Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Theory Of Relativistic Stupidity with Regard to Acoustical Volume

I have come to the realization that dumb people are louder than regular people and this is why they seem to be everywhere and more intimidating and probably why the audience on Jerry Springer was always so noisy and the reason I think this is because the guy behind me in line today was shouting about how he had to water his flowers today even though it might rain and that's because his son didn't do it last night like he asked him to because he had a date with that blond girl from over on Sunny Crescent and when I turned to shoot him a passive-aggressive withering look, I realized he had been talking to the Tic-Tac display and not to a real person.

And then there was a woman at the Chinese restaurant I was at over the weekend who bought her son a t-shirt for his birthday because she asked everyone to not get him toys* but they didn't listen and bought him toys anyway(s), and isn't that just the way it goes HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! and the t-shirt she bought him was one that said "Lil Bruiser" and yep! That's Calin! HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!

And then I looked down at my General Tsao's Chicken and wondered who the Eff General Tsao even was, and what kind of military genius do you have to be to not have a brilliant military strategy named after you, or not have a monument in your honor for preventing the invading Hun armies from ravishing the people of [Chinese Word] Province, but instead you have a spicy chicken dish named after you. What did he conquer? Was he an a-hole and this is like a big joke all the cool generals played on him? I feel bad for General Tsao, is my point. But not as bad as I feel for Calin, who has a lifetime of neglect-related injuries in front of him because his mom is apparently part howler monkey. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

I think these people, who seem to be everywhere, are under the misguided belief that loud equals smart and I'd just like to point out that Einstein wasn't known for shouting his presumptions about the General Theory of Relativity out of a car window at people walking down the street and honking the horn and Neils Bohr was in the backseat pressing ham and barking laughter and Heisenberg didn't discover his groundbreaking 'Uncertainty Principle" and then walk around in circles making armpit farts and singing the theorem to the tune of "Oh Susannah". They all had quiet dignity and that's how you can tell I'm also a genius because my real name is Kurt Quiet Dignity [German Word] .

Except Sir Isaac Newton. That fucking guy never shut up.

*Any parent who tells people to not get their kid toys and to buy them clothes instead for their birthday ought to be dragged out into the street and forced to have a garage sale where all they can sell is old kids clothes and they have to diligently put "25 cents" stickers on each and every article because that's important and then there should be a sudden thuderstorm and they should get struck by lightning.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Will You Still Need Me When I'm ...46?

Okay. I want a straight answer and I don't mean a "non-gay" answer because that's totally racist and I believe everyone has the right to give beejays regardless of race, or color, or creed, or inclination to enjoy dance music and America's Next Top Model. So I'm totally open-minded and pretty much your hero but luckily I'm humble. Like the humblest ever. If I ever got in a "humble-off" with Gandhi or Mother Theresa or someone else super-poor and thin I would CRUSH them.

My question remains however, so I guess I need to get around to asking it and it is this: "At what point does you dying stop being a tragedy?" and there's a good reason for me to ask this question and I will get into it in the next paragraph, but if you want to just hang out in this one for a while, that's cool. I mean I'm not really getting anywhere topic-wise, but you know...maybe you need to rest your brain for a minute. (*time passes*) Hey! Kittens! Kittens are so cute it's ridiculous!! Sigh. (*another awkward pause*) Really fucking cute...

Okay. Are we all rested up? And by "we" I mean "you" because I am always at the top of my game mentally as long as I don't run out of expired cat antidepressants that my brother sold me. The thing is, if you die in your thirties, everyone is all "Gasp! No! So young!" and if you die in your forties they're all "No way! Jesus! That's terrible" and if you die when your fifty-something people are all "What a tragedy." and in your sixties they go "He should have had more time. That's too bad." so they are definitely less mournful and less likely to gasp unless they know you and that's the shit I'm talking about. By the time you're eighty, their like "He had a nice long life. " and god forbid you live to be a hundred because then everyone hates you forever for living so long.

I know I do.

