Witz Pickz: The Neverending Hilarity of Life

The other day, my friend, Dani Law, asked me how I'm able to write about funny things when I'm depressed. I told her that it's easy because regardless of how I'm feeling, there is always hilarious stuff going on around us. I haven't felt very funny the last few weeks, but the world has been too ridiculous for me to ignore any more, so I'll try to play catch up:

Michael Jackson Died:
Did you guys hear about this? I understand that the man wrote some hit songs and is a musical legend, but the operative word there is WROTE. People are acting like he had another musical contribution up his sleeve, but all he had up his sleeve was candy and the keys to a white van with tinted windows. Plus, the man was BATSHIT CRAZY. On one of the millions of bios they showed after his death, Jackson claims that God turned his skin white and that, "People call us colored because we come in so many different colors."
....
....
I promise you that's not why people call you colored. Although I do think that's a great opening for a lot of racists to get off the hook: "Uh, yeah, that's toootally all I meant...I was celebrating diversity!"

Ironically, (if people are at all like me...which I guess they probably aren't...and I'll cite the "being frightened by my own back hair" story in this case...) by "memorializing" Michael Jackson's death on tv and the radio and in clubs and at concerts, people are probably going to get sick of him and move on faster.

Speaking of saying one thing and meaning another,check out this Domino's commercial:




I love how Memphis manages to come off as an extremely racist douchebag within .5 seconds simply by arguing about pizza. "David Ortiz" aka Cali Chicken is all, "Ours is better" and Memphis BBQ is all, "No, ours is better," and then Cali Chicken is all, "No, ours is better," and then Memphis is all, "How about we put some south in your mouth!?" and then everyone watching is like, "WHOOOOOOOOAH WHAT??"

How about we put some SOUTH? In your MOUTH? Who let that through the censors? Is that what people say in Memphis? Like, is that a normal thing to say to someone? "Hey Bill, good seeing you and the wife at the hardware store today. How about this weekend you come by and we'll put some south in your mouth?" It sounds a lot more like when two people are arguing and things escalate and then someone drops the N-bomb or the J-bomb or the F2-bomb (not the f-bomb, but the one for guys who like guys) and everyone listening does their best Sopranos impression to let them know they've crossed the line.

And what's with Domino's trying to start eight different kinds of riots? At the beginning of the commercial, the people in the background are like, "We playfully debate your crazy pizzas!" and by the end they're ready to knife each other and drink their victim's blood to wash down the pizzas that they have never even tried before, but now defend through a false sense of regionalism. Domino's Race Riot Pizzas. The advertising makes me NOT want to get involved. I don't even vote in local elections most of the time, I'm not ready to support an overaggressive regional pizza.

This isn't the first time tempers have flared up in the summer. Something about the heat gets people a little crazy and that's when things like this Domino's feud get out of hand. Fortunately for you Islamic women, you can finally cool off in the pool without having to shed all those clothes that keep you at a totally comfortable temperature in the sun! Introducing...THE BURQINI!



It's just like that song, "She wore a teenie weenie, itsy bitsy, navy full body burqini..."

After reading a number of testimonials, it sounds like they've allowed much wanted freedom for hundreds of muslim women, and the joy the women expressed makes me happy the product exists. Here's my favorite testimonial:

"My Summer? It went swimmingly!...Here I am to the right in my superhero pose. It was a running joke this summer; when I slipped on my modest swimsuit, I turned into super-mommy. I could do anything! You see that lake behind me? I swam in it all day comfortably! And I didn't get sympathy looks from bystanders. I got compliments one kind, older lady even asked me where I got my suit and I had to spell out the name a few times: A-h-i-i-d-a. She was a very pale woman who wanted a suit to protect her skin from sunburn." (Gulsen A.)

I guess I just love the idea that an old white lady is going to buy a burqini and swim around in it, more than likely oblivious to the original purpose of its creation.



I can only imagine the possibilities this might lead to...


"These are the most comfortable pajamas ever!"

I Could Really Go For Some East In My Teeth...What? That's A Very Common East Coast Pizza-centric Expression...,
Witz

Photos Courtesy of Nitro

Witz Pickz: The Road to Hell...Is Paved With Well-Intentioned Blog Posts*

I have a new favorite town and it's in New Jersey. Nope-- not Atlantic City. Cheesequake, New Jersey. In case it's not obvious, here's why:

1) It sounds like the cutest kid in the world telling someone what they want for dessert.

