Archive for November, 2011

Words I Realized: Flague

 

flague [fleyg], n – a smile involving both the top and bottom teeth

Look at Buffalo Bills running back, CJ Spiller.  Just look at him.  That is one happy man.  You know how I know?  The gigantic smile.  Unabashed.  Free.  Just expressing his feelings by showing you at least 30 of his teeth.  As joyous as it looks, I can’t help but think that this facial position has to be a little uncomfortable.  It definitely requires effort.  The majority of the smiling world only shows upper teeth during a standard expression of glee, while another significant minority shows no teeth at all, relying instead on a tense, closed-lipped grin.  But not CJ Spiller, ladies.  He will smile the shit out of you.

“Sweet flague, Chuck!” said Wesley, while admiring Chuck’s spirited top-and-bottom-toothed smile during a game of badminton.

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

Comment->

Maybe There Are 20 Minutes Of Commercials?

I realized that Chuck Norris is not bound by conventional time measures.

Comment->

Special Thanks To Craig Cohen for always seeking alternative methods of exercise.

Can’t Wait For Three Weeks From Now!!!

I hate wet socks, but they’re inevitable when you’re navigating through these cold and syrupy slush puddles that invariably render useless the curb cuts of New York and other cities worldwide.  The insides of your shoes become gelatinous, and your feet become pruned and clammy.  Your room smells like wet bread when you take off your shoes.  No good.

But alas, you must sometimes ford these rivers.  Seek out pre-existing foot depressions (a.k.a. other people’s footprints), and use the Small Object Toss Test (“SOTT”) as needed, to determine the depth of any particular slush patch.  That questionable Tootsie Roll you took from the dry cleaners will work perfectly.  Beware of positive SOTT results (i.e. the object sinks), as these indicate that we should seek an alternative route.

Do a SOTT, and don’t be afraid to confer with your peers.  If you do a SOTT, tell the next guy you did a SOTT.  There’s no need to perform two SOTTs.  How would you feel if the guy in front of you did a SOTT and just peaced?  Exactly, you’d feel disrespected.

Comment->

That Is A Girthy Turkey

Enjoy Thanksgiving and Black African American Friday.  Back Monday.

Words I Realized: Narence

Narence [nahr-uh’ns], n – a sentence spoken to break up an awkward silence

I can only stand for so long in close proximity to a person and not say anything.  The problem is when I really have nothing to say.  Yes, we’re both by the coffee machine, and yes, I know who you are, but I have nothing whatsoever to offer at this juncture.  You may be perfectly content in this unpleasant situation; however, I am not.  So, I’ll throw out a narence.  Maybe I’ll say, “It’s a bit chilly in here,” or perhaps I’ll even use a “Man, I’m tired.”  One thing’s for certain – I’m gonna say something, and it’s definitely not gonna add any value.

Having mistaken Larry’s innocent narence for a come-on, Regina reported him to the head of the company for sexual harassment, and Larry (although sincerely just bullshitting about whether or not it was hot in the office) was subsequently fired, which resulted in him being out of work for seven years, being unable to pay for his son Zander’s college education, and Zander’s downward spiral into meth addiction.  All because of that innocent narence.  

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

Comment->

I’m Sure The Producers Of “Puss In Boots” Would Be Happy About This…

 

Ahhh…. Decisions, decisions…

Comment->

Special Thanks To Ryan McGrath for having a depraved sense of humor, much like us.

Familiar Faces: “Do I Know You?”

That dude right there looks vaguely familiar… I think.  Hmmm.  Yes.  Pretty sure he used to date this tall girl who lived down the hall from me freshman year…

I’m like 65% sure it’s him, which are pretty good odds, but not good enough to make me feel comfortable approaching him with an unabashed greeting of recognition.  Plus, even if it’s him, I don’t remember if his name is Steve or Greg.  I’m 90% sure it’s either Steve or Greg, but have no idea which one.  Shit, maybe it’s actually Craig.  And let’s not forget, there’s always the remaining 10% chance that I have absolutely no idea what his name is and, admittedly, a 35% chance I don’t know who he is altogether.  Clearly, I am not positioned to dole out an emphatic greeting.

