- I shouldn’t go out tonight. I’ve been eating a lot of potato chips recently.
- These shoes look girly but they’re only twenty dollars. (then) These shoes look at least twenty dollars manly. (then) I wasted twenty dollars.
- iPads are to iPhones as large-print books are to books. Except iPads can’t make phone calls. (Neither can books.)
- If you’re thinking of making a trip up to Portland, just go to Seattle. Unless you’re a lesbian. Portland is a lezzie-Mecca. Lots of flannel and Birkenstocks.
- How did cows ever make it in the wild? We must have domesticated the shit out of them.
- It didn’t occur to me that I grind my teeth at night until my boyfriend told me one morning. How come sex ed. never told me that sleeping around would cure my migraines?
- I wonder how many people have farted on that chair? (then) Oh well, I’m still eating the french fry.
- Sometimes I get so overheated I imagine my sweat starting to sweat. It doesn’t help the situation.
- People are funnier when I’m drunk.
- Sometimes I wait for the doors to open all the way before stepping out of the elevator, for fear of getting Dicaprio’ed a la The Departed.
- I feel bad for the first person who ever ate a habanero pepper. I bet all his friends laughed at him.
- What came first, the chicken or the egg? Probably, the dinosaur.
- Any time Fergie references the “Velvet Lounge” in the Black Eyed Peas song “Love You Long Time,” all I can think about is her peesh.
- Three questions: (1) Does global climate change really exist? (2) Is evolution really a part of nature? and (3) Since when did scientific fact become so debatable?
- Oh my God, imagine if fire didn’t exist yet. There would be so many dead bodies everywhere.
- I want to have a really shitty relationship w/ someone so I can break up with him via tweet.
- Whoever came up with the phrase “here’s my two cents worth” clearly didn’t value their own opinions.
- How high was the person who created Spongebob Squarepants? Seriously, think about it. It is about a talking sponge wearing work casual and living in a hollowed-out pineapple. I really wish I could have sat in on that pitch meeting.
- That movie was okay, but I wish Robert Downey Jr. was in it.
Archive for July, 2011
People say “patience is a virtue.”
Hows about next time, instead of taking the time to quote a biblical idiom at me, use it to get the fuck out of my way. Seriously.
I mean, who are you to turn directly in front of me while I’m going 40, and then continue at the pace of a handicapped tortoise? I could honestly get out of my car and speedwalk past you while I slash your tires. Then you get mad when I tailgate you? Oh no. No no no. It was your decision to ruin my groove, so it’s my decision to make you feel extremely uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll even laser-beam you in the back of your head with my death glare. You feel that chill blanketing your body? Those are my pupils sucking out your soul. Tasty.
In line at the supermarket: “Excuse me, may I jump in front of you? I only have a few items.” You know what? Sure. Because obviously the rest of your day is more important than mine. I could stand in this line forever. Anybody else have a few items? Want to step in front? I’m donating my minutes today! Get ‘em while you can.
Don’t ever ask someone if you can cut them (unless you’re a plastic surgeon, then it’s probably the polite thing to do). If someone offers, then by all means take the opportunity. But I can CLEARLY see you’re only holding two items. And I KNOW I have a cart full of shit. And I still don’t care. I really don’t. Really. Stop looking at me.
Stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic: This is a different story. We are all in this together, people. STOP. HONKING. Yes, traffic is the worst. It would be great if LA had a better public transit system. But you know what? You still wouldn’t use it. Because you love your car. And also, chances are, you need it for your job. City-living has its ups and downs. Traffic sucks. But not living in Iowa is good. Smog that’s sometimes so thick you can taste it is pretty gross. But so is the smell of cow shit being sprayed on corn fields. Hobos, yuck. Hillbillies, double yuck. So stop honking at me while we’re both stuck in the five o-clock grind, and take a moment to breathe in that fresh car exhaust air and realize that at least you’re not dating your second cousin. Life is good.
And then, once you’ve had your moment, get the hell out of my way.
I’m so lazy that:
- I get excited when I have to carry something up to my office. Now I have an excuse to take the elevator rather than walking two flights of stairs.
- I didn’t go out w/ my friends last night because I went to bed at 8:30.
- I just used “w/”
- going to the gym is near the bottom of my list of priorities, just above fixing my broken refrigerator, and death.