2) It sounds like the most delicious natural disaster possible. "Sorry, I'm going to be late, I got caught in a cheesequake on the way home! Don't wait for me to eat-- I'm full now."

3) It sounds like what they would name a rollercoaster in Wisconsin.

4) It sounds like a good way to sum up my eating habits and physical form when I was in Paris. I ate pounds of brie, camembert, and chevre in a nine day span. "Whew, that guy looks like he went on a cheesequake if I've ever seen one."

On the way to New Jersey, I was able to enjoy the severe awkwardness of a New Jersey gas station. They don't allow people in Jersey to pump their own gas because apparently the state of New Jersey trusts its residents with gasoline about as much as I trust a Flock of Retarded Asians to mail my Netflix movies. Since I only get gas in NJ during long car trips, I inevitably get out of the car to stretch my legs and am told that I'm not allowed to pump my own gas. I then have to tell the attendant that I know, but I wanted to stretch my legs, which then leads to me standing awkwardly by the attendant who is pumping my gas while I do overly flagrant calisthenics and yogic maneuvers to prove that I needed to stretch and did not simply think I could pump my own gas. Because then I might look stupid. Another subtle, but affective bitch slap courtesy of Life.


(This wasn't the most relevant gas pumping photo I could find, but it's a fairly convincing argument in favor of letting people pump their own gas...probably while drunk driving)

While on the train from NYC to CT today, I enjoyed the dulcet tones of a middle-aged hispanic woman YELLING INTO HER PHONE FOR NINETY-MINUTES STRAIGHT! She sat down directly behind me on the train because I attract crazies the way Denny's attracts budweiser hats. In fact, this was the second time in two days that luck had placed the gems of humanity in the seat behind me. While going to see Year One**, with the theater half-empty, Two Girls Who Are American And Who's Ancestors Might Have Come From Africa sat down behind us and put in a solid ninety-minutes of fulfilling preconceived notions and stereotypes. Oh, and guess what, white people? Teenage black girls are saying "tight," which is totally baffling because I thought "tight" was a word that white people already stole from black people, like, ten years ago! Did they steal it BACK*** or is this like how 80's music is making a comeback?? God, I can't wait to say "butter" again.

ANYWAY! This lady was on the train behind me, yelling in spanish into her phone, which was jarring, because spanish is a beautiful language that can rhythmically lull me to sleep, especially if I'm on a train, but YELLING in spanish can sound a whole lot like angry bees-- and this wasn't just yelling-- it was yelling at speed. The whole thing made me feel like I was in an SAT question: If Esperanza is on a train going 60mph and is talking on the phone at 80mph in the opposite direction, how fast are her words moving?? The answer is, "It doesn't matter because white guys in polo shirts don't get to turn around and tell perturbed elderly women that 'You're at an 8...and I really need you at about a 2, ok?'" Checkmate.



A large part of me (insert penis joke here...yes, that was a way for me to make a penis joke without ACTUALLY lowering myself to making a penis joke) wanted to take out my cell phone and start yelling at full volume about inane things:

"HI MOM IT'S ME AND YES I DO WANT TRISCUITS AND CHEESE WHEN I GET HOME, BUT IF YOU BUY THEM AT THE SUPERMARKET BUY THE SMALLER BOX NOT THE FAMILY SIZE BECAUSE A) EVEN IF YOU BUY THE FAMILY SIZE YOU AIN'T GETTIN' ANY AND B) FOR SOME REASON THE SMALLER BOX TASTES BETTER AND THE FAMILY SIZE TENDS TO TASTE OVERWHELMINGLY LIKE THEIR RETARDED COUSIN AT TRADER JOE'S, 'WOVEN WHEATS.' I DON'T KNOW HOW I KNOW, BUT I KNOW AND THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT HAUNT ME AT NIGHT-- THESE ARE THE TYPES OF PROBLEMS I'M DEALING WITH THESE DAYS. I GOTTA GO, I THINK I'M ABOUT TO GET MY ASS KICKED." (that was the first time in my life I utilized caps lock)

So, much like Charlie Chaplin or the thousands of Germans who were around in 1942 and recently got all worked up when Tom Cruise made the movie Valkyrie, I said nothing.

