Continuing the low-brow humor, Turbo showed me this infomercial and I obviously had to post about it...
The Comfort Wipe:
First of all, I like how they qualify, "The first improvement to toilet paper, AS WE KNOW IT, since the 1880's." Like there might be some toilet paper out there that they know nothing about, but they still might get sued for not recognizing its existence. Next, they tell us that it's anatomically designed to fit the contours of my body. Listen-- it's a stick that curves slightly and it will be traversing the landscape from my balls to my anus-- how anatomically correct does it need to be? "It's as easy to use as a shower brush." Honestly, if you need a stick to wipe with, I think it's a giant assumption that people are already dextrous experts with a shower brush, even though they probably are your target audience.
"Being a big guy certainly has its advantages...and its disadvantages." REALLY? Name ONE advantage. Nothing against big people, but I'm guessing "not being able to wipe your own ass" pretty much knocks any advantages out of the park. "It's embarrassing to have someone help you with your personal matters. The comfort wipe allows you to maintain your dignity WHILE you maintain your personal hygiene." A) I'm confused. Does the comfort wipe do your taxes? B) Was the previous solution to maintaining your dignity NOT maintaining your hygiene? "You know what, I still have my pride-- I just won't use any toilet paper." I imagine your dignity doesn't stick around very long if your personal hygiene is taking that kind of vacation time.
If you're not already terrified of using the Comfort Wipe, here's something that might do the trick: while I was watching tv, I saw another infomercial that had me thinking, "Wait, why does this product look familiar??" and then I realized, it was the SAME AS THE COMFORT WIPE. Introducing, the Windshield Wonder:
Utilizing both alliteration and classic Stick Technology, the Windshield Wonder boldly asks the question, "Why stop at asses?" After all, this is America-- and these colors don't run...because they're morbidly obese, believe McDonald's fries are a vegetable, and need to buy two seats on the airplane when they travel to somewhere cooler in the summer, because when they sweat in the heat all the neighborhood animals think someone's frying chicken. If someone can't reach their own ass, they probably can't reach their own windshield to clean it. Well played, Windshield Wonder.
Here are a few quick notes about the informercial:
1) I love how difficult they make cleaning everything to be. The models actually put themselves in the most awkward, difficult positions possible. The women is seated in the passenger seat, practically with her seatbelt on. "Hard to reach interior glass" is the BACKSEAT WINDOW.
2) I love the Sci-Fi Future Technology font.
3) Peep the extended autistic child shot at 0:46.
4) How fucking high do you have to be to smile while dusting your home?
5) Did Julie B kill Simba and steal his mane?
6) "That's two Windshield Wonder kits! One for your car, and one for almost every other surface in your home." I think we both know the surface they're referring to.
If you need the Comfort Wipe, you might as well just get the Super Toilet.
Puttin' the "A-S-S" Back in "Classy,"
Witz
Read this transcript from a guy who tried to return The Comfort Wipe.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Witz Pickz: 2009: A Toilet Odyssey
I live in a world where toilets are like slot machines-- you put something in, pull a lever and it all goes down the drain. So, it's not surprising that when E-Funk All-Star told me, "I just went to a house that has an automatic ass washer and dryer built into the toilet," my initial response was, "A) Are you sure the toilet wasn't just broken and B) I'm not entirely convinced you know how to properly work a hair dryer."
Then I saw the keypad:
Someone, somewhere saw a washer and dryer in the basement of their first apartment and thought, "Someday, I'll have a washer/dryer of my own...FOR. MY. ASS."
Look at the options on this thing! The controls look like the ADT security system my parents have at their house, only this thing would probably be more terrifying-- and it's always armed. On that note, let's start with the "Cleansing" options. Apparently, this toilet has J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets Jets, and they're aimed at the business end of your business end.
There's a front cleansing button which is pink implying that is is for women, which seems reasonable, except that I promise you EVERY SINGLE GUY who has EVER used that toilet has pressed the front cleansing button. It's just way too hilarious an option. Then you have the "Rear Cleansing" options: Soft and Regular. "Soft" has a little image of a plume of water spraying the general vicinity of Our Man's undercarriage. "Regular" depicts a water cannon with a missile lock on your five hole. I can't even imagine the first time you decide you need the "regular strength" butt cleanse. Hygiene aside, that has to be like riding the flume at a theme park ass naked on your back.*
Butt wait, there's more! Take a gander at the "oscillating" and "pulsing" buttons. Now, as far as oscillating goes, I've spent one too many hot days in front of a fan to think that the jet of water doesn't go side to side. "No, no, no, ahhhh, no, no, no." I just don't understand why it would do that-- and even if it goes back and forth, there really isn't that much room to work with. What happens if you only select "Rear cleanse" and "oscillate?" Does it just blow up? Just, Boom. Dead. Toilet Death. Even David Carradine's like, "Man, that'd be embarrassing." As far as pulse goes, I can't imagine a time when "pulsing" would be any better than just a constant stream of water-- we're not makin' smoothies here. Actually, I can think of one reason, which is why between the oscillating and the pulsing, I think we can agree that whoever sold this product is basically saying, "If you've ever wanted to fuck the fountain at the Bellagio-- you're gonna love what we're selling!" I wonder if there's, like, a Mozart of the Washer/Drier toilet-- just playing that keypad like a baby grand...
The dryer button seems pretty self-explanatory, only if it's anything like those hand dryers in public bathrooms, you're going to be there for forty-five minutes, but let's be honest, if you've ever been in the guy's bathroom at a college dorm, this drier is pretty much just cutting out the thinly veiled charade.
Which leaves us with the "stop" button. I like how the "STOP" button is marked VERY CLEARLY on the keypad- it's capitalized, color coded, and includes the universal VCR symbol for "Stop!" It's like a safe word, and I'd have one finger on that at all times in case of technical malfunction or if I'm just ready to tap out. Because, while light shows are fun and we all enjoy spinning the roulette wheel, sometimes you're only at the casino to play the slots.
I Can't Believe I Went Through That Whole Casino Analogy and Didn't Make a Craps Joke-- Stayin' Classy,
Witz
*Similar to why someone would invent the front cleanse, someone had to said, "Wow, look at Old Faithful-- such an amazing natural geyser. If only it could be UP. MY. BUTT." (That was like Witz Pickz bonus footage-- it wouldn't fit in the original post, but you all are reading the director's cut).
Then I saw the keypad:
Someone, somewhere saw a washer and dryer in the basement of their first apartment and thought, "Someday, I'll have a washer/dryer of my own...FOR. MY. ASS."