I want to find that age where people are gaspy and sad and saying "Oh my god NO!" and then tell people that's how old I am forever. That way when I kick it everyone will be sad and mourning like they should be and not relieved that I'm finally dead after a lifetime of genius adventures and sexy escapades involving guerilla can-can dancers with degrees in astro-physics and riding tigers through flaming buildings and escaping temples with diamonds the size of your face tucked into my bomber jacket. They'll just be like "God took him too soon." and "Why, Why WHY???" and "Jeez, He looks a little rough for being 46. The embalmer here must be on drugs! Let's get him!" and then they burn down the funeral home and I get to go out like a viking as I wished, except instead of a flaming longboat sailing off into the sunset, it's a funeral home going up in flames because I'm a big, fat liar.

Half a dozen of one, six of your mom.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Yeah. You Maybe Should Skip This One. (Not Really)

So the kids are getting ready to go back to school and by "getting ready" I mean I wake them up at 4am every day before I go to work and tell them how many days it's going to be until school starts and then I blow an airhorn and do a victory lap and I can tell they are super-excited about it because they cry and that's the same reaction I get when I sleep with a woman so it must be excitement. Quid Pro Quo or whatever. Your witness. Carpe Diem.

I can't believe I actually started a post about my kids. It's like they're real almost, huh? I'm pretty much a master storyteller like Doug Henning only without all the illusions and gayness and bad mustache and maybe tigers if he got the permits in on time, but the whole tiger scene has been a drag since Roy had his head eaten and one tiny tiger attack later the whole city of Las Vegas gets racist against big cats.

If I got to work with tigers my whole focus would be on training them not to spook when I fire the cannons, that way...later...when I'm planning my revenge...I can shoot tigers at people out of cannons. That'll fuck 'em up. One minute they'd be all "Oh shit! A cannonball is going to kill me!" and the next minute a slightly singed and highly pissed off 800 lb killing machine is eating their face. And I don't mean your mom. (*slide whistle*)

Another possible scenario for revenge involving tigers is dressing them up like people and then air dropping them out of the back of a plane with decorative streamers fluttering out behind, and all my enemies would look up and be all "Oooo! A Skydiving show!" and then maybe a few minutes later they'd be all " Wow! Those are oddly shaped people. Those jumpsuits make their feet look like paws!" and then a right before the carnage began they'd be all "That guy needs a shave!" and then tigers would be disemboweling everyone. Win/Win.

Allow me to apologize in advance for wasting your time with this. I really haven't slept in a few days and that's like being on mad Peyotes or smoking Cheebas or huffing tabasco sauce or whatever kids do these days, Yo. I added the "yo" because whenever you use the phrase "kids do these days" you sound old and uncool, when in reality you are young and super-cool and maybe more than a little bit handsome. So just add "yo". It's like garlic. You can never have too much. Unless you're a vampire*. Sprinkle it all over your conversations is my point, Yo.

Hey! Did you remember that I write for Mama Pop? Well, that's okay. I don't blame you. And by "I don't blame you" I mean "I totally blame you, Jerkface." You should go there now maybe and read this awesome article** I wrote on Monday. I have a new one coming out at noon today too, so you can go back a bunch of times, and I know maybe it seems like I'm trying to dictate what you do with your day, but really I only have my best interests at heart. I think we can all agree THAT is the greatest love of all.

*I don't know if "yo" kills vampires. I didn't mean to imply that.What? Don't get all stuck up.

** I hastily selected the text when making this link. It's an "article" not just an "ar". You're so literal. Fucking Pirate.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Social Commentary: Sex Jokes in the Workplace

I've decided that there comes an age when double entendre jokes stop being funny and I don't mean telling them... I mean hearing them. Like when two strippers girls at a fancy pony show start arguing over who has a looser vagina, and then they start tickle fighting and maybe almost frenching and it's super-funny and pretty much the apex of humor in the whole world because of the obvious social commentary they are making with regard to gender roles. And they are totally brushing nipples to do it. Win/win . But it's only funny because they are young and they are nubile and they know how to work the pole crowd up into a frenzy when their pony wins the ribbon for "Fanciest Trot" or whatever. That's fine. If that kind of joking around was warfare it would be happy warfare like jousting and knights and maidens faire* with big racks who sensually touch each other. Okay...I don't actually know that there was ever a war like that but on paper it's awesome.