If Witz's Train To Hell Is Travelling At 70mph, and Witz Types at 90wpm, How Many More Posts Can You Realistically Expect Before He Is Smitten (Not In the Good Way), Assuming the Existence of a Reasonable God?,
Witz

*Anyone else getting the "Victims of Sexual Abuse" ad on the page? I wonder which one of my posts queued up that downer...also it says, "Justice for Victims of Child Abuse, Molestation In Delaware." How incredibly specific, Google Ads! "Justice...yes!...for Victims of Child Abuse...go on!...Molestation...good!..in-- Delaware? Shit. This link is useless to me."

**Judd Apatow's "Gigli"-- Michael Cera was mildly amusing, but the two tween girls walking out in front of me summed it up best with this exchange: "This was your fault. You made me see Year One. Those are two hours I will never have back," the first girl declared. "I am so sorry," came the reply. I left during the credit sequence outtakes-- and I'm a sucker for outtakes. In other news, Kung Fu Panda was the shit.

***I could make a mean "Charter Oak" joke here for all you Connecticut folks out there, but I'll restrain myself. Just know that it was possible.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Connecticut Credentials

I've been in Connecticut for the last couple of weeks, I grew up here for twenty-two years, and I've driven Subaru station wagons since I was sixteen years old, but it was at exactly 3:57 p.m. this afternoon that I was officially invited to be a member of this state. J. Crew emailed me today and invited me to their "PRIVATE SALE" with the additional subject of "(it's super top-secret)."** Apparently, the only Connecticut credentials I had been lacking were the two polo shirts that I bought last week. Now that my wardrobe is fully stocked with poppable collars, I'm ready for membership.

First of all, really? Is it "super top-secret?" because you sent it to my google mail account and I, for one, don't feel I've earned your trust. I wanna meet the person who says, "Well fuck me, I better see what's inside this email!" What's inside the email is this: "Shhhhhhhh" reads the first line-- "PRIVATE SALE." I'm sorry, but did you just email shush me? Did I sign some sort of non-disclosure agreement when I signed for my credit card? (This actually gives me a great idea-- next time you buy something with your credit card and they ask you to "please sign here," say, "Sorry, I'm going to need a minute to look this over before I sign anything," and then make a series of, "Mm-hm," sounds before you finally announce, "Well, this agreement appears adequate," and sign the receipt.) Am I really supposed to be wooed by the promise of this "private" sale? Who's the douchebag who DOESN'T tell their friends about it??

Friend: Hey Witz, what's this I hear about a sale at J. Crew online?
Witz: ...I don't know what you're talking about...

When I asked E-Funk All-Star (also an invitee because she boats) who the email was marketed towards she replied, "Everyone that has an email address." Touche, but if that's the case, then I have to assume J. Crew thinks we're all huge gossips who can't keep a secret, because THEY'RE A BUSINESS and they want AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE TO BUY THEIR PRODUCT. I would be mildly offended by this, but I quickly realized the coupon was not meant for me:

"Enjoy 20% off purchases of $175 or more."

Oh, poor, misled J. Crew-- I don't have $175 to spend on your clothes! I looked in the Sunday paper for coupons to get a coffee coolatta for less than the regular price of $1.99. "If I'm paying 2 dollars, I better be getting a free donut or something!" That's the kind of enjoyment I'm looking for-- cheap and caloric.

I do hope other companies start this kind of marketing, but with a little bit more intensity. I want to get invited to the "Shut the Fuck Up About It" sale at Sports Authority and the "Don't Invite Your Weird Friend Brian-- That Kid Sucks" sale at Banana Republic.

So, unfortunately, it looks like I won't be joining the handpicked elite of Connecticut any time soon, but that's ok, because I live in San Francisco and am only four burritos away from the five-thousand required on my proof of residency card. And that's good enough for me right now.

The Secret Code Is "SECRET" By the Way...Because They Respect Us That Little,
Witz


**They even used that extraneous hyphen to lure me in. Speaking of hyphens, I learned recently that someone my friend knows is named Ladasha...only it's spelled "La-a" (guess if she's white or not). Aside from the fact that the girl is going to be called "La ah," her entire life, wouldn't it actually be "Lahyphena?" Obviously I'm excited for the possibilities this opens up. "This is my daughter Kate; spelled like it sounds-- with an 8." "Please meet my slutty daughter Tr&." Endless possibilities-- I predict a celebrity utilizes this for their child within the next 10 months.

