Archive for May, 2011

The Razor Blade Protection Initiative

I realized that some stores are a tad overprotective of their razor blade inventory. Seriously? You’re gonna lock them up in a vault? “Go ahead and steal the batteries, Brita filters, and 30-packs of at-home pregnancy tests” said the Rite Aid manager, “but you will NOT walk around all clean-shaven without paying for it.”




Merry Memorial Day!

Happy Memorial Day! What are you guys doing for Memorial Day? Huh? A barbecue? You seeing some friends? Drinking? We were going to go to our buddy’s house for a barbecue or a crawfish boil or something, but that didn’t pan out because he said something about it being cancelled or something. Soooooo, we’re just sitting here… on Memorial Day, just enjoying each other’s company. On Memorial Day. Looks like we’ll be here for the foreseeable future, unless, ya know, you want to invite us to whatever it is you’re doing. Because it’s Memorial Day. Time for friendship and camaraderie and trust and stuff. No pressure. Alrighty.

A Germophobe’s Guide To Handling Life: The Protective Sleeve Technique

The Protective Sleeve Technique is a versatile tactic utilized by germophobes of all skill levels. Even beginners can make use of this approach to brave that doorknob in the gas station bathroom.    But be subtle about it.   Gaze off into the distance to divert the attention of onlookers, and as an added security measure, wet your face, thereby focusing attention away from the enclosed hand.

Expert germophobes apply this craft in unlikely scenarios—pushing crosswalk buttons, driving a rental car, or shaking hands with someone who generally appears clammy; instead, give him a fistful of fabric.

The Protective Sleeve Technique can also be employed during random sexual encounters. Want to limit physical contact with that gross slob at the bar that you didn’t necessarily intend to go home with?  Leave your coat on, partner!  Use your wool sleeves to caress her buttocks or to take a firm grasp of his pulsating cock.  I mean, they’re probably too drunk to notice the difference anyway, especially if they haven’t said anything about you leaving your coat on.



Cutting Corners

I realized that, instead of taking the garbage out, my roommate just creates new garbages.



Words I Realized: Scrag

Scrag [sk-ræg], n – One or more stray pubic hairs resting on a surface, such as a bar of soap, urinal, or toilet

There are many variables that define any particular collection of scrag.  Curl. Length.  Color.  Amount.  You may wonder how it wound up there.  Was this person sitting or standing?  Which body part did this come from?  And perhaps most importantly, did these all come from the same source, or am I dealing with a cocktail?

Dude, I think I need to break up with Carol.  You wouldn’t believe how much scrag she caked onto my soap.

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



Ridiculous, Sorta Racist Porno Title

I realized that apparently, “Oh No! There’s a Negro in my Wife” Volumes 1-3 were so successful that making the fourth DVD was a logical move.



Dressing my own Salad

I hate having to dress my own salad.  I’m just no good at it.   Sure, anyone can just “pour dressing on a salad”.  It’s distribution and proper mixing where I fall short.  In this instance, I was blessed with a plastic container, which greatly increases my likelihood of achieving some semblance of an evenly dressed salad. But put me in a buffet line, and I‘m hopeless.  You’re telling me I have to dress a small portion of salad on my flat plate without getting runoff vinaigrette all over my manicotti?

And somehow, all the dressing manages to accumulate onto one piece of cucumber, so I’m forced to rub that cucumber all over the naked greens, painting them with dressing, like I’m some sort of big fat idiot.




It’s (Not) The End Of The World As We Know It…

I realized it’s completely unnecessary to inform everyone that you’re still alive because the whole “end-of-the-world” thing was fictional.



Overcrowded Single-Occupancy Men’s Room

I think you’ve got the whole human waste disposal thing taken care of with the toilet. There’s really no reason you need to bring an auxiliary urinal into the equation just because it’s the men’s room. Looks like the owner of this bar wants to segregate bodily wastes at all costs… he must be a part of the whole “uro-fecal segregation” movement I’ve been hearing so much about.

“If you have to shit, fine, use the toilet,” said the Owner. He continued, “But if you have to pee, do NOT use the toilet. Urinal’s to the left. And don’t even think about dropping off a combo platter into this toilet. You know the deal—urinate to left, defecate to the right. Go back and forth 6 times if you have to, I don’t fucking care. Even if you squeeze out a few and then need to pee a little more, stand up, do your business in the urinal, retreat to the toilet. Everyone knows you can’t mix urine and feces in the same toilet. Are you fucking nuts? You wanna kill everyone in here?”




Thanks for Clarifying…

I realized that someone got a little trigger-happy with the label maker.




Words I Realized: Daylis

Daylis [dey-lis], n – a food item that has become oversaturated with dipping sauce due to the mishandling of said item during sauce application

No, no seriously, that’s fine.  Go ahead and stick your rancid, saliva-covered fingers into the nacho cheese that we’re SHARING, so you can fish out your broken-off chip shard.  We wouldn’t want you to lose half a chip, now would we?  Better to put your fingers in my cheese.  Next time I’m at your place for a barbecue, I’m going to intentionally drop a cherry tomato in the ranch dressing, but I’m going to make it look like an accident.  “Oops, haha.  Slippery little bugger. I’ll grab it out of the dressing right after I unpack those vials of HIV-positive blood samples.”

After eating yet another daylis, Forrest finally surrendered his chopsticks and ate the sushi with a fork.

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



Men Pages

I realized that if you want to go to, but mistype it as, you might wind up accidentally looking at gay porn.  For 20 minutes.



Word Verification Interpretation

Okay, I literally have no idea how to even begin deciphering this. Chraphyisi?  Diroxylusi?  What’s the point of this exactly… to make sure that no one is able to use your website?  You’re gonna go out of business, not because people don’t want your tickets, but because people are physically incapable of ordering them.  Are you trying to prevent computer programs from creating thousands of accounts and buying up all your tickets?  Why is that a bad thing?  YOU’RE SELLING ALL YOUR TICKETS.

Oh, and apparently, the letters are not case-sensitive.  Gee, thanks for the help!  I can leave the shift key out of this one.  It’s just me and the alphabet.




Dealing with a Wet Face

We’ve all been there. You’re at a party and you get a little overheated.  You make your way into the restroom and rinse off your face.  Then, it hits you.  Either I’m walking out there with a dripping wet face, or I’m going to suck it up and use the moist, limp hand towel that everyone’s been using all night.

Let’s examine the alternatives.  You can exit the bathroom with a clammy face and explain to everyone outside the restroom that you are damp, not because you were over-exerting yourself in the bathroom, but because you didn’t want to use the soiled hand towel to dry your face.  You could also chance it with the toilet paper and try to not leave debris stuck to your chin (below).

You decide to swallow your pride and grab that hand towel.  The terry-cloth is damp and cool to the touch.  You think to yourself, “Who was just in the bathroom before me?”  With each passing wipe, your face is drier, but you can’t help but feel dirtier than you did before.  But hey, at least you don’t have toilet paper on your face.




Misleading Product Names

I realized that a pedometer not only counts how many steps you take, but also sounds like a tool used to measure your likelihood of… ya know… being attracted to small children.




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