Archive for October, 2011

I Suppose I Can Just Air Dry…

“What can I do to make this restroom as awkward as possible?” thought Calvin, as he studied the blueprints of the bathroom he was just hired to design. “I’ve got it! I will put the paper towel dispenser two-and-a-half feet from the urinal!”

But seriously, what am I supposed to do here? Am I supposed to walk right next to that man, mid-urination? He clearly doesn’t have a strong stream so I have no idea what stage he’s at in this particular urination. I’m sure the last thing he wants to see when he turns around is me, approximately 14 inches from him. It would startle him greatly, for sure. That, and his dick (or some portion of his dick) may still be out. I know that I, for one, will frequently shake, turn around, and then tuck my package back in my pants as I am walking towards the sink, to save valuable time in my day. I can only imagine what I would do if I turned around, dick-in-hand, only to see a large, imposing fellow just inches from me. Talk about ruining a man’s day.

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I’m An Innocent Man

 

My, my, my… that is a lot of urine.  I’d clean it up, but it’s not mine!  It is the urine of another man.

But I’m at a friend-of-a-friend’s house party, and there are a few ladies waiting for the bathroom right now.  They’re out there in the hallway, chatting amongst themselves and waiting to void their respective bladders.  So they’re definitely gonna notice the large central globules of pee, as well as the abundant misty urine on the periphery of the toilet seat, and they’ll probably assume it was me with the runaway urethra.  I now have 3 choices:

  1. Clean up a hearty portion of another man’s filthy urine
  2. Be framed for peeing on the seat when, in fact, my stream was incredibly accurate
  3. Leave the urine where it is, and immediately upon exiting the bathroom, declare loudly that I was not responsible for the drenched toilet seat

Not an enviable position to be in.

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Special Thanks To Corey Witt for thinking about pee often enough to come up with this idea.

Someone Is Gonna Mess This Up And It’s Not Gonna Be Pretty.

Are you serious?  You’re getting into this elevator with only 3 people?  No!!!!  More than 5 people!!  This requires a minimum of 6 people (i.e. more than 5 people).  And using the same metrics as this elevator inspector, that would mean a minimum of 1,250 pounds of human flesh. 

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Words I Realized: Dralic

Dralic [drah-lik], n,v – the position that one brings himself to upon finishing a beverage, wherein the head is tilted back and the container is steeply slanted; the act of doing so

Everyone does this, but it seems so pointless.  I’m no physics expert, but something tells me that you probably could’ve just continued dumping the liquid into your mouth in the same exact fashion as you had been doing up until that final gulp.  I highly doubt you were drinking the bulk of that apple juice with the glass tilted at an aggressive 55 degree incline, and I tend to think that if you lowered the glass to the angle at which you were originally sipping the beverage (i.e. prior to dralicking), the liquid would’ve continued to flow toward your mouth and not just stopped moving.  Just sayin’.

Feeling the need to prove to his friends that he did in fact finish his very first beer, Lawrence brought himself to an exaggerated dralic and held it triumphantly for several seconds.  

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

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What’s Next? Japanese Sushi?

I realized that, with the emergence of Vietnamese tacos, the Mexicans felt the need to distinguish their version of the cuisine they once held a monopoly on.

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By My Calculations, Holy Crap

 

Pretty normal Elevator Inspection Certificate, eh?  I thought so too, which is good considering I live in this building.  Can’t be plummeting to my death in an elevator shaft; I’m way too busy for that.  Good thing the building is so well-maintained.  I can sleep well at night feeling secure in my physical wellbeing.

But I am a little worried about everyone else in the building… and it’s completely non-elevator-related.  See, the maximum weight allowed on this elevator is 1500 lbs, while the maximum number of persons allowed on the elevator at any given moment is 6.  Six.  Seriously.  This assumes an average weight of 250 lbs, and that includes all the children who live in the building with their families.  Only in America.  Either this is a gross overestimation of the average weight of the tenants in my building, or someone needs to sit these people down for a polite but firm conversation about the wonders of salad (and to clarify, I am not talking about a salad like this).

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Maybe We Should Just Go Back To The Conventional, Trigger-Style Flushing System

“Really?  Again?  Come on now.  I have to take a shit.  How many more times can I put down a toilet seat cover, only to watch it get swallowed before I can even pull down my undies?” thought Carlos as he witnessed another failed attempt at protecting his heinie from the evils lurking on the toilet seat.

Maybe this restaurant should consider reducing the sensitivity of its automatic flush sensor.  All Carlos is doing is bending his knees ever so slightly to apply the seat cover.  He’s barely leaning forward, and he’s not even going anywhere near the sensor.  How can this stupid sensor confuse a human being barely leaning forward with a person sitting down for 5-7 minutes with their back six inches from the sensor?

