We hear a lot of the fight for equality. Equal to what though?
Equal to waking up to a pointless existence where no one appreciates you? Equal to working hard only to die before you actually accomplish anything worth a damn? Equal to Screech from Saved by the Bell?
(This is your goal)
I don’t want to be equal to anyone. That means they have everything I have. If a person can do that, and I’ve met people and boy I’ll tell ya I am not a fan, what’s that say about me?
Keep fighting for equality. It’s perception. Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to realize you’re better than comparing yourself to others. Equality is just a false-sense of security and saves you from the brief feeling of being an outsider.
Technology is great. It allows us to wash our nude bodies indoors with the light and provides the opportunity to watch others wash their nude bodies with the lights on.
Not all of technology is great though. Some parts are absolutely terrifying.
(Terrifying in person form)
Take socializing for instance. There are way too many ways to be bothered. Between Facebook, Twitter, email, and texting, mutes have become our equals in terms of communication. While they still all have a distinct baritone voice only excused because they can’t hear themselves sounding ridiculous, the deaf have tied us listeners in getting the message across.
And this is a problem.
I remember going a whole summer without talking to anyone from school. I avoided the Internet like the plague or the same way girls did me until I turned 22. The only thing different at 22 was I now had thinning hair and eye bags which to women reminded them of George Clooney if he wasn’t famous. The only downside was when they found out my real age after not understanding any of their references to the 1980s.
What’s a gay cancer?
I don’t like technology because now I’m forced to be empathetic. When someone is sad I have to read about it. I can’t ignore the problem either because I have a kind heart.
However if you have cried for help openly and I don’t respond, it’s because I’m intimidated by how cool you are. I also don’t feel like reconnecting with another person who will just commit suicide in three months. I don’t even own a suit for your funeral.
(Only a black man can pull off a suit that looks like my underwear)
Technology brings us places we shouldn’t be. Like work. Have you ever thought about your job? How important would it be in the apocalypse? Unless it’s oil salesman, road warrior, or cage dancer you’re replaceable. It’s okay because I am too.
One last thing to mention about technology: it keeps us alive longer. This is an awful thing, I think you’d agree, if you’ve ever met anybody.
Work has been getting really busy lately. According to a hand-drawn chart I saw, the business I work for is going to grow by about 200% in the next year alone. We’re hiring new employees and in doing so I’m meeting some really strange people.
The first round of hiring people involved in inviting 6 people in for a group interview. Within the week they were scheduled, 3 cancelled including one on the morning of. There were 2 more who just didn’t show up and the one who did was wearing high heels and has never picked up dog poop in her life (that’s basically the job).
So we decided it was time to invite even more people in to ensure we have enough for the big group interview. We invited in 12 candidates and miraculously 8 showed up.
In this 8 were a black guy we ended up hiring, a Spanish semi-hipster girl we ended up hiring, a gay guy who we wanted to hire but he didn’t respond to us until 3 days after the second interview because he’s a flake (no, not like that), a really nice girl who didn’t want the job because 30 hours a week was too much, a black girl with a really deep voice, a girl that was practically blind and kept talking about dogs with vision problems, a lazy Spanish guy (we’ve already got plenty of them working there), and a sassy overweight Spanish girl.
Originally, the sassy overweight Spanish girl was also hired. On her second day there, she told me how great the job was then informed me that she didn’t have any money to get home. She wasn’t even an official employee yet and already she’s asking me for money. I tattled on her and my boss gave her $20. She insisted that she only needed $2.50 to get home. My boss demanded she take the $20 and pay her back when she can. Then fatty got a nice lecture about responsibility. It seemed like a simple mistake she could learn from.
The first week on the job, everyone was already not a fan of her. She talked too much and was a bit of a Debbie Downer. Her sassiness was gone, thankfully, but replaced with mentioning her boyfriend (who probably didn’t exist) all of the time.
Her first week there, she also sat on an employee’s muffin. This foreshadowed a moment that would ultimately lead to her demise.
Often at work we’ll have food because my boss is hungry or wants to treat us for doing a good job. On Wednesday of her first week, we had frozen yogurt delivered to us from a former client. There were 6 leftovers and she volunteered to take them home. On Friday, we ordered Italian food. There was probably enough food for 6 people left and again she wast he one who brought it home with her.
Although most of us didn’t like her after the first week, we knew she was still young in learning. The second week, though, was the one where it was time to really wonder how long she’d last.