Witz Pickz: Laughing Matters and Knäckebrödsdansen

I got flown by NWA. That's the coolest I'm ever gonna sound-- unfortunately, I wasn't assaulted by an iconic hip hop group, I just flew back to Connecticut on Northwest Airlines...though I was hit by the drink cart once by a flight attendant who looked kinda black.

While on board, I made the mistake of trying to pass the time by listening to Mike Birbiglia's stand up album "Two Drink Mike." I figured I'd already heard most of his jokes, so I wouldn't laugh, which I think says something about me, because who listens to a comedy album they DON'T expect to laugh at? As it turns out, there were a bunch of jokes I hadn't heard and ended up laughing hysterically, which was enjoyable for me as well as all kinds of uncomfortable for the older woman in the seat next to me at fifty-thousand feet. As I sat there laughing and shaking, I had to keep looking at my iPod just to demonstrate for people that I wasn't completely insane. "Oh, iPod! You're hilarious!" The whole thing was made more awkward by the fact that they were showing a documentary about like, saving villages in Africa, so my audible laughter almost definitely appeared to be directed at impoverished African villagers and their culture. Wonderful.

The plane laughter got me thinking about a conversation I had the other day with E-Funk All-Star. We somehow ended up talking about different kinds of laughter and giggling came up. There is a very small window for appropriate giggling and this became abundantly clear on my flight. Too little giggling and you're an emotionless sack of sad that's incapable of expressing excited or surprised enjoyment, and too much giggling and you're absolutely insane. In my world, giggling generally occurs when you try and hold in laughter, so there was probably some plane giggling and, let's be honest, there's been some giggling at the gym, which is awesome, because no matter how much weight you're benching, the moment you GIGGLE, your gym cred is gone.

The other kind of "surprise laughter" is the guffaw. The guffaw is rarely implemented, but when it is, look out. There is a very thin line between "a guffaw" and "throwing up."

Witz: I'm so tired of hearing those models say, "I was just trying to guffaw and..."
E-Funk All-Star: My friend is so funny that I lost 15 pounds!

How awesome would it be if weight was indicative of humor? I'd walk around with a really skinny girl all the time and people would whisper, "Wow, he must be SO funny!" Suddenly, people would be staging interventions for rail thin guys: "Tommy, we know you like it there, but you can't be going down to the comedy clubs every night. You're going to die." Almanacs would come out with facts like, "World's Funniest Nations As Evidenced By Weight," which would suddenly make Ethiopia the funniest country on the planet.

Anyway, here's something E-Funk All-Star introduced me to that you can giggle at: naket knäckebröd dansen. Apparently, the Swedish language consists almost entirely of cognates and poser cognates (words that dress and act like they're cognates, but aren't), but I will translate for you. "Naket" means naked. "Dansen" means dancing. "Brod" means bread. Knacke means FUCKING INSAAAAANE. Check it out:



ABBA: No Longer Sweden's Gayest Export. These guys are like the Swedish Red Hot Chili Peppers (Röd Het Chilli Peppars). As you might have guessed, knackebrod is actually large pieces of crispy circular bread with a whole in the middle-- or, as us Jews call them, bagel chips*. While most people see bagel chips and think, "I'm going to eat these with a sandwich," these guys saw bagel chips and thought, "I bet that would cover my dick." They then followed that thought up with,

"Let's all dance naket together on national television."
"Can there be a part where we all look like we're banging each other?"
"Almost exclusively."
"Sold. Girls are gonna love this!"

If these guys didn't go to boarding school, I don't know who did. If you missed the one guy losing his knackebrod (which sounds like a euphamism), go back and watch again, it's pretty amusing. As for me, now that I'm home, I'm gonna go raid the cupboard and get my "Ritz Crackerbrodsdansen" on.

Dansen Maskin,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Involuntary Bulimia and Shaking Like A Polaroid Picture

Tuesday's post was described by some of my readers as "Confusing," by others as, "not your best," and by one avid fan as, "Awful." I admit that my Memorial Day post was weak at best, but rather than take full responsibility for choosing to write about a story where I DON'T get pulled over by the police, I'd like to defer some blame to my stomach. You see, my stomach must have thought it needed to squeeze into a dress for the prom, because starting at 9am Tuesday, I became the world's most dedicated involuntary bulimic.

