Friday, October 28, 2011

Weirdos & Creepers

Guys can be weirdos and creepers from time to time. They have no problem with conjuring up something weird yet perverted to say when they see an attractive girl. Dudes will cleverly construct their comments by using the "play on words" or "play on occupation" tool. For example, if a dude sees a cute cashier he might say, "Yeah. I'd let her scan my bar code." You see. Clever. Or if a dude sees a cute bagger (person who bags groceries) he might say, "Hello! I'd let her bag my groceries." Or you can get weird with it and say, "Aww yeah. I'd let her bag my Special K and my 2% milk. And if she's lucky I'll even make her breakfast. I hope she likes Special K because we are definitely spooning." Or you can just say something simple like, "Mmm girl. I'd let her bag me up...if you know what I mean." But who knows, this bagger chick could be a serial killer. So what do you do then?

"Oh jeez. I can't go out with her. She's a serial killer....a very hot serial killer. And she does bag a mean rump roast...Yeah, I'd totally let her bag me up."

So, no, a creeper/weirdo wouldn't bail because a creeper/weirdo has no shame. In the end he would go out on a date with the bagger chick. Then he would find himself stuffed inside of a bag.

"Ok. At first this was cute and kinky. Now it's just messed up. Is it too late for a rain check? This bag is huge. Is this a hockey bag or...? Do you like hockey? Maybe I can take you to a game sometime...if you don't murder me (under his breath). Was it necessary to put this paper bag over my head too? I mean, I'm already inside of a bag. This just seems redundant. I do prefer paper over plastic though. Thanks for that. But it would've been nice to have the option. I'm just saying. That's where you went wrong. That's why this isn't going to work...I'll still make you breakfast though."

- Ryan

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Split this

What's up with splitting the bill? Who thought that was a good idea? Probably some loser moocher who empties the whole mint bowl into his pocket including the bowl. "Umm, is that a bowl of mints in your pocket...or do you have a bowl shaped penis?" Anywho, why should I have to split the bill with someone who got steak & lobster when I only got chicken quesadillas and a water (which is free mind you)?

I'm not made of money. Hell, if I was made of money I would take care of the entire bill. Although, if I was made of money I'd have to use a piece of myself to pay for the bill; like an arm and a leg. Like literally, I'd have to use my arm and my leg. "Well John,  I hope you enjoyed that surf and turf because it cost me my limbs. You son of a bitch." Screw that, I don't want to be made of money.

However, it wouldn't be so bad to be clothed in money. Then again, I'd probably get robbed all of the time. "This just in. New Jersey man gets shot. Witnesses say the victim was wearing a jacket made of one hundred dollar bills...What an idiot. This just in, M. Night Shyamalan just got inspired and started writing a film called Blood Money Jacket. It's going to star Steven Seagal and Pauli Shore as detectives out of Boston. Get ready for it to start raining down tears. Not because it's a sentimental movie, but because it'll be so terrible you'll cry like that guy who just got shot. Remember when that happened? Speaking of rain. Sue, what's the weather looking like for this week?"

I'd have senior citizens robbing me too. Take for instance, I'm walking down the street and some old lady steals a $100 bill that is covering my crotch and I say, "Don't get fresh with me lady! Put that back!" She puts the money back and we both walk away in opposite directions. Then suddenly I feel a nice cool breeze on my ass and realize that she stole my butt flap. Unfortunately for her, the butt flap was only made out of $1 bills. Laughter ensues. But, ut oh. She's coming back and looks angry because she just realized that she only got $8 out of me.

I don't want to be made of money or dressed in money. I just want people to stop splitting bills and take responsibility for their own crab cakes.

- Ryan

Friday, October 14, 2011

Lying vs. Lying

I'd like to know the orgins of the saying, "Lying sack of shit." Maybe it was originally intended for a lazy, smelly bum who was just lying on the sidewalk. But, I guess the right word for that would be "laying". So it would have to be "laying sacks of shit"; like he was a brick layer but a sack of shit layer. But, who the hell has that kind of job anyway? Who the hell lays down sacks of shit? Farmers? Maybe. Either way, it sounds pretty shitty to me.

