Archive for April, 2011

Don’t Let Impotence Ruin Your Sex Life

I realized that you shouldn’t let impotence ruin your sex life… just smush it in there while it’s flaccid.

Coffee Shop Tough Guy

“Yeah, give me one of those, uh, caramel maccha… mocchi… mo-cah-lah-do things.”

It’s pronounced “macchiato”, sir, and I know you know this because you order that drink all the time.  You hear the barista declare that beverage regularly with proper elocution, so you can drop the tough guy act for five minutes, especially considering you just ordered the Starbucks equivalent of an apple-tini.

Look, I don’t have a problem with the caramel macchiato itself.  It’s a perfectly fine beverage.  All I’m saying is that if you’re going to order one, stand by your selection. Don’t be like that guy who goes into a bagel shop and shouts, “I’ll have a bacon, egg, and cheese”, but secretly slips the guy behind the counter a note that reads, “Ignore what I just said.  Please give me a scooped-out, whole-wheat bagel with non-fat cream cheese, but when you hand it to me, please audibly say, ‘Bacon, egg, and cheese’.  Thank you.”

Words I Realized: Tagerleaf

tagerleaf [tey-guhr-leef], n, plural tagerleaves [tey-guhr-leevz] – the remains of a  spent bar of soap

I can’t bring myself to throw you out.  You were good to me over the past week.  You cleaned me.  You made my skin soft.  You touched my genitalia.  And for that, I am very grateful.  So what if you no longer produce a reasonable amount of lather?  No biggie.  You’re safe with me.  I’d rather let you dissolve peacefully in a proper soap dish.  Rest in peace, old friend.

Honey, I’m going to have to ask you to please stop running that tagerleaf up and down my butt crack, pretending it’s a credit card.  It was funny the first 10 times, but now it’s really annoying.

Wait, tagerleaf?? I don’t get it… Can you explain?

Really Direct Neon Signs

I realized that this place does not serve African sushi.

The Appendix of the Elevator

I think it’s totally possible that door-close buttons aren’t even hooked up to the elevator.  The door has to close anyway.  Just like the button at a crosswalk… the traffic light inevitably changes, but did you impact it at all by fingering that skanky button?  Probably not, and on top of that, you almost certainly just contracted asthma.

In conclusion, door-close buttons are like The Male Nipple—small, round, and 1-inch in diameter.  The Male Nipple can be rubbed, fondled and/or pressed, but ultimately, it only serves decorative purposes.  Also, don’t touch the button at a crosswalk (on account of contracting asthma).

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