If you think these people are simply standing at random along the subway platform, you are sorely mistaken. Take for example this woman up front in the tan jacket and the exquisitely attractive army-green boa (let’s caller her Claudette). Claudette knows that by standing precisely where she is (i.e., beneath the “L” sign), not only will she be directly in front of the door when the train arrives, but she will also be closest to the escalator when the doors open at her destination. Further supporting my hypothesis about Claudette is the fact that at this particular station, there is only one exit, and it is at the other end of the platform (note the exit sign in the distance). Claudette clearly didn’t walk the length of the station just because she felt like it. She did so because she is an efficient woman. I mean, look at her…
Archive for April, 2012
“You know what, guys? I really like Andrea.”
“Yeah! I think I’m going to ask her to go steady. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, man. I heard Andrea has a pretty serious boyfriend.”
She does, friend. She does. The question is, what the hell does that even mean? “Serious boyfriend” could mean two very different things: Is their relationship serious, as in longstanding, intense and very sexual? Or is her boyfriend serious, as in somber and reflective (like the grey-sweatshirted gentleman pictured above)?
If it’s the latter, then I think I have a chance. Sure, I’m a jokester, but I’ve got a serious side too. I can talk about world issues and the economy and shit, like a serious boyfriend does. I can sit there and look miserably pensive while everyone else is having a blast. No problem. Gotta figure out which version of “serious boyfriend” I’m dealing with.
Just thought I’d throw that conundrum out there. Mull it over, na’mean?
Special Thanks To Meta Weiss, Dave Requiro and Tobin Low for posing for this photo… and, of course, the reach-arounds that ensued immediately after.
Glain [gleyn], n – the protective plastic covering on consumer products
Ya, that makes sense. Instead of just putting the wires directly in the box, you should first wrap each one individually in plastic. And while you’re at it, go ahead and drop all the instruction manuals and pamphlets into individual baggies as well. Wouldn’t want these items to get damaged while securely in a box. This here wire is clearly very fragile and in need of a micrometer of cushioning. Yes, this wire can be unwound and wrapped around desk without any problems, but for heaven’s sake, do NOT just put it loosely in a box.
At the world championships, Roye Moskotov of Serbia removed the glain from 49 DVDs in one minute.
You ever see one of these buttons on a website and think they’re talking about a competition to see who can take the largest dump?
Alright, I’ve finished constructing the usual pointless public restroom toilet paper “barrier,” and now it’s time to get down to business. The difficult part is over. Really not much more for me to do; the body just kinda takes over at this point. You know how that goes, ladies and gentlemen.
But wait! Two people just entered the bathroom. Noooooo! I’d rather be alone for the initial, potentially loud phase of the removal process. Guess I’ll just hold it for a minute and wait till they leave. Don’t wanna make a scene, ya know? I have to see these people everyday.
Ya know what? Screw it. These guys are taking too long. I’ll just throw caution to the wind and deploy the vessel. I mean, the other bathroom occupants don’t know who’s in this stall, so it’s safe to proceed with this atrocity, right? They’ll have no idea who did this to them. I almost feel bad, but not really. Aaaaaaand… NOW! Hahahaha, suckers… take that.
Oh, crap… my blue sneakers with yellow laces are not very stealthy. I could easily be recognized later on! Should I torch the shoes to get rid of the evidence? Probably gonna be paranoid about this for a while. Terrific.
I’ve never been so unhappy to see an influx of people emerging from the ground. I definitely just missed the subway. I knew I shouldn’t have gone back into my bedroom to change jackets. Even as I was doing it, I thought to myself, “Gosh, it would really suck if this extra 45 seconds resulted in me missing the train”. Well, my friends, it cost me a train … Or did it?
If ever in this situation, you have to react quickly. You must decide if you are going to exert yourself and physically barrel down the stairs for the chance to catch the train as it idles in the station prior to departing. Assess density of the heard of subway riders walking up the stairs. If you see what looks to be a nearly impenetrable flock of straphangers, this may actually be your best shot, because it means the train just pulled in. Just realize what you’re getting yourself into. If you’re gonna make this happen, you need to be aggressive. So now you must ask yourself one question – are you gonna be that guy?