Then again, it was probably intended as the dishonest type of lying. Some guy could have gotten mad at some other guy for fibbing. And maybe he called him out on his chicanery and said, "You know what? You're a liar. You're a..." Then he spotted a sack full of shit on the ground and resumed with, "...sack of shit. That's right. You're just as sorry as a sack of shit."

What about a sack of shit that comes to life just like Frosty the Snowman? Sack O' Shitman. Therefore, he would be a dishonest, non-mobile, smelly sack of shit. That's just freaky and uncalled for. That's just gross. Who would think of such a thing?

I suppose that a "lying sack of shit" could just mean a "dirty liar"......No. I don't like that explanation at all. I'm going to side with whoever came up with the Sack O' Shitman idea.

- Ryan

Just thinking

Bruises aren't fun. They're actually kind of boring and aesthetically unpleasing. Bruises should look cool. They should be shaped like fire breathing dragons or machine guns or anything awesome like that. I want to be able to say, "Clumsy me. I walked into a door handle. Now I have this sweet ass bruise on my hip that's shaped like a highlander sword. Would you like to see it?" It would suck if a bruise was shaped like male or female genitalia. Talk about an insult to injury.

Bro 1: Aw man, that bruise on your crotch sure does look like a vagina.
Bro 2: Shut up. It's not a bruise. It's a hickey...Wait, how do you know about that?

It would suck if a bro got a bruise right above his butt and it was in the shape of a butterfly. And that bro couldn't wear anything other than belly shirts. Well...if he wore belly shirts then it would kind of explain the butterfly shaped bruise...or hickey. But who knows?

- Ryan

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

How are you doing?

I wish I could read people and tell whether or not they mean it when they ask, "How are you doing?" Because you know damn well that there are people (probably you & I) out there that are just accustomed to asking the question. Some people could really care less. And I wish I could weed those people out and make them sorry that they ever asked the question.


PETE walks into his office. He passes his co-worker, WENDY, on his way to his desk. Wendy is known for being short. And by short I mean brief in conversation. She's really self-centered.

Good morning Wendy.

Good morning Pete. How are you doing?

Hmm. I'll tell you how I'm doing.

Pete comes to a halt, turns around and walks into Wendy's cubicle.

Well Wendy, I'm glad that you asked...

(Under her breath)
Oh no...

Things couldn't be worse. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. And I bet you're wondering why. Let me tell you why Wendy. My doctor died the other day. My doctor. Do you know what that means Wendy? If doctors can't save themselves, then what the hell does that mean for the rest of us? Which brings me to my next subject: this growth my right cheek.

Wendy examines Pete's face.

I don't see a...

My right ass cheek. I'd show it to you, but that would be really inappropriate, in this cubicle. We would have to retreat to the restroom or at the very least my apartment...after dinner of o' the Wendy's right down the street. You'll love it there. Trust me.

Wait. Are you asking me out?

I don't know Wendy. Am I? Look, I'm just really vulnerable right now. You asked me how I was doing and gave me your shoulder to cry on. I'm pretty sure we just bonded. Maybe we can do some other kind of bonding if you know what I mean.

There is no way I would ever go out with you, especially after hearing about that gross ass growth on your...ass.

Well...I guess the growth on my ass sorely mistook your phony sentiment for true tenderness. It looks like you owe it, an apology.

Pete turns around and pretends to take off his pants. Wendy is appalled and runs out of her cubicle. Pete starts laughing.

Oh man. I sure did freak her out.

Fred, the creeper of the office walks by. Pete despises him.

Hey Pete.

(Caught up in his own humor)
Hey Fred. How's it going?

Pete suddenly realizes the mistake that he just made.

Oh no...

Pete starts to walk out of the cubicle but Fred blocks off the opening.

Well Pete, not too good. This has been the longest and worst day ever. Let me tell you all about it.


- Ryan

Monday, October 3, 2011

Who's the man?

