If you were inclined to shout a movie quote right before ejaculating (during sex), I don't think there's a better one than Wyatt Earp's, "You tell 'em I'm coming! And Hell's coming with me!" I feel a top 10 list of such quotes could be useful. Surely, Rafiki's, "The king has returned," from "The Lion King" deserves a spot. What else?
• "Open the pod bay doors, Hal."
• "Never mind that shit… Here comes Mongo!"
• "You like gettin' nailed by the king?"
• "We've got bush. We've got bush!"
• "Earn this."
• "Expecto Patronum." (semen then takes the form of a stag)
• "Now clean it up!" (God, Carlo was such a dick)
• "Attica! Attica!"
• "If this thing turns out to be half as important as I figure it just might be, I'd say that you're all in line for some important promotions and personal citations when this thing's over with. That goes for ever' last one of you regardless of your race, color or your creed. Now let's get this thing on the hump - we got some flyin' to do."
Though I think it would be more fun to yell out something completely random and unrelated to your orgasm. "You're a cantaloupe! Ha ha ha ha ha!"
Do you think you eat worse when you're working at home or in the office?
My job lets me work from home whenever I want - I usually only do it once every two weeks or so, I'd rather be in the office, all told. Invariably, I find myself eating straight out of a peanut butter jar or something else equally disgusting (why I WOULD like nachos for lunch, thank you). Really, I turn into a 10-year-old when I work from home.
However, the office has its perils as well. There's always some batch of cookies that a meeting didn't finish or that one 400-lb secretary that ALWAYS has Hershey Kisses in bowl out.
You've worked in both environments, which made you fatter?
The office. I used to work in an office where everyone ordered out for lunch every day, and that will make you a fatass in about seven seconds. And when you order lunch in groups, you feel that much more pressure to NOT order something boring and shitty. Jim is gonna have a carnitas burrito from Chipotle? Well then, if Jim is gonna treat himself, are you REALLY gonna be Mr. Healthy and have a goddamn salad? Why should you have to suffer and eat a meager lunch while others give in to deliciousness? One time, the office ordered Indian food AND paid for it. Like I was gonna turn that down. I get to dip bread in rice soaked with chicken grease and curry butter AND it's free? I'm powerless to resist. Utterly fucking powerless. I can't look at a takeout menu and order something healthy and shitty tasting. It goes against everything I believe in. It's like laying up onto the fairway if you're playing Mario Golf 64. I'm genetically incapable of doing it.
That doesn't even get into the whole candy dish situation, where fat Bertha in sales puts out a tub of Reese's every day and then gives you the stinkeye when you make more than one trip. Bitch, if you don't like people taking your candy, don't put out the fucking candy. YOU WHORE. I HATE YOU.
Furthermore, being at work is a situation where you eat specifically to avoid work. Even if something tastes shitty at work, eating it is still preferable to doing actual work. It's not like being at home, where you can flip on the TV and just chill out. I had a much harder time keeping off weight when I worked at an office, because while it's always tempting to eat at home, I can at least control what's in the home. I can avoid buying horrible shit that makes me fat, whereas at Christmas they'll cart it right in for you at work. Here's a box of peppermint bark from our number one vendor! Let's just open it in the break room and see how long you can resist.
And if you travel a lot for work, that's a thousand times worse. You have no kitchen, so you have to eat out. And chances are, you want to eat something nice so that the trip doesn't feel like a horrible slog. After all, how many times will you get a chance to go to Davenport, Iowa? You HAVE to try their famous S'moreburger, do you not?! And maybe you're stuck in some awful conference, and that trip to Ruby Tuesday is all you have to look forward to. All those things conspire against you. The best way to lose weight is to stick to a routine and have an environment you can control, and traveling pretty much fucks both those things completely.
By the way, I used to go to TV shoots for commercials back when I worked in an office. And because TV shoots have so many union workers, they're usually forced to have some sort of craft services table out for the entire day, stocked with chips and candy and all sorts of awesome shit. And I'd spend half the shoot wandering over to the table and eating everything in sight. And every few hours or so, they'd CHANGE the spread, so there'd be muffins and donuts with breakfast, then cookies with lunch, and so on. And what boggled my mind was that there were tons of people around the set who never even looked at the fucking table. This goddamn smorgasbord of loveliness was parked right in front of them and they couldn't have cared less. It's completely beyond my comprehension.
I saw a guy the other day hitchhiking while wearing full body camo fatigues. This wasn't hunting camo or anything like that. I'm talking army-issued Travis Bickle shit. Aside from holding up a sign that says "I will murder you" is there anything more one could do to NOT get picked up? What are the odds that someone picked this guy up?