Look at the options on this thing! The controls look like the ADT security system my parents have at their house, only this thing would probably be more terrifying-- and it's always armed. On that note, let's start with the "Cleansing" options. Apparently, this toilet has J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets Jets, and they're aimed at the business end of your business end.
There's a front cleansing button which is pink implying that is is for women, which seems reasonable, except that I promise you EVERY SINGLE GUY who has EVER used that toilet has pressed the front cleansing button. It's just way too hilarious an option. Then you have the "Rear Cleansing" options: Soft and Regular. "Soft" has a little image of a plume of water spraying the general vicinity of Our Man's undercarriage. "Regular" depicts a water cannon with a missile lock on your five hole. I can't even imagine the first time you decide you need the "regular strength" butt cleanse. Hygiene aside, that has to be like riding the flume at a theme park ass naked on your back.*
Butt wait, there's more! Take a gander at the "oscillating" and "pulsing" buttons. Now, as far as oscillating goes, I've spent one too many hot days in front of a fan to think that the jet of water doesn't go side to side. "No, no, no, ahhhh, no, no, no." I just don't understand why it would do that-- and even if it goes back and forth, there really isn't that much room to work with. What happens if you only select "Rear cleanse" and "oscillate?" Does it just blow up? Just, Boom. Dead. Toilet Death. Even David Carradine's like, "Man, that'd be embarrassing." As far as pulse goes, I can't imagine a time when "pulsing" would be any better than just a constant stream of water-- we're not makin' smoothies here. Actually, I can think of one reason, which is why between the oscillating and the pulsing, I think we can agree that whoever sold this product is basically saying, "If you've ever wanted to fuck the fountain at the Bellagio-- you're gonna love what we're selling!" I wonder if there's, like, a Mozart of the Washer/Drier toilet-- just playing that keypad like a baby grand...
The dryer button seems pretty self-explanatory, only if it's anything like those hand dryers in public bathrooms, you're going to be there for forty-five minutes, but let's be honest, if you've ever been in the guy's bathroom at a college dorm, this drier is pretty much just cutting out the thinly veiled charade.
Which leaves us with the "stop" button. I like how the "STOP" button is marked VERY CLEARLY on the keypad- it's capitalized, color coded, and includes the universal VCR symbol for "Stop!" It's like a safe word, and I'd have one finger on that at all times in case of technical malfunction or if I'm just ready to tap out. Because, while light shows are fun and we all enjoy spinning the roulette wheel, sometimes you're only at the casino to play the slots.
I Can't Believe I Went Through That Whole Casino Analogy and Didn't Make a Craps Joke-- Stayin' Classy,
Witz
*Similar to why someone would invent the front cleanse, someone had to said, "Wow, look at Old Faithful-- such an amazing natural geyser. If only it could be UP. MY. BUTT." (That was like Witz Pickz bonus footage-- it wouldn't fit in the original post, but you all are reading the director's cut).
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Witz Pickz: Jews Kicking Ass
If you ever saw Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and thought, "Yeah, this movie is alright, but you know what would make it better? WAY MORE JEWS!" then you need to go watch Defiance. I watched it last night and despite my vague and sporadic Jewish identity, I got all pumped up from watching Daniel Craig and Liev Shrieber take on the nazis. And guess what? Daniel Craig isn't even Jewish-- he's just become an honorary Jew after being in Defiance, Munich and Fateless. Which does seem a little awkward:
Director: Alright, we're making a movie where some badass Jews kill the nazis.
Producer: Yeah, right now we're looking for someone who can play Jewish.
Director: Play Jewish?
Producer: Yeah, we need someone who looks like they could actually take on the nazis, but still be believable as a Jew.
Director: But...it's a true story-- this actually happened.
Producer: So?
Director: So, real badass Jews DID take on the nazis.
Producer: But that's not believable.
Director: Why can't we just get a real badass Jewish actor to play the role?
Producer: (sighs) Because Vin Diesel can barely speak English, nevermind speak with a Russian accent. Plus, he made The Pacifier.
Director: Fine, but there have to be more...
Producer: ...
Director: I see your point.
Producer: We can get Daniel Craig.
Director: Oh! Isn't he Jewish?
Producer: Exactly.
(Daniel Craig would be equally believable as a Jew or a Nazi)
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "No, but seriously, isn't Daniel Craig Jewish?" I wasn't sure until I searched online and came across the site "Jew or Not.com"* which appears to rate people's Jewishness on a scale of 1 to Steven Spielberg (and investigates whether or not fictional characters such as Gargamel were Jewish. They determined he's probably not, but somebody involved is probaby anti-semitic). Daniel Craig scored a 6 because he's become typecast as Jewish, but is not remotely Jewish. But that doesn't matter to me, because he kicked ass.
I determined that the "Jews kicking ass" film market is just waiting to explode. In fact, the entire "Oppressed peoples kicking ass" genre would be huge, and I don't understand why it doesn't exist. They use "based on a true story" to describe HORROR films (which is like a great big "FUCK YOU" to our intelligence-- "No,I mean The Mist didn't TECHNICALLY try to kill us, but it WAS difficult to drive in..."), so why not keep it going for more of these movies?
I'm not talking about the "oppressed overcoming adversity" movies either. Sure, black students being good at debate is great and all, and I'm super psyched Cuba Gooding, Jr. got to go scuba diving, but wouldn't it be way more exciting to see a successful slave uprising; killing the horribly racist plantation owners and creating a safe community in the backwoods of Georgia? Something like that PROBABLY happened. Shit, gimme ONE badass Harriet Tubman flick. JUST ONE. What about "Fully Cocked: The Prop 8 Rebellion -- This time equal rights brought rocket launchers." I'd even be fine if Pixar made "Cows" with the tagline, "They've got a beef with us," where a group of cows slaughter their cruel human overlords and escape to the wilderness of Canada where they learn that they're actually very very dull creatures and were better off on my plate with BBQ sauce, an onion ring, and a bun (Burger King Rodeo Cheeseburger whaaaaaaaat!).
I mean, they made Valkyrie and that's a movie about a FAILED ATTEMPT to kill Hitler-- but it was cool. I'm even pumped up for Dead Snow, the Norwegian movie where a bunch of skiiers have to battle Nazi Zombies. Basically, pick a group of bigotted assholes and show them getting their asses kicked. No, it won't reflect the difficulties and the tragedies, and the futility of the times necessarily, but most people ALREADY KNOW ABOUT THAT, and occasionally just want to see bad people get what's coming to them.