But I don’t want to be rude, in case he noticed me evaluating him and firmly recognizes me as that dude who lived down the hall from his tall ex-girlfriend freshman year.  Without the confidence to speak up at first, I flash him this lopsided squinty half-smile, thereby communicating that I think I might know him but am not entirely sure, but don’t want to be rude in the event that it’s him.  I might even stick my index finger up in the air, not quite pointing at him, but enough in his direction that if he recognizes me, he will know the point was meant for him.  He’ll totally get it.

This is the “Do I Know You?” Face.

Comment->

Can You Pull Over At The Next Starbucks?

“You should’ve gone before we left the house,” said Pamela, as she listened to her son Philip nag about having to go to the bathroom 5 minutes after the two got in the car.

In theory, there has to be a moment when one first realizes that he has to pee.  That is, there must be a specific moment in time during which the onset of the “I have to pee” sensation occurs.  If that moment happens to be five minutes after Philip and Pamela left the house, it sucks, but that’s just the way it is.  Philip didn’t know he had to pee when he was home.  Is Pamela trying to insinuate that she is more in tune with her own excretory system than Philip is with his?  Because let me tell you, Philip is a man who understands the intricacies of his bladder.  Philip cannot make his urethra predict the future.  His privates aren’t going to glow orange 30 minutes ahead of time to indicate that his bladder is nearing capacity.  That’s just silly.

So next time you’re in the car with a buddy and he has to pee soon after you’ve left, remember the last time you had to pee.  And then remember how you felt five minutes prior to that.  You didn’t have to pee, did ya?  See where I’m going with this?

Comment->

Special Thanks To Corey Witt for leaving the house with a full bladder so his wife Samantha could take a realistic looking photograph for us.

Ummm….. No It’s Not?

I realized that some product manufacturers are clearly biased.

Comment->

Words I Realized: Blarge

 

blarge [blahrj], n, plural blarge – the immensely relieving onslaught of flatulence emitted after a period of several uncomfortable hours, during which one could not release said flatulence

You can’t just openly rip one in the middle of a staff meeting or a religious service or a small-group seminar for one of your classes.  Gotta clench down there until you can get some privacy, preferably outdoors and at least 100 feet away from any other person, as a precautionary measure for noisy blarge.  This blarge doesn’t necessarily smell bad, and it doesn’t absolutely have to be loud, although let’s be honest, ladies – it often is.  Anyway, what’s most remarkable about blarge is the sheer volume of gas expelled during each individual bout of it.  You can actually feel your abdomen deflating.  It’s pretty amazing, like a miracle of modern science or something.  Fart science.  Booya, son!  I just invented fart science.

The morning after a night of passionate intercourse, Roger waited anxiously for Phyllis to leave his apartment.  Once his front door closed and the dust had settled, Roger let loose thunderous blarge that woke up his roommate. 

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

Comment->

Special Thanks To Rebecca Perlmutter for thinking of a word that sounds disgusting enough to work for this.

Gotta Love Amenities…

 

“Yes, hello, I’m calling in response to your apartment listing.  That neighborhood is exactly where I want to live, the newly renovated kitchen looks great, and I’m very impressed with the price considering it’s a doorman building.  But does it have a nuclear fallout shelter?”

Comment->

The Women’s Restroom Conundrum

“Well, this is certainly a dilemma,” thought Julian, as he stood alone in the single-occupancy women’s restroom and heard a knock at the door.  When he saw the men’s room occupied and the women’s room available, he didn’t see a problem quickly using the women’s room.  After all, it was a single person restroom.  That knock, however, changed everything.

