Archive for July, 2011

Familiar Faces: I’m Peeing In The Ocean

“It’s okay… no one’s looking.  I can totally pull this off”, thought the ocean urinator, while boldly peeing into the ocean.  “Stay calm.  Look like I’m just hanging out.  Minding my business.  Just enjoying the ocean.”

Buddy, I’m looking, and I can tell that you’re peeing.  Three key indicators:  Eyes gazing off into the distance, trying to create a façade of relaxation.  Arms slightly bent off to the side because you really don’t know what else to do with them. Openmouthed wincing grin, resulting from the gratification derived from drainage of the bladder, while at the same time, wondering if particles from the ocean are getting inside his peehole.  I mean, his urethra is obviously spread wide open since he’s peeing.  It’s a valid concern.

This is the “I’m Peeing in the Ocean” Face.

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They’re Not Dead. They’re Just Resting Their Eyes.


I realized that homeless dogs have similar sleeping methods to homeless humans.

Screw you, don’t judge me.

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Words I Realized: Turgoy

Turgoy [tur-goi], n – a stain in one dipping sauce from another dipping sauce

Great.  Dunk your mayonnaise-slathered fries in the ketchup.  That makes sense.  Ya know, considering how “everyone” likes mayonnaise on their fries, it totally it makes sense that you should vandalize the ketchup.  Dick.  Maybe you should try this — dunk mayo on one end of the fry, flip it, and then ketchup the other end.  Your body will never know the difference.  I mean, come on.  What if we were eating Mexican food?  Would you be that guy who leaves my liquidy salsa with floating chunks of viscous sour cream and guacamole?  You’d probably use the same knife and leave streaks of peanut butter in the jelly too.  You might even be one of those motherfuckers that leaves tuna in the mayonnaise.  Which is really fucked up.

Seeking the perfect mouthful to finish his Buffalo wing appetizer, Carlitos targeted the accumulation of Buffalo sauce in his blue cheese dressing and gathered the turgoy on his celery stalk.

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

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Alas, The Wait Is Over…


I realized that www.spandexworld.com finally opened up a retail location.

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People Who Voluntarily Paint Themselves Like Statues

“Hey, Carol!  You gotta come over here and see this!  This guy painted himself completely silver and is standing really still!” exclaimed Stan.

Question:  Do you think this guy waits until nobody is around to get into position?  Or is he just a guy painted silver, amid rush hour traffic, that walks over to a prominent position near a pillar and then just, ya know, stops?

There are too many people standing there and watching.  The guy is standing still.  That’s it.  He’s not moving.  He’s not gonna do anything other than not move.  You know this.  Is this really worthy of stopping to watch?  If someone’s not moving, MAYBE it’s worthy of a quick glance to confirm that he is, in fact, not moving.  But come on… really.  Just… come on.

If this guy were in a movie, I wonder if he’d want to be credited as something cool like Starlight, or by his birth name, Neil Jeffries.  Yes, we’re assuming this man’s name is Neil Jeffries.  Can you prove his name is not Neil Jeffries?

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The Buzzer Buffer

If you have ever lived in an apartment with a buzzer, you’re familiar with this.  If not, I’ll explain.  Visitors enter the building by buzzing up to your apartment, and then you push a button to open the outside door.  You then know that you have a specific amount of time before the visitor reaches your door to do any last minute preparations.  You may need to throw on a shirt or clean something up.  Or hide something.  You grow accustomed to your buzzer buffer.  You rely on it.

Now, suppose the visitor bypasses the buzzer because he is granted access to the building by a third party exiting the building.  Like some random heroin addict exiting the building.  Or some random slut exiting the building.  Anyway, your unannounced visitor just walks to your door and knocks, eliminating your buzzer buffer.  You panic.  There may not even be anything incriminating in the apartment at all… or you might be butt naked, doing pilates.

So do me (and yourselves) a favor, and buzz up.  Or else you’re definitely going to see me ass naked, doing fucking pilates.

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“In Case You Were Curious, I Am Going To Be Defecating”

I realized that if I am going #2 in this restroom, I must declare my intentions before physically entering the stall.

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Words I Realized: Moatstaff

Moatstaff [moht-staf], n – the discolored apex of a banana, which is customarily removed prior to consumption

You sure you’re gonna throw away those banana thumbtacks?  Wow.  Okay, guy.  Way to be a Wasteful Waldo.  May wanna reconsider, ya know, considering all that you can do with a stockpile of moatstaffs.  Make iced moatstaff tea to take with you on a picnic.  Encourage your kids to stay off the streets and instead, play Pin The Moatstaff On The Donkey.  At a local mall, an artisan makes a living running a “Your Name Engraved on a Moatstaff” kiosk.

