Archive for June, 2012

We’ve All Done This Before, Right? This Wasn’t Just Me?

“So Larissa is reading the paragraph on red pepper or cayenne,” thought Finley, as he sat in his 6th grade home economics class.   Finley knew the pattern Mrs. Durante used when they read aloud in class.  “So that means Ellen is reading lemon juice, Collin is reading fresh herbs, and I’m reading… prepared mustard!! YES!!!  Longest paragraph on the page, baby!  Wine, brandy and other alcoholic beverages is the same number of lines, but look! My last line stretches just a little bit further.  And on the third line, I’ll get to say the word Dusseldorf.  I love that word!  Really sucks for Ellen, getting jipped with lemon juice.  Fuckin’ one liner.  She’s probably so pissed right now.

“Fuck.  What if Mrs. Durante tells Ellen to read fresh herbs too?  Then I would lose prepared mustard!  And Ellen is such a goodie goodie that she’s probably gonna make a sad face and act all befuddled to campaign for another paragraph.  That’s such classic Ellen!  And Mrs. Durante is such a pushover that she’s gonna give it to her.  Unbelievable.  I’m gonna lose prepared mustard and get stuck with… grated lemon and orange rind?! Are you kidding me?!?! It’s three lines!  Second shortest on the page!!  Don’t do it Durante! One paragraph person!” thought Finley.


Read This Website, It’s Funny, Seriously It Is

Good thing this slogan doesn’t come across as desperate or pathetic…


Words I Realized: Pirfdent

pirfdent [purf-dent], n – an essentially random nationality or ethnicity assigned to a food item, usually for a consistent yet arbitrary reason

The photo above demonstrates the classic “Asian”salad triad – mandarin oranges, carrots, and those little crispy sesame rice things.  Right, guys.  Just like they do it in Beijing.  If a wrap, omelet or sandwich has the word “California” in it, you bet your sweet little bottom that thing’s got avocado.  Similarly, any food item labeled “Hawaiian” will obviously include pineapple and ham.  Rules are rules.  There’s gotta be at least SOME historical connection involved with these labels, and I’d love to find out their origins.  Especially for the Brazilian wax.

While enjoying his sweet, chewy treats, Boris contemplated the roots of his snack’s famous pirfdent, wondering if everything else in Sweden is at sweet as the fish.

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


This Might Be Why No One Has Contacted Them For Help…

Ummmm… I don’t think homeless people are looking to avoid shelter altogether.  They may want to avoid living in the homeless shelter, but they still need shelter in the general sense, dude.


How Do You Say Mexico In German?

“Is this the train to Germany?” asked Frankie, a study-abroad student, to the train conductor.  “Ya! Deutschland!” replied the man, nodding.  “So… not Germany?” Frankie attempted to confirm.  The man shook his head.  He then pointed to the train.  “Deutschland!” he said, matter-of-factly.

This thought-provoking scenario was a hypothetical, but I bet you know what would’ve happened next.  Little Frankie spent the next 20 minutes asking people the same question until someone finally informed him that Deutschland is what the Germans call Germany.

So riddle me this – Why do English-speaking people not call it Deutschland?  Surely the Germans know the name of their own country better than anyone else.  And, for the record, this is not an isolated incident.  In Italian, the cities of Venice, Rome and Florence are actually called Venezia, Roma, and Firenze, respectively.  So why are we calling it Rome? It’s not like it’s easier to pronounce!  Am I crazy here?

I suppose I could understand having an alternative name if it is directly translatable.  Like the United States.  United and states are both words in other languages, so I can understand calling it “Los Estados Unidos” in Spanish.  But last I checked, Germany cannot be translated into anything…. it is a proper noun in its purest form.


Special Thanks To Buzz Bambrook for having a strong understanding of intricacies of world languages.

Attention To Detail

Normally, we at What I Realized try to avoid hot-button issues and controversial, politically charged topics.  But this particular subject needs to be addressed, and the time is now.  This is how revolutions begin, I think.

Anyway, the photos above represent two opposing sides of a longstanding debate over toilet paper roll orientation.  I strongly prefer the orientation displayed on the left, with the active end of the TP in front of the rest of the roll.  The formation shown on the right, with the active end of the TP behind the rest of the roll, means I have to reach farther to acquire much-needed bath tissue in a time of need (i.e. whilst defecating).  Furthermore, I fail to see any strategic advantage to the orientation on the right, which means we have to chalk up the frequency of this disadvantageous TP orientation to simple carelessness.  Motherfucker just installed a fresh roll without even checking to see if it was oriented correctly.

Take-home message:  Be mindful when changing the roll of toilet paper in the bathroom, or else you’re racist.


Okay, We Get It Already

I thought for a second that maybe this signifies that there’s soda on both sides of the aisle, but that wouldn’t explain that second “soda” on the left hand side.  So I guess what I’m trying to say is I just don’t know what to tell you.  I have no explanation.  I am stumped.  Okay?  What do you want from me.


