Archive for August, 2011

Words I Realized: Prigg

Prigg [prig], n – a strip that separates itself from the bottom of a pant leg; most commonly denim

It keeps getting wet and sandy when I go outside, but it is what it is.  I guess it’s just Mother Nature’s way of hemming my pants.  But what to do with it… therein lies the question.  Do I cut it off with a scissor or let it detach organically?  I clearly can’t just rip the prigg off the jeans, because then I’m gonna peel away the entire centimeter-wide stitched hem at the end and be left with a rugged, uneven pant bottom.  But could that look any worse than this?

Not wanting to be made fun of for his prigg, Duffy inconspicuously tucked the segment of rogue denim into his shoe.  

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

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This Is Confusing…

I realized that some people haven’t quite mastered the use of the no-smoking symbol.  Do you sell gluten-free foods?  Are you against gluten-free food?   Help me out here.

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I Wonder if Dunlop Accounts For These Tennis Balls In Their Sales Projections

How is it possible that we have the technology to transfer money from your savings account to your checking account from a mobile phone, but no one has developed a product that decreases friction between the ground and the leg nubs of a walker?  I am not comfortable with the idea of a frail old man hacking apart pressurized tennis balls with a box cutter in order to enjoy a leisurely stroll to the dermatologist.

Maybe the balls come with the walker… or are available as an add-on in a deluxe package.  But if not, think about the possibilities.  We could sell Walkerballs with pre-drilled nub holes.  And then there’s the opportunity for Custom Designed Walkerballs (“CDWs”) to show off your personality to the world.  New York Yankees CDWs.  Louis Vuitton CDWs.  A pair of CDWs with your grandson’s face on them (like those t-shirts at the mall, but as a CDW).

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Familiar Faces: About To Pop A Pimple

After an enjoyable evening, Bernie admires his milky white face in the restroom.  He spots a whitehead.  She’s fluffy, and she’s ready to burst.  He assumes the position—hunched over the sink, neck craned, chin jutting out to increase skin tension, thereby producing an optimal popping surface.  Bernie’s all business right now.  She doesn’t stand a chance.

Bernie is hoping that she’s a squirter, but he’s skeptical.  He’s been fooled by pimples in the past, having hoped for a light mist to appear on the mirror but instead, settling for a thin, mealy discharge emerging as one long, snake-like piece.

This is the “About to Pop a Pimple” Face.

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When 160 Characters Just Isn’t Enough…

I realized that thanks to smart phones, this is something I no longer have to worry about.

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Words I Realized: Prontz

Prontz [pronts], v, n – the fake run people do to appear as if they are making an effort to move more quickly, however, there is only a marginal increase in speed, if any

I’ll be honest, I appreciate your holding the door-open button for me.  It’s a thoughtful gesture.  But I really had no interest in prontzing over to the elevator. I was perfectly content walking at this pace, but now I have to prontz.   Only a dickhead would just keep on walking, completely inconsiderate of your time.  I mean, I’m not gonna literally sprint over, but I gotta at least make it look like I’m running, son.  I must honor you, the doorholder, with a half-assed quasi-run, and give you my very best “thank you” hand gesture.  This way, you know I care.

Ramon saw Jimmy’s lack of prontzing as a sign of disrespect.  In response, Ramon slaughtered Jimmy.

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

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Next Year In This Bathroom

I realized that this is what all urinals must look like in Jerusalem.

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If I Keep Pointing At The Board, Maybe No One Will Notice

Yes, it’s my fault that I leaned up against the sink in the bathroom, but you were the one who refused to push this meeting back by 10 minutes.  Ten minutes.  Is that so much?  I could have stuck my pants under the hand dryer and then given my presentation on The Economy without this horizontal line of sink water diverting your attention away from my insights (and toward my groin).

What, you don’t believe me?  I promise you this is not urine.  I’m one to admit when I’ve peed myself, but this is not one of those times.  Seriously!  How would I even urinate that pattern onto myself?  It would have to be on purpose, and why would I do that to myself right before my big presentation on The Economy?

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The Boyfriend Chair

“Thank god for this neon pink chair.  It’s the only thing I’ve got going for me right now.  We’ve already spent a good 45 minutes in this miserable boutique, and my lower back, well, let’s just say she’s not doing so good,” thought Milo.

All successful boutiques have one thing in common – a Boyfriend Chair.  Milo needs a comfortable seat to relax since Judy can’t make a purchase without looking at herself from 17 different angles.  We can’t expect Milo to continue standing patiently once Judy moves onto sampling the perfumes.  Milo is a man.  A man with feelings.

Plus, his tender, frail body can only handle so much pacing.  Come on… the guy’s lower back hurts!  He needs a safe haven where he can relax, be comfortable, and at least tolerate his surroundings.

So store owners, provide a chair, even if it’s neon pink.  Milo has already acquiesced to shopping at your store.  You don’t need to rub it in any further.  And Judy, give him some snacks, you selfish cunt.  Or at least a Sudoku.

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How Is This Better Than A Standard Elevated Urinal?

I realized that you shouldn’t pee in a floor-length urinal while wearing sandals.

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Special Thanks To Corey Witt for going into an elementary school to take this photograph.

Words I Realized: Straisel

Straisel [strey-zuh’l], n – sandwich droppings

Do I try to just stuff it back in? I don’t wanna lose all those there pickles, but I also don’t wanna get mayo on my hands. I wonder if the lettuces off in the distance were shrapnel from one particular avalanche of droppings. What to do, what to do… I mean, if a meatball fell out of my meatball hero, I’d obviously shove it back in, but I can probably spare two pickle slices and a glob of off-white mayonnaise.

It was so quiet at the deli that only the intermittent sounds of falling straisel could be heard.

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

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Yeah… You Shouldn’t Bend Like That Anymore

I realized I just saw my boss’s belly.  Great.

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Woe Is Me. Seriously. Woe All Over Me.

No… Please no…. Please be a dream… Please let this be me, waking up in a dream.

Nope.  Not a dream.  This is actually happening.  I forgot to unset my alarm.  I woke up early and got to work on time every day this week.  And now, I’m awake at 7:35 AM on a Saturday.

I was in a great part of my dream, too.  Won’t go into detail on that one, but you’re gonna have to take my word for it.  I could try to fall back asleep, but that’s never as good.  Rays of milky light penetrate the cracks between my blinds.   That, plus now I have to pee.  If I were sleeping, I’d be blissfully numb to these disturbances.  Instead, light is shining in my eyes.

Okay dude, close your eyes.  Enter a state of extreme relaxation.  Deep, rhythmic breaths… IN, two, three, four, OUT, two, three, four, IN, two, three, four, OUT, two—  Shit.  I really do have to pee.  Alright.  White flag.  Surrender.  Time to tend to my bodily functions.

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You Are Not An Intelligent Person.

Wow, buddy.  That walkie-talkie looks awfully similar to a cell phone.  Probably because it is, in fact, a cell phone.  It’s challenging to look like an idiot solely based on cell phone technique, but congrats – you have achieved it.

Ever think about why most people don’t use a phone in this fashion?  Perhaps it’s because cell phones are designed for real-time conversation, allowing you to talk while simultaneously listening to what the other person is saying.  Edward Alphonso Motorola didn’t go through all that trouble for you to be moving the phone back and forth like a dunce.  Rest the phone gently on your face, and breathe normally.

 

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Trying To Slip One By Me??

I realized that, as long as I spent 39 cents per ounce, I can have “unlimited” flavors and toppings. That’s right. There is no limit to how much yogurt I can buy here. They’re not gonna cut me off at, say, 200 ounces of yogurt. As long as I pay them their $78.00.

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