessly through the air as the beaver darted madly through the forest leaving a wake of destruction in his path.
The beaver was bloodthirsty and there was nothing that could stop him. He barreled through this once placid wilderness just bashing and flailing his giant tail to and fro. He looked like a crazed homerun slugger just smashing anything and everything out of the forest.
He was ruthless and it seemed nothing could stop him. But, just as he was about to reach the edge of the woods, he met a squirrel who was missing its tail. It had been detached by a motor vehicle as the squirrel tried crossing the road, and the squirrel was furious about it. The beaver instantly knew what this meant. Without hesitation he flung the squirrel up onto his back and the two of them went bashing and gnawing their way across the land.
Nothing could withstand the ferocity of this duo. Even political authorities of several small countries such as Portugal and Bangladesh pleaded with the two and gave offerings of money and power, but they weren't having it. They crushed those countries like a couple of tin cans.
It all went on like this until the savage pair ran into a three hoofed billy goat with a beak-less woodpecker on its back. The two pairs joined forces and became a ball of terror just rolling across the countryside trampling, bashing, gnawing, and clawing anything in their path.
As the ball rolled it grew and grew until all the misfit animals of the earth were gathered up into one huge conglomeration. Eventually, the giant misfit ball of madness broke into pieces and collapsed in on itself, consolidating into varies weird new animals such as the giraffe, hippo, and Rosie O'Donnell.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Surviving Prison
What would you do if you found yourself in a maximum security prison? Would you curl up into a little ball and just wait to be murdered, or worse? So would I, which is why I've decided I need to find a better way to survive should the need ever arise, and lets face it, it will. Almost every single human being on the planet will find themselves locked up at some point in their lives. Maybe they were guilty, maybe they weren't, it doesn't matter. The important thing is, we have prisons, and we're using them.
OK, first things first: getting into prison. Why should I wait until I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time? If I'm going to jail I want it to be on my terms and my terms only. The only way to accomplish this is to frame myself. Now, a lot of people would probably hesitate to do this at first, but just think of the alternative, having someone else do it for you. And they're going to. And they will probably screw it up.
Since I've decided to set myself up, I just have to pick a crime that I want to got to jail for. I have to think of something that's respected among prison inmates. Something that's just going to scream, "This guy is respectable, and is to be respected in all respectful respects." The key word here is respect, and I need to have it. After all, would I get any respect if I went to prison for something like stealing a teddy bear? Maybe. But I need to steal a real bear just to be safe. Robbery is the number one most respected crime among all prison enthusiasts, and if I have to go to jail, I want it to be for that.
Alright, now that I've picked the perfect crime, I just need to frame myself for it. I could go out and actually commit the crime of theft, but why would I want that on my conscience? I wouldn't. So, what I'll do is go to the zoo, borrow a bear, and plant it in my house. Once this is done I'll call the cops and ask them to guess what's sitting on my couch at that very moment. I can now consider myself as good as framed. Boy, I can't wait to see the look on my face when the police show up!
Now that I think of it, I guess executing such a procedure calls for not only framing, but actual stealing too. This is a double whammy. Not only am I guilty of stealing, but I'm also guilty of framing myself for it. A heist like this has never been done before. Respect is going to be oozing out of my ears.
Now that I'm in a maximum security prison for robbery, it's time to survive. They always say that when you first get accepted into prison you need to beat someone up immediately to prove you're not to be messed with. Well, how about I one up that little tradition and just beat the crap out of myself? Once they see what I've done to me, no one will even dare look in my direction. I mean I'm just going to mangle me right up. The other inmates won't know what hit them. I'll hardly look like a human being once I'm done with me. That'll show them.
Great, now that I'm an unrecognizable mass I move onto phase two of my survival plan: going to the hospital. As it turns out, I really did a number on myself. Now I can laugh all the way to the ER as I think, there's no way those 'hardened criminals' could even come close to what I've done here. I'd like to see them try; I'll rip myself apart so fast it'll make their head spin. Who's the tough guy now?
As you can see, I'm going to take prison by storm. I'm going to be doing things that no one else would have ever dreamed of. It's going to be a real game changer, and I just dare anyone to challenge me. If someone so much as looks at me funny I'll pummel myself so hard that it'll make my previous beatings look like they were knitting lessons. That's right, this is prison, and I'm not showing any mercy.