I think a neck tattoo would also be a dealbreaker. I grew up in the 1980's, and there must have been some kind of hitchhiking plague in the 1980's because I distinctly remember being told in school to NEVER hitchhike. They had entire seminars and shit about how, if you hitchhiked, you would end up bound in a motel room and raped with a fire extinguisher. I think hitchhiking may have been the #1 mode of transport back in those days. Anyway, those early warnings against hitchhiking have made me completely indifferent to anyone hitching on the side of the road. I don't come anywhere close to considering picking up a hitchhiker, and it boggles my mind that anyone would ever stop for any hitchhiker in a million years. Because EVERY hitchhiker looks like a dude in full Army fatigues who wants to cut you from neck to balls and shower with your organs. It's not like Megan Fox is out there, pulling up her skirt and winking at you from the side of the road.
I also never help anyone on the side of the road who has broken down. Again, this isn't because I'm a bad person (though I am), but because I was raised to believe such scenarios were murder traps. All you need to do is watch Bogomil get gunned down in Beverly Hills Cop 2 to know this. "What do you make of this, Andrew?"
/slips Alphabet note onto engine block
The 1980s were the Golden Age of Motorist Death, and I'm a byproduct of it.
If the Rapture really, truly was going to come on a certain day and Jah wanted to warn us, what specifically would it take for me to actually believe it? Here's the breakdown:
Ok, it couldn't be some dude with a sign, obviously. You'd see that and think "crazy guy." And if Jah decided to send Jesus back down to earth and spread the word of impending doom, that wouldn't phase me either because I'd see him and just think "wow, that crazy fucker looks like Jesus. Go away, hippie." It also couldn't be from a book or scripture. What's a book? Words. No proof behind it.
I thought maybe if something in the natural world happened, that might be it. Like, if the words "Rapture: May 21" were spelled out in the clouds. But the cynic in me would just assume it's some elaborate sky-writer prank by guys with the cloud machines in their planes. It'd have to be bigger. Like, the sky turns red and rains blood.
Then it hit me. The absolute, undeniable way for me to "get it."..... Animals talking. If dogs, camels, zebras, lions, and all animals opened their mouths and actual words came out describing the Rapture, that's what it would take. Animals talking, describing God's final death of mankind... then I'd buy into it. But anything short of that, I will continue to be a total pud.
What would it take for you?
I'm not sure I'd buy it even if animals started talking, because the first thing I'd do then would be to question my own sanity. Everyone else would have to notice it too, so that I'd know I wasn't crazy. And it couldn't be something I saw on the Internet or on TV, because obviously that footage can be doctored. I would have to see it unfold live in person. And other people would also have to be there to witness it. I think the best way for this to happen would be for the earth to split open and a Balrog to pop out and whip his tail and kill a thousand people (not me, as I would be out of range). Something enormous and supernatural, something that gives me the immediate instinct that things are no longer kosher.
See, this line of thinking has always made me curious as to the matter of the Second Coming. Like Ryan said, if Jesus came back, his first instinct would be to think Jesus is just some dirty, crazy hippie. So if Jesus DID come back, how would He convince a world that's slowly dying of cynicism that He was who He said He was? What if He ALREADY came back, tried to convince everyone He was Jesus, and no one bought it? What if Jesus and His dad are both completely unprepared for dealing with humanity in the digital age? What if Their way of communicating things, like standing on a mount and assuming people will gather, is hilariously outdated? JESUSFAIL.
Even if Jesus came up to me and performed a miracle right in front of my eyes, like turning water into wine, I'd still be skeptical. I'd still assume he was Criss Angel and trying to dazzle me with illusions. And if he recounted certain events in my life that only I knew about (like the one time I thought of jacking it to that Cool Water ad), I still wouldn't buy it. The only way to buy into the Second Coming would be to have actual faith that Jesus was really Jesus. And that seems like a stretch, doesn't it?
Both my wife and I work full time so we have a full time nanny to watch our kids who are a year and a half and 3. Sometimes I work from home though, spending the day working form home makes me realize my kids totally like the nanny better than me and my wife, and I get it, she plays with them the whole day and caters to their every whim. Hell I like her better! The one thing I don't know is how she does it, after an hour alone with them, I'm like leave me alone, go watch TV and I go hide out in the kitchen.
That's because you don't get PAID to do all that shit. Your only reward for looking after your kids is watching them grow, and experiencing the joy of seeing them become fully formed human beings who can love and learn and share, and becoming a more spiritually wealthy person with a strong family that's there to support you in the most difficult times and celebrate with you in the very best times. And that is BULLSHIT. I'd gladly trade all of that for an extra two hundred bucks a day.