Damn… I just walk to get from place to place.
fargle [fahr-guhl], n – a booger that will not get off your hand, no matter how hard you try
The gooey consistency and liquidy mucus patches provide this particular type of booger with extra clinging strength. Every time I try to flick it, the son of a bitch sticks to my middle fingernail. Enough is enough. He’s been a worthy adversary, but it’s time to end this saga. Gonna have to go all-out and resort to wiping it on the wall. No big deal. This ain’t my first rodeo. Besides, boogers get wiped on walls all the time, right? Right, guys? Guys?
Roger spent a solid twenty-four minutes battling a stubborn fargle on the subway ride to work. Totally worth it.
I did not need to be told that. Definitely wasn’t planning a picnic on the railroad tracks.
“I’m obviously not turning on the light,” thought Sebastian. “I was just abruptly woken from a deep stage of REM sleep, and now is not the time to subject my eyeballs to fluorescent bathroom lighting.”
That’s not the sound I’m looking for. My aim is off. I was looking for that rich, crackling sound that urine makes when it initiates contact with toilet water. Instead, I hear the dull pitter-patter of fluid striking a solid surface. Do I go left, right, forward or back…? Ok, that clearly wasn’t right because now it just sounds like I’m urinating into a plastic bag. I am definitely pissing in the garbage. That means… left! GO LEFT! THERE SHE IS! Liquid hitting liquid! Ahhhhhhh.
Damnit! Now I have to turn the lights on anyway to clean up a puddle of urine… and then wash my hands! I might as well turn on the coffee pot because my night is clearly over.
Special Thanks To Jon Salik for making on the floor.
When someone sends me a typed message that makes me laugh (or was intended to do so), I often have a hell of a time deciding on the specific dimensions of my written “laughter” response. For example, how many “ha” units (henceforth referred to as “HAUs”) are required in order to convey that something is hilarious? At least four, right? Hahahaha. Makes you feel good. Maybe even throw in an extra ‘h’ at the end like “hahahahah,” just for flavor. You’re a wild woman, and everyone should know it.
Well, sista, you’re not alone. Sometimes, I’ll write a really long chain of HAUs and intentionally make typos along the way like “hahhaaahhahaahah,” to artificially create the appearance of legitimate laughter. Hear me out – the more erratic the typing pattern is, the more legitimate the laughter seems… as if I couldn’t contain myself and was attempting to type a traditional, properly-spelled “hahahahahahaha” while convulsing with uncontrollable laughter, after reading the sender’s text message/email/G-Chat/Facebook message. Congratulations, friends… you just learned how to counterfeit written laughter.
It’s pretty awkward to be on the other side of the conversation too, because it’s tempting to try to decipher the hidden subtext, based on how many HAUs are present in the person’s response. If we’re being honest, I’m not truly happy receiving anything less than 3 HAUs. “Hahaha” hardly takes any effort, yet still demonstrates enjoyment of my hilarious message. Everyone knows that “Haha” (2 HAUs) is code for <insincere pity laugh>, while a single-unit utterance of “Ha” is basically just a passive-aggressive display of hostility. Unless, of course, it was an innocent misspelling of “Ah,” in which case all the very legitimate, set-in-stone, not-at-all-fictional laws that I’ve just described no longer apply.
I realized that even some Mexican people observe Passover. Either that, or a Jewish person owns Pancho’s Border Grill.
Pullick [puh-lik], n – a single speck of dirt on the lens of one’s glasses
This shouldn’t bother me that much, because really, how much of my vision is actually being obstructed? Not that much. But it’s freakin’ annoying! In fact, I’d venture to say that if the particle were significantly larger, I’d be less annoyed by it. I think BECAUSE it’s miniscule is why it is driving me crazy. I’m serious! Take a raisin and glue it to my glasses. I’d rock that shit all day.
After delaying as long as he could, Raul finally resorted to the shirt-glasses-finger-squeeze technique to remove the pullick from his glasses.
I realized that the San Francisco Chronicle is, apparently, an authority on matzo.