Anecdotal proof: In college, the nazis came to town. We all wanted to go see them because, "When else in our lives will we have a chance to kick a nazi in the nuts?" but both the news and our college proclaimed, "Don't go down to the protest and hit them. That's JUST what they want you to do!" EXACTLY! EVERYBODY loves seeing the nazis getting their asses kicked-- even the nazis. Go see Defiance**.
,
Witz
*Somehow I feel "black or not dot com" wouldn't go over as well.
**Remember when I used to actually provide opinions on things you should or shouldn't have in your life? Defiance was actually a very good movie and they did a great job of riding the line between action and um, THE HOLOCAUST. Daniel Craig, Liev Schrieber and the rest of the cast are great and the 2 hours 15 minutes doesn't drag at all. Plus, they're totally and completely badass. Definitely worth seeing.
This was me, fully engrossed in the film as the camp of Jewish refugees were fleeing the nazis in the forest and suddenly came upon a huge swamp and try and decide what to do:
They're like "Cross it!"
and I'm like, "Cross it!"
and they're like, "It's too far!"
and I'm like, "It's not!"
and they're like, "It's too deep!"
and I'm like, "It's not!"
and they're like, "The nazis are right behind us!"
and I'm like, "GET IN THE GODDAMN SWAMP!"
and they're like, "There might be snakes!"
and I'm like, "SURRENDER TO THE NAZIS!"
This is why I wouldn't have made it.
Director: Alright, we're making a movie where some badass Jews kill the nazis.
Producer: Yeah, right now we're looking for someone who can play Jewish.
Director: Play Jewish?
Producer: Yeah, we need someone who looks like they could actually take on the nazis, but still be believable as a Jew.
Director: But...it's a true story-- this actually happened.
Producer: So?
Director: So, real badass Jews DID take on the nazis.
Producer: But that's not believable.
Director: Why can't we just get a real badass Jewish actor to play the role?
Producer: (sighs) Because Vin Diesel can barely speak English, nevermind speak with a Russian accent. Plus, he made The Pacifier.
Director: Fine, but there have to be more...
Producer: ...
Director: I see your point.
Producer: We can get Daniel Craig.
Director: Oh! Isn't he Jewish?
Producer: Exactly.
(Daniel Craig would be equally believable as a Jew or a Nazi)
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "No, but seriously, isn't Daniel Craig Jewish?" I wasn't sure until I searched online and came across the site "Jew or Not.com"* which appears to rate people's Jewishness on a scale of 1 to Steven Spielberg (and investigates whether or not fictional characters such as Gargamel were Jewish. They determined he's probably not, but somebody involved is probaby anti-semitic). Daniel Craig scored a 6 because he's become typecast as Jewish, but is not remotely Jewish. But that doesn't matter to me, because he kicked ass.
I determined that the "Jews kicking ass" film market is just waiting to explode. In fact, the entire "Oppressed peoples kicking ass" genre would be huge, and I don't understand why it doesn't exist. They use "based on a true story" to describe HORROR films (which is like a great big "FUCK YOU" to our intelligence-- "No,I mean The Mist didn't TECHNICALLY try to kill us, but it WAS difficult to drive in..."), so why not keep it going for more of these movies?
I'm not talking about the "oppressed overcoming adversity" movies either. Sure, black students being good at debate is great and all, and I'm super psyched Cuba Gooding, Jr. got to go scuba diving, but wouldn't it be way more exciting to see a successful slave uprising; killing the horribly racist plantation owners and creating a safe community in the backwoods of Georgia? Something like that PROBABLY happened. Shit, gimme ONE badass Harriet Tubman flick. JUST ONE. What about "Fully Cocked: The Prop 8 Rebellion -- This time equal rights brought rocket launchers." I'd even be fine if Pixar made "Cows" with the tagline, "They've got a beef with us," where a group of cows slaughter their cruel human overlords and escape to the wilderness of Canada where they learn that they're actually very very dull creatures and were better off on my plate with BBQ sauce, an onion ring, and a bun (Burger King Rodeo Cheeseburger whaaaaaaaat!).
I mean, they made Valkyrie and that's a movie about a FAILED ATTEMPT to kill Hitler-- but it was cool. I'm even pumped up for Dead Snow, the Norwegian movie where a bunch of skiiers have to battle Nazi Zombies. Basically, pick a group of bigotted assholes and show them getting their asses kicked. No, it won't reflect the difficulties and the tragedies, and the futility of the times necessarily, but most people ALREADY KNOW ABOUT THAT, and occasionally just want to see bad people get what's coming to them.
Anecdotal proof: In college, the nazis came to town. We all wanted to go see them because, "When else in our lives will we have a chance to kick a nazi in the nuts?" but both the news and our college proclaimed, "Don't go down to the protest and hit them. That's JUST what they want you to do!" EXACTLY! EVERYBODY loves seeing the nazis getting their asses kicked-- even the nazis. Go see Defiance**.
,
Witz
*Somehow I feel "black or not dot com" wouldn't go over as well.
**Remember when I used to actually provide opinions on things you should or shouldn't have in your life? Defiance was actually a very good movie and they did a great job of riding the line between action and um, THE HOLOCAUST. Daniel Craig, Liev Schrieber and the rest of the cast are great and the 2 hours 15 minutes doesn't drag at all. Plus, they're totally and completely badass. Definitely worth seeing.
This was me, fully engrossed in the film as the camp of Jewish refugees were fleeing the nazis in the forest and suddenly came upon a huge swamp and try and decide what to do:
They're like "Cross it!"
and I'm like, "Cross it!"
and they're like, "It's too far!"
and I'm like, "It's not!"
and they're like, "It's too deep!"
and I'm like, "It's not!"
and they're like, "The nazis are right behind us!"
and I'm like, "GET IN THE GODDAMN SWAMP!"
and they're like, "There might be snakes!"
and I'm like, "SURRENDER TO THE NAZIS!"
This is why I wouldn't have made it.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Witz Pickz: Our Little Secrets
Today, for the first time in my life, I think I understood why men wear women's underwear. Eh, I guess I'll elaborate. You see, as I hobbled into Safeway today, I looked completely the same to everyone around me...BUT underneath my jeans, I was wearing a compression wrap on my pulled hamstring. Tight, safe, secure-- it felt like I was putting one over on the world-- it was my little secret, and it made me feel great. I had confidence...I also had extremely limited mobility and couldn't buy cheese because I couldn't reach down to pick it up...but also confidence. There's something empowering about tricking the world, even when they don't care they're being tricked.
