Category: Funny

Things and People I Do Not Trust

1. Girls who say, “I don’t have girlfriends.”

Okay then…. You either murdered them or you sleep with everyone’s boyfriend.

2. People who don’t curse

Let it out. Fuckity. Fuck. Fucks….you’ll feel better.

3. Vegetarians

What the hell did meat do to you that you don’t want to eat it?

4. People who talk in the third person

Just…. don’t.

5. LeVar Burton, former host of Reading Rainbow

He likes books way too much.

Reading Rainbow of the Undead

See? Loves ’em.

6. People who don’t like music

What the hell do you do then? Does that cut out dancing too? General merriment? Definitely not trustworthy.

7. People that sell replacement ink cartridges

I’ve been Ink Pirated (yes, that’s what it’s called) 3 or 4 times and it’s the worst. You chat to them on the phone, they record you saying “yes” completely out of context and then ship you hundreds of dollars of ink that you open and cannot return. They are liars and frauds. (I’m also aware that I’m an idiot for letting this happen repeatedly).

8. Bellman

I know you’re slipping cocaine baggies into my suitcase so that I will be arrested at the airport.

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This guy is for sure cocaine bagging everyone.

9. People with attached earlobes

I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t.

10. Clothing tags that say, “One Size Fits All.”

Nope. Not true.

11. Heartburn

What is it and what does it want?

12. Dentists

I would rather just hire Count Chocula to count my teeth, he seems more reliable.

13. Barry Manilow

Barry+Manilow+-+Greatest+Hits+-+DOUBLE+LP-527758

NOPE.

My Reaction When People Say…

“I’m going to be a couple minutes late……”

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(What the hell do I do now? I’m a half an hour early….)

“Would you and your party like to sit in a booth?”

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(WHAT. Obviously….)

“My wife and I are going apple picking.”

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                                ………………..

“We visited a farm this weekend and there were goats.”

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(Hi, excuse me…Did you just say goats? Shit. I love goats.)

    “I dunno, I just don’t really like sushi…”

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(Do you even know what the fuck you’re talking about?)

“What are your thoughts on Obamacare?”

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“Want to go to Kings Dominion this season?”

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(UM. YEAH I do.)

“Your hair looks great today.”

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(Oh, this? Thanks.)

“I baked oatmeal cookies and put them in the lunch room…”

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(Why the hell not chocolate chip?)

“Excuse me, how tall are you?”

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(And No, I don’t play basketball. Not ever. Not even then, nope.)

And Then There Were the Three Weirdest People I’ve Ever Met

A few weeks ago I went up to New York to attend a gala as a media liason/usher/handholder/ass wipe. Work travel is always something to look forward to as it is the only time someone will pay for you to go on a trip without them (wha?). Totally pumped.

Anyways, my colleague and I took the train up – which should have been a relatively simple task. You show up, board, pick your seats and maybe have a snack. Nope. Not the case. Since his travelling partner happened to be me, everything was going to get fucked – and quickly. Upon me insisting, we boarded the first car.  I have this theory that everyone runs to the back of the train thinking that the whole front of the train is already occupied when in actuality all the cars are empty because everyone thinks the same thing (sheep people I call them). I was right. Suuucckkaaaahhhs! Hundreds of jabronies running all the way down to the end of the track when there was ample room right hurr. Little did I know that I had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

We got settled in and I plunked my Nike training bag on our seats and got cozy (was the only thing I could find – I was told later that people don’t typically travel with gym bags….whateves). As a side note – I am the world’s worst packer of all time. On one business trip to Chicago I packed two pillow cases thinking they were two of my white shirts. My boss was nice enough to lend me a few of hers to avoid having to Fred Flintstone around in make shift pillowcase shirts. Another time I packed a down comforter instead of my snow suit. I guess bed-ware and clothing are interchangeable to me. Anyways, that happened.

A few things about me and travelling anywhere ever:

1. I must have a snack and/or the next meal that is coming up readily available.

2. Travelling seats cannot be made for people the size of Tom Cruise or I will not be able to fit in them. This is precisely why on planes I request the emergency exit or I just push on the person’s chair in front of me as they recline to the point where it doesn’t move and they just give up – thinking it is faulty.

3. I talk A LOT pretty much the whole duration of the trip unless I’m asleep.

One and two were sorted.  Trains have ample leg room for all walks of life and I had before purchased 16 snacks, a breakfast parfait, and a turkey wrap in preparation for the upcoming meal that would be lunch.