By the way, not all nannies are as super-awesome as the one you apparently hired. Go to any playground in the middle of the day and 80% of the children there are left to roam unattended while the nanny is over on some bench smoking and texting in her native Hungarian.
Yea that's a Jaguar. Plus it's fucking Alabama.
I suppose that would make the "top" relative.
We stayed for an NFL game at the same hotel as the refs, apparently. It was the first game of the season. The Saturday night before the game, we did a 4am walk around the hotel because we were loaded and had nothing else to do. We happened upon the packet of information (schedules, contact information, new rules going into effect that year, etc) in one of the conference rooms.
Art Shell's outgoing voicemail is EXACTLY what you'd expect. It's just one of those automated voice messages saying "You've reached the voice message box of…" and then Art has about a 3 second delay, before screaming into the phone "ART SHELL?" but with a confused tone. It's like he couldn't quite figure out what to do, and the talking voice in the cell phone confused him.
I believe that. I don't care for anyone whose voice mail is that annoying hybrid of the computer voice and then the actual person just leaving their stupid name afterwards. Put some fucking effort into it. Leave a whole message yourself. If you can't be bothered to have a decent voicemail answer, I'm not leaving jack shit.
So as I'm about to plow through my second bowl of Corn Chex and Cinnamon Toast Crunch it hits me that I have never seen 2 cereals combined in the same box. Why hasn't this happened? Did it happen and I just missed it? The combination of 2 totally different cereals is fantastic. You're telling me that at some meeting to discuss the future of cereal (which I assume is at least a bi-weekly meeting) no one says, "Hey why don't we put Trix and, I don't know, Cheerios in the same box." Does no one at General Mills get stoned at 2 in the afternoon on a Wednesday?
I'm sure they've considered it. If you've ever wondered why Company X doesn't make Product X, it's almost certainly not because they didn't consider the idea. They probably thought of it long before you, then figured out how much it would cost to pull off, then tested the idea on consumers, then tested the actual product on consumers (if it got that far), and then abandoned the idea when they concluded they wouldn't make enough money off of it.
In the case of two cereals in one box, they probably thought about it and then ditched the idea when they realized it's much easier for YOU to combine cereals than it is for them to rejigger their production line to do it for you. Not everyone likes Trix and Cheerios. Some of us prefer Cocoa Puffs and Count Chocula. You know what happens when you combine those two in a single bowl? You guessed it: Second Coming.
There are downsides. One time I put Golden Grahams and CTC in the same bowl, and it was curiously unimpressive. Lightning should have shot out of the bowl when I put those two together.
I'm a tall chick - 5'9" plus I like wearing heels.
And like most girls, I like my guy to be taller than me, even in my heels. So that means that my ideal dude would be about 6'2". If he were perfect, he'd be about 6'5" (to match my father and brother).
Indeed. Nothing says "perfect mate" like resembling your two closest male relatives.
So whenever I see a tall guy with a really short girl, I get so pissed. Like, really fucking mad. What a waste! I have to imagine that short dudes feel the same. Do all the 5'5" guys hate it when a 5'1" girl goes out with a 6'5" guy? Or am I alone in this?
I see what you mean. If a short girl is dating an extremely tall guy, it seems like she's hogging precious inches away from the dating pool when she easily could have been satisfied with a fellow who was merely six inches taller than her. Couldn't she have been satisfied with some Kevin Connolly-sized dipshit? And why is she willingly subjecting herself to extreme neck-craning? I'm nearly a foot taller than my better half, and neck craning isn't a minor issue. Sometimes, to avoid it, you gotta squat down while hugging or kissing someone, and you feel like you're taking a shit during a really important romantic moment. I mean, when it comes to the Tale of the Tape, I have a terribly unfair advantage.
All right, so periods are gross, obviously. But they're something we girls all have to deal with, and my question is this: what goes through a dude's head if a girl gets you-know-what blood on a guy's sheets? And what is the proper protocol for dealing with this? Offer to buy the guy new sheets? Seems a little extreme, but hey... I'd do it.
I never gave a shit, personally. If someone was naked in my bed, they could be bleeding in seven different places for all I cared. I was just happy for the nudity. I think a cool guy would shrug it off and treat it like no big deal. I'd be far more reactionary to someone pissing or shitting in my bed. I think it's because blood stains are much cooler to look at. "WOW! BLOOD! That's some real Godfather type shit right there!" If I get blood stains on my clothing for any reason, I always check out the stain and admire it. Look at how tough I am, surviving that paper cut.