That's why I've been wearing my Stanford University t-shirt as much as possible the last two months while I've been unemployed. Why am I free to shop and go to the gym or library or anywhere at all hours of the day? Don't ask me-- just read the t-shirt. That sucker gets in with every laundry load I run, and more than once I've encountered a respectable businessman, or a gym employee, or a cute girl at Safeway and thought, "Standford tee is saving your life right now, bro! (Paraphrasing Charlie as Green Man in It's Always Sunny...)" I'm not disheveled and lazy, I'm just obscenely intelligent. It's the same technique I used to use for how I let people know my opinions regarding Co-Ed Naked events or sports.
Anyway, the compression wrap/undergarment thing got me thinking about what makes other people feel good-- and thanks to Turbo, I was shown this As Seen On TV product that can only be sold to the very depressed to make them feel better.*
Doc Bottom's Aspray:
I honestly don't know if it's real or not. Too many years of comedy and parody have made me completely incapable of judging reality. A lot of me wants to say this is a joke, but I would have thought the same thing about the Mr. T cooker, and it's probably illegal to take credit card information for fake products. Take a look:
My Thoughts:
-I can't imagine people with "BEASTLY BUTT ODOR" would both know that they had said issue AND refer to it as "beastly." Ever. Equally notable: Why does Plumber A stick his face into the ass-crack of Plumber B while passing the wrench? If his location was Seattle, and he handed the wrench to New York City, his face took a detour to Houston.** No, this isn't on the GREs.
-Six words: "You can even A-Spray your privates."
-I love how he brings America into this. Like people have extreme body odor issues, but aren't dealing with them because they only buy American.
-I like that they made "Lanny F" the all purpose consumer. I don't know if it's a 55 year old man or a 70 year old lesbian.
-"Stops odor before it starts" sounds like a lifetime commitment to me. Once you buy Aspray and start using it for its 24 Hour Protection, you can't ever really stop without worrying that you'll revert back to a freakishly smelly sack of flesh.
-We're all on the same page that it's spelled like "Ass-spray" right?
-If I ever find Aspray in anyone's home, it's going to carry the same weight as finding out they are a convicted felon. Sure, maybe they're functional in society, but right below the surface or one poorly timed government holiday and the beast rears its odorous head and it's ass-crack city*** all over again.
I can't wait to get the, "Normally I'm not very sensitive to this type of thing, but I have a lot of friends with beastly butt odor, and if it wasn't for Aspray, they wouldn't be able to play in the deaf olympics!" comments.
I Would Have Called It, "I Can't Believe It's Not Beastly Butt Odor...Spray,"
Witz
*Ok, it didn't really make me think that-- in fact, Turbo gave me these links BEFORE I put on the compression wrap and went to the store...and I don't think in half-baked segues, which is a blessing and a curse. So I lied to you just now, but the important thing is that I always admit my lies, so you always can be sure that my life is just as ridiculous as it seems.
**I just managed to both make a geographical metaphor AND call Houston the ass-crack of America. I think this shows growth as a writer.
***Houston...in related news, I've been informed that Marseilles smells overwhelmingly of urine.
That's why I've been wearing my Stanford University t-shirt as much as possible the last two months while I've been unemployed. Why am I free to shop and go to the gym or library or anywhere at all hours of the day? Don't ask me-- just read the t-shirt. That sucker gets in with every laundry load I run, and more than once I've encountered a respectable businessman, or a gym employee, or a cute girl at Safeway and thought, "Standford tee is saving your life right now, bro! (Paraphrasing Charlie as Green Man in It's Always Sunny...)" I'm not disheveled and lazy, I'm just obscenely intelligent. It's the same technique I used to use for how I let people know my opinions regarding Co-Ed Naked events or sports.
Anyway, the compression wrap/undergarment thing got me thinking about what makes other people feel good-- and thanks to Turbo, I was shown this As Seen On TV product that can only be sold to the very depressed to make them feel better.*
Doc Bottom's Aspray:
I honestly don't know if it's real or not. Too many years of comedy and parody have made me completely incapable of judging reality. A lot of me wants to say this is a joke, but I would have thought the same thing about the Mr. T cooker, and it's probably illegal to take credit card information for fake products. Take a look:
My Thoughts:
-I can't imagine people with "BEASTLY BUTT ODOR" would both know that they had said issue AND refer to it as "beastly." Ever. Equally notable: Why does Plumber A stick his face into the ass-crack of Plumber B while passing the wrench? If his location was Seattle, and he handed the wrench to New York City, his face took a detour to Houston.** No, this isn't on the GREs.
-Six words: "You can even A-Spray your privates."
-I love how he brings America into this. Like people have extreme body odor issues, but aren't dealing with them because they only buy American.
-I like that they made "Lanny F" the all purpose consumer. I don't know if it's a 55 year old man or a 70 year old lesbian.
-"Stops odor before it starts" sounds like a lifetime commitment to me. Once you buy Aspray and start using it for its 24 Hour Protection, you can't ever really stop without worrying that you'll revert back to a freakishly smelly sack of flesh.
-We're all on the same page that it's spelled like "Ass-spray" right?
-If I ever find Aspray in anyone's home, it's going to carry the same weight as finding out they are a convicted felon. Sure, maybe they're functional in society, but right below the surface or one poorly timed government holiday and the beast rears its odorous head and it's ass-crack city*** all over again.
I can't wait to get the, "Normally I'm not very sensitive to this type of thing, but I have a lot of friends with beastly butt odor, and if it wasn't for Aspray, they wouldn't be able to play in the deaf olympics!" comments.
I Would Have Called It, "I Can't Believe It's Not Beastly Butt Odor...Spray,"
Witz
*Ok, it didn't really make me think that-- in fact, Turbo gave me these links BEFORE I put on the compression wrap and went to the store...and I don't think in half-baked segues, which is a blessing and a curse. So I lied to you just now, but the important thing is that I always admit my lies, so you always can be sure that my life is just as ridiculous as it seems.
**I just managed to both make a geographical metaphor AND call Houston the ass-crack of America. I think this shows growth as a writer.
***Houston...in related news, I've been informed that Marseilles smells overwhelmingly of urine.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Witz Pickz: Weekend Happenings OR How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blog
Last night, as I hobbled with a pulled hamstring from Walgreens to my car, a homeless woman in a wheelchair, rather than asking for money, simply said, "Take care of that leg." THAT'S where I'm at in life-- the crippled homeless are wishing ME well. In case you were wondering, I made things more uncomfortable with the worst reply possible: "You too."
In a job counseling interview recently, I was once again asked how I find things to write about. I'm beginning to think they find me.
After being in Seattle for the weekend, I flew back to San Francisco on Virgin America, and had a very unsettling experience. Instead of getting the "Thanks for flying Virgin" message from the flight crew or simply over the intercom, the pilot, who's name was allegedly Bill, stood in the center of the aisle, and asked everyone to look up front to where he was. He said that he had two important things to say and I immediately thought, "We're not going anywhere."
