Posts Tagged ‘observation’

Okay, imagine this. I’m outside on a warm fall evening. It’s dark outside. So dark because there are no stars from the pollutants in the air. I’ve just eaten eggs for dinner (for breakfast I had a Lean Cuisine) and now I’m spending my moment in life outside, with a dog on a leash, circling around him getting ready for him to shit. Without fail, he does shit. I reach into my pocket and pull out a plastic bag. I look at the bag and know that if this was a Disney film it would be screaming for me not to do what I did. What I did was sick. I picked up dog shit with a bag then threw it away like it meant nothing to me. I am a cruel human being.

I would hate to be a bag. That’s got to be an awful life. I guess that’s why God made bags non-living items. He didn’t give them eyes, or ears, or butts, or hearts. That’s what you need to be considered living by my standards. Fuck you trees. You’re always wasting your time GROUNDING MY ROOTS!!! into the ground to help you remain stable. You eyeless, earless, buttless non-beings. Trees do have hearts though and I’ll give them that much. They only ever fall on bad guys which is like the ultimate sacrifice a tree can give. They’re like marines, only taller.

(A true American Hero, Colonel Sweet Chestnut whose real life mission was the basis behind the film “Saving Private Pine”)

After I tossed away that bag full of shit (it wasn’t actually full of shit, there was plenty more room for more shit and possibly more items like batteries or carrots) I wondered where that bag had come from. Well, I know it was Target, but I mean before that. It must have come from a factory. That’s where all items come, except babies. I learned that this morning. I have never seen one of these bag factories, but until now, I have never really opened my eyes in search of one.

Chances are, I’ve met someone who knows someone who has a brother who knows someone who had sex with someone who works at a bag factory. That same person also saw an alligator in a New York sewer, got high on LSD and microwaved a baby, and was the physician who got the gerbil out of Richard Gere’s butt. I’m not going to sit here and make fun of people who work in the less than lucrative position known as “bag maker.” I’m not that high on my horse to be able to judge what other people do to feed their children/addictions. I would like to instead send out an apology.

(Mr. Ed, a horse who used all of his Hollywood fortune on drugs to get high. That’s where the term “high horse” comes from according to my thought process)

To those of you who are reading this that work in bag factories or know someone who does, please accept my apology for treating your hard work so poorly. You slaved away in that hot oval-shaped room for hours trying to perfect a plastic bag for my use. All I did with that bag was put a gallon of milk in it for a few minutes, then toss the bag onto the ground, and when it was finally selected by my hand it was used to pick up dog shit with. Your hard work ended up with a piece of dog poop at its center and ultimately placed in a dumpster with a couch poking out of it. It’s not fair that your hard work was treated this way. It would be no different from if Van Gogh finished “Starry Night” and I proceeded to urinate on it. Making plastic bags is your art and I’ve stripped you of that.

I don’t know what the exact process of plastic bag making is. I can only assume that it precisely takes precise precision. You need a steady hand and a strong heart to take on this job. It’s a job that I could never do. Not because I feel I’m above small menial tasks, but because I lack the courage that one must have in order to properly design these bags. The bags need to be strong, smooth, and even. It needs to be able to support heavy items. They need to be airtight to teach children a lesson in oxygen and where you cannot get it from.

Plastic bags have gotten a lot of notoriety from such films as “American Beauty” and several starring Robert DeNiro where he suffocates a traitor with one. But remember, plastic bags are not living creatures. The brave men (women are entirely too clumsy to build a bag properly) who are the Gods of these bags need the credit that is long overdue.

(A stock photo of a clumsy waitress spilling Justin Bieber’s brother’s lunch)

The next time you waste a plastic bag on something stupid like carrying your lunch or if you’re poor, carrying your books to school, take time to salute the factory where the bag came from. You can always find out exactly where if you put the bag over your head and look long enough at the inside. Trust me on this.

(Ricky Fitz is not mysterious or sexy. He’s a creep)

Another product who sells itself under false pretenses. There is nothing magical about a magic marker. Sure, they can be used as wands or disappear up my asshole, but so can bananas. There’s no such thing as a magical banana. At least not yet. We still have a few islands to explore further. Once we do I’m hoping for a Yahoo article about how they have discovered bananas with the power of flight.