OK, first things first: getting into prison. Why should I wait until I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time? If I'm going to jail I want it to be on my terms and my terms only. The only way to accomplish this is to frame myself. Now, a lot of people would probably hesitate to do this at first, but just think of the alternative, having someone else do it for you. And they're going to. And they will probably screw it up.
Since I've decided to set myself up, I just have to pick a crime that I want to got to jail for. I have to think of something that's respected among prison inmates. Something that's just going to scream, "This guy is respectable, and is to be respected in all respectful respects." The key word here is respect, and I need to have it. After all, would I get any respect if I went to prison for something like stealing a teddy bear? Maybe. But I need to steal a real bear just to be safe. Robbery is the number one most respected crime among all prison enthusiasts, and if I have to go to jail, I want it to be for that.
Alright, now that I've picked the perfect crime, I just need to frame myself for it. I could go out and actually commit the crime of theft, but why would I want that on my conscience? I wouldn't. So, what I'll do is go to the zoo, borrow a bear, and plant it in my house. Once this is done I'll call the cops and ask them to guess what's sitting on my couch at that very moment. I can now consider myself as good as framed. Boy, I can't wait to see the look on my face when the police show up!
Now that I think of it, I guess executing such a procedure calls for not only framing, but actual stealing too. This is a double whammy. Not only am I guilty of stealing, but I'm also guilty of framing myself for it. A heist like this has never been done before. Respect is going to be oozing out of my ears.
Now that I'm in a maximum security prison for robbery, it's time to survive. They always say that when you first get accepted into prison you need to beat someone up immediately to prove you're not to be messed with. Well, how about I one up that little tradition and just beat the crap out of myself? Once they see what I've done to me, no one will even dare look in my direction. I mean I'm just going to mangle me right up. The other inmates won't know what hit them. I'll hardly look like a human being once I'm done with me. That'll show them.
Great, now that I'm an unrecognizable mass I move onto phase two of my survival plan: going to the hospital. As it turns out, I really did a number on myself. Now I can laugh all the way to the ER as I think, there's no way those 'hardened criminals' could even come close to what I've done here. I'd like to see them try; I'll rip myself apart so fast it'll make their head spin. Who's the tough guy now?
As you can see, I'm going to take prison by storm. I'm going to be doing things that no one else would have ever dreamed of. It's going to be a real game changer, and I just dare anyone to challenge me. If someone so much as looks at me funny I'll pummel myself so hard that it'll make my previous beatings look like they were knitting lessons. That's right, this is prison, and I'm not showing any mercy.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Overdosing on Politeness
Is it only a matter of time before being polite and courteous becomes a debilitating obsession? As kindergartners, one of the first things that is drilled into our heads is, "Be nice to everyone and treat them how you want to be treated". Don't get me wrong, this is a great rule, but I think even great rules can be overdone. Let's take current businesses for example. When you walk into a Walmart, what's the first thing that happens? You're greeted by a 'greeter'. This is what I mean by overdone. They have a full time position where someone just stands at the door to smile and say 'Hi'. Walmart is friendly and by george they're going to prove it.
Then, once your in the store, the employees hover around you like a bunch of rabid honey bees asking, "Do you need help finding anything?" once every ten seconds. I feel like I have my own personal fairy just waiting to make all of my dreams come true.
Some grocery stores are even worse. They may not have a greeter, but they must give their employees fairy steroids or something. They don't even need to be anywhere near you to ask if you need help. You could be half way across the store and suddenly hear an employee shouting, "ARE YOU DOING OK??" Come on, it's a grocery store! I know there's a lot of different cheeses to choose from, but I think I'm going to make it. Sometimes I like to start crawling on the floor and tell them I couldn't handle the spaghetti sauce aisle. "There were just too many of them. They were everywhere! Tell my mom I love her."
But it isn't just stores that are dealing with this epidemic. Think of all the things we try to avoid just because they have been deemed 'rude' by society. Burping, spitting, and passing gas are all big no-no's if you're in public. These are natural biological functions! What's next, not being able to sweat? And after that, no scratching itches? At this rate, in ten more years it'll be considered rude to digest food, cough, or breathe while you're in public. Is that your heart that's beating? Stop it! And don't make me tell you again about that kidney of yours, always trying to function when you're out in society.
It's not just bodily functions that are under siege either. So are all personality traits except friendliness. No one wants to make a scene or risk hurting someone else's feelings so everyone tries to be in hyper-nice mode whenever they leave the house. If you're ever standing in line, waiting for someone to take your order but you're not sure who got in line first, you or the person next to you, good luck. You will spend the next five years of your life saying, "Oh no, you go ahead!" "No really, I love you, go on now!" And by the end of the debate you both have a trial lawyer, eye witnesses, and a judge trying to prove why the other person should go first.