- I really need to fix my broken refrigerator. Maybe I should stop going to the gym so much.
- Yeah right, it’s not like I’m going grocery shopping any time soon.
- I don’t like committing to things because I hate the idea of having to do something.
- When in doubt, I say “sleep on it.” Can’t pay your bills on time? Sleep on it. Running out of toilet paper but don’t want to go to the store? Sleep on it. Need to pick your friend up at the airport but there’s no gas in your tank? Sleep on it. Things usually work themselves out. Or you ruin friendships. It’s a give-and-take, really.
- I usually stop emailing people on OKCupid as soon as they suggest meeting up. That’s asking a lot.
- The majority of my blogs have bullet points. Organizing thoughts into paragraphs is just…
- I seek out escalators.
- I’m supposed to go out tonight. Ugh, I don’t want to shower again. Fine, I’ll go. But I better get a plus one, because my sweaty stench is coming with me. Deal with it.
- Please, don’t ask me to come over and watch a foreign film. I already have a headache.
- The garbage under the sink has to smell really bad before I trek all the way down to the dumpster to throw it out. I mean like, until my “sleep on it” tactic fails because its ripe aroma wakes me up.
Dating is usually either two things: (a) a beautiful time where open-minded people can experience new things and find what they’re truly looking for in a life partner, and (b) a complete and total shit show that at best ends with you saying “No, I’d rather not come in,” or, at worst, ends with a missing persons report.
There’s just no other way around it. Dating is scary, beautiful, dangerous, important, passionate, expensive, and totally awkward and gross. It’s very easy to spot the “first-daters” at restaurants. Try it next time you go out with friends (or, if you’re bored on your next first date, look around for others like you. Maybe you can ask to switch dates.). There are a few different types of “first date” personalities. Here’s what I look for:
1. The Gentle & Shallow Interrogator: This is the person who consistently asks questions to keep the conversation flowing. (On a hetero date, usually the male, and it might be the only time he is a complete and total sponge so take advantage ladies!) These people run the conversation, but in a way that’s friendly and not completely irritating. The questions do get a little tiresome after awhile, because for the most part the conversation just skates along without ever cracking the surface. It’s harmless chit chat. This may sound mind-numbingly boring, but hey, at least it isn’t awkward and anxiety-inducing. Because those two things make me sweat, and my glands never do quick sprints, they marathon it. So unless you like a man who looks like he perpetually runs through the produce section while the misters are going off, please God give me questions to work with. And also, a very strong gimlet.
->Note: If you are with the Interrogator, don’t be a dick and make short answers. The burden of conversation is half yours, so start lifting, god dammit!
2. The “Get It All Out There” Type: I sometimes turn into this stereotype, usually post-gimlet when my mouth starts flapping and I don’t know when to shut up. I don’t mean “get it all out there” in terms of what I’m looking for in a relationship, or in terms of recounting my complete and total dating history. Don’t worry, I’d never do that, and neither should anyone else. (In fact, if you’re on a date and this is happening, now’s a good time to secretly text your friend the code word you guys talked about right before the date, so she can call you and pretend to be your mom with some terrible news that will end the date immediately.) I’m talking about the dating personality that likes to get their entire, pathetic life situation out there on the table, so there are no high expectations. “You think you’re room’s messy? Well, I live in a dining room.” Or, “Well, if there’s a flash flood, at least I can use my bed as a life raft.” You see, I’m the type of person (and I can’t imagine I’m the only one) that likes to do the opposite of putting myself on a pedestal. I like to dig my own grave. That way, if the person still likes me enough to hang out again, they might even be semi-impressed to find out that my inflatable mattress is at least on a collapsable bed frame and not directly on the dining room floor.
->Note: Since my last dating experience I have moved out of my dining room and now have the luxury of an IKEA mattress! So, yeah. Player.
Anyway, the whole beginning of this blog was just a huge tangent so I apologize to anyone who’s been reading it. I really need an editor. (Anyone? Anyone?) As the title suggests, I’m writing this blog to start a dialogue about online dating.
Well, not really a dialogue. I’m here to tell you that online dating is a perfectly acceptable way to meet someone, so please, bring your nose out of orbit and back down to earth. Thank you.