The problem with waking up and feeling sick in your stomach is that you don't know if you're sick or just hungry. So you start talking to it like it's a small child and feed it things in the hopes of feeling better:

WITZ: Do you like cereal? (eat cereal)
STOMACH: No, go away.
WITZ: Do you like toast and peanut butter?
STOMACH: I said no, stop it.
WITZ: Do you like Triscuits and cheese?
STOMACH: I will kill you.
WITZ: Do you like Lemon-Lime Gatorade?
STOMACH: That's it, let's do this thing.

Ya ever simultaneously throw up and feel like you pulled multiple chest and back muscles from doing so? I'm like the David Copperfield of poor health. Also, when people say Jesus is inside each and every one of us, do they mean he's in our stomachs performing miracles? Because how else am I able to eat THREE triscuits and moments later have what must be an entire box of woven grains powering back out the old mouth hatch? Chanukkah Part 2.

At night, my stomach decided to take a break and gave my body the opportunity to play a game called, "Let's Pretend You Just Quit Heroin Cold Turkey." If you want a quick way to workout your back and abs, but can't afford that little electric belt thing, just try to SHIVER UNCONTROLLABLY for a while. My friends Nitro and Diep Dish came by to drop off Gatorade ("So naturally, we called it Gator-Ade." Two things: 1) I guarantee a sick Jew huddled around a toilet shivering was not the initial target demographic of Gatorade and 2) Then why didn't you name it "Gator-AID??" I guess to be fair, they probably dodged a bullet given that once AIDS got huge, it would be more than a little awkward to ask a buddy to get some "Gator-AIDS" if he has the chance. The real winner though is Powerade. Nobody wants to get "Poweraids.") and as I left my bed to meet them, dressed from head to toe in gray sweat-gear (special thanks to K-Mitch for the sweatshirt that is extremely comfortable and will now haunt my memories), I felt as though I had just jumped naked into a snowbank. We tried to make conversation, but it was probably clear I wasn't up for it, and here's why: You know in movies when someone is touched by a ghost and suddenly gets really really cold? THAT'S HOW I FELT ALL THE TIME. Nobody wants to be the last person to see you before you die, so the two hurried along and I hustled back into bed.

My body then began repeating the same question in a less than subtle manner. It asked me, in very clear and precise terms, if I would rather live in THE ARCTIC CIRCLE...or...THE SAHARA DESERT?? Which one, Witz? ARCTIC? SAHARA? ARCTIC? SAHARA? My answer, incidentally, is The Arctic Circle. You can only get so naked before you're just a sweaty naked guy with no more options, but you can always throw on another baby seal coat. Anyway, there's only so much a guy can take before he calls him Mom to blame her for everything.

RING RING

Witz's Mom: Hello?
Witz: Remember yesterday when you asked if I was feeling OK, and I said yes, I actually haven't been sick in a while?
Witz's Mom: Yeah?
Witz: Way to jinx it. I have a fever and my stomach is putting the Bellagio Fountain to shame.
Witz's Mom: Oh no! Well, you probably have swine flu.
Witz: What!?
Witz's Mom: I told you you'd get swine flu!
Witz: You TOLD me?? I'm not even Mexican!
Witz's Mom: Yep. (pause) I bet you didn't shower with salt did you?
Witz: No, I didn't shower with salt! Why were you jinxing me with swine flu?? Haven't you read The Secret???
Witz's Mom: If you'd used salt like I told you...
Witz: Right. This is my fault. Because I didn't bring a shaker of Morton's into the tub with me.
Witz's Mom: I'm just saying.

CLICK

When your own mom assumes you're going to get swine flu it's time to re-evaluate your life. I pounded some Nyquil and waited for sleep to have its way with me. Since my body was already taken care of, sleep decided to destroy me mentally. Throughout the night, I had no fewer than three major stressful things in my life resolve themselves positively. What a nice, nice, relaxing sleep. THEN I WOKE UP. Boom. How's reality, motherfucker? Woot. Shattered. As my brain and body high fived, and I leaned into the business end of a Safeway Paper Bag*, I had one single thought that gave me hope:

At Least I'll Have Something To Post About,
Witz

*Now imagine that a Safeway Paper Bag has thoughts and lives only to serve its noble purpose of temporarily storing and transporting groceries. Now imagine it being used as an emergency vomit receptacle. (In a high pitched voice) "Light at last! I am ready deserving shopper! I await the bounty that you have purchased! Good good, place in me now your-- OH DEAR GOD!!!! WHAT IS HAPPENING!? AHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Witz Pickz: Memorial Day Miracle

As everybody knows, it is nearly impossible to honor anybody appropriately without grilling meats and drinking beers-- especially those who fought for our country. Memorial Day is practically synonymous with "BBQ" and it makes sense to me. Much like the eucharist in church (Yep, I know your secrets), the grilled meat represents the delicious flesh of those who served and the beer represents the blood of those brave men and women...with roughly a 5.4% alcohol content. Drink enough beers and eat enough grilled meat and you too can experience just a little bit of the physical and emotional pain of war.