However, three was an effing’ disaster. I had mistakenly directed us to the ‘silent car’ which basically reads, if you are a middle aged asshole with way too much reading material for the duration of the trip and a stinky eyebrow crunch permanently draped across your upper face – then you are most welcome to sit in the silent car. In addition to stinky face, you are silent car material if you get unreasonably pissed off if any, I mean ANY! noise is made in this car. No sneezing; no rustling bags; no digging through things; no getting up and down; and absolutely no talking. I needed to do four out of those five things immediately and simultaneously.  Not only was I aggressively talking in one of those whispers where people pretend they’re whispering but are actually just talking normally in a low raspy voice but I had a paper bag which carried most of my belongings in that I had to crinkle and riffle through every 3.2 seconds. OKAY. WE’RE LEAVING.

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‘quiet car’ can get fucked.

We gathered all of our things and I hit three people in the head on the way out with my side slung Nike bag. We walked one car forward which was rather luxurious looking and decided to just risk it. It had been a total of 15 minutes travel time and I hadn’t had a snack so after sitting down I racked out my hummus and flattened pretzel treat. Feeling scrum-dillly-umpscious, I dove in just as I saw the train ticket personnel-person was coming by to check our tickets again. I told my co-worker we should probably pretend that we’re sleeping because that works well in pretty much any situation where you don’t want to be confronted or questioned.

As we faked slept, I had to just hold my hummus treat upright which made it a little less believable and I side eyed peeked to see when he was coming. He could blatantly see through our ruse as I made direct eye contact during the half-peek. DAMMIT. “Tickets please. And you there, are obviously not sleeping.” He also recognized us from the car behind. “Hey, it’s you two. What are you doing up here?” I took the liberty of speaking for us, “Oh, well we didn’t realize that was the silent car and it blows. So…. we just popped up here (smiley face and head tilt).”Conductor guy, “Okay, well you can only stay here if you want to cough up $40 extra bucks each. You have to move – we got other people coming on at the next stop.” Again, me talking from my face, “Okay, but I just opened my snack. See? Here is my snack.” I waived my hand around the borders of the hummus and the pretzel trays like if he sees the snack enough, of course he will think this is a legitimate excuse. “Do you think we could just stay here?” Conductor guy, “No. You cannot just stay here. And it doesn’t matter that you have that snack. Please stop waving it around you’re going to spill.”

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‘The snack.’

GEEZUS. Okay. ROUND THREE. We gathered our stuff again and I stacked together my snack to hold flimsily as we traveled at rapid speed back through the fucking silent car where I could literally feel the piercing eyes of silent assholes staring into my back. I was waving around my hummus like hotcakes (uh?) as we hustled through a never ending string of train cars. FINALLY we found two empty seats and could have some relaxing time…except I had to run to the bathroom.

It took me three minutes to close the bathroom latch and when I got around to washing my hands I came to find that the soap dispenser was severely clogged. After ninety-seven violent pumps, the top burst and forcefully explode squirted all over my shirt. I walked back to my seat dripping in a thin milky substance that left behind just enough residue to look casually homeless. I sat down feeling relieved to have gotten out of the bathroom at all (it’s all about small victories). My co-worker asked me where the hell I had been all this time and why I was covered in weird white shit. The whole situation looked bad.  I just asked if he could please pass me my pretzel snack.

Finally arriving in New York, I was happy to get off the train and leave behind all the haters and malfunctioning soap canisters. We arrived at the hotel via cab and entered into a grand atrium with hanging old things aka chandeliers, fans, and other crystal uglies. It was nice but super old. The check in lady gave us very specific instructions to not put our key cards within a 50 mile radius of our phones or they would be deactivated. Fine. Let’s go.

On the walk up to our rooms I tactfully tucked my key card into my phone case to hold them in one hand (moron). Of course, when I got to the room the key didn’t work. I went back to the lobby two minutes later and told her that I had not taken her advice at all (she looked at me like really? Its been 30 seconds). She re-activated my card and back up I went to unlock my room. It still didn’t work. Back down to the lobby I went and waited in line.

My lady was now gone so I went to another lady who was a few spots down at the desk and told her the whole story. “Okay….” she said, “But are you staying in the hotel?” (What the fuck?) “Yes, I’m staying in the hotel. Why would I be telling you all of this? I just came from upstairs.” I pointed over to the empty counter spot and said, “The other lady that is like you but stands over there can vouch for me.” She looked at me skeptically,”Alright, but can I see your ID?” (I didn’t have my ID because I left all my bags in my co-workers room). DAMMIT. I had to go back up and get it. PS. you’re a dick.

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My face when I was told I had go back up to my room for the third time.

(Click ^ for a funny.)