No, I’m not talking about Craigslist. Don’t ever date people from Craigslist. Unless you just love the taste of ditches. Seriously though, it’s not safe and sooooo not classy. Imagine if you actually do meet the love of your life from Craigslist. You are going to have to tell people that you guys met through Craigslist. That means, you’ll both have to willingly admit to friends and family how desperate you both were to get some, and how what was supposed to be a one-time hookup somehow got confused for true love. It’s just not worth the shit storm of embarrassment.
I am, however, talking about the dating websites! OKCupid, Match, eHarmony… whatever your fancy may be! I’m poor and not really looking terribly hard at this point in my life, so I stick with the free ones. OKCupid is my go-to. And yes, I understand how meeting someone online might seem awkward and weird and slightly dangerous, but hear me out:
Being straight is one thing. Straight people can go out anywhere and just assume if a person of the opposite sex is interacting with them, that there might be something else going on. Something more. Gas stations, elevators, restaurants, grocery stores, movie theaters, libraries, parks… it’s a vast and open dating field for straight people. It’s not the same for gay people. If a guy comes up to me on the bus and asks me if the seat next to me is taken, I’m going to assume that he just wants to sit down. Because to me, it’s straight until proven gay. Not only because I don’t know if he’s gay, but also because he has no idea if I am. It’s a huge guessing game. Where as, if a man asks a woman if the seat next to her is taken, there might be something more going on there.
There are really only two places gays can go to meet other persons of interest: gay bars/clubs and dating websites. And to me, meeting a guy at a bar is actually much more dangerous than meeting someone online. The reason? ALCOHOL. I don’t usually talk to strangers in a bar until I’ve already had enough drinks to confuse any freak for a friend. People in bars make terrible decisions. They’ve made entire movies around the premise! (Coyote Ugly, Knocked Up) At least when I meet someone online, we email back and forth, chat online, and even sometimes have phone conversations before I meet them in person and then get drunk. At this point I’ve learned enough about them while being sober to make an educated drunken decision.
This doesn’t mean straight people should be excluded from dating websites. Even for straighties, to me it still makes more sense. It gives you the advantage of knowing a person before putting yourself out there. You get to learn their interests, hobbies, likes/dislikes, and, most importantly, you get to see what they look like in a handful of pictures so you can decide right off the bat whether they’re worth pursuing or not. I’d liken it to researching a company before going in for an interview. Are you comparing dating to job interviews? Yes I am. But, isn’t dating more fun than job interviews? No, not really.
Remember waaaay waaaaay back when people thought Myspace was weird? And then it was weird to not have one? Or when people thought Facebook was strange. And now if you don’t have Facebook you’re considered the strange one. I think eventually the same thing will happen with dating websites. A few years ago it was considered the weirdest thing ever. “You use dating websites? Well, don’t tell people that!” Now it’s more just a, “Oh, you met him online? Okay…” but soon enough it will be, “You met him in a bar and you didn’t iChat him first? You crazy!”
But Craigslist will always be gross.
A little shameless self-promotion never hurt anyone. I mean, it’s a blog! Narcissism should be expected.
If you didn’t know, my friends and I are creating a webseries! Here’s a little synopsis:
“Lets be honest: we all make mistakes. As the creators of Those With Class, not only do we accept this fact, but we embrace it wholeheartedly. We understand what it’s like to feel stuck and fearing adulthood post-graduation. Why? Because we’re stuck and scared, too! Us as role models? Not so much. Those With Class extrapolates on the irresponsibility of the after-college years. Dating, partying, working, and gradually going from dependent to independent are the stories we want to tell. Oh yeah, and all the mistakes that are made along the way.”
I hope you all enjoy the promo video! In the video, Mic, Josh, and Taylor are trying to surprise their fourth roommate, Bridget, with a birthday party. However, as the night goes on, the roommates party a little too hard before Bridget gets there and start questioning why they’re throwing her a party in the first place.
Hope you all enjoy!
*(note: Josh is snorting Nesquick, parents.)
Dear Homosexual Propagandists,
Before I write this, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I am not straight. I never have been, I never will be, and just because I campaign for their rights doesn’t mean I’m having a sexual identity crisis. Because, gross. But the fact is, somebody has to stick up for heterosexuals. We’re living in the 21st century, and their voices need to be heard.
There are several topics I’d like to touch on, including civil unions, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and the ability to adopt. Let’s proceed.