"Hi, my name is Bill and I am the pilot for your flight today on Virgin America. Boy, are we happy to have you with us-- how many of you have flown Virgin before?" My "Cool Kid" instincts were still secure from high school, so I totally DIDN'T raise my hand even though I HAVE flown Virgin before. "Well gosh, that's great, that's great. Thanks for coming back, and for the rest of you, we welcome you aboard!" He smiled that special smile that says, "I stab the homeless!" and prepared to deliver his next bit of information, which I had narrowed down to three options:
1) We were all about to child molested by our new friend Bill.
2) We were all about to be hacked to bits by our best buddy Billy.
3) Our plane wasn't going anywhere until we all prayed...or Pilot Bill would blow us all up.
Instead, Bill simply said, "Next, I want to tell all of you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight, which should be..." I prepared for the inevitable, "delayed for a mere five hours!" but got, "An hour and thirty minutes of actual flight time," from Bill. He then turned and went to fly the plane. Somehow telling us to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight sounded a lot like a threat. I would have felt more at ease if he'd just told me which horrible death he had planned for me.
Witz: Why do I feel less comfortable now that he's spoken to us? (translation: Hi, let's be friends)
Middle Seat Guy: Definitely. That was creepy.
Witz: I thought we were going to have a delay. (translation: I have every intention of using your body as a human shield for any knives, bullets or explosions heading towards me via our cheery pilot.)
Middle Seat Guy: I don't know how I feel about that guy flying our plane.
Witz: Me either. (translation: furthermore, judging by your clothes, age, and general demeanor, I believe that you are expendable and I will not feel bad about using you and your western shirt as said human shield, nor will I hesitate in my action to transform you thus.)
Middle Seat Guy: Weird.
Witz: I guess that's why they give us tv's...(translation: and you'll never see it coming.)
To the detriment of this post, the flight went off without incident, but I did manage to see one of my favorite INSANE television commercials during the trip. The General is an Auto Insurance company-- the hook being that The General DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK. You can be a horrible accident prone drunk driver, and The General's gonna hook you up for around $59. These commercials have to be regional, so here's a great introductory example:
Now, as you'll see from this shitty line chart I made in paint, everything's going along fine right up until The General makes his first appearance at the 20 second mark.
That isn't the commercial I saw, however. The one I saw was this:
What the hell is going on in this commercial? Is there a big market for people who want to purchase car insurance late at night? "If you smoke meth...AND NEED AUTO INSURANCE...The General is for you." And if he's been in the other room for a while, why did he, "JUST log on to The General.com?" Porn city. If, "Logging onto The General" isn't a euphamism, then I don't know what is. Fortunately, once he clicks over, it only takes him a minute to buy his dirtbag auto insurance, so he can go back to the horrid disembodied voice who inexpicably requires CHEESE PUFFS.
"How should we end this commercial?"
"Ummm, have her demand something."
"Like what?"
"I dunno man, I'm really high right now."
"Me too, hand me some of those cheese puffs."
"..."
"THAT'S IT!"
"THAT'S IT!"
Watching this commerical reminded me of a commercial I'd heard on the radio earlier in the day while driving with Dolan Out the Pain. It was a Qdoba commercial for their "any two items" deal. You see, you could pick out ANY TWO items and make it a combo. The girl in the commercial starts naming combinations to see if the foods will work together: "Um, how about a cheese quesadilla and a taco?" DING! It's a good combination! "An enchilada and tortilla soup?" DING! "A burrito and nachos?" DING!
....
....
IT'S MEXICAN FOOD! IT'S ALL THE SAME STUFF! Rice, beans, cheese, meat, repeat! You know how the eskimos have, like, a thousand words for snow? Well, Mexico has a thousand words for taco. Do you want a hard taco, a soft taco, a flat taco, an enclosed taco, a soggy taco, taco triangles, taco salad, taco pie, or taco soup? It's all the same! I love every bit of it, but hooooly shit people, let's all take a second to acknowledge that we see the man behind the curtain. It doesn't matter which two items you pick, you ain't swinging by Qdoba on your way to go camping.
I Like My Beans the Way I Like My Pro Athletes-- Refried,
Witz
In a job counseling interview recently, I was once again asked how I find things to write about. I'm beginning to think they find me.
After being in Seattle for the weekend, I flew back to San Francisco on Virgin America, and had a very unsettling experience. Instead of getting the "Thanks for flying Virgin" message from the flight crew or simply over the intercom, the pilot, who's name was allegedly Bill, stood in the center of the aisle, and asked everyone to look up front to where he was. He said that he had two important things to say and I immediately thought, "We're not going anywhere."
"Hi, my name is Bill and I am the pilot for your flight today on Virgin America. Boy, are we happy to have you with us-- how many of you have flown Virgin before?" My "Cool Kid" instincts were still secure from high school, so I totally DIDN'T raise my hand even though I HAVE flown Virgin before. "Well gosh, that's great, that's great. Thanks for coming back, and for the rest of you, we welcome you aboard!" He smiled that special smile that says, "I stab the homeless!" and prepared to deliver his next bit of information, which I had narrowed down to three options:
1) We were all about to child molested by our new friend Bill.
2) We were all about to be hacked to bits by our best buddy Billy.
3) Our plane wasn't going anywhere until we all prayed...or Pilot Bill would blow us all up.
Instead, Bill simply said, "Next, I want to tell all of you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight, which should be..." I prepared for the inevitable, "delayed for a mere five hours!" but got, "An hour and thirty minutes of actual flight time," from Bill. He then turned and went to fly the plane. Somehow telling us to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight sounded a lot like a threat. I would have felt more at ease if he'd just told me which horrible death he had planned for me.
Witz: Why do I feel less comfortable now that he's spoken to us? (translation: Hi, let's be friends)
Middle Seat Guy: Definitely. That was creepy.
Witz: I thought we were going to have a delay. (translation: I have every intention of using your body as a human shield for any knives, bullets or explosions heading towards me via our cheery pilot.)
Middle Seat Guy: I don't know how I feel about that guy flying our plane.
Witz: Me either. (translation: furthermore, judging by your clothes, age, and general demeanor, I believe that you are expendable and I will not feel bad about using you and your western shirt as said human shield, nor will I hesitate in my action to transform you thus.)
Middle Seat Guy: Weird.
Witz: I guess that's why they give us tv's...(translation: and you'll never see it coming.)