Shouldn’t magic markers do something more than mark? They should be erasable or turn colors when you tilt the paper. That’s very simple magic, very possible magic. It’s not much to ask for. Some sort of magic. Any kind would make the name worth it.

I haven’t used a magic marker in years. Not since Harry Potter came out. They probably went up in price then. Capitalizing on the fad that was. Magic markers would be a great investment if I ever wanted to play the stock market. They always seem to run out and the users of the magic markers need to buy new ones. There’s a word for that. Or maybe it’s two words with a hyphen between them. It’s building a device that will break on purpose for the sole reason that you’ll have to get a new one. I call it shitty craftsmanship, but I know there’s another term that you can use around a grandmother.

The problem with magic markers is that they have the monopoly on markers. Maybe that’s what their magical power is. Being able to control the market. Sharpies are way better than magic markers anyway. They’re much more permanent and smell nice. Have you ever tried getting high off a magic marker? You can’t. Sharpies are definitely the felt tipped pens for those who like to experiment with the death of their own brain cells. I once fell down after sniffing a Sharpie it hit me so hard. That was the end of my drug days and the beginning of my rehab ones.

My biggest pet peeve with these shitty coloring devices is that you can’t actually color with them. Coloring with one causes a strange and annoying sound. You have to hold the marker at its side and then your teacher yells that you’re doing it wrong.

I hate magic markers. My pictures will remain colorless and plain. Snowmen and non-bloody avalanches are the only thing I will be drawing from now on. Sorry for spoiling your Christmas card. Got a problem with that? Blame magic markers!

P.S.

1) I’ve been slacking off and reading the blogs of my followers, sorry about that. I’ll hop to it soon!

2) I’m less than 50 views away for the day to be my old record and that’s before even posting anything for the day. Suck it magic markers. I am more magical than you. (69 people have looked up the image of a hippo crate on Google and come here, strange)

3) While spell checking, I had no errors or suggestions. More magic from me. (then I went and typed Mooselicker, fuck)

Mooselicker – 2     Magic Markers – 0

There’s a new song that I hear on the radio a lot. For those who don’t know, radio is television but no image. Blind people can enjoy it. They can enjoy television too. Deaf people can’t enjoy the radio at all though. Unless they get their kicks breaking electronic devices. Fuck. I used the magic word.

The song I’m referring to is Pumped Up Kicks by the band You’re Dumb if You Like This Song. I don’t like this song. Because of that, I now see how much I hate the word kicks. Everything about kicks. Because of that one lousy song with its robotic voices. I hate songs with robotic voices. Unless sung by an actual robot.

First off, the song refers to kicks, calling shoes by that name. I don’t know anybody who does that. I was on the subway recently and a college aged guy said to his friend “Are those new kicks?” The guy sat sideways, letting me know that he was tough. Tough guys always sit sideways. They walk sideways too. It’s what separates us tough guys from pussies like you. To ask his friend if they were new shoes was no more difficult than calling them kicks. In fact, shoes is just as many letters. It’s also easier on the tongue to say. More stress on the lips, but thanks to evolution, are lips are strong enough to handle “sh” words. I was in a city and this guy may have possibly been Jewish. They love their K’s and if this is the case, I cannot make fun. That’s racist to make fun of people who are different from you. Even if they are living up to a stereotype.

The verb of kick is the action of using your leg to punch someone. That’s what a kick basically is. A leg punch. Kicks are much less effective than punches. You’re off balance. Have you ever tried making a fist with your foot? According to the businessman in Die Hard, after getting off a plane you should make your toes into fists then walk around. So making your feet into fists is for people who are afraid of flying. Who is afraid of flying? Wimps! Not to mention, but I will, usually when you’re kicking someone, it means you’re already on the ground. Never go for a kick while you’re both standing. All your opponent needs to do is grab your leg, spin you around, then hit you in the back of the head with a flying dragon knee. Kicking is the last defense. It’s for losers. Real men get punches in. Have you ever heard of a famous kick boxer? Of course not. They’re guys who like poking other men in the shins with their toes. It’s a mean thing to do. Shins are terribly weak bones. That’s why even soccer players, the most masculine of athletes, have to wear guards on their shins.