The week started off normally and she was as annoying as ever. But hey, everyone is. On Thursday, the same employee who had his muffin crushed, found his phone on the ground with a cracked screen. We require them to put their phones in a basket because for some reason most people (crushed phone guy specifically) cannot stay off of his when they should be working. Nobody was near the phone and according to the least popular employee on the payroll, she “found it on the ground then plugged it back in to charge.”
Using deductive reasoning, I’m pretty sure she treated that phone like it was a muffin.
I also came to learn that this same guy was asked for money from her. Not only that, she had done this with two others and it all came after she received the $20 from my boss.
On Friday I tattled again because this was getting really ridiculous. My boss agreed we’d give her one more week to really improve. Immediately after, we learned she lied about completing a task. Hey shit happens, she’s probably just dumb.
On Sunday at 6:30PM we each got a phone call from her – neither of us answered because it’s the fucking weekend – telling us that she is in the hospital. My boss spoke with her the next morning. Apparently she had food poisoning since Wednesday. I knew this was a lie because she ate a donut on Thursday. The last thing a person with food poisoning would want to do is eat. My boss asked her if she’d be in at work on Monday. She said she was going back to the hospital because she felt they didn’t treat her properly. She was informed to bring in a note and everything would be fine.
On Tuesday at 9:45AM, she was not there. No text. No phone call. No showing up to kill her coworkers by sitting on us. Hey, maybe it was pretty serious. The same thing happened Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. She made no attempt to contact us all week long so we can assume she’s done.
Technically she’s still owed pay for one day. Then again, she also owes $20 and a couple million in emotional damages.
She’s already been replaced by two people (you know how much she eats….) so her time with the company will quickly be forgotten; at least once all of the gossips stop working there.
When a bee is born it is a baby. Some babybees, however, even as adults maintain the babybee title.
I am a babybee and I actually have a babybee of my own. My babybee is great and here are 22 reasons why because it is 11 twice.
1) My babybee is great because she has lots of talents. I’m amazed sometimes by how much she can do. First she learned how to sing, then she learned how to draw, then it was dance, and finally it was figuring out how to write. I’m not sure which of these is the best because my babybee can do them all. This counts as one, however, I will include more on each.
2) My favorite song of my babybee is the Babybee Song. It’s best used for birthdays and reminding people about the size of their genital. My babybee actually won a competition singing Carol of the Bells; you know, the song the Trans Siberian Orchestra made popular.
3) Drawing may actually be my favorite thing the babybee can do. I suck at drawing so I appreciate it when I see very good art, particularly when it’s of people or dogs I care about.
(How many people can say strangers have their artwork hanging on their walls?)
4) The dancing isn’t something I have seen my babybee do very much. Since I am already an expert dancer, I’m not sure how impressed I would be with anything my babybee can do. At the same time, I know by now there are no limits to what she can.
5) Finally there’s writing, which I know for a fact is something my babybee is very passionate about. This might be the one thing my babybee has most in common with me, especially since my babybee knows very little about sports. I should hate her for that though, right?
6) Combined with all of these skills, the babybee’s talents are limitless. Her only flaw might be her jealousy of smelly fat men pretending to be Indian women, but that’s okay. Nobody is perfect although she’s pretty close and would say I am too.
(Actor Dennis Farina makes babybee jealous she is so silly)
7) Aside from her many talents, babybee is the perfect partner for making fun of everyone. Sometimes it gets really cruel to the point where if anyone else found out the way we speak about them, we’d only have each other. But that’s okay because then we’d be two bees in a pod and there’s no better thought in the entire world than this.
8) At this point I have been writing this in non-list form and just putting a number in front of each paragraph. For number 8, I would like to mention how forgiving and accepting my babybee is and let you know the rest of this list will be a little more traditional.
9) Babybee is not judgmental even when I eat two Medi-wraps, protein bars, and a giant Snapple (what are those?).
(Now stop asking)
10) Babybee is very supportive and reads about baseball and lets me cuddle with my baseball with my hip without getting too angry.
11) Babybee knows not to make sound effects whenever I drink water because I will choke from laughing.
12) Babybee stays up late and sacrifices precious sleep–usually for me! Even I wouldn’t do this because I am nowhere near as great as Babybee.
13) Babybee makes me really long books of cartoons and lets me keep them even though it would mean owning another blank notebook without lines!!!