I have to admit, I am also guilty of trying to be neurotically friendly. Whenever I'm talking to someone, I'm only half paying attention to what they're actually saying. The other half of my effort goes into making sure they think I'm really nice and a good listener. So, while they're gabbing away, I'm trying to decide if I'm looking into their eyes too much. Not enough? Are those their eyes? Am I smiling enough? Laughing enough? Did they just ask a question that I was supposed to answer!? Why are they just staring at me!? Do I have something on my face, or are they expecting a response?? How about I just wipe my mouth and say, "Yeah totally, I think so that I agree too, definitely, no, wow, yeah totally. Here's ten bucks."
Don't even get me started on trying to listen to someone give me directions. As soon as they start talking, my brain automatically shuts down. I'm so preoccupied with trying to make it look like I'm listening intently that I can hardly hear anything they're saying at all. And, to make matters worse, I'm already panicking from the start because I know I'm not going to remember all of the steps they're going to give anyway. I mean honestly, how am I supposed to remember complex directions AND put on a friendly, good listener production? So, as they're rambling on saying, "Then, take a left at the purple house..." I'm frantically thinking to myself, "OK, take a light at the purple, got it." By the time they're done explaining, I'm having muscle spasms on the floor and mumbling, "You make words. I get that."
It's not my fault that I'm neurotic! That's the way we're told to behave ever since we're born. We're taught that when you're in public, you shouldn't show any emotion except kindness, no matter what. No wonder so many people are having mental breakdowns! We aren't robots! We have feelings other than happiness! So, the next time someone stops to talk to you and asks how you are, don't say what you're 'expected' to say, which is, "Good, thanks." Say, "My ass hurts and I don't feel like talking to you right now, if ever. And you have stupid hair." Only then will we be able to avert this debilitating courteous complex that's sure to drive us all mad.
In fact, the negative effects of this 'courteous complex' are already starting to rear their ugly heads. Sure, everyone is sickeningly nice when in a store or passing by on the street, but what happens as soon as we step into a vehicle? That's right, we immediately morph into raging lunatics. See, once we're in our car, we aren't technically in public anymore and we've been friendly just about long enough. Did you take too long making a turn? Guess what? You're getting the finger. Forgot to use you're blinker? Nice work. You just pissed off the guy behind you so much that he's going to spend the next fifteen minutes of his life farting and bashing his forehead on the steering wheel. How about you accidentally looked at the guy behind you in your rear view mirror? I hope you have airbags because you're getting rammed into a train. That's right, it's no holds barred and there's going to be hell to pay.
People are using their vehicles as a means to release the negative emotions that get built up from having to contain them all the time, and that's scary. We're in control of a huge ball of metal on wheels, and we're pissed. So sure, we might be friendly when we're walking down the street, but as soon as we step into our car, we're coming to get you. That's right, we held the door for you, we said please and thank you, and now that we're in our car, we want to make sure you know we didn't mean any of it.
Then, once your in the store, the employees hover around you like a bunch of rabid honey bees asking, "Do you need help finding anything?" once every ten seconds. I feel like I have my own personal fairy just waiting to make all of my dreams come true.
Some grocery stores are even worse. They may not have a greeter, but they must give their employees fairy steroids or something. They don't even need to be anywhere near you to ask if you need help. You could be half way across the store and suddenly hear an employee shouting, "ARE YOU DOING OK??" Come on, it's a grocery store! I know there's a lot of different cheeses to choose from, but I think I'm going to make it. Sometimes I like to start crawling on the floor and tell them I couldn't handle the spaghetti sauce aisle. "There were just too many of them. They were everywhere! Tell my mom I love her."
But it isn't just stores that are dealing with this epidemic. Think of all the things we try to avoid just because they have been deemed 'rude' by society. Burping, spitting, and passing gas are all big no-no's if you're in public. These are natural biological functions! What's next, not being able to sweat? And after that, no scratching itches? At this rate, in ten more years it'll be considered rude to digest food, cough, or breathe while you're in public. Is that your heart that's beating? Stop it! And don't make me tell you again about that kidney of yours, always trying to function when you're out in society.