See, Julian is a very considerate guy.  Sure, he was using the women’s restroom, but he was very respectful of their space.  As his mother always taught him, lift the seat before your stream, and put it down or else it’s mean.  Julian did just that, lowering the seat to its original position post-urination, but now, the knock complicates things.  Julian already responded to the knock with a simple “Just a minute…” so the female knocker already knows that she’s waiting, undeservedly, for a man.  Now, Julian has a decision to make:

1. If he leaves the seat upright and erect, the woman is going to enter and think Julian is an asshole.  I mean, she has every right to think that.  First, he illegally uses the woman’s room.  Then, he doesn’t even have the decency to lower the seat.  Julian = asshole.

2. If he leaves the seat lowered, as he had always been taught to do, he also runs the risk of being perceived as a jerk.  There is a very good chance that the woman enters the restroom, sees the seat is down, and then assumes that Julian never lifted the seat to begin with.  Clearly she already sees Julian in a negative light… after all, his impatience resulted in her waiting an extra 48 seconds before being able to empty her bladder and/or large intestine.  Now, she walks in, only to see the seat down.  In her mind, it’s obvious that Julian the Jerk never lifted the seat to begin with.  Clearly, he tried to aim his stream through the center of the seat, and surely he must have sprinkled a few drops at the very least.  Even if there are no large visible droplets, there must at least be a bit of tertiary mist on the seat.  Julian = asshole.

So what to do?  How about just waiting patiently until the men’s room frees up.  Otherwise, you’re liable to be hated by every woman at the bar.

Comment->

WIR “Sports” Commentary: Matt Spaeth

 

Announcer:  Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Chicago Bears Tight End, #89 Matt Spaeth.

Crowd:  Yeah!!! WOOHOO!!!!

Announcer:  When I say, “Matt!”, you say, “Spaeth!”   Matt!

Crowd:  [confusion] Huh?  Wait, what?

When Matt Spaeth tells someone his name, how often do you think the other person thinks he said “Space” with a lisp?  He probably gets called “Matt Space” a lot, due to this particular misunderstanding.  There’s also probably a contingency of people out there that thinks Matt Spaeth has a lisp.  Maybe he does actually have a lisp too.  Let’s say, hypothetically, that Matt Spaeth has a lisp.  That’d be a hilariously uncomfortable situation… a several-minute-long conversation where the other person (let’s say it’s a shy but full-bosomed young lady in a bar named Gloria, who teaches 6th grade social studies and smells really nice) has to admit to Matt Spaeth that she’s not sure if he’s saying “Space” or “Spaeth”, since he has a lisp.  I’m sure she’d try to be nice about it by using delicate language, but it would still probably hurt his feelings a little.  Then again, he’s probably gotten used to his lisp by now, so maybe he’d just laugh it off, buy them another round of drinks, and end the night with a tongue-less but very heated kiss on the lips.  That’s the Matt Spaeth we all know and love.

Wait, actually, let’s go back to that hypothetical lisp scenario for a second.  If she knew he had a lisp before she asked him for his last name, she’d probably just assume his name is Matt Space and not even bother trying to clarify because that’s an extremely awkward question to have to ask.  She’d go on with her life, thinking she just passionately kissed a very romantic pro football player with a lisp named Matt Space.

Comment->

Whatever Happened To A Good Ole Fashioned Referral From A Friend?

So… I guess this is how dentists are attracting new patients nowadays?  Either that, or I am clearly underestimating the number of people who need a spontaneous root canal.

Comment->

Words I Realized: Rhettin

 

rhettin [ret-in], n – lingering warmth left on a seat by its previous occupant

I strongly dislike having to sit in other people’s residual butt warmth.  Not sure why I’m so turned off by it.  Maybe it’s because it brings me unnecessarily close to characteristics of my friend’s tooshie that I’m just not that interested in. Maybe it’s because the balmy feel of rhettin against my backside reminds me that this particular patch of warmth came from deep inside another person.  My friend Tom is a great guy.  I very much enjoy his company.  But I don’t really want to be warmed by the visceral heat from his booty.

Sophie had an unhealthy obsession with Carlton.  This was evident when she buried her face in the sofa to soak up his rhettin when he got up to get a Diet Peach Snapple.

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

Comment->

%d bloggers like this:
Skip to toolbar