My friends and I, therefore, understood that it was our duty as Americans (and I've been feeling more and more American the closer I get to collecting unemployment) to grill meats and drink beers last night, despite the cold, dank weather. In the face of this adversity, we all piled into my Humvee-- er-- station wagon-- and headed to the civilian supply depot...called Safeway. There were six of us in my five person vehicle, because you know what's not scaring off America's enemies? The phrase, "Click it or Ticket." We made it to the store without incident, deployed to the appropriate aisles, and rallied back to the vehicle ready to go. We had acquired beer, steaks, burger meat, Clausen pickles*, kabobs (because one of my friends is a terrorist) and a pack of pizza Lunchables (which was weird and unrelated).

The drive back began smoothly and without incident. We were mere minutes from the house when we came around a bend in the road and saw the ambush. Cops. A car had been pulled over on the side of the road and on the opposite side, waiting for us to drive past, was another car, officer still inside. We needed only to get by the two cops to the stop signs and we'd be home free. It was still daylight out and at least one of my passengers sitting on another's lap was not click-it-ed. I did not want to be ticketed.

Keeping my calm, I made a flagrantly guilty right turn and proceeded to the far end of the street, to where a sign stated "Right Turn Only." I made a left and we proceeded beyond the parking lot and back up another street to approach the stop signs from the opposite side, avoiding the police. From our vantage point, we could see the cops, and as we approached, we watched as the cop car pulled forward, through the intersection to intercept us. We were effed. As our car approached the stop sign where the cop had setup perpendicular to us (so when we passed them, they would be behind us), we all had basically the same imagined dialogue:

COPS: So it appears that you all went DRAMATICALLY out of your way to avoid us, including going down a street where you HAD to have made an illegal left turn to end up where you are right now...sooo...is that an asian girl in your lap or are you just happy to see me?

Why can't it ever be both?! As we got to the cop car, the driver stuck his hand out and waved us by him-- a motion I took to mean, "We don't have all day to ticket you, so hurry up, this is inevitable." We rolled by the cop and got to our four way stop sign. Stop. Signal. Edge out. Turn. We waited and looked back, but nothing happened. When the cop was out of sight I sped up the hill and back to the house. We had made it. We had gone completely out of our way only to be tracked down by the cop car and then waved on by him without incident. It was a Memorial Day Miracle (and also just a really poorly done job by the police).




Good Thing They Didn't See the Kabobs,
Witz


*Clausen Kosher Dill Pickles are goddamn amazing. It also feels like the Germans trying way too hard to make up for WWII:

GERMAN 1: How are we going to make up for these atrocities?
GERMAN 2: What if we made reparations by way of delicious pickles?
GERMAN 1: Hm, I like it. Sweet gerkins?
GERMAN 2: No no, they have to be kosher.
GERMAN 1: Oh, right.
GERMAN 2: We'll make delicious Kosher Dill pickles. The Jews will love us!
GERMAN 1: Excellent! And we'll place them in the refrigerated section away from all the other pickles!
GERMAN 2: Wait, why?
GERMAN 1: No apparent reason!....c'mon, give me this one man, you turned down the sweet gerkins idea...
GERMAN 2: Fine-- deal!

Witz Pickz: Where My Head's At (Back On the Pickin' Wagon)

There's a pretty good explanation for why I'm writing this post naked, but I don't feel like it's necessary to get into it. Suffice it to say I just got back from a long run, respect west coast work hours, and don't need clothes because I am pretty much living the dream. In case that doesn't let you know where I'm at today, here are some more things that are on my mind:

I'm almost twenty-seven years old and I'm still scared to open yogurt because I know it's gonna spit at me.