To the detriment of this post, the flight went off without incident, but I did manage to see one of my favorite INSANE television commercials during the trip. The General is an Auto Insurance company-- the hook being that The General DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK. You can be a horrible accident prone drunk driver, and The General's gonna hook you up for around $59. These commercials have to be regional, so here's a great introductory example:
Now, as you'll see from this shitty line chart I made in paint, everything's going along fine right up until The General makes his first appearance at the 20 second mark.
That isn't the commercial I saw, however. The one I saw was this:
What the hell is going on in this commercial? Is there a big market for people who want to purchase car insurance late at night? "If you smoke meth...AND NEED AUTO INSURANCE...The General is for you." And if he's been in the other room for a while, why did he, "JUST log on to The General.com?" Porn city. If, "Logging onto The General" isn't a euphamism, then I don't know what is. Fortunately, once he clicks over, it only takes him a minute to buy his dirtbag auto insurance, so he can go back to the horrid disembodied voice who inexpicably requires CHEESE PUFFS.
"How should we end this commercial?"
"Ummm, have her demand something."
"Like what?"
"I dunno man, I'm really high right now."
"Me too, hand me some of those cheese puffs."
"..."
"THAT'S IT!"
"THAT'S IT!"
Watching this commerical reminded me of a commercial I'd heard on the radio earlier in the day while driving with Dolan Out the Pain. It was a Qdoba commercial for their "any two items" deal. You see, you could pick out ANY TWO items and make it a combo. The girl in the commercial starts naming combinations to see if the foods will work together: "Um, how about a cheese quesadilla and a taco?" DING! It's a good combination! "An enchilada and tortilla soup?" DING! "A burrito and nachos?" DING!
....
....
IT'S MEXICAN FOOD! IT'S ALL THE SAME STUFF! Rice, beans, cheese, meat, repeat! You know how the eskimos have, like, a thousand words for snow? Well, Mexico has a thousand words for taco. Do you want a hard taco, a soft taco, a flat taco, an enclosed taco, a soggy taco, taco triangles, taco salad, taco pie, or taco soup? It's all the same! I love every bit of it, but hooooly shit people, let's all take a second to acknowledge that we see the man behind the curtain. It doesn't matter which two items you pick, you ain't swinging by Qdoba on your way to go camping.
I Like My Beans the Way I Like My Pro Athletes-- Refried,
Witz
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Witz DOESN'T KNOW IF HE Pickz: Revolutionary Condoms
Sometimes Witz Pickz provides it's own content. After posting my last column, I went to re-read it and look for typos-- because that's the type of classy operation I'm running here; the kind where I first publish AND THEN edit. Low and behold, the advertisement at the top of the page provided all the fodder I needed for a quick post today. It read:
"Trojan Condoms: New Ecstasy Condoms Have a Revolutionary New Design. Get Info!"
If you're anything like me, you saw the word "Revolutionary" and immediately thought, "BAYONETS!" but fortunately for everyone involved, that's not what they mean by a "Revolutionary New Design." What they do mean is even more baffling. Check it out:
Apparently, "Revolutionary New Design," roughly translates to, "Shaped like a billy club." Their tagline is, "TROJAN® Ultra Ribbed ECSTASY™ condoms feature a revolutionary new design that let’s you feel the pleasure, not the condom!" To be perfectly honest, I have no idea how making a condom look like a wiffleball bat changes anything beyond increasing the general rapey-ness of the encounter. One of two things is going to happen: either it's going to end up all wrinkled like you bought a condom way too big for you, OR it's going to be filled with air and make your penis feel like it's in a Bounce House. Neither one of those options has the guy "feeling the pleasure, not the condom." It just makes your dick look like it's living in Bio-Dome.
The good people at Trojan then list a bunch of bullet points they think it's important we know about their product. Two caught my eye:
"*Made from Premium Quality Latex – to help reduce the risk" -- WHAT THE HELL HAVE THE REST OF YOUR CONDOMS BEEN MADE OF?? "Made from sketchy reject latex: because if you have a kid, maybe he'll stay!"
"*Tapered at the base for a secure fit." Tapered? Really? I don't need my condoms and jeans to use the same terminology. "Trojan Boot Cut Condoms! They're completely ineffective!" OF COURSE they're tapered at the base. Otherwise, you just made a super girthy condom that only Grimace would wear:
Now, obviously this ad got me looking at their site. Interestingly, there is ALSO a "TROJAN® Her Pleasure™ ECSTASY™ condom," which looks like this:
I read the little description and the bullet point verbage, and if you look at the picture, you'll note that the ONLY difference is that the HER PLEASURE condoms DON'T HAVE the sporadic ribs at the Space Helmet End!....which HAS to mean...BY DEFINITION...that the regular Ecstasy Condoms include extraneous ribbing that makes sex LESS ENJOYABLE for the girl. That's like putting a rear spoiler on a Honda Civic-- some douchebag probably thinks it looks cool, but it's only making things worse.
The most amusing part of the whole Trojan Ecstasy Condoms line of products is their slogan: "Feels like nothing's there." Trojan. Listen to me. You have. To be. More specific. This is not the time or the place to get lazy with your pronouns. WHAT feels like nothing's WHERE? Otherwise, you're slogan might as well be, "Trojan Ecstasy Condoms: Just Because He Doesn't Have A Tiny Penis, Doesn't Mean It Can't Feel Like It." or on the flip-side, "Trojan Ecstasy Condoms: Like Banging the Vast Abyss."
I think it's fairly clear that Trojan's "Revolutionary Design" is far from revolutionary. Sure, they'll probably be more useful to drug mules, but for the rest of us, it's just going to look like our penises are wearing chef hats*. Having said that, I think it's fairly obvious I'm going to have to buy a pack of these....and watch them slowly expire....
You'd Be Surprised How Ineffective "Did You Read About These Condoms On My BLOG" Is As a Pick-Up Line,
Witz
*Picture of a dick wearing a chef hat:
P.S. For those of you playing Witz Pickz Bingo at home, you can now mark off "girthy," "rapey-ness," and "Bio-Dome." "Awkwardness" is the center square, and, as always, it's a freebie.
"Trojan Condoms: New Ecstasy Condoms Have a Revolutionary New Design. Get Info!"