(Babybee porn)
14) Babybee doesn’t need expensive jewelry, clothes, or shoes. She doesn’t even wear makeup yet she’s as adorable as a micropenis. Shit, I’d call her as beautiful as a butt!
15) Babybee always has good TV show and movie recommendations.
(If only Lucy Liu was there)
16) Babybee is second most logical person I know after me. She’s also the second biggest piggy after me which makes things perfect.
17) Babybee can always make me laugh even though she is a woman.
18) Babybee has the best declarations ever.
19) Babybee can deadlift 80 pounds on the first try. She is such a Pac-Woman.
(Maybe one day she can be this beautiful)
20) Babybee is good complimenter/liar. I haven’t decided yet.
21) Babybee understands everything I tell her with the exception of one joke about boobs.
22) Babybee would be a good mama even if she makes mama face at our babybee someday.
I could go on further about how great babybee is. Did I even mention DF? Or candies? Or the Spiro treatments? I didn’t. There’s those.
There’s too much to mention about babybee and what a great human-being she is for one post. She has saved lives for fuck sake! Speaking of fuck, if babybee was here right now she’d probably say:
Way too many advertisements pluck away at our insecurities. I think that’s the biggest reason why people hate themselves. We’re told we are supposed to have nice skin just because Jessica Biel does or whore is currently under contract with the “Splash some water on your face” acne cream commercials. I don’t think Jessica Biel works anymore. I think her career went downhill when someone finally saw one of her movies and was like “Hey, that’s not very good.”
(Watch out Jessica! The 1930s Dust Bowl is behind you! Grab your pants)
It’s a very sleazy way to advertise your product. Some are more subtle than others. Like Wendy’s always make it seem like you’re a loser if you don’t have friends to eat heart-attack food with. Most of the time I have meals with other people it has something to do with dying. Either it’s a funeral, an anniversary of a death, or someone in the corner is choking.
(How does a woman who behaves like this always have so many friends to grab a meal with? Oh right because she’s playful with her food and mimics oral sex with it. Being a woman is so easy!)
The worst ones are the advertisements that make sure believe we need surgery to be normal. What is normal anyway? George Bush was supposedly a C student. That’s average. So the average person is a millionaire oil tycoon who once owned the Texas Rangers. How does that make me feel? Not very good.
The real key I find as I grow older is to be insecure only for the sake of being aware. Insecurities are only a problem when they destroy your security with living an average, or as we have learned George Bush, life. Everyone has something gross on their bodies. Even more people have something gross on their face (usually their giant noses). Whatever you are insecure about let it be and don’t buy a facial cream, Subway sandwich, or gun to solve it.
I think the worst insult you can give a person is to tell them that they have a bad haircut. These are my reasons:
1) They look ugly. Nobody likes to look ugly. I do sometimes to keep some women and every homosexual man from touching me. You know how those gay men are, groping everyone they can. Plus people are nicer to you when you are ugly. They think you might be a dangerous serial killer and they have more respect for your personal space.
2) You paid to look ugly. The way we spend our money matters to other people for some reason. Making a poor purchase will change people’s opinions of us. Money is something that once you lose it you have no way of ever earning back. Haircuts are expensive too, starting at around $10 if you want a simple trim and some light flirting from the barber. They usually cost around $20 if you want to hear a good war story.
3) You accepted looking ugly. Not only do you look ugly and you paid for it, you accepted it. You rolled over and allowed yourself to appear less than perfect. The first thing people notice about each other is their skin color. The second is their haircut. If you have a bad one people will not like you.
I am not a person who ever has good haircuts. I shave my head once or twice a year and the rest of the time I let it grow out, dead and thinning. My hair looks like a brush fire went through it right now, probably because an actual hairbrush never has. Thank goodness for hats to hide my shame.
I don’t feel bad for very many people. In fact there is only one person in the world right now I feel bad for. I saw him a few minutes ago.
This man is anywhere from 60 to 4,893,081-years-old. Chances are he is closer to the lower end. He is a pizza delivery guy that works at the Dominoes down the street from me. Or is it Dominos. I think it’s the second one. Dominoes would be what we would call if the Keira Knightley character Domino was cloned. And if she were to be cloned she would get played with by Puerto Rican men all day long.
(This woman’s body and acting ability is so flat I think she is a domino)
I feel bad for this ancient pizza delivery man because he looks miserable. This isn’t some job he has to get out and meet people. He’s busting his ass delivering food to teenagers too high on the marijuana to safely cook something themselves. They probably tip him bad. I think we have all been around friends who insist on not tipping. The odd thing is most people that are bad tippers have shitty jobs their entire lives so it comes back to haunt them like my grandfather does me.