I'm considering taking yoga at my gym because I have the time to do it and figure it might help me avoid some soccer injuries. My hesitation, of course, is that I would suddenly become "9am On A Monday Yoga Guy." Unless I wear clothing made of money stitched together, people are going to know I don't have a job (and even then, it probably would come off a bit desperate, or be like the time I dressed up like a Mummy for Halloween and then it rained. The only thing worse than 9am On A Monday Yoga Guy is Naked 9am On A Monday Yoga Guy). It'll just be jobless me and a bunch of stay at home moms. Incidentally, all of those moms are terrible at their one task of STAYING AT HOME!

This from CNN the othe day:
Bill Clinton: But I do hope he gets some more target practice before he goes out again...
Wolf Blitzer: What do you make of that? I guess it's the implication of the shooting incident where he (Cheney) went hunting a few years ago and shot his friend in the face.

I definitely laughed while on the treadmill at that, which is always very weird for both me and everyone around me. Yes, Wolf, I would say that is probably what he was referring to.

I bought a pack of Euro-Mentos called Aqua Kiss in Paris. I bought them because Aqua Kiss is a gross name for a product, and sounds like something they'd use on you at the dentist's office-- like that thing that sucks all the water out of your mouth-- THAT should be the Aqua Kiss. "Aqua Kiss" shouldn't be something you put in your mouth to improve breath in case of an actual kiss. An "Aqua Kiss" sounds like a sloppy, overactive salivary gland problem that scares people off. "Ugh, he totally aqua-kissed me. It was like kissing a Smart Water." And you know what? When I ate one-- my mouth had a lot more saliva! Maybe that really is what it's supposed to do?


Paris also has condom dispensers in the Metro, which is both presumptuous and problematic. It's presumptuous because it's like the french are saying, "We know, we know, Paris is romantic, so much so that we must place condoms in our least romantic location." I rarely buy condoms WHILE smelling urine. It's problematic because the Metro is the LEAST friendly place in the city. The rule is not to make eye-contact with anyone, so it's very unlikely you're going to meet someone ON THE METRO and immediately be like, "Let's do this thing-- oh no, I don't have a-- OH WAIT, I can get one on the way out so there's no time for us to think better of this." Why might you think better of it? Oh, because anyone you meet on the metro who plans to buy a condom AT the metro has a previous criminal record AND is a virtual choose your own adventure book of STDs. It's also weird, because putting condoms in the Metro is like advertising, "The Metro: You Can Fuck Here.**" My biggest concern, however, is simply WHO BUYS METRO DISPENSER CONDOMS?? I wouldn't buy winter gloves in the subway, but people are willing to trust Metro Condoms??

"Honey, did you pick up some condoms?"
"Why, yes dear, I grabbed them at the Metro just today."
"I knew you wanted children!"

One STD Free Person + One STD Free Person + 1 Metro Condom = Two People With STDs

Somebody showed me these online:



Now try and picture somebody UNDER 300 pounds wearing them. Can't do it, can you?

As the Presidio Crew and I were discussing, M&M's melt in your hand exactly as easily as Reese's Pieces do, despite their claims. I think it's alright though, because it's basically portion control. "Hey fatty, maybe try and eat them slower next time, huh? Try taking three out of the bag at once. Oh, you're sharing the bag at the movies? Well, see your chocolatey palm? Yeah-- that means you're a dick."

I don't find pizza bagels to be anywhere near as good as either pizza or bagels, which are two of my favorite things in the world. They say "when pizza's on a bagel, you can eat pizza anytime!" which makes me think that if you eat pizza bagels for dinner, you're not taking full advantage of the offer. You know what else I can eat anytime? Pizza. And bagels. Because I'm a goddamn adult. Also, in that equation, the bagel seems to represent "Anytime," right? Like, it could be described mathematically as "X + Bagel = Appropriate All the Time." So, really, I can put whatever the hell I want on a bagel and eat it whenever the hell I want. "When burritos are on a bagel, you can eat burritos anytime!"

Witz: When a bottle of beer is on a bagel, you can have a bottle of beer anytime!
Person: But you drank that beer and didn't even touch your bagel!
Witz: Shhhhut up.

Orange has to be the least hip-hop word ever. Nothing rhymes with it. Least hip hop words and phrases:

5) Poland Springs
4) Quinoa
3) upper-middle class
2) hysterectomy
1) Orange


Any of These Jokes Landing?,
Witz

**Which would actually be ripping off the marketing of The Days Inn.