1. Civil Unions for Heterosexual Couples
Too long have heterosexual couples been denied the right to civil unions by the homosexual minority. The common misconception is that civil unions are comparable to marriage, but that is not the case. Civil unions have various luxuries that marriages are not given:
- The Freedom of Avoiding Federal Rights. Civil unions are only recognized by the state in which the civil union was granted. They are not recognized on a federal level. Therefore, LGBT couples can avoid Big Brother nuisances that are required with marriages, such as income tax benefits, social security benefits, health insurance, Medicaid, pensions, and family leave. Pshh, who wants those things, anyway! Talk about annoying! I say, the less we get from the government, the better! The gays don’t know how lucky they have it. Tax benefits? Please, do I look like an H&R Block representative to you? That’s offensive.
- Stability of Not Having Your Civil Union Recognized by Other States. For LGBT couples, it gets even better. Because civil unions are only granted on a state level, other states are not required to recognize them. For example, if John and Bill obtain a civil union in New Jersey, but then Bill’s contracting job relocates him to Florida, then John and Bill are totally fucked! You see, Florida (along with many other states) does not recognize any sort of same-sex union, whether it be a civil union or a domestic partnership. Which means now John and Bill don’t have a difficult decision to make. Florida made it for them! They get to be stuck in New Jersey forever. And who wouldn’t want to be stuck in Jersey? (Well, besides gay people.)
2. Expansion of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell to Straight People
I never quite undestood this policy. So, all a gay person has to do is mention their sexual preference and they are discharged? No matter their competence or specialty? WHAT?! That’s like the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card! Sure, most people in the Armed Forces are there not only because they want to serve and protect their country, but also because they believe it is their God-given right to do so. But hey… get-out-of-jail-free card! It’s like the BEST card you can get in Monopoly! You know when you’re pulling from the Community Chest or Chance pile that you’re secretly hoping for it. You can’t argue with that. Which means, when it comes to Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, the Monopoly card argument is as legitimate as it is relevant.
Take Lt. Dan Choi for example. After serving in combat in the Iraq War, he was ultimately discharged from his services when he came out on national television. I mean, this guy was fluent in Arabic and Farsi! So he was clearly easily replaceable. And he must have known that, which is why he decided to out himself and get out of jail for free. (See, that’s how relevant and legitimate the argument is. Because, repetition.) Never mind that since then he’s been one of the biggest activists in repealing Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Never mind that when he was discharged he was billed $2,500 for his unfinished service to the country. He still got out of jail free! The bill came later! Good for him. It’s time to spread the love.
(Wait, this is being repealed soon? What?? So not fair. Straight people never got a taste of the goodness!)
3. Inability to Adopt
Oh, man. Kids. Aren’t they just the worst? No wonder there are so many up for adoption (over 140 million orphans worldwide). So why do straight couples have to carry the burden? LGBT couples are still protected from this guilt in the 21st century, because several states have unknown/ambiguous gay adoption policies, while a handful flat out don’t allow it (including Utah, and that one state that looks like a dead moth’s side profile… oh yeah, Oklahoma!) It’s amazing to me that not only do LGBT couples get the hassle-free perks of civil unions as well as the friggen best board game card in the business, but they also don’t have to worry about adoption! There are SOOO many kids that need good parents! PLEASE, make the gays take them! They’re perfectly fit parents! They actually want kids; they don’t conceive them by accident while playing the “Pull-and-Pray” in the back of a U-Haul flat bed! No? Ugh, FINE.
So, gay propagandists, next time you find yourself out there lobbying for your rights and your needs, think about the heterosexual majority. It’s time to put yourself in their shoes. Because, even though being straight is a choice (cough, yeah right, cough), it doesn’t mean they shouldn’t get the choice… to not have other choices… Yeah.
(inspired by such blogs as: http://theheterosexualagenda.com/WordPress/ )
1. Have a cameo on a pre-existing reality TV show.
There’s no way I could ever be on a show like The Real World or Jersey Shore. Could you imagine living in a house with those idiots for months? Ugh, I’m getting a hangover just thinking about it. The fact that there haven’t been any reality-tv related deaths due to excessive clubbing and binge drinking really boggles my mind. Actually there might have been, I really don’t know. Too lazy to research something so mundane and trivial. Anyways, back to my point. What I would like to do before I die is be one of those people that gets brought back to the house after a night of debauchery. I’d meet someone from The Real World at a club, we’d hit it off, get drunk, then head back to the house to meet everyone! If things seemed to be going good and the moment felt right, I’d throw a bitch-fit with another house member. Hair would be tugged, words would be bleeped, tears would be shed. Now that’s great television. Then, for the rest of my life when I’m at an awkward party and there’s a lull in conversation, I can always fill the silence with: “Hey, did you watch that one season of The Real World where that drunken red-headed semi-midge peed in that girl’s spaghetti? Yeah, that was me.” Then, after I say that, the silence would worsen and I’d probably leave the room. Awkward.