That reminds me, soccer players kick a lot. Soccer is a KICKING SPORT!!! That’s all they do. Run and kick. Kick and run. Wear shorts and question your sexuality. At a certain age, you have to realize that soccer is a lousy sport. I know it’s big all over the rest of the world, but I can’t take a man in shorts seriously. Not as bad as cricket where they wear sweaters, but still pretty bad. Soccer players are another thing to hate about kicks. Especially that fact that there used to be an indoor soccer team called the KIXX in Philadelphia. What’s wrong, C’s and K’s too expensive? And then that reminds me of the cereal.

I haven’t eaten KIXX cereal in years. I’m not even sure if it still exists. It was always kind of plain. My sister liked it. She also liked cheeseburgers from McDonalds without the meat. Not the most reliable source for a food palette. I always thought the cereal was missing something. It wasn’t very sugary. The pieces were round and a soft fool’s gold color. Children’s cereal is never good unless marshmallows, chocolate, or another dangerously unnecessary item is placed inside. KIXX was also one of many cereals that when I would eat it, I would get acid reflux. Yes, as a boy Lucky Charms would make me throw up into my own throat. I don’t know what it was. Maybe the idea of eating horseshoes didn’t sit well with me.

Kicking must be cool sometimes. You can kickback and relax. But then nothing ever gets done. Damn. Kicks really do suck. I don’t even need a bad song to make me believe that. I’ve never had a good experience with a kick. It could have something to do with me having poor balance, but I don’t think I want kicks as a part of my life.

My advice to you. Do not call shoes kicks. That’s just stupid. It’s not hip. It suggests violence. You’re almost ordering the wearer of the shoes to kick someone. Do you know who that someone should be? It should be you. The person with the nerve to call shoes by their improper name, kicks. Maybe I should be kicked. I feel like I’ve used way too many commas in this post. 26 by my count. One for every letter in the alphabet. Two for every tooth in the mouth of people who overuse the word kick.

“Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You”

That’s the Golden Rule. I remember first hearing it in elementary school. Back then they worded it differently because the Indian kid’s mom complained. I guess in modern times, when your God looks like Goro from Mortal Kombat, you have a lot to be upset about. He was always a tough opponent. That’s way they waited until the END OF THE GAME!!! to make you fight him.

(If you believe in a God with multiple arms I am sorry to offend you. Hey, my Christian God can only eat 2 cookies at a time. Yours can eat 4. You made the better wrong choice.)

“Treat People The Way You Want To Be Treated”

It’s more clear for children that way anyway. The word “unto” would have frustrated me as a kid. U’s were my most difficult letter to remember. I could remember W, but not a single U. U’s should be called “Double V’s.” I don’t know anybody that isn’t a serial killer that makes W’s without sharp bottoms on them. I don’t know who came up with the name. Probably some Greek queer. I’m surprised that same ass doesn’t call M’s “Upside Down Double U’s” and call Z’s “Sideway N’s.” No wonder their empire fell apart. Good riddens. What have you done for me lately?

(Julius right before being stabbed by his loyal friend Cassius Papa John)

I try to live my life with the Golden Rule intact. I do treat people the way I want to be treated, almost. The problem is, there are some people that I would like to come up behind me and grab my genitals. There are a lot of people like this. I’d say in the world, I could find one million human beings who I would like to take off their clothes and rub their asses against my leg. One million might be aiming low too. But that’s not the point. The point is, the golden rule is not legitimate.

What the golden rule should say is “Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You, Except Don’t Touch Anyone In The Process.” I would love to touch a lot of people and would love if they touched me back. But even with the golden rule in place, that is not going to happen. Who do I blame? Society! Jesus came down to this earth from his spaceship and gave us his wisdom. He said clearly for us to do to people what we would like them to do to us. There were no loopholes for him. He was clear in what he said, like the rest of the Bible is. And now, society tells me that I can’t go around doing unto hot chicks as I would like them to do unto me. I am not very happy.

How does a boy like me continue to live his life with the golden rule and still be accepted by society? I can’t. I have to instead treat people with respect and hope that they do the same to me. That’s all there is for me to do. I’m playing it all by ear. Shooting from the hip. Seeing that the grass is greener on the other side. And more unfitting clichés.

When I become in charge of the world, the golden rule will be very simple.

“Leave Me Alone And I Shall Leave Thy Alone Too”

Things always sound more reliable with words like shall and thy.

