My good friends did really well for themselves after college, leaving me as the only fuck up. We're all still close and hang out quite a bit, but you can imagine that our gatherings have moved beyond just going camping and splitting a case of beer to steakhouses and ski vacations and shit. I can't afford this, but I feel like a dick being the anchor holding them back from good times. They're always willing to sponsor my participation in these things, but that makes me feel like a complete dipshit. What do I do? Go the bowling alley and make some new friends?
That blows. Your asshole friends should have a bit of consideration and actually plan a budget conscious outing once in a while. If they want to go to fucking Smith & Wollensky every so often, that's fine. But there's no reason all of you can't hit a standard Mexican joint in between to balance it out. There should be some give and take there, otherwise they're cocks. That's probably how they got rich to begin with, but no matter. Real friends don't make every outing a decidedly expensive one and then force you to either A.) not go, or B.) mooch. They should actually think about your plight once in a while. It's not like going bowling isn't still fun if you're 35 and make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. It is! I hate friends who expect you to live up to their means. If they have to do something fancy every time they go out, maybe they should eat shit.
I was driving the other day and saw this beauty of a sign.
That clearly is a sign put up by a serial killer looking to lure his prey in, right? I explored down the road to the mysterious destination, and there was nothing but a old motel and an empty field.
You fool! Why didn't you dig?! You obviously would have found a mystery box containing gold bricks and a button which may or may not control the entire world power grid. Or a tag sale.
If that sign was put up by someone trying to get you to turn only as a fun way of completely wasting your time, I applaud that asshole, whoever he may be.
What if you could have the powers of Superman, but your fuel was human feces. If you ate regular food you would just be a normal guy (Clark Kent), but if you munched on a nice log you would gain all the powers of Superman, but only for let's say an hour before reverting to your normal self or having to refuel. Would you take advantage of your role as a superhero?
The problem is that the consumption of feces can lead to pneumonia, hepatitis A, hep B, and other potentially devastating illnesses. And that's just if you try eating shit once. So you're talking about doing something that would not only be incredibly disgusting, but also potentially fatal, particularly if you do it often enough. Obviously, I'd have to try it once. But I dunno that I could choke down a whole log. Can I put Frank's on it? If I could put Frank's on it, I think I could make it a weekly thing.
Let's face it: You'd do a lot to be able to fucking fly like Superman. I constantly dream about it. I have that dream where I'm running, only my strides get longer and longer as I go, until soon each step I take is like a giant Hulk leap from one place to the next, with people looking up at me like I'm a fucking GOD. And it feels so real. I can feel my stomach drop while I'm dreaming, it's so close to the real thing. Then I wake up and my vertical resets to four inches. I'd eat shit to fly. I'd fuck a horse to fly. I'd perform a late trimester abortion on an 80-year gypsy to fly. Flying is really important to me. I better be able to fly when I'm dead and in Asshole Heaven.
In roughly 100 days I will become a parent for the first time. I would like to ask you how my psyche will change, specifically with respect to my ability to be hilarious and be successful at important things like fantasy football.
Your psyche won't change. At all. You'll still be just as selfish, and you'll spend much of parenthood plotting elaborate ways to get away from your family in order to drink and/or masturbate. The problem is… everyone will EXPECT your psyche to change, and you'll have to go along with it. "Man, my priorities are way different now! It's not about me anymore!" But I promise you, it'll still be about you. The kid is nice, and you'll gladly take a bullet for the kid, but you're still gonna want to play fantasy football and buy a motorcycle and go for benders in Quebec every month. Don't let any asshole parenting guide fool you.
If anything, parenting makes you much more cynical, because it introduces you to the whole world of child rearing, from children's programming (awful) to dealing with schools (can be awful) to dealing with other parents (awful) and everything else in between. I go to lots of birthday parties. Here is every conversation I've had with another parent:
ME: Goddamn, these motherfucking kids won't (listen/eat/sleep/do anything I say)!