I’m not sure what poor Carlos should be doing here to avoid this problem.  Should he drop the seat cover on the toilet from above and hope it happens to land evenly on the seat?  Is he supposed to hold the seat cover flush against his tush with his butthole poking through the center, and sit down while maintaining a firm grasp on the seat cover throughout the process so as to maximize the chances of proper toilet seat alignment?   Or maybe he should just suck it up and ditch the seat cover, because as we now know, they really are pointless.

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Sometimes, A Name Is More Than Just A Name

 

Damn, Karen.  You have got to change the name of your clinic.

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Words I Realized: Harbitulo

Harbitulo [har-bih-too-loh], n – a piece of necktie that sticks out from underneath a man’s collar

Awww… that poor goofy idiot doesn’t even realize his tie is sticking out.  He’s walking around the office with that smug look, thinking he’s all that, smiling his goofy, idiotic smile at people.  I just wanna be like, “Dude, your fucking tie is sticking out,” but I’m enjoying this.  It’s hilarious.  Why ruin such a simple pleasure?  I mean, if it were me, I guess I’d want someone to let me know that I was embarrassing myself with a spectacularly sizeable harbitulo.  Look at that thing!  He might as well go ahead and un-tuck one side of his shirt while he’s at it.  But at least he’s not this guy.

Immediately before he went on the air, news anchor James Keathings was saved from public disgrace as a production assistant corrected his harbitulo, allowing the collar of his crisp white shirt to cover the entirety of his red, silk power tie.

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

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This Is A Real Thing

I realized that this foreign brewery did not consult any Americans before finalizing its name.

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Special Thanks To Rebecca Perlmutter for ordering this Vergina.

Wonder If They Used These For The Mona Lisa

Gotcha, okay cool.  I just wasn’t sure if these picture hangers were decent or not.  But clearly these things are legit—I mean, they are used by museums and art galleries.  Says so right there on the package.

Let me preface that I am by no means an expert on wall hangings.  But something’s fishy here.  These $11.98 hardware store picture hangers are used by museums and art galleries?  Someone who is opening a MUSEUM says to himself, “Well, we’ve already invested hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars on art, so we’re a bit over budget.  I know!  Let’s save some money by going to the local hardware store and hanging these priceless works of art with bargain-basement All Purpose & Professional Picture Hangers.”

You seriously get 61 pieces for $11.98.   That’s less than 20 cents per piece. Half a handful of stale, butt-nasty gumball machine cashews cost 25 cents, and we’re supposed to believe that actual museums spend less than that on each hanging fixture?  Nuh uh.

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It’s Cheaper Than Waxing…

 

How have we not come up with a better product for proving to a bouncer that one has already been inside a club, concert, or what have you?  I mean, sure, we have those ink stamps, but sometimes, a brother wants to shake his creamy, white butt inside a hot concert venue, which raises his body temperature.  Naturally, his hands get sweaty, which smudges the stamp, rendering it useless and necessitating the use of something sturdier.

But come on, dude, why this sticky paper bracelet?  Regardless of the experience level of the bouncer, my arm hair always, ALWAYS, get caught in these things.  And it stings, okay?  It stings.  I will say, however, that ripping these off my arm at the end of the night is kinda fun.  I like to tear it clean off, screaming like a barbarian while I do.  Makes a man feel good, know what I mean?

Let’s Show That We Appreciate Our Customers By Giving Them Extra Cream Cheese. They Are Sure To Appreciate Our Generosity.

 

I realized that some bagel shop employees neglect the size and thickness of the bagel they are cream cheesing.

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Words I Realized: Mellup

Mellup [mel-lip], n – the liquid remnants from a beverage resting on a surface

The anatomy of this particular mellup is intriguing.  The left hemisphere is a wide and girthy puddle, while the right side includes numerous scattered islands, somewhat resembling Japan.  The worst is when you rest your wrist on a significantly sized, newly deposited mellup and your sleeve absorbs a good half-ounce of cold beverage.  What’s even worse is if it wasn’t your drink that spawned the mellup.  I hate walking up to a bar and dipping my sleeve in someone else’s skanky mellup.  Now I have to spend a good 35-40 minutes feeling someone random person’s cold liquid on the inner side of my wrist.

Tabitha was irate to find out that someone had rested an iced coffee on the stool on which she was just sitting, resulting in a noticeable mellup on her tush. 

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

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What? They Don’t Also Give Away Tennis Lessons?

I realized this is the only place in the world that offers these three particular free items.  I’ve seen places with just free flu shots, and I’ve seen places with both free flu shots and free massages… but never with free Master Chef soup & snacks.  Never all three at once.

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