If you're anything like me, you saw the word "Revolutionary" and immediately thought, "BAYONETS!" but fortunately for everyone involved, that's not what they mean by a "Revolutionary New Design." What they do mean is even more baffling. Check it out:
Apparently, "Revolutionary New Design," roughly translates to, "Shaped like a billy club." Their tagline is, "TROJAN® Ultra Ribbed ECSTASY™ condoms feature a revolutionary new design that let’s you feel the pleasure, not the condom!" To be perfectly honest, I have no idea how making a condom look like a wiffleball bat changes anything beyond increasing the general rapey-ness of the encounter. One of two things is going to happen: either it's going to end up all wrinkled like you bought a condom way too big for you, OR it's going to be filled with air and make your penis feel like it's in a Bounce House. Neither one of those options has the guy "feeling the pleasure, not the condom." It just makes your dick look like it's living in Bio-Dome.The good people at Trojan then list a bunch of bullet points they think it's important we know about their product. Two caught my eye:
"*Made from Premium Quality Latex – to help reduce the risk" -- WHAT THE HELL HAVE THE REST OF YOUR CONDOMS BEEN MADE OF?? "Made from sketchy reject latex: because if you have a kid, maybe he'll stay!"
"*Tapered at the base for a secure fit." Tapered? Really? I don't need my condoms and jeans to use the same terminology. "Trojan Boot Cut Condoms! They're completely ineffective!" OF COURSE they're tapered at the base. Otherwise, you just made a super girthy condom that only Grimace would wear:
Now, obviously this ad got me looking at their site. Interestingly, there is ALSO a "TROJAN® Her Pleasure™ ECSTASY™ condom," which looks like this:
I read the little description and the bullet point verbage, and if you look at the picture, you'll note that the ONLY difference is that the HER PLEASURE condoms DON'T HAVE the sporadic ribs at the Space Helmet End!....which HAS to mean...BY DEFINITION...that the regular Ecstasy Condoms include extraneous ribbing that makes sex LESS ENJOYABLE for the girl. That's like putting a rear spoiler on a Honda Civic-- some douchebag probably thinks it looks cool, but it's only making things worse. The most amusing part of the whole Trojan Ecstasy Condoms line of products is their slogan: "Feels like nothing's there." Trojan. Listen to me. You have. To be. More specific. This is not the time or the place to get lazy with your pronouns. WHAT feels like nothing's WHERE? Otherwise, you're slogan might as well be, "Trojan Ecstasy Condoms: Just Because He Doesn't Have A Tiny Penis, Doesn't Mean It Can't Feel Like It." or on the flip-side, "Trojan Ecstasy Condoms: Like Banging the Vast Abyss."
I think it's fairly clear that Trojan's "Revolutionary Design" is far from revolutionary. Sure, they'll probably be more useful to drug mules, but for the rest of us, it's just going to look like our penises are wearing chef hats*. Having said that, I think it's fairly obvious I'm going to have to buy a pack of these....and watch them slowly expire....
You'd Be Surprised How Ineffective "Did You Read About These Condoms On My BLOG" Is As a Pick-Up Line,
Witz
*Picture of a dick wearing a chef hat:
P.S. For those of you playing Witz Pickz Bingo at home, you can now mark off "girthy," "rapey-ness," and "Bio-Dome." "Awkwardness" is the center square, and, as always, it's a freebie.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Witz Pickz: A Day of Errands and Awkwardness (or as I call it...Tuesday)
Well, my brain's getting dumber. I was checking out at Trader Joe's, and had "How's it going?" all queued up and ready to go when the guy at the register beats me to the punch with a, "How's it going?" of his own. So that of course set my brain on this joyous little mobius loop:
"How's it-- good-- How are going-- good it's-- how's are-- it's you-- going how-- how's it good-- how are going--...HOW ARE GOING? HOW ARE GOING??"
You know when you and someone else step in the same direction and then both correct and go the other way and then both correct and go the other way, etc, etc, until you both laugh awkwardly and admit that God hates people?* Well, it was like that, but my brain was playing both roles.
After babbling and then mumbling for more seconds than people find comfortable, I smiled and swiped my credit card. I knew that before the transaction was complete, I needed to prove I'm not a complete insane person, so I struck up conversation by inquiring,
"So is the Nutty American Trek Mix gone forever?"
"The American Trek Mix?"
"Nutty American...it's the best trek mix." There. Now I'm just a person who's way into trek mixes.
"Uhh, I dunno. Cathy, Nutty American Trek Mix?" Cathy worked her magic on the computer and then reported,
"Discontinued."
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, I repeated to myself. "Ah, that sucks man," but what I wanted to say was, "THAT IS FUCKED! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? THE NUTTY AMERICAN TREK MIX IS THE SAME AS THE "Just Almonds, Cashews, and Cranberries" MIX ONLY THEY HAVE RAISINS INSTEAD OF CRANBERRIES AND DELICIOUS DELICIOUS CHOCOLATE CHUNKS!" I didn't see Cathy or My Register Guy making those kind of executive decisions, however, so I walked away.
Don't worry though, this wasn't the most awkward exchange of the day for me. Earlier, I was in Safeway, next in line at checkout, when I looked out into the indoor plaza and saw a guy with binoculars just staring into the store. I looked at him with a baffled expression on my face for a prolonged period of time, wondering what the hell was going on. The guy in front of me caught my expression and gave me a somewhat annoyed look back. "Oh sorry," I said, "That look wasn't for you-- there's a guy over there staring into the store with a pair of binoculars. Easily the creepiest thing I've seen all day," I informed him, but accidentally in such a way that implied I saw plenty of creepy things in my day. The man then turned to where I was looking, by which point (OF COURSE) the guy had put down the binoculars. The guy in front of me in line then looked back at me with a doubtful expression AND something else on his face. It was at this point that I realized this man had a huge awkward birthmark on the right side of his face (the side that had been facing away from me)**. I'm sure Birthmark Guy has dealt with this a lot in his life and I bet my "Creepy Binoculars Guy" expression looked a lot like a "What the Fuck Do You Have On Your Face" expression. Sometimes words only make things worse, and for one of the few times in my life, I made the decision simply not to say anything.
Here's the kicker. After I checked out and long after the guy in front of me had left, I wandered over to where I had seen the guy with the binoculars-- and do you know what I saw? A store named, "Scope City" with a large sign stating, "Telescopes, Microscopes, Binoculars!" WHAT??? HOW...IN THE HELLLLL...does a store selling telescopes, microscopes, and binoculars stay open with this economy?? Circuit City went under. Borders is shutting down. But somehow, Scope City is riding this one out? I don't care if they don't have major competitors-- who are the people spending money on making small things look bigger right now?? "Let's see, mortgage? Nah. Car payments? Nope. I want that far away star to look less far away!" or is it more like, "I can't afford to travel anymore, so I'll make things look closer!" or is everybody just opening up private investigator firms? I hope it's that last one. If movies and tv are any indication, everybody will start conversing with a whole lot more quips and snappy dialogue.