2. Do that thing in movies where two people are trying to sneak away from captors on a beach so they put an overturned canoe on their shoulders and go underwater with it, but can still breathe because there’s that convenient air pocket that I never really understood.
WHY DOESN’T IT FILL UP WITH WATER?!?!
3. Karate chop a block of wood.
I’d prefer to do this one in front of a large group of people, so they’d know not to mess with me. Maybe I’ll have someone videotape it and then tweet it for the world to see. Yeah, that sounds pretty bad ass.
4. Stage a failed flash mob.
Pshhh, everyone and their mother has done a flash mob. Old news. I want to stage this huge choreographed dance number, then do it in an extremely populated public area, like The Grove, a busy supermarket, or a library, but then half way through have the music cut out. All the dancers would look at each other for a beat, totally embarrassed, before scattering. All the innocent bystanders would be so excited that they were witnessing a flash mob, only to be completely weirded out, disappointed, and left feeling a slight tinge of pity for the pathetic attempt at faux spontaneity.
5. Leave a waitress a $100 tip for a cup of coffee.
Come on, this is so BAMF it hurts.
6. Start a phrase that picks up.
Ask any of my friends from back home, and they’ll tell you who invented the abbreviation “totes.” Yep, it was me. You guessed it. And with “totes” so began the abbreviation trend. You’re welcome. Unfortunately, I didn’t put it down on paper so I can’t prove that I was the genius behind it. So, with this blog, I shall start a new phrase that people say… the only one I can think of right now is using the word “boner” as an adjective. “That movie was so totally boner.” You saw it here first. Now spread the word!
7. Get rich and famous.
You know, so I can… help save… those starving kids…. And stuff.
Cinco De Mayo: The Return of the Aliens that Came on Independence Day and then Will Smith Was There and Shit Blew Up.
It’s every Mexican’s favorite holiday, and every American’s third favorite excuse to get plastered (right after “It’s been a long week!” and “I’m bored.”). But this fifth of May is different…
Our story begins on May 4th, where we find Will Smith and Jeff Goldbloom buying handles of the Cuervster and rim salt for their neighborhood Cinco De Mayo booze-a-thon, which happens to fall on a weekend this year, so you know it’s gonna be great. (They’re best friends now, because they smoked those cigars in that big alien mothership that looked like a missing testicle from the Death Star. No, not the alien ships that looked like the sand dollars. Get it right.)
After buying the liquor, they go out to Will Smith’s alien pod cruiser that he drove in the first film (he did, in fact, “get him one of those“). Smith will search a moment for his keys while Goldbloom banters about how Smith always loses them (it will be witty, of course). After finding the keys, they head back to their neighborhood. We meet Jeff Goldbloom’s family, a bunch of squirrely Jews that look as if they haven’t slept in months. They’ve definitely got their father’s eyes and secret crack addiction that’s never mentioned. (Come on, the guy jitters around as if he’s constantly on the verge of withdrawals!)
We CUT TO Will Smith’s house. He lives by himself, but his home is covered wall to wall with mirrors, and he happily waves at every single one of them has he passes through the place and into his bedroom, which turns out to be a huge shrine dedicated to himself — it’s got the rubik’s cube from Pursuit of Happyness, a life-size I, Robot mannequin, and Muhammad Ali’s severed head frozen in a block of dry ice, to name a few trinkets. After looking into his bedroom mirrors and asking them why nobody out there is good enough for him (with those sweet puppy-dog eyes of his), he looks up to the heavens and silently wishes there was something more out there, something that the creator of this earth obviously didn’t have the power to make. Thanks a lot, God.