Quite recently I came to the realization that I'm not much of a man. It's hard to say, but it's true. I was driving home on my lunch break. I pulled into my apartment complex doing like 20mph. There was something hovering in the distance at eye level. I was about ten feet away when I realized that it was a Yes, a dragonfly. It just kept hovering in the same spot. But I proceeded, assuming that it would move out of my way. Then I shouted or screamed, "Umm. Get out of the way!" It became clear to me that this dragonfly was:

a) Stupid and totally disregarded the rules of the road.
b) Just a lollygagger.
c) A practical joker.

Well, I started bobbing & weaving, like the dragonfly was going to come right through the windshield, like I was watching a 3-D movie. I believe I even swatted or karate chopped the air while trying to swerve out of the way. And then, right at the very last moment, the dragonfly flew away; laughing at me I'm sure. I felt like the biggest idiot. My face even turned red because I was embarassed. Embarassed in front of who?!?! A dragonfly? Yes. But, that's okay. I can play practical jokes too. Next time I see a dragonfly fluttering in my way, I'm going to pretend that I'm not going to hit it. Then, at the very last second, smash, right on the windshield, dead. But, I won't even use my windshield wipers. Oh no. I'll leave the dead dragonfly smashed on my windshield to set an example for all of his or her little dragonfly friends. Then I'll roll down my window, hang my head out and shout, "Who's the man now?"

- Ryan

Air Guitar

I don't think I should play the air guitar or the mega-bass air guitar anymore. Well, not in public anyway. I realized when I jam out with my sweet ass mega-bass air guitar, it kind of looks like I'm fondling a giant and strumming my junk. It all depends on the placement of my hands and whether or not I'm playing with an air pick. If I'm playing with an air pick, it looks like I'm strumming my junk. However, if I'm finger picking, it looks like I'm fondling myself. So, in that instance, I'd be fondling a giant and fondling myself at the same time; while playing air guitar. But, that's just me multi-tasking on a good day. If I loosen up the air guitar strap and play like Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day, then it looks like I'm fondling a midget. Excuse me, I mean small person. But that doesn't make it any less creepy, small people. Okay? But how often would I come across a small person or a giant while I'm playing air guitar? Their coordinates would have to be pretty precise in order for it to look weird. Chances are, if the circumstance did arise, it would be mis-matched; I'd be playing the mega-bass with a small person standing in front of me. That means I'd be tickling his/her chin, nose or forehead; depending on their height. I guess it all depends on whether or not I'm standing or sitting too. Because sometimes I like to rock a mean air guitar while sitting down. Hmm. Then I would potentially fondle a normal person. Excuse me, I mean a person of average height. Well, now that's all screwed up. I suppose I should just be extra careful while rockin' out with my imaginary guitar. Or I could just pick up a new instrument, like a flute or a didgeridoo. Yeah, that's it. A didgeridoo.

- Ryan

Quit Your Day Job

There are other options as far as jobs go. Realistically, you could quit your day job and be perfectly happy doing something else. You could take two seemingly unrelated things and mash them together to make one extraordinary job.

1. A yodeling gigolo.
2. A skatting stoop sweeper on skates; conveniently cleanly yet surprisingly daring.
3. A street mime psychiatrist
4. A sign holder on a corner advertising a yodeling gigolo while giving someone a foot massage with his feet.
5. A zoo keeper wrestling a lion...cub...with his thumbs at a charity event for rescued kittens.
6. A guy dressed up like a mattress, advertising mattresses at a charity event in a run down motel next to a strip club.
7. A guy donating a night club called A Cave...or was it a cave called a night club?...Now you're a vampire.
8. A street musician who uses his ass cheeks for bongos all the while mooning pedestrians.
9. A crack-head getting his fix while staring at the ass cheek-bongo player.
10. A guy picking his nose while playing the lottery.
11. A carnie juggling two balls while...juggling two balls.
12. A ninja dressed up as a pirate at a Pirates of the Caribbean themed party.
13. A pirate dressed up like a ninja at a ninja clan meeting...tap dancing...sound of peg leg on a hard wood floor...dead pirate.

- Ryan