I get a lot of stories for Drunken Hookup Failures concerning period blood. Some guy either got period blood on his finger or he discovered it on his sheets and he got all freaked out about it. It's just blood. You'll survive, nancy boy. DON'T STOP LIVING IN THE RED.
After reading your most recent funbag I was picking up my kid from preschool and found myself stopped behind this guy. Even funnier was at the light he was talking out his window to a cop parked to his right also waiting for the light. Apparently the cop had a sense of humor too.
Oh, I hate people who talk to people in other cars at stoplights. Especially if cops do it. They always drag ass when the light turns green. It's like people who chat up the grocery store clerk. Completely unnecessary delay. I WILL RUB THEM OUT! After I rub one out.
What would happen if an Asian girl put a sticker or something on her nipples to cover them, and then got really tan to the point that her skin hue matched her nipples? Would it look bad? Would we be able to tell where the boob ended and the areola began? Or would the boob just look like one really big nipple? Most importantly, would this be some new super species, like the seedless watermelon...the nipple-less Asian girl?
That's like when you see women wear a nude-colored bra or nude-colored heels and for a split second, you can't tell where their skin ends and where the bra begins. And according to my memory bank, that does indeed turn me on. So I say we go full speed ahead with your nipple-less Asian girl experiment.
I just watched Groundhog Day, and despite the movie's uplifting ending, I can't help but think of the awful things I'd do knowing that there are no repercussions. It has me wondering, if I start repeatedly using heroin (immediately after sex with Punxsutawney's finest prostitutes), do I run the risk of addiction in subsequent days? Physically there wouldn't be any withdrawal, but Phil woke up every morning with full knowledge of his previous exploits.
That's a fine point the movie never bothered to address. If there were no physical repercussions the next day, why wouldn't you do heroin? Or coke? My God, Phil may never have had a hangover. Imagine how much he could have drank. And he never would have had to use a rubber, because any pregnancy or STD would presumably be wiped clean from his record the next day. So he could have shot up and then barebacked a Haitian prostitute every fucking NIGHT. And he chooses to hang out with Andie MacDowell instead? Seems like a stretch.
Time for a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY. Reader Mike sends in a story I call BUFFALO SHITTY SHIT.
So my roommate loves the "Man v. Food" show, and he got me started doing these food challenges. No big deal, but there were some places around town that put our face up on the wall if you ate like 5 pounds of fried chicken in an hour and shit like that. Anyway, we are both big guys with strong stomachs so nothing seemed to phase us too bad.
Unfortunately, one of our friends recommended the Buff Chick Challenge at a local diner. The deal with this challenge is that you have to eat the whole buffalo chicken sub with nothing to drink, and you win a tee shirt and get your name on the wall. We are all in town for law school, but our friend grew up here and said that a bunch of his friends did it in high school. We think, no big deal, especially not for a couple of big strong guys like us. Challenge on!
Now one bite into this thing literally made my eyes water. I look over at my roommate and he is in the same predicament. I get about three bites into this thing before I run for the cooler holding the Vitamin Water, with the fry cook Caligula cackling at my lack of testicular fortitude. My roommate is not far behind me, and neither of us could even finish a half of our sub. (We ended up keeping the remnants in our fridge in order to win some drunken bets from out friends that weekend.)
Fast forward about six hours. I have eaten literally nothing all day other than the five bites of hot brimstone I ingested at the diner, because the sandwich made me so sick. I couldn't eat, I couldn't poop, I could barely move. Finally I'm feeling somewhat normal so some friends and I decide to go to the bar down the street to get some late night burgers and watch the Bulls/Heat game. I am ravenous and am about six beers deep, so I eat voraciously. I split an order of mac and cheese bites and wash that down with a bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries AND onion rings.
Not three minutes after I eat my last grease smothered ring, does my stomach drop. I give a look of horror to my bewildered friends (none of which were present at the diner) and make a b-line for the bar men's room. The gallon and a half of grease from my gazillion calorie supper had combined with the deadly habanero-buffalo sauce still in my stomach to create the perfect storm of shits. I hit that bathroom like a bat out of hell and sprayed that bowl like the Banksy of toilets. Of course, this is the type of tiny, shitty bar bathrooms where the bowl is a foot and a half from the piss covered floor and you have to hold the stall door shut because the latch is broken. Almost immediately two bros walk in and start laughing because someone is actually using the shitter that is really only there because health laws require it. Despite this, I continue with an encore performance and come out of there 20 minutes later, sans dignity.