Off his heavenly glance, we CUT TO: Randy Quaid, the drunken American hero that rammed his explosive-laden cropduster 2.0 (a U.S. Air Force jet is just like flying your P.O.S. farm-flyer! …Only different.) into the butt-hole of that alien ship that blew up in the first one. Turns out, he and some other aliens survived, and now he’s the king of them all! And this time he wants to take over Earth and exact revenge on those people who told him he couldn’t be the leading man in movies because his brother was just way better looking than him.
We CUT TO: Bill Pullman, drunk in a ditch somewhere in Tijuana because his career went down the shitter and nobody wanted him in this sequel.
CUT TO THE NEXT DAY: Smith and Goldbloom, getting drunk and having a grand old time with their fellow neighbors. Smith is dressed in an all-black suit and is looking totally sexy, and Goldbloom is tweaking out and sweating just the appropriate amount for viewers to be curious about an abusive drug habit, but not worried about it. Through the thin layer of spitty foam that coats his pale cadaver lips, Goldbloom asks Smith to please change his outfit, because he wore a black suit in a different franchise about aliens and it’s just too confusing. Smith obliges, and strips naked. He will be this way for the rest of the movie. And the MPAA will still give this movie a PG-13, because hey! It’s Will Smith!
Suddenly, a dark shadow covers the entire backyard. Before anyone turns around to see if there’s a simple meteorological answer to what on most days would be considered a “shadow,” an innocent BBQ bystander screams “RUNNNNN!!!!” And then her head is blown off by a laser.
Guess what, bitches. THEY’RE BACK!!!
BOOM! BAM! Houses explode! Rubble flies everywhere! This time, the aliens aren’t taking any chances! They don’t just hide in their little sand-dollar spaceships and shoot down glowstick-like beams at recognizable topography and architecture. They’re on foot this time, shooting lasers at all kinds of assholes that try to stop them. This is mainly because of the success of movies like District 9 and the fact that audiences these days just want to see more aliens! And this is a sequel, god dammit. So go big or go home. It is likely that during this sequence there will be some great cameos. Maybe Samuel L Jackson as a homeless person that saves a dog, or Zach Galifianakis as a loveable chubster neighbor with a quirky edge. Or, better yet, perhaps Morgan Freeman will swoop in with a few seconds of narration! That guy could read you a menu from a Chinese buffet and you’d pay $12 to listen to it.
CUT TO: Will Smith. He’s gone back to his house to get the keys to his space pod. Ugh! Where are those damn things! He always misplaces them! (You see how that was set up previously?) And in a houseful of mirrors, they’re even harder to find! He finally remembers he hid them behind his ultimate DVD boxed set of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. On his way out of the house, he runs right into an ALIEN! Oh shit, we’s in trouble now! (This would be a great place for the Freeman voice over.)
After a fantastic, nail-biting brawl, Will Smith smashes the alien’s face into several mirrors. Shards protrude from its head. Seriously, you could hang this sunnovabitch in your dining room and people would compliment you on your new chandelier. Will Smith leaves the alien, hops in his space-pod cruiser, and heads for Goldbloom’s house.
CUT TO: Bill Pullman, giving his same Presidential Speech from the first movie, but this time doing it while drunk at a Quinceañera in a Chuck E. Cheese.
CUT TO: Jeff Goldbloom’s house. Aliens are everywhere, but the cracked out army of kids are kicking their asses! It’s like these rascals don’t feel pain! This is because they actually truly don’t anymore. Goldbloom decides the kids can handle themselves and goes with Will Smith. They are off to the mothership!
CUT TO: Space. Smith and Goldbloom do something sneaky to get into the mother ship. It’s not quite clear and nobody really understands, but it works! We’re in.
Once inside, they park their ship. They see a Jamba Juice and get a smoothie. Hey, this budget is big. We’ll take money where we can get it.
After sucking down their delicious and nutritious smoothies (listen closely for their flavors, as they will be available for a limited time at a very reasonable price), they head for the Master’s chambers. They find Randy Quaid, who uses his alien telekinesis to pin them against the wall. He’s furious! His brother isn’t THAT MUCH BETTER LOOKING! Here’s some sample dialogue:
RANDY: “I came back here on this day, Cinco De Mayo, to kill my brother and rule the world! It seemed fitting since my alien friends came here years ago on a different Independence Day…”
WILL SMITH: “Actually, Cinco De Mayo isn’t Mexico’s independence day–”
RANDY: “SILENCE, PRETTY BOY!”