Is That An Absurdly Unfortunate Birthmark On Your Face or Are You Just Happy to See Me?,
Witz
*I actually had a fun one of these dances down in LA where I turned around and found a tall guy in a nice suit right behind me. We did the back and forth dance precariously off balance until I solved the situation by falling right at him and giving the man a BEAR HUG. It was so awkward afterward that I felt like I should have picked his pockets during the exchange just so we both felt a little more comfortable with what had transpired.
**Vaguely related, E-Funk All-Star and I were discussing face tattoos last night and the idea of getting a life sized face tattoo of SOMEONE ELSE'S FACE. After thinking about it, neither one of us were able to conceive what it would look like, and we realized the idea is actually very zen. I also like the conversation I assume would have to take place between myself and the tattoo artist: "What aren't you understanding here? You see her face? I want a tattoo of that. On my face. Life-sized."
"How's it-- good-- How are going-- good it's-- how's are-- it's you-- going how-- how's it good-- how are going--...HOW ARE GOING? HOW ARE GOING??"
You know when you and someone else step in the same direction and then both correct and go the other way and then both correct and go the other way, etc, etc, until you both laugh awkwardly and admit that God hates people?* Well, it was like that, but my brain was playing both roles.
After babbling and then mumbling for more seconds than people find comfortable, I smiled and swiped my credit card. I knew that before the transaction was complete, I needed to prove I'm not a complete insane person, so I struck up conversation by inquiring,
"So is the Nutty American Trek Mix gone forever?"
"The American Trek Mix?"
"Nutty American...it's the best trek mix." There. Now I'm just a person who's way into trek mixes.
"Uhh, I dunno. Cathy, Nutty American Trek Mix?" Cathy worked her magic on the computer and then reported,
"Discontinued."
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, I repeated to myself. "Ah, that sucks man," but what I wanted to say was, "THAT IS FUCKED! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? THE NUTTY AMERICAN TREK MIX IS THE SAME AS THE "Just Almonds, Cashews, and Cranberries" MIX ONLY THEY HAVE RAISINS INSTEAD OF CRANBERRIES AND DELICIOUS DELICIOUS CHOCOLATE CHUNKS!" I didn't see Cathy or My Register Guy making those kind of executive decisions, however, so I walked away.
Don't worry though, this wasn't the most awkward exchange of the day for me. Earlier, I was in Safeway, next in line at checkout, when I looked out into the indoor plaza and saw a guy with binoculars just staring into the store. I looked at him with a baffled expression on my face for a prolonged period of time, wondering what the hell was going on. The guy in front of me caught my expression and gave me a somewhat annoyed look back. "Oh sorry," I said, "That look wasn't for you-- there's a guy over there staring into the store with a pair of binoculars. Easily the creepiest thing I've seen all day," I informed him, but accidentally in such a way that implied I saw plenty of creepy things in my day. The man then turned to where I was looking, by which point (OF COURSE) the guy had put down the binoculars. The guy in front of me in line then looked back at me with a doubtful expression AND something else on his face. It was at this point that I realized this man had a huge awkward birthmark on the right side of his face (the side that had been facing away from me)**. I'm sure Birthmark Guy has dealt with this a lot in his life and I bet my "Creepy Binoculars Guy" expression looked a lot like a "What the Fuck Do You Have On Your Face" expression. Sometimes words only make things worse, and for one of the few times in my life, I made the decision simply not to say anything.
Here's the kicker. After I checked out and long after the guy in front of me had left, I wandered over to where I had seen the guy with the binoculars-- and do you know what I saw? A store named, "Scope City" with a large sign stating, "Telescopes, Microscopes, Binoculars!" WHAT??? HOW...IN THE HELLLLL...does a store selling telescopes, microscopes, and binoculars stay open with this economy?? Circuit City went under. Borders is shutting down. But somehow, Scope City is riding this one out? I don't care if they don't have major competitors-- who are the people spending money on making small things look bigger right now?? "Let's see, mortgage? Nah. Car payments? Nope. I want that far away star to look less far away!" or is it more like, "I can't afford to travel anymore, so I'll make things look closer!" or is everybody just opening up private investigator firms? I hope it's that last one. If movies and tv are any indication, everybody will start conversing with a whole lot more quips and snappy dialogue.
Is That An Absurdly Unfortunate Birthmark On Your Face or Are You Just Happy to See Me?,
Witz
*I actually had a fun one of these dances down in LA where I turned around and found a tall guy in a nice suit right behind me. We did the back and forth dance precariously off balance until I solved the situation by falling right at him and giving the man a BEAR HUG. It was so awkward afterward that I felt like I should have picked his pockets during the exchange just so we both felt a little more comfortable with what had transpired.
**Vaguely related, E-Funk All-Star and I were discussing face tattoos last night and the idea of getting a life sized face tattoo of SOMEONE ELSE'S FACE. After thinking about it, neither one of us were able to conceive what it would look like, and we realized the idea is actually very zen. I also like the conversation I assume would have to take place between myself and the tattoo artist: "What aren't you understanding here? You see her face? I want a tattoo of that. On my face. Life-sized."
Monday, July 20, 2009
Witz DOESN'T Pick: Television Your DVR Would Refuse
The local news has lost its goddamn mind. Don't get me wrong, it's always been bad, but the news I've seen in the last couple weeks has been stunning. Even Lenny's like, "This isn't news, George!"
While watching the news back home in Connecticut, they warmed us up with this little tragedy: Bally Total Fitness gym closing in Hamden! BOOM! Write your local congressman. Not ALL the gyms, just this one club. Now, I know what you're thinking and YES, their memberships will be accepted at other Bally Total Fitness clubs, but NO, there is not a convenient location nearby.
Once they had us on the edge of seats, terrified of what mild inconvenience could next beset us, they dropped this doozie on the viewers: It's rainy outside. Furthermore, it HAS BEEN rainy recently. It's important to note this wasn't part of the weather report, but the actual NEWS. And it was part of the news because this rain led to things like The Strawberry Festival being moved inside.
"Do you think the change of location will hurt the festival?"
"Probably."
"What will happen if that is the case?"
"We will have a lot of leftover strawberries..."
Jesus.
The weather also led to people walking in the rain, as they so diligently showed us footage of not one, but three separate people walking hurriedly and without joy. One woman took a moment longer in the rain to inform the news that, "I was going to take my kids to the pool, but I guess we'll have to go shopping or something." A woman lost in this world. Another woman, though not an expert alleged that, "There are only so many days in the summer, and this rain has been going on for too long." The somber reporter needed add no more to the story. Instead, she simply declared, "From the Buckland Hills Mall in Manchester, I'm Useless."
At the gym yesterday, I found that it's no longer just the local news