OTHER PARENT: I know. Fucking blows.
ME: No shit. Did they buy enough pizza for the parents to eat too?
Anyway, enjoy the miracle.
I was watching Jurassic Park the other day and I couldn't help but think about what I would do if dinosaurs existed today and attacked. For instance, millions of dinosaurs existed and were on every inhabited continent. If they became crazy and just wanted to kill people, would they be easily fended off by our military and everyone with guns? But more importantly, if the dinosaurs only took over your city over the course of a day or two, would you survive? I think I would just lock myself in a closet with some canned food, some porn, a flashlight, some whiskey, and my highly functional pocket knife (it has a magnifying glass, no big deal). I'd die quickly, or else I'd fuck the dinosaurs up, haven't decided which yet.
Well, it all comes down to how hard dinosaurs are to kill. There is tons of literature on how to kill zombies (Thanks, Max Brooks!), but the world is shockingly devoid of any kind of manual on how to kill a T-Rex if it came back to life and tried to eat you. Now, this makes NO sense, because dinosaurs were real. They should get priority over zombie preparation.
How to kill a dino is a bit of thorny issue. Some people in the forum I linked thought you could mow down a T-Rex with a standard AK-47, the way ivory poachers do elephants. Other users disagreed, noting the dino would have thicker skin and would be harder to hit. If it's me wielding the AK, the T-Rex probably wins, because I would shit my pants and forget to squeeze the trigger before it scooped me up and ate me head first.
However, that confrontation would likely be unnecessary because our military would obliterate the dinosaurs. They wouldn't stand a chance. A daisy cutter against a field of T-Rex's? WINNAR. Not to mention the fact that we could endanger them simply by continuing to pollute the environment and perhaps pass on a contagious disease or two. We would beat the dinosaurs in World War D. Make no mistake. I don't think we could beat the Starship Troopers bugs in a war. But we could definitely beat the dinosaurs.
You know how networks come out of a commercial at a big sporting event and they show a picture from the blimp of the cityscape? Do you ever look at that picture and try to calculate how many people in their homes/hotel rooms/offices/janitor's closets are fucking at that moment within the frame of the picture? I do. I always find it hard, but I think I would have a good shot if I could just figure out how many total people are in the frame to begin with. After that it's just a matter of percentages. I'm not the only one who does this, right?
I used to think about that all the time when I was in school. Probably because I was a virgin. I would wake up in the morning and think, "Gee, I wonder how many people out there are fucking right now, this very moment. I bet there are a lot, and none of them are me. That's not really fair." Or I'd drive by a hotel and wonder how many affairs were taking place at that instant inside the building.
Let's try an exercise. According to a 2003 study, people have sex an average of 127 times a year (Looks like I'm the one bringing the curve down), or once every three days. So let's say that, on any given night, a third of a city's residents are having sex. So if the Goodyear blimp is looking out on a Chicago skyline, it's on a day where maybe 1/3rd of the city's 2.7 million people are humping like savage wildebeests, or 900,000 people (I guess we should subtract small children, OR SHOULD WE?!). Obviously, these 900,000 people would not fuck in unison (though that would be great if they do). They'd have sex at varying parts of the day: in the morning, during a lunch break (sexy!), after hours, etc. I can't find any study that breaks down the percentage by daypart (shame on you, researchers of America), so we'll have to assume that at least half of these people will have sex sometime at night. That would be 450,000 people divided over the hours of, let's say 6PM to 2AM. That's eight separate hours, so maybe 56,250 bangs per hour. And that estimate doesn't even take into account the fact that the Bulls average over 143,000 households per game. So it's possible that you're looking out on a cityscape where NO ONE is fucking because they're too busy putting off fucking to watch the game and wonder how many people are fucking during the blimp shot.
That was sexy.