It's not just bodily functions that are under siege either. So are all personality traits except friendliness. No one wants to make a scene or risk hurting someone else's feelings so everyone tries to be in hyper-nice mode whenever they leave the house. If you're ever standing in line, waiting for someone to take your order but you're not sure who got in line first, you or the person next to you, good luck. You will spend the next five years of your life saying, "Oh no, you go ahead!" "No really, I love you, go on now!" And by the end of the debate you both have a trial lawyer, eye witnesses, and a judge trying to prove why the other person should go first.
I have to admit, I am also guilty of trying to be neurotically friendly. Whenever I'm talking to someone, I'm only half paying attention to what they're actually saying. The other half of my effort goes into making sure they think I'm really nice and a good listener. So, while they're gabbing away, I'm trying to decide if I'm looking into their eyes too much. Not enough? Are those their eyes? Am I smiling enough? Laughing enough? Did they just ask a question that I was supposed to answer!? Why are they just staring at me!? Do I have something on my face, or are they expecting a response?? How about I just wipe my mouth and say, "Yeah totally, I think so that I agree too, definitely, no, wow, yeah totally. Here's ten bucks."
Don't even get me started on trying to listen to someone give me directions. As soon as they start talking, my brain automatically shuts down. I'm so preoccupied with trying to make it look like I'm listening intently that I can hardly hear anything they're saying at all. And, to make matters worse, I'm already panicking from the start because I know I'm not going to remember all of the steps they're going to give anyway. I mean honestly, how am I supposed to remember complex directions AND put on a friendly, good listener production? So, as they're rambling on saying, "Then, take a left at the purple house..." I'm frantically thinking to myself, "OK, take a light at the purple, got it." By the time they're done explaining, I'm having muscle spasms on the floor and mumbling, "You make words. I get that."
It's not my fault that I'm neurotic! That's the way we're told to behave ever since we're born. We're taught that when you're in public, you shouldn't show any emotion except kindness, no matter what. No wonder so many people are having mental breakdowns! We aren't robots! We have feelings other than happiness! So, the next time someone stops to talk to you and asks how you are, don't say what you're 'expected' to say, which is, "Good, thanks." Say, "My ass hurts and I don't feel like talking to you right now, if ever. And you have stupid hair." Only then will we be able to avert this debilitating courteous complex that's sure to drive us all mad.
In fact, the negative effects of this 'courteous complex' are already starting to rear their ugly heads. Sure, everyone is sickeningly nice when in a store or passing by on the street, but what happens as soon as we step into a vehicle? That's right, we immediately morph into raging lunatics. See, once we're in our car, we aren't technically in public anymore and we've been friendly just about long enough. Did you take too long making a turn? Guess what? You're getting the finger. Forgot to use you're blinker? Nice work. You just pissed off the guy behind you so much that he's going to spend the next fifteen minutes of his life farting and bashing his forehead on the steering wheel. How about you accidentally looked at the guy behind you in your rear view mirror? I hope you have airbags because you're getting rammed into a train. That's right, it's no holds barred and there's going to be hell to pay.
People are using their vehicles as a means to release the negative emotions that get built up from having to contain them all the time, and that's scary. We're in control of a huge ball of metal on wheels, and we're pissed. So sure, we might be friendly when we're walking down the street, but as soon as we step into our car, we're coming to get you. That's right, we held the door for you, we said please and thank you, and now that we're in our car, we want to make sure you know we didn't mean any of it.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Fun at the Beach
I love going to the beach. There are so many activities to enjoy. You can build sand castles, look for sea shells, go sun bathing, play in the ocean, bury yourself up to your neck and wait for the tide to come in, the possibilities are practically endless.
Simply swimming in the ocean is one of my favorite activities. I can enjoy just bobbing up and down in the waves for hours. Enjoy it, that is, until I realize I can no longer see the beach. At this point, I decide I'm enjoying it considerably less. There's something about floating alone in a giant body of salt water that makes me worry. And, to make matters worse, something just touched my foot. Keep in mind, if you're ever out in the ocean and something touches your foot, it's always a shark. What else could it be? I don't think seaweed floats around looking for feet to touch. Sharks are the only ones that do that. They are the only wild animal that have a foot fetish, and they can smell a pair from up to forty miles away.
Now that I can't see the beach and I have a shark tickling my feet, I do the only thing I can; swim madly for the shore, scramble onto the beach, and pass out from exhaustion. I call this part 'sunbathing', and it's my second favorite activity. It feels so nice to just lay on the beach unconscious, without a care in the world.