Words I Realized: Rapasta

Rapasta [ruh-pah-stuh], n, – superfluous items purchased in addition to condoms to make it appear as though you didn’t go to the store specifically to buy condoms

Let’s be honest. I clearly didn’t come here to buy condoms.  In actuality, I came here buy Doritos and watermelon plates.  After all, it is summer, and what more festive way to consume watermelon than off a specially crafted plate.  Oh, what’s this?  Condoms?  Might as well grab a box while I’m here.  Ya know, save me a trip next time I think I’m going be having intercourse.  No biggie.

When Yousef’s brother asked Yousef if he needed anything from the local strip mall, Yousef knew the box of condoms was $11.99 but gave his timid brother $20, knowing that he wouldn’t purchase the prophylactic without a significant amount of rapasta


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

Come on, Groupon. Who Are You Trying To Pull A Fast One On?

I realized there must be some sort of whale and dolphin migratory pattern that I never learned about in school.  You know, the whole “migrating from Florida and Alaska to the outer boroughs of New York City” phenomenon.


Yeah, I’ll Be Sure To Deliver That Verbatim

Ever had a phone conversation?  Me too.  I’m guessing we’ve all probably encountered the following scenario on a somewhat regular basis:

Me:  “Alright, well thanks for calling and letting me know.”

Person on Phone with Me:  “No problem at all.  See you soon.  And please tell Suzie I say hi.”

Me:  “Sure thing…”


… NOT!  Oooooo, you got BURNED, son.

Seriously, though, “hi” is the best you could come up with?  I’m embarrassed for you and, accordingly, will not be relaying that particular message to Suzie.  Why, you ask?  Because your lazy, shitty “hi” is not gonna affect her life even a little bit, in any way.  Tell you what – since I like you, I’ll tell Suzie you said something way more interesting than “hi.”  Suzie will be happier this way as well, because receiving a second-hand “hi” is just as awkward as having to be the middleman who delivers this unnecessary message on behalf of whichever genius came up with that inspiring prose in the first place.

Sorry to harp on this, but I’m still not over it.  Consider the following message:  “Tell that skank Suzie I can’t pick her up from the airport because I found out she’s been secretly banging my brother, so why doesn’t she just call him if he’s such a fucking stud?”  See, now THAT is an example of a message that’s actually worth relaying.


Nomen Clature

Fresh Mozzarella is a rare breed of food.  As far as I can tell, it’s the only food where you can remove the word “fresh” and get an entirely different product—that can still be fresh. You can’t do that with anything else.  Take, for example, fresh fish.  If you take away fresh, it’s still the same thing, only now it gives you diarrhea.  But take the fresh out of fresh mozzarella, and you get a completely different style of cheese that is not only equally delicious, but also safe for human consumption.  Now I’m bout to blow your mind…  What does one call fresh mozzarella that’s a month old?

That’s some food for thought.  Sorry. I had to.


Maybe This One Could Actually Use Some Quotation Marks

If the name of this sandwich is supposed to be ironic, then hahaha.  But if not, you and I need to have a serious conversation about the definition of the word “fancy.”


Special Thanks To Jon Salik for photographing his lunch and then sending it to us, everyday.

Words I Realized: Plignometry

plignometry [plig-nom-i-tree], n – the art of balancing a square-bottomed food container in a plastic to-go bag

It doesn’t seem to matter how old I get or how much experience I have with carrying home one of these.  I still suck.  Notice the diagonal orientation of the tray bottom.  Sloppy… just plain sloppy.  It’s like I’m asking for the marinara sauce to pool up on one side of the tray.  Sure, the restaurant could’ve provided one of those luxury to-go bags with a structured rectangular bottom, but I still blame myself, because I’ve known about gravity for a really long time.  Did I spend enough time practicing my plignometry?  Obviously not.

Rather than simply hold the food tray by placing the palm of his hand flat against the tray bottom, Francis held the plastic bag by its handles, in order to show off his plignometric skills.

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


Nature’s Summertime Urinal Cake

There’s nothing quite like stale urine with a hint of lemon on a hot day…

This Is An Awful Lot Like Dating…

“Hi, I was hoping to make an appointment with Dr. Delassandro,” said Drake to the receptionist, as he stared at the puss-filled abnormality on his face. He needed to see a dermatologist as soon as possible, as his face was getting uglier by the day, and Dr. Delassandro came highly recommended.  “Sure.  The doctor is only here on Thursdays from 9 to 1. When would you like to come in?” replied the Claire (the receptionist’s name was Claire).  This was discouraging to Drake.  His chances of being seen anytime soon appeared bleak, give the sporadic nature of the doctor’s schedule.  Drake envisioned several more weeks, if not months, of hitting on girls with a juicy, unattractive cyst on his cheek, diverting female attention away from the inner beauty and righteousness that defined Drake as an individual.

“Wow, okay. When’s the next appointment available?” asked Drake, a little disheartened.  Claire responded with the worst possible answer: “The doctor can see you this upcoming Thursday at 9AM.” Are you freakin’ kidding me? How good can this “highly recommended dermatologist” possibly be if he only works 4 hours per week, and the next available appointment is quite literally the next possible time the doctor is working?  “At least make me wait a couple of weeks!” thought Drake, as he pondered how he should proceed. “Thanks but no thanks,” he replied. “I’ll take my business to a dermatologist who can’t see me right away.”


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