What happened today at work was then, using the same analogy, like field-amputating a million lepers and making them club each other to death with their own freshly cut-off limbs while a stadium full of mimes pretends to cheer and everyone who is vegetarian is force-fed hot dogs until their stomach linings burst. I am also not sure a war was ever fought like that, or where you would even get a million lepers anymore, or what size stadium you would need, but the point is.. Yucky! And what happened was this. A lady in her 50s who smells like my Dad's jacket used to after a night at the bowling alley, and smokes like a squillion cigarettes everyday and looks kinda like Jack Palance only more so, made a joke about needing to get "screwed" because the machine she was working on needed some hardware. And while all the other 50-somethings were dying of laughter because HEY! That was a fucking genius bit of comedy!, I was dying of sadness because I was thinking about making that same joke even as she said it, only in my mind mind it was witty and clever and everyone thought the new kid was a "charming rascal" now instead of an dirty old pervert who smells like the inside of a fire damage sale in a wig shop.

Which makes me wonder if people in their twenties hear me talking my humorous sexytalk** and think "EW! Like..Grody to the max!" or whatever they say now, because I am no longer a possibility for Effing because I'm older and decrepiter and sure maybe super-handsome, but still... I think about it and I wonder who would think I was funny and who would feel repulsed and then I remembered that it was exactly this sort of thinking that made me invent that survey last year that got me fired from my old job, because certain stuck up secretaries didn't like the question "If your anus had a G-spot would you let me find it for you (T or F)." And sure maybe we all think it's funny, but sexual harrassment is no laughing matter and if you don't believe me just ask all the plantiffs in my class-action lawsuit.

Heh. I said "action".

Moral: You are older and less funny than you think and even if you do think telling someone they have a loose vagina is funny, they might not and they might be carrying a taser and you should've probably covered your nuts.

*I spelled this the classy way so you would know it was in the good old days where there were no laws against having sex with animals but it was still totally frowned upon. Sort of.

**NO examples of this are forthcoming because you don't have to tell ME three times.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

An Open Letter to My New Workmate

Dear New CoWorker,

Hi. I know we just met and you've been here for infinity years and I'm just the new dumb guy but that doesn't mean you get to be an a-hole because guess what? POW! I'm the biggest a-hole who ever was! I put the "ass" in "asshole"... I think that's how the saying goes. I'd look it up but these stupid work computers don't let you have any fun or porn, and what do I care what the news is or what the stock market is doing? Unless women are mysterious exploding into a cascade of million dollar bills when you give them an orgasm, I totally don't care what the news is. That would be news worth hearing about is my point, because I am an excellent media pundit even though I don't write as much anymore. I still think all the time. It's like a lion who sees a wounded gazelle and eats it. Only in this metaphor my brain is the lion and thinking is the gazelle. No wait. My mind is the gazelle, and knowledge is the lion. Shit. My metaphors are rusty.

So anyway(s), New Coworker...I really hate the music that you listen to because it is "soft rock with less talk" and Billy Joel may be the Piano Man, and Elton John may be the Rocket Man, but you are the "Can't Sing for Shit" Man and my ears are totally willing to give you a Blow-jay* if you stop raping them so hard. Also, I don't think you are aware of this but you are whistling the last bad song you just heard for like a half hour after and maybe the whistled rendition of "Islands in the Stream" sounds good to you, but to those of us who aren't stabbing you yet it sounds like someone sawing the legs off a parrot. I have it on good authority that's not a good thing. If Martha Stewart was releasing a magazine about the best things to saw the legs off of, parrots would end up on the editing room floor. And for the record, I have no idea if magazines have an editing room, but also for the record, watch me do this yoga pose! I'm so flexy!

In conclusion, Disco should be allowed to be dead despite the weird wave of toe tapping it inspires in you and other members of the very white populace of this workplace and also you should know that I voted for the "Muslim in Chief" and that the stupider you are the better I look, so right now I pretty much just bought this entire company and am smoking 100 dollar bills like they were your mom's vagina. Shit. My metaphors are rusty.

Hugs and Kisses,

* I'm not sure how this would even work, because if my ears had a mouth they would probably just want to eat pickles all day because of how funny they sound when they crunch and also blowjobs given by ears are notoriously half-hearted.