Thinking outside of the box, Freddy served his guests chocolate covered moatstaffs with their coffee.

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

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Obese Sushi

I realized that this sushi really let itself go around the waistline. It gives a whole new meaning to the term “fatty tuna”.  I mean, look… there’s a fork sitting right there. This was beyond the capacity of traditional chopsticks.

Chopsticks could not handle this.

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Special Thanks To Corey Witt for risking looking like a weirdo in a sushi restaurant by taking this photo.

No Need To Read This E-Mail

So they now offer a feature where you are able to label your outgoing e-mails as “low importance”?   Ummmmmm… okay.  I get unimportant e-mails all the time.  In fact, I’d venture to say that the vast majority of e-mails I receive are, in fact, low importance e-mails.  It’s just that no one ever discloses beforehand that they are sending a low importance e-mail.

Seriously though, if you think about it, this is a pointless feature.  By default, e-mails are not assigned an importance level, and if your e-mail really were so unimportant, you’d just casually send it without even bothering to check off its importance.  If you are willing to put in the effort of assigning an importance level to your e-mail in the first place, the e-mail must at least be of SOME importance.  So essentially, e-mails that have a low importance designation may, in fact, have more importance than emails with no importance indicator.  Conversely, most people send e-mails of high importance without necessarily indicating a high importance level.  So ultimately, your unlabeled e-mails could either be of high importance or no importance whatsoever, and the low importance e-mails are, in fact, of modest importance.  You, sir, have failed.

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Special Thanks To Craig Cohen for exploring the many ins and outs of his e-mail program.

Occupational Hazard: China

Coagulated egg white suspended in an eggy yellow chowder.  I’m just gonna repeat that more slowly for effect: Eggy. Yellow. Chowder.

Egg drop soup stands its ground.  Go ahead, try peeling the globular solid from your shirt.  You may be able to pick off that big guy in the middle, but the smaller morsels are gonna linger, leaving trace bits.  Trace eggy bits.  So what do you do?  You brush them on the floor.  Then what happens?  A toy poodle eats the bits and gets salmonella poisoning.  Then the poodle runs around your apartment, uncontrollably leaking, ya know, doodie all over your shoes, laptop, and expensive alpaca rug.  All because you insisted on having Chinese for dinner.  Next time, do yourself a favor and toss the shirt.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but fuck off, it could happen.

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Let’s Not Get Ahead Of Ourselves…

I realized that some ATMs can be a bit presumptuous.

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Words I Realized: Leedis

Leedis [lee-dis], n – a piece of soft matter buried deeply within the crevice where one’s toenail meets the skin

Leedis is gross.  I’m not denying that.  It’s the congealed byproduct of consistently wearing dress socks on a hot day.  But if I spot a sizable build-up of leedis, it’s on.  You better believe I’m gonna carve very carefully to remove that son of a bitch in one piece.  There’s something oddly satisfying about chiseling out a heaping portion of leedis from your big toe.  It’s borderline triumphant.  And I play with my leedis after I remove it.  I do.  But I have zero interest in fucking around with small crumbs of leedis.  None whatsoever.

Juan’s mom expressed concern when she noticed the large, bloodlike discoloration in her son’s big toe, but breathed a sigh of relief when he explained that the spot was in fact red leedis from his favorite Christmas socks.

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

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Say What?

I realized that they should seriously consider changing the name to “G and Y Deli”.

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A Germophobe’s Guide To Handling Life: The Coffee Shop Coffee Lid Technique


Seriously? You really think I’m gonna use the top lid from the stack for my coffee? The one that’s been shielding all the other lids from the dangers of breathable air? You’re literally delusional if you think I’m gonna put my delicious, disease-free lips around the mouth hole of a lid that’s been exposed to dangerous infiltrations of sputum and sputum-like materials.

I mean, really! The guy with the lisp is standing right over there and with each word he utters, his thick, moist upper-lip is propelling saliva-infested foamy milk all over these here lids. You think I’m gonna take the one that’s been absorbing all of that? No! I’m peeling back a few lids, son! I’m going at least six lids deep for added freshness. You know, to the one that hasn’t been tainted by lispy spit-milk.

What, like you’re so perfect?

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