A man stands a few feet behind me. I’m familiar with this man. I see him often. I don’t know much about him. One thing I do know is that his laugh is horrible. Worse than that, it’s often. He’s talking to someone. Crap. He’s almost done his sentence. Here it comes!

GUFFAW GUFFAW GUFFAW

What a horrendous laugh. I hate people with bad laughs. I mean really hate them. Remember when Osama Bin Laden was killed and everyone was happy about it? I feel the same way when people with bad laughs are shot by Navy Seals. They’re useless. They should never have a good day. That’s why they have bad laughs. It’s natures way of telling us that we should treat them like shit.

Other than this guy, there are others I have encountered with equally bad laughs. Let me do my best to fill you in on them. Maybe you’ll get some laughs out of reading this. Then you’ll have a LIFE LESS BORING!!!

Self-Laugher –

This is where I would classify my current laugher into. He laughs at the end of every sentence. It doesn’t even have to be funny. It’s a snorty laugh too. It sounds like he’s clearing out the back of his nose. Laughing at yourself rarely means that what you said was funny. More often than not it means that you’re awkward and to feel less awkward you laugh to make the poor victim you’re talking to feel more relaxed. It doesn’t make us feel more relaxed. It makes us feel tense. It makes us want to hit you. Why laugh at the end of your sentence? You can just think it and laugh to yourself. At least then people know that you’re crazy.

Snorter –

I mentioned this slightly already, but snorting is very common with laughers. We’ve probably all snorted at sometime while laughing. It’s embarrassing and usually makes everybody else laugh at our misfortunate. That’s okay. What’s not okay is always snorting when you laugh. That’s what we call gross. Especially when you look like a pig. A friend of mine had a girlfriend who looked like a pig. She still does and I know this from Facebook stalking. I can’t feel bad for a fat girl who snorts when she laughs. It’s too perfect. Normally I enjoy when people have animal qualities. Not when they both look like a pig and laugh like one. That’s what we call too much of a good thing.

Spitter –

I had another friend who would spit when he’d laugh. His laugh was a very quiet “hehehehehe” that never seemed to end. The spit that came out of his mouth was odd. It seemed to come from the bottom and shoot up. It hit me before and I guess technically it means I’ve kissed a boy. I arrived late to lunch that day, but could still tell that he had chicken nuggets thanks to his spit hitting my lips. Spitters are never good in any context. It’s impolite to spit. Remember that girls, nobody likes a spitter.

Silent Machine Gun –

Sometimes my laugh is a bit of a silent machine gun laugh. It’s not uproarious, but still has that rapid fire approach to it. The Don Rickles of laughing. At times, I use this as a courtesy laugh. I try to get as many quick laughs in as short of a time as possible. That last sentence was lazy writing. I used the worst “time” twice. Just wanted to point it out how awfully unoriginal I am.

Loud Machine Gun –

The exact same thing as the silent machine gun, except loud. Loud machine guns are really obnoxious. Everything loud is obnoxious. Think of the last time you heard someone screaming for help. I know, what a jerk. The loud machine gun serves the same purpose except it can be used more as a defense. I’m convinced all machine gun laughs are out of courtesy. There’s no reason to throw so many quick laughs into five seconds at any offhanded comment.

Vomitter –

Sitting next to the spitter at my 7th grade lunch table was a kid who would poke his head out and look as if he was about to vomit. It was a sincere laugh. The strange thing is I remember him doing it forever. Up through high school he still did his little head-forward, fake vomiting action. It was never annoying as it rarely made a sound. If anything, it was convenient. You’d know you said something really funny when he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and really would vomit at a joke. That’s when you knew you were cool.

Ricky Gervais –

Nobody laughs like Ricky Gervais. I can’t even categorize this laugh. How can you not enjoy listening to him get his funny bone tickled? And coming from such a funny guy, you know whatever has gotten him to make such an awful sound must be great.

Three Stooges –

Nyut! Nyut! Nyut! That’s how I write out how the Three Stooges laugh. Nobody really laughs like that, do they? I knew a girl with Down Syndrome who did. Her laugh was a dead on Larry and her haircut was a dead on Moe. The only thing curly about her was when she would try to draw a straight line and end up making numerous violent circles. But that’s the beauty about laughter. Even somebody with so many problems can enjoy a good one. Even if it does remind me of three dead slapstick comedians.