Once I wake up, I usually find myself back out in the ocean and have to repeat the steps all over again. This will generally continue for 3 to 4 days until I realize I need to crawl further up onto the beach to avoid the tide.
After I'm done sunbathing, I enjoy scouring the beach for sandcastles that kids are making. Once I find a good one that's almost complete, I like to pretend I'm a giant and smash it with my foot. Most of the time the kid starts crying because he didn't realize I was playing giant. I would explain it to him, but I'm usually bored with the game by then and just walk away.
The beach sure is full of excitement and thrills. There are so many people doing so many different things that it's hard to choose what to do next. Do I want to throw a frisbee, kick a beach ball, fly a kite, or bury myself in the sand? These are all tough choices to make, and in the end, I usually just choose to bury somebody else instead. Why should I get to have all the fun? It's time to start giving back.
To bury someone, I just look for a person that's napping in the sun, dig a 4 to 5 foot hole next to them, and convince them to hop inside by shoving them in. They're usually really confused and angry at first, but once they're buried up to their chin, they become quite docile. After I do this, I feel good knowing that I'm helping someone else have a great time. Its no longer all about me. Eventually, they'll say something weird like, "Dig me up", but I'm usually kind of sick of digging at that point and tell them to look for someone else to mess around with. It's strange how some people can just dig forever.
Now that I've been at the beach for 2 or 3 weeks, I figure it's time to head to a dermatologist to get tested for skin cancer because I forgot to wear sunscreen. In all the excitement it completely slipped my mind.
I guess the moral of the story is, playing giant and bury people in the sand is fun, but not getting skin cancer is right up there too.. And, think about how exciting it'll be if I don't have skin cancer. In fact, sometimes I'll forget sunscreen on purpose just so it's more surprising if the test results come back negative. I love surprises.
Simply swimming in the ocean is one of my favorite activities. I can enjoy just bobbing up and down in the waves for hours. Enjoy it, that is, until I realize I can no longer see the beach. At this point, I decide I'm enjoying it considerably less. There's something about floating alone in a giant body of salt water that makes me worry. And, to make matters worse, something just touched my foot. Keep in mind, if you're ever out in the ocean and something touches your foot, it's always a shark. What else could it be? I don't think seaweed floats around looking for feet to touch. Sharks are the only ones that do that. They are the only wild animal that have a foot fetish, and they can smell a pair from up to forty miles away.
Now that I can't see the beach and I have a shark tickling my feet, I do the only thing I can; swim madly for the shore, scramble onto the beach, and pass out from exhaustion. I call this part 'sunbathing', and it's my second favorite activity. It feels so nice to just lay on the beach unconscious, without a care in the world.
Once I wake up, I usually find myself back out in the ocean and have to repeat the steps all over again. This will generally continue for 3 to 4 days until I realize I need to crawl further up onto the beach to avoid the tide.
After I'm done sunbathing, I enjoy scouring the beach for sandcastles that kids are making. Once I find a good one that's almost complete, I like to pretend I'm a giant and smash it with my foot. Most of the time the kid starts crying because he didn't realize I was playing giant. I would explain it to him, but I'm usually bored with the game by then and just walk away.
The beach sure is full of excitement and thrills. There are so many people doing so many different things that it's hard to choose what to do next. Do I want to throw a frisbee, kick a beach ball, fly a kite, or bury myself in the sand? These are all tough choices to make, and in the end, I usually just choose to bury somebody else instead. Why should I get to have all the fun? It's time to start giving back.
To bury someone, I just look for a person that's napping in the sun, dig a 4 to 5 foot hole next to them, and convince them to hop inside by shoving them in. They're usually really confused and angry at first, but once they're buried up to their chin, they become quite docile. After I do this, I feel good knowing that I'm helping someone else have a great time. Its no longer all about me. Eventually, they'll say something weird like, "Dig me up", but I'm usually kind of sick of digging at that point and tell them to look for someone else to mess around with. It's strange how some people can just dig forever.
Now that I've been at the beach for 2 or 3 weeks, I figure it's time to head to a dermatologist to get tested for skin cancer because I forgot to wear sunscreen. In all the excitement it completely slipped my mind.
I guess the moral of the story is, playing giant and bury people in the sand is fun, but not getting skin cancer is right up there too.. And, think about how exciting it'll be if I don't have skin cancer. In fact, sometimes I'll forget sunscreen on purpose just so it's more surprising if the test results come back negative. I love surprises.
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