Before he mentally rips their heads off, Will Smith suggests they all smoke a cigar together. Just like good ol’ times. Randy Quaid agrees. He hasn’t had a cigar since his last time on earth. Will Smith pulls three convenient stogies from his pocket. They share a moment together, then…
BOOM! Randy Quaid’s head explodes! Will Smith gave him an explosive cigar! Smith says an incredibly witty line, almost directly to camera but not quite (very Michelle Bachmann-esque), and then the boys head back home!
CUT TO: Home. They land the space pod and expect a parade for them, since they saved the day! But nobody really cares, because everybody’s drunk off margaritas and body shots. Will Smith goes home to find Glassy McShard-Face alive and sitting on his couch. Now that its master’s dead, the alien realizes that Randy Quaid really was much less attractive than Dennis and isn’t hostile anymore. As Smith looks the alien in the face, he catches a glimpse of his sexy self in a glass shard protruding from the extraterrestrial’s cornea, and realizes this is the exact creature he was asking God to send to him. They fall in love and get married. The alien is neither male nor female, so Will Smith’s sexuality is still unquestioned by the general movie-going audience.
And also, I drank too much coffee today.
I’m having trouble starting this blog with something witty in order to disguise the fact that I’m going to be complaining about things other people do for the next several paragraphs, so I’m not going to. I’m going to be honest. For the next several paragraphs I’m going to complain about insignificant things other people do that shouldn’t bother me.
Here we go!
- Not Replacing the Toilet Paper Roll. This one is bothersome for a couple reasons. First of all, it’s just plain inconsiderate. If you happen to finish the roll, don’t assume that the toilet is now retired. Other people will in fact sit down at that same porcelain thrown. Deuces will be dropped. Be nice, and make sure they’re not left paperless. Because that’s just the worst. The second reason is that I don’t believe in miracles, and coincidences don’t happen that often. By this I mean there is no way you just happened to finish cleaning yourself as the roll ended. Either you’ve sold your soul to the devil, or you’re being lazy and practicing poor hygiene. Ew.
- Putting the Toilet Paper Roll On Upside Down. Yes, I know. Another bathroom-specific pet peeve. But this one needs to be made public. It is an unwritten rule that the paper should flow out from the top, not the bottom. Otherwise, the paper could potentially unravel all over the floor. There, now we all know.
- Talking to Me While I’m Using the Bathroom. Let’s just get these ones out of the way. Don’t talk to me. It’s gross. I don’t care if there’s a fire in the building. If you talk to me while I’m in the bathroom I will ignore you. And I will judge you.
- People That Think They Are Funny But They Are Not So I Have to Fake Laugh And Kill Part of My Soul. This is particularly peevey at small gatherings, when everyone around you sees you laughing at the dumbass d-bag who isn’t funny. So now it looks like I think you’re funny in front of these people because I laughed at your flaccid penis of a joke. Stop hurting my sense of humor’s reputation and go tell your jokes to the wall. Then, once you’re finished, slam your head against said wall. If anything, that might provoke some real laughs.
- People that Defend Sarah Palin. This is me beating around the bush rather than just saying that I don’t like Republicans.
- People that Casually Throw Out Derogatory Words. Don’t use the N word. It makes everyone uncomfortable. I don’t care if you are African American and you’re reclaiming the word. First of all, I thought the goal was to break down barriers that separate minorities. By using the N word but not allowing other people to say it, you’re adding more bricks to the same wall. I don’t go around calling other people “fags.” Who knows, maybe in 100 years it might be the cool thing to do if you’re gay. But still, just because it’s trendy doesn’t mean it’s okay. Just like $12 hamburgers or cashew “cheese.”
- People Who Get Mad in the Concessions Line at Movie Theaters and Start Yelling Profanity at the Staff. Oh, I’m sorry it’s the midnight showing of that Christopher Nolan movie everybody wants to see. You’re right, the army of theater employees who are trying to herd hundreds of idiots into dark rooms should pay more attention to you and your pre-diabetic cravings. The worst part is, all of us around you were doing a great job holding in our aggression, and now we have to decide if we want to defend the poor theater workers or participate in your popcorn riot. Thanks for putting us all in an awkward spot. The movie is ruined.
So there’s my list! I love hearing what other people hate, so leave a comment! That’s right, I’m talking to you, faithful followers! Both of you! (Sorry for swearing, Mom.) (Yes, Dad. I still have my day job.)