UPDATE: Craggs begs to differ. "People hump once every three days. Let's say sex lasts 20 minutes (ha). That means they're humping for 60 minutes every week (10,080 minutes), or .60 percent of the time. For the purposes of this exercise, we'll just assume the avg. number of people humping at any given moment is constant (forget the day-night splits). That means, out of a population of 2.7 million people, we should expect 16,200 people to be humping at any moment."
I have attended sheltered Jewish private schools my entire school career. Now that I am in college, I am looking to branch out. All of my friends laugh when I tell them my idea to diversify my friend portfolio, but I want to get your opinion. Is it a wrong/bad/bizarre idea to want to rush a historically black fraternity? Here's how I see it: I'd get to meet new, interesting people, my old friends would think I'm a badass, plus I could learn how to step dance, which would in turn get me laid. Thoughts?
Yeah, that's not a good idea. At all. Think the hazing is bad at white frats? Black frats will brand 3/4ths of your torso with a red hot coat hanger, and that's just on a Tuesday. I saw School Daze, okay? I KNOW OF WHAT I SPEAK. Double the hazing because you'd be the white boy. The student chapter of the Nation of Islam would show up in bow ties and shoot you dead for trying to join. Why would a black frat even want you? The whole point of a black frat is to keep white people like you AWAY. Leave them alone. Give them their shelter from the blinding whiteness of school.
As a parent of two little ones myself - I know it's important to pee before we go.
It's the ultimate Hyundai plate. Very rational.
The other night I was taking a leak and started thinking about the little droplets of pee hitting my legs (I was wearing shorts). Most people reuse pants a few times, and thus every time I piss in a toilet, my pants below the knees are being splattered with piss and toilet water. I doubt there's anything that can be done as I've tried adjusting height and angle, but nothing works. My jeans are destined to have piss-mist on them, lest I wash them after every time I wear them. Though it makes me think twice about flushing a toilet full of someone else's before I go-I'd rather have only mine on my pants.
I'm even worse. When I go to piss in the middle of the night, sometimes I get the splashback on my legs. I can feel it spritzing my shins, little drops hitting my leg hair. And sometimes, I grab some TP and wipe the leg down. But sometimes, I do NOT. I walk right back to bed with my peepee legs and then I get in the bed and roll around and pee gets all over the place and if my wife saw it she'd probably whip me to death with my own belt. But I'm just too lazy. I'm willing to accept a certain amount of urine on my body, like FDA inspectors allowing a trace amount of feces to be in your ground beef. It's okay. It's just a little bit of piss. It won't hurt anyone. Soaking wet urine amounts are much more alarming.
The fuck? WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I SORT GMAIL?
No clue. It's amazing that the most widely used free email service lacks the basic ability to sort by email size or subject or name or anything. If you put your cursor on the name of someone who emailed you, you can highlight RECENT CONVERSATIONS and it'll sort by sender that way. But that's it. And the reason those cunts don't let you sort your mail on gmail is because they don't ever want you deleting the email. The more email you keep, the deeper a consumer profile they can keep on you, the better targeted their ads are. They are evil bastards.
Still better than Yahoo mail, though. Yahoo mail is a fucking train wreck.
This article describes urinals in Japan that have digital games involving the strength of your stream or directing the stream to wash graffiti off of a wall. Definitely takes peeing the poop stains off the toilet to a whole new level.
That's the greatest thing ever. And they're called Toylets! Genius. Why does Japan always get the cool technology first? And why do bands always hit Japan before they go on tour in the States? That is HORSESHIT.
My family is from Uruguay and while visiting there last week, the conversation somehow steered to the words people use to describe the perineum. My brother was telling a friend of the family the origin of the word taint - 'taint ass, 'taint balls. Apparently, Spanish has a similar word for the perineum, "nie": "ni es huevos, ni es culo" (not sure I need to translate that). As my brother said, "It's one thing if English and Spanish share a similar word that stems from Latin, but here we the two languages finding common ground possibly without any prior influence! The implications for linguistics are enormous."
Yes, but what is Spanish for "Grundle" then?