I cry pepperoni tears for this man. The weather right now is really cold and his born in the 1940s bones are probably aching. Just because this man probably committed some awful war atrocities in Southeast Asia does not mean he should have to live out the end of his life suffering with a job he clearly hates. It’s not his fault his hands and face are too gross to actually touch the pizza. We should blame God for that.
(Or we can just blame comedian Godfrey. I mean, he’s black and has hair different from me)
Sadly the only thing I can do to help him is pray for his death. Maybe in an attempt to get the pizza somewhere in 30 minutes or less he will get hit by a tractor-trailer and crushed between two large sheets of steel. I imagine the joy on his face when the police show up and admit to him that once the truck and his delivery car are separated, his guts will spill out from his waist and kill him. This is the best option for this poor old man.
Old people call their underwear their “unmentionables.” I am not old. I call my underwear “transportable shit rags” because that’s the basic purpose of them.
(This is how actors prepare for roles that require bad teeth)
I am not posting this brief work of art however to talk about underpants. Instead it’s just a little post about what you can expect from this blog in the future. I don’t say this to make you eager. I don’t mention this to get you excited. I’m only making this declaration mostly for myself. I would like to be able to post a little more frequently on this blog, even if the posts are not as long as they used to be. In fact that would be better. If I write two paragraphs than everyone would read 50%.
As I approach the 600 Blog Post Club, a number that has a big fat asterisks because I made one post private when I wanted to post it somewhere else and never bothered to really fix it so I could never really determine an official number, I would like to get it over with sooner rather than later. My goal would be by the end of February and about a little over 15 away (nobody has ever said “a little over 15” in their life except when giving a guilty verdict) this is absolutely doable.
(Do you know what else is doable? Dakota Fanning! She is more than a little over 15 at 19 years old. Have at it Seinfeld!)
Since most of my blog posts I already have written are nothing too exciting, I want to make the majority of them about my unmentionables; things I would not normally blog about. They may range everything from the inappropriate to secrets I never shared with others. I’ll also probably toss in other garbage too you don’t care about. Of course they will still come through in the same familiar voice I have always delivered full of typos and ill-thought ideas. I am far too uninterested in making sure everything on a blog reads well. I have other things to do like overeat and hate myself immediately after.
My primary reason for trying to expand into writing about things I normally would not is to knock down what little wall I keep up. I would like to build up more of an ability to be incredibly open, honest, and detailed while not offending others involved too much. Basically I just want to say mean shit about people who said mean shit about me and not feel bad about it because deep down inside I really do feel bad whenever I make people upset.
No. I will not be giving you updates on the state of my underwear. You get it? Because some people call underwear briefs…
Clearly I haven’t been attending classes at the Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theater with that attempt at humor. And by that I mean it’s impossible to be funny without first paying a couple hundred dollars for a class. And after you graduate that class you WILL BE funny, even if you never have been. Not.
So what have I been up to? I’m clearly not blogging much, if you didn’t already notice. Or at least not as consistently as I have. What have I been up to?
I work just about every day, sometimes weekends too. When I work weekends it’s staying inside a luxury Manhattan apartment watching television and playing with dogs. It’s as bad as it sounds, not really at all.
When I am not working, I have been attempting to write other things. I do so much writing at work by the time I get home I don’t have the energy do much else other than eat. Food is supposed to give you energy, but it never gives me much. I think I might be doing it wrong.
My fantasy baseball team collapsed and barely made the playoffs, then got bounced out in the first round. My other fantasy baseball team is in the finals, but they are not doing very well. I also have a fantasy football team now and it has me interested in the sport for the first time ever. I don’t know what this has to do with anything. None of this takes up much time.
I also had someone mail me a birthday card already. My birthday isn’t for a few more weeks though. It was a pretty awesome card and includes hand-sketched pictures of me. This is much better than in past years when people would give me butt-sketched birthday cards.
I have still consistently been submitting to Yahoo. Some of the articles are pretty good and mean while others are boring and pay money. If you feel so compelled, here is the entire listing of my Yahoo articles.
I think the moral of the story here is that I don’t have much to complain about. I’m actually pretty happy. Yuck.
