Thursday, February 22, 2007

Witz Pickz: SpamSpace Romance

This is the second post in 5 minutes, so don't miss the first one.

I couldn't resist picking this: A message I received on myspace from one of my porn pushing spamspace friends.

"Feb 22, 2007 7:27 AM
I'm hittin up my myspace buddies with a cool deal I found online, a free frickin iphone lol! get it here Chow! xoxoxo "

I don't even know where to start here. Let's see...I already know you aren't a real person, and yet i've made my choice to add you as a friend. We're very far past the point where you have to call me your buddy to "help me" find a good deal online. But that doesn't actually bother me. What bothers me is that she thinks the whole deal finding thing is HILARIOUS. "a free frickin iphone lol!" That's not how people talk or act. That's like me coming up to you and saying, "I found a website that says it gives away free xbox 360's...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH" and then when you ask me if I'm laughing because there's no way it's true I say, "Nono, I'm laughing because free stuff is soooo funny!" You wouldn't interract with me anymore.

Next up, we have "Chow!" meaning "food." I-- nevermind, I think that stands alone.

Finally, there is the shear amount of affection bestowed upon me by this girl I don't know, simply because SHE told ME about a good deal. "xoxoxo" she writes. Little hug. Little kiss. Little hug. Little kiss. Little hug. Little kiss. Ok, at this point, I'm pretty sure we're gonna bang. Or at least I'm gettin' under her bra. The hugkisshugkisshugkiss in physical actions usually suggests a clingy unwillingness to part with something. There is a need to be filled. A sexy sadness. As Will Farrell's character in The Wedding Crashers says (and I'm paraphrasing), "depression and bereavement is a crazy aphrodesiac." So I'm ready to go. But no. Chow. She's gone. I will have to wait until an ipod, or a razor phone, or a PS3 is advertised in a ridiculous deal before I will see where this relationship is going.



Witz Pickz: Chest Hair in the Workplace

I've been shirkin' my duties recently, and for that I apologize. The reason for said shirking though has been my being busy at work recently and then feeling miserable afterwards. Fortunately, this has led to a revelation-- that I pick Chest Hair in the Workplace.

The week was long and terrible, but then something happened unexpectedly. I walked into the bathroom, let my comedy belt do the talking, and then stepped in front of the mirror to leave. It was then that I noticed plumes of my chest hair peaking out above the wrinkled collar of my undershirt. Just like that I felt better. Like I had one up on the world. I walked into the bathroom somber, and walked out like champion of the world. Maybe that's why dogs look so proud and happy after a walk-- they're just thinkin, "I'm ass-naked and just took a shit on your flowers, things are good..."

Anyway, I walked out sporting chest hair in the workplace. It was particularly prominent because I'm one of about 6 men who work in the office, and 5 of them have to wear ties everyday. So mine is the premier chest hair being sported in the office and it's great. I feel like I'm British and smarmy and the ruler of all things. How could anyone expect me to do some dumb project when I've got chest hair out and about. Clearly I am above such work.

Sporting the chest hair is a tiny victory. It says, "I fucking rule you" but in a more socially acceptable manner. Women have this with breasts, but it's not the same. Sportin' cleavage in the workplace says, "I rule you by demonstrating my subservience," and sometimes just, "I'm proud of my body and feel it is appropriate to express my freedom in the workplace," but that isn't a claiming of dominance so much as...what's the phrase...just freakin' awesome. Chest hair is not beautiful, nor is it attractive. It is a raw, ugly eff-you of power to not women, but the world. It breaks social folkways and weaves in the breeze. It is appalling and intriguing. Chest hair is tits with a handgun.

This is my tiny victory, but at least it is mine...and at least it's a victory. So go ahead and do it-- you'll be surprised at how great it feels.

Not Scorin' Any Points With the Ladies Today,

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Witz Pickz: Survivor: Fiji (and Shameless Self Promotion...Again)

I can't vouch for the show yet this season because it starts tonight at 8 on CBS, but I have been signed on by to write their Survivor blog, and after checking out the cast this season I think it will be a fun one to watch. I encourage you all to watch and add one more blog to your workday routine ( As always, thanks for readin' and supporting. For those interested, the magazine I am co-editor of The Wonder Boy Review, will be released March 3, 2007. There will be a release party in Seattle. Details to follow.


PS. Props to Sara in the comments section for making dual witzpickz references and saying that I should have the immunity of white bread. I'm unhealthily jealous of the bread now.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Unusual Longevity of White Bread

Ok, here's the deal-- there's a single slice of white bread lying in my garage and it's FREAKIN' ME OUT! Seriously. In the parking spot next to my car lies a single slice of perfectly white bread. Possibly Wonder. And it's been there a week, and it's perfectly white. It's rained, frosted, been warm. The slice remains surrounded by water darkened cement-- perfectly white. It freaks me out because this is something people have said to me my entire life. My Dad used to tell me how white bread was no good, my teachers said white bread was "empty calories", trainers and coaches told me the same thing, and my girlfriend told me time and again that white bread is terrible for you. Empty carbs and calories. And now, as this slice lays there, CONTENT, just....OBLIVIOUS to the elements...I'm beginning to think it might be worse than empty calories. I'm talkin' Twinkie level here. Is this the "wonder" in Wonder Bread? That it's freaking indestructible and can last through a nuclear blast? Is that why the bread is there? Did someone put it out to test it's strength and durability? And who was this person? Was it the white bread company? Are they entirely confused on what I want out of my bread? "They want it to last years. Through snow and hail and hurricanes. Monsoons should compliment this bread-- give it depth." Is this what they're thinking? Or was it just a person in my building? Did they place it or drop it and decide to leave it? Did they leave it for this reason or are they the laziest shits I've ever heard of-- a person who can't pickup the lone slice of white bread that they left IN THEIR OWN PARKING SPOT? Or was it an outsider-- someone not supposed to be there-- maybe just someone trespassing into another tenant's parking spot. Was it me? Did I get drunk, buy a bread I haven't eaten in years, remove one slice and drunkenly place it in my neighbor's spot? Did I mean it to be symbolic-- to counteract the SUV-ness of the vehicle parking there? "This white bread will last longer than our planet thanks to your vehicle purchase. See the whiteness of the bread? It is in perfect contrast to the blackness of your heart." Is this art? Should I take a picture-- charge admission-- make a papier mache cast of it? These are the thinks I wonder as I stare at the single slice of white bread. Surviving. Lying there. Contented to be. But I'm not going to be the one to pick it up. The white bread is there. It is a part of life now. And it remains. Always.