If you could only have one kind of candy bar for the rest of your life, but it was free (let's set the limit to somewhere between 250-500 per year, and you would be the only person entitled to consume them) would you take the offer and if so, what kind would it be. Oh, and it has to be a "grocery isle" candy (I'll include high end brands such as Cadbury, but none of this Ritter Sport or Tobelerone shit. One other caveat, if it can be poured into a bowl, it is still free game for you – Skittles, M&M's, etc. don't count.
I wouldn't take the offer, because candy bars are already so inexpensive that it's not worth sacrificing the variety. It would be a much harder decision with a more expensive category of food, like meat. If you never had to pay for a steak the rest of your life but beef was the only meat you could eat (no chicken, pork, fish or whatever), would you do it? Because that would be some fairly significant savings right there. But tell me after five years you wouldn't shit hot knives for a turkey drumstick. I would.
Anyway, if forced to choose one candy bar for the rest of my existence, and knowing I could still eat all the dark M&M's I pleased, I'd take Reese's peanut butter cups. The regular ones. Not the dark ones or the white ones. The originals. I adore them.
Here's the situation. It's the Super Bowl (so we are on neutral ground). Let's say it is the Pats and the Falcons. There is 1 second on the clock and Atlanta has the ball on their own 40, trailing 30-24. The ball is snapped and Roddy White runs a traditional deep post pattern which leaves just Brandon Meriweather to cover him. Meriweather slips leaving Roddy White wide open and Matt Ryan airs one out to him. Just before Roddy catches it on the 5, a sniper puts one right between his eyes. Do they give him a TD and allow them to kick the game winning extra point? Do they give him 6 and go to OT? Who the fuck would make this decision? I remember a few years back a player was shot on a breakaway in soccer somewhere in Saudi Arabia or Iran but can't remember what they did with the score.
The Falcons would be awarded the touchdown right after the head official made an emergency call up to his boss, who then roped in the commissioner (who would be right there in the building) and ordered him to give the Falcons the TD. Then they'd kick the extra point and the game would be over, and it would be the saddest victory ever. I'm virtually certain they would hold the confetti, only the confetti guy would release it by accident and everyone would just stand around going, THIS IS FUCKED.
And if the Falcons were to miss the extra point, then I dunno what the hell would happen. We'd bomb Libya, I think.
So I'm on line at the bank today and I wondered to myself, do you think someone has a safe deposit box filled with shit? Like a scorned wife took everything out of the bank and left her husband a bag of shit? I say this is entirely possible.
There are no laws about what you can and can't keep in a safe deposit box, but many banks have their own rules about what can be put in there (I believe cash is often discouraged). I would assume most of them would frown on you putting feces, animals, or novelty spring snakes (my favorite choice) inside the box. But you probably could anyway. I like the idea of there being a special vault in Zurich housing a box full of dessicated feces that can only be accessed by fingerprint and retina scan.
Time for a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY.
I have a metabolism that's quicker than lightning which can sometimes make going for long runs tricky. And so to last week. I'm running through downtown D.C. - I'd gone no more than 15mins - when my stomach starts sinking. Sometimes I can hold it, other times I have no say whatsoever. This was the latter. I'm about 10mins from the portable toilets near the Lincoln Memorial so I take a left down 10th St in order to take the fastest way there. But by now I realize I'm no chance and this is happening RIGHT FUCKING NOW. I slow to a walk and assess my options. The Dept of Justice on my left has nothing to hide behind but the building on my right has some shrubbery. And they're just tall enough. I stop so I can feign some stretching and then duck behind the shrubs like Clark Kent, if Superman had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I barely have my pants down when the shit comes flying out as if shot from a cannon, if cannons used ammunition with the consistency of oatmeal. I find a spare leaf to clean up and then continue on my run. I hit Constitution and take a right and that's where I see the sign: Internal Revenue Service. I took an almighty dump next to the IRS. You're welcome, America.