Movies have extras. Life has extras. The best thing about the town I’m currently residing in is it’s very communal. By that I mean it’s so poor that we all share a bathroom. We call the bathroom “anywhere in Burger King.” My favorite things about towns are the people in these towns that we encounter often but never connect with. Here are people I see often and will never know when they die.
The Androgynous Homeless Person:
I’m pretty sure it’s a woman. I would probably have to have sex with it to find out for sure. I see this homeless person almost every day. Technically it lives one town over. Well, technically it lives nowhere. Sometimes it asks me for change and other times it just sits there looking exhausted. The best part is there are two bridges nowhere and it gets to choose which one to hide beneath and bother people. I only have one home where I can do that.
(Remember Pat from SNL? I just did)
The Kid Handing Out Papers:
There’s this kid I always see by the train station handing out papers. At first I thought he was an entrepreneur but then I realized he’s working for some luxury apartment building. The luxury apartments he works for are apparently really nice. I can’t be sure though. I always refrain from making eye contact with him. He works too closely to the homeless thing.
The Friendly Subway Girl with the Nice Butt:
Possibly my favorite person in town is the girl who works at Subway and has a really nice butt. She wears tight black shorts sometimes. Say what? I hate that the counter blocks my view. She’s always very friendly too and smiles a ton. Whenever she serves me I’ll stay there and eat because I have this fantasy that she’ll mop up the floor, bump into me by accident, and somehow we’ll accidentally have sex.
(My future wife getting yelled at for farting on the olives)
The Unfriendly Subway Girl with the Nice Face:
Personally I think this Subway girl has a pretty face. She’s less traditionally beautiful, something I respond well to. While the nice butt girl has a perfect Portuguese face with a nice tan and plucked eyebrows, this unfriendly girl is pale and looks a little insecure. She never smiles or anything. One time I made a joke about how the sandwiches are not really 12 inches. I think I mentioned that on my blog before. She defended Subway when I said it and we only saw each other one time after that again. Well, I saw her. I doubt she saw me. The bushes were high.
The Dunkin Donuts People:
The Dunkin Donuts down the street from me has a unique cast of people working there. Angry Black Guy is okay, friendly fat girl is a doll, round Mexican woman is average, and young Indian guy always seems polite. The only two people I dislike are the two guys whose nationalities are a mystery. I have a feeling they make fun of me. One looks like a tall midget and the other has a face that lets us know he was probably in a car accident. It’s only two or three blocks away so it’s the only Dunkin Donuts I can ever go to. The other one is really far. I would rather get laughed at in Arabic than have to walk an extra mile.
(Sometimes it feels like they’re being as mean and Middle Eastern as this guy)
The QuickChek People:
Quickchek is the place I go the most. Like Dunkin Donuts, it has many people. There is the Arab girl, the friendly fat guy, a lot of tall well-shouldered young Spanish men, a bunch more Spanish girls, guy with a mustache, and my favorite the attractive older Spanish woman with blonde hair. I probably have as much of a shot hooking up with this 45 year old Spanish woman as I do…okay maybe I do have a shot. She works at Quickchek. She might do things for money.
The Old Guy From Dominos:
I don’t go into Dominos ever, but I always see their geriatric delivery man wandering about. I always feel bad for the guy because he’s probably someone’s grandfather. He’s clearly 70 or not far from it and he looks miserable delivering pizzas. I really hope he was a white collar criminal, otherwise his life seems really sad because his coworkers are lesbians with weir tattoos and haircuts.
(He does have a Mr. Burns thing about him other than the whole having money detail)
The Town Crazy Man:
Every town has that one crazy man. My hometown had a guy who would always sit on his porch talking to himself. This new town has this Spanish guy who rides a bike with a giant American flag and a boombox. Sometimes he plays good music too. I’ll see him at all times of the day. Morning, afternoon, and in the middle of the night he’ll be riding around blasting music. His only competition is the guy who stands in front of Quick Check with a giant crucifix. He’s a little less crazy because the second vampires attack he will be prepared with a defense.
The Crazy Old Lady:
I almost forgot about this one until I saw her almost get run over by the Town Crazy Man. The Crazy Old Lady first crossed paths with me one afternoon when she said “hello” and it sent shivers down my spine. She did it again and I was prepared. What’s terrible about her is that she literally looks dead. She’s incredibly pale and it’s just freaky to be around. I saw her litter the other day which totally turned me against her. It was great too because she was about to throw the trash in one place, but decided to throw it somewhere else. Somewhere a Native American is getting ready to hunt her down and scalp her already bald head.
Mooselicker 