I go back up get my ID and back down to the lobby. Eerily, that woman had disappeared into thin air and the lady I talked to before was there and asked me why I had gone up to get my ID. “Because the other lady who is not here now told me to…… just, never mind.” She reactivated my card for third time and scolded me saying to stop holding my phone next to it. “Lady, I don’t even have my phone, it’s up in the room. This is clearly some kind of fools errand and I’m in the middle of it.”

After the whole bru-ha-ha I FINALLY made it back to my room and the most amazing little mini green access light came on. Because I spent two and a half hours trying to get into the room – we had to immediately head to the venue. GREAT. GRAND. WONDERFUL.

This isn’t even meant to be about our ridiculous commute or hotel room non-entering but about three extremely strange characters (please ignore that seven paragraph tangent). Anyways, these three looney tunes were the attending media for the gala and the persons that we would be in charge of toting around to make sure no one behaved like a raging idiot. I thought this would be easy enough, we’re all adults here. Nope, each one was a fucking liability. I will go down the list:

ONE: The first was from an online nightlife outlet. She was seventy plus years old and came dressed in an ill fitting kimono-robe with bright red hair and lipstick all over her face. She was also wearing white tube socks and looked like she’d been awake for the last 72 hours which later she admitted to me that she had been.

TWO: A duo, photographer and reporter combo pack came from what they said was a fashion blog. First red flag. This was a fundraiser for cancer and had nothing even remotely to do with the fashion industry but whatever. The photographer showed up in a prom dress of sorts with her breasts popping out to borderline nipple territory and the reporter was a young male wearing thick black eye liner, a crushed velvet black onesie outfit, Crocs and a white fisherman’s hat (can anyone wear anything normal? anyone at all…).

THREE: A Russian woman from a completely unknown French TV channel came by herself wearing a black bluntly cut wig and a revealing sequin dress. She seemed the most normal but turned out to be by far the strangest.

Now that we all have a mental image of these weirdos we can speak a bit about what made them such (apart from the obvious dress choices). Old lady kimono was basically high on meth due to her lack of sleep. She insisted on calling me “Alice” thinking that I looked like Alice in Wonderland……I do not. She repeatedly invited me over for dinner to her home in Brooklyn because she and her husband George had no children. She wandered around like a maniac at one point accusing the Russian lady of stealing her “papers” and then ended up behind stage with all of the electrical equipment. After luring her out and eventually getting her to leave she plucked my co-worker on the nose and then delicately cupped his cheek while saying, “Look at you, you are so cute! DON’T TELL ANYONE WHO I AM!…..” And then swirled off into the darkness. Excuse me? WHAT THE FUCKS just happened? And did she even take any pictures?

Next up is the fashion blog duo. They chatted about nothing, had six servings of bread, and went outside for a cig. Other than that, they were the worst media attendants ever unless you would like info on how to dress for a black tie event as a fancy fisherman.

Lastly, and my favorite, was the Russian lady from French TV. She sat pleasantly for the whole three hour long program and did not say a word until completely unprovoked she interrupted the conversation by telling us that it was her that broke the news to the media about the “new drug” Viagra being a viable option for erectile dysfunction. After this claim, she continued by saying in a thick Russian accent, “See, I have link to this cause. I know all these people….” (If by link you mean no fucking link at all. WTF? Do you even know where you are? This is for cancer). I just nodded in agreement. There was no way I was going to squash her random ass claim to fame (I might start using that…). She looked totally zonked the whole time and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had one of those little aliens controlling her facial expressions, MIB style.

On top of being weird as shit, she was one of those severe over stayers. The program had wrapped up and we had to meet the photographer to choose photos to pull for the next morning’s advisory. I lingered around her for what felt like two hours as we both said nothing and she sipped her wine, water, and coffee in a patterned rotation. After the hovering, little mentions of leaving, repeatedly gathering my bags and just general “hokey pokey” my co-worker came back and simply said, “We’re leaving. Can we walk you…….. out?” Before he was even finished, she left instantly by sprinting through a back entrance to the right of the stage. Okay…….well that was easy. WHAT. THE. HELL?

We wrapped up with the photographer who was a spitting image of Quasimodo and had a lisp. He was also someone who habitually said, “my pleasure…” instead of just agreeing to do things which was actually very fitting when it comes to Quasimodo and his behaviors. By the end of the night I was completely exhausted from travelling, feeling like a loud asshole, not having a snack, getting bitch smacked by soap, going up and down hotel elevators, talking to disappearing front desk women, toting around a circus act of media floozies, and getting lightly spit on in the face by a lisp ridden photog.

All in a day’s work.

This Week in the Worst of Online Dating…

Actual messages from randoms but not actual responses – I’m not an asshole.

“How about if I’m on the shorter side and really dig tall girls? I’m smart, weird, hilarious, and I also can not remember the last time I was angry. We’d get along. Let’s be mischievous and make the most of today, what do you say?”

Nope.

“Serious question: You are taking me out for sushi (for one reason or another) I am starving. You just got back from the gym and you need to get ready. How long would it take?”

A) 30 min, you look hot and I cant keep my hands off you 
B) 15 min and you look pretty cute 
C) 2 hours and I die from starvation

What the hell. Why is this happening? 

And my answer is:

D)  You can take your twisted ass math problems and get fuck’d. 

“Is it just the full moon, or do you turn into a stone cold fox every night of the week? Lol no but really, how’s it going?”

Dammit. That’s a good one.

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This is a picture of a stone cold fox when you Google “Stone Cold Fox” I guess it’s just a cold fox.

“u hot”

You didn’t even have time to write “ur?”

“Wake up in the AM, compose a tweet.”

I’m sorry, I don’t understand…are you selling something or speaking? 

“They say your choice in food tells a lot about you: given a choice between strawberries or oreos, which do you pick? Why?”

I think you’re just trying to figure out if I’m fat. Are they double stuffed oreos? Or, they just came out with Oreo stuffed Oreos. Why? Because have you ever eaten a cookie stuffed cookie?

“spying me? Lol ;)”

Haha no, I’m not spying you lol…. Wait, what the hell?

” 😉 “

What are we winking at?

G’day mate! 😉 If you are really 6’0″ tall…we owe it to the world and the NBA to get to know each other! :))

Actually, I lied about my height (why the hell would I do that?) and I don’t owe the NBA shit, let alone a giant athlete baby. 

I normally don’t contact anyone on here unless I think we have common grounds and is an interesting person. I think you fit the kind of woman that I like spending my time with and would like to get to know. So if you never dated a Haitian guy who speak Creole and French, CONFIDENT,takes trip to Europe every year, has a great career, run his own business, driven, love life to the fullest, spontaneous, and a true Capricorn, then let’s give this a try. Let’s not wait too long because im just giving this site a try and may no longer be here. 

A few things:

– Well, yes that is the point of contacting people on this – why would you contact someone you have nothing in common with and is boring as shit?

– Creole is basically French so let’s not flatter ourselves and lead people to believe we are bilingual. 

– What the ass does a “true Capricorn” mean? That you’re a goat?

You seem really CONFIDENT. I think you’ll be fine with me not responding. 

Hey, I saw your profile and thought I should say hi! 

Just to be up-front, I’m a married guy looking for a bit of a fling, hopefully with someone friendly and fun to be around. My apologies if you’re not at all interested in this. Happy to chat either way. 

“A bit of a fling” You mean like an affair? You cant call it a “fling” when you’re married. And next time you think you “should say hi!”, say hi to your wife. ooooohhhhh #youjustgotserved

I Think That Was One of Those Mind Fucks

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ADD testing: Real? Or Mind Fuck? I would have to argue strongly on the side of mind fuck. As a member of the Attention Deficit Disorder community, I am appalled at the kind of weird-ass, convoluted, deranged, mind penetrating testing we are forced to endure. I left the neurology center feeling more confused and distracted than ever. Mainly because I will never actually know what the hell went on in that room – if I “passed” or if I’m mentally incontinent.

I’m going to back up for a moment and start from the beginning…….

In 2011, my general practitioner prescribed me adderall when I came to her with concerns of not being able to fucking do anything. I was leaving the states to get my master’s and I thought for sure I would fail if I was not only going to be taking courses in Australia but I also get easily distracted by anything that is shimmery or creates some kind of noise. She sympathized with my condition and while looking at my aggressively tapping toe, prescribed me 30 mg of adderall a day for the next year. So, I filled a prescription of 600 pills and a years worth of birth control and flew over to Australia where I set up an international drug trade. Kidding, I actually needed both things quite imperatively and took them as instructed but that would have been dope. In class on adderall I felt as though I was some kind of baby genius hybrid like a philosopher/scientist or a spaceship/sea manatee (I know…crazy right?) I could now actually accomplish things and not twiddle off into girl thoughts of puppies and hot pink. I was banging out projects, ordering people around, writing 10,000 word essays and realizing my full potential. Adderall saved me from selling gimp bracelets under a boardwalk somewhere to make money for crack. Actually, I probably wouldn’t be that bad off but you get my drift.

After graduating, I went to that same doctor to refill my prescriptions as I did every three months when I was back stateside. Everything panned out well as I was able to work in an office and pay attention to people’s faces when they spoke. Suddenly, my doctor stopped practicing and I was forced to see an alternate doctor in the practice to refill my prescriptions. This doctor was a conservative pompus prick (he was actually really nice…I just couldn’t pronounce his name which pisses me off). Anyways, Doctor GoFuckChoSelf told me that I wasn’t properly tested for ADD and because adderall was a controlled substance I would have to undergo actual testing to verify that I did indeed have ADD. Throughout that conversation, all I was thinking was what flavor Jolly Rancher I would grab from the candy dish out by the receptionist…”jolly”…”rancher”…has such a delightful ring to it. Geezus. I have ADD. I cant even pay attention to a conversation about me not paying attention. I thought this was all very redundant but I agreed that I would go get “properly tested” and so made an appointment with another doctor who’s name I couldn’t fucking pronounce.

Appointment Day. I walked into the building and passed the office I was supposed to go in 3 or 4 times until I finally figured out that it was not the janitor’s closet and entered. I rushed across the large waiting room to the counter and immediately started to apologize for being 15 minutes late. The lady said, “Who are you?” I said my name and my favorite color. She said, “Okay….. fill out this 14 page form and answer the questions on the back page. You must answer ALL of the questions on the BACK PAGE!!” Geezus, okay….97 hours later…I walked back up with the form and emphasized the back portion with a Vanna-White-like hand wave circulating around the written text, “See? All filled out…all four of them.” She said thanks and asked me to please sit down and to stop crowding the window.

Twenty-five minutes later my name was called and I followed the nurse back to the doctor’s office – or who I thought was the nurse – according to her visual measurements she might have been a bridge troll. Regardless, she was very nice and sat me down in an office filled with framed accreditation’s, degrees, and two trolls on a shelf – how very fitting I thought. There wasn’t any reading material so I read a poster on the wall 14 times and then tried to nap.

Very suddenly, the doctor walked in and jetted straight for his chair on the other side of the room. He sat down facing my direction, legs casually sprawled about and stared directly at me. Saying nothing. I looked around…is this the test? Am I currently inside of the test? Should I start speaking? Or would I then be testing you? What the fuck is happening? Finally, he acknowledged me and asked me why I was there. I told him the whole long story about already being on adderall and yada yada but I was here now because Dr. UnpronouncableLongAssName instructed me to be. He nodded and then asked me to sit on the examination table with that stupid parchment paper that always sticks to the back of your legs.

In one whisk of his arm he started blinking his hands like a traffic light and then asked me to concentrate on his nose – this happened 3 or 4 times. After whatever the hell that was, he tapped my ankles and knees with a vibrating metal rod and then asked me to walk heel-to-toe across the room. As he was writing notes, he forgot to tell me to stop so I heel-toed the fuck out of the whole room until finally he laughed and told me I could have stopped along time ago. I’m glad this is all very amusing.

I sat back down and had more blinking hands shoved in my face and a lot more of pointing at different objects in the room and again at his nose. After one more gratuitous poke/flick on the shoulder he abruptly left room WITHOUT SAYING A WORD. I felt like I had just been raped with my clothes on. I sat there waiting for what was to come next and not knowing if I should leave a pee sample or just continue to stand. WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING? Just as I was really about to lose it, he walked back into the room with a clipboard and mentioned that he would have to ask me some more questions (a simple note of that earlier would have been helpful for my overall sanity.) And so begins the ridiculous questioning:

Do you find yourself talking a lot?

Hard, YES.

Do you interrupt people when they.. (yes.) ….are talking?

The answer is yes.

Do you find yourself easily distracted?

What? Yes.

When in situations that you prefer not to be in do you run or climb trees?

Okay, well, how do I answer this…I do not currently climb trees, no. Is that something I should be doing?

Now, my questions for the doctor:

Were these questions drafted in the mid 70’s?

Is this a children’s exam?

What is this? A brain center for ants?

Example of how ridiculous the questions were:

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WTF? After all of the questions that essentially just repeated themselves – he had come to the conclusion that I had ADD/ADHD and that I was properly prescribed adderall.

Well, thank you. So you’re telling me that I spent three hours in this office only for you to come to the same conclusion that another doctor did two years ago? Hmmmmm….. if I had known that I could make millions (exaggeration) by asking people Disney pop-quiz questions from a clipboard, ding-ing people on the elbow, and diagnosing them with things they already knew they had, I would have gone into neurology.

Well, okay…. that happened. I’m leaving. Never to return. I left the room in a huff feeling pissed off. In anger, I  circled the hallways huffing and stomping around until I found the exit to the reception area. “SEE YOU NEVER!” I told the troll, “Except I need to make a completely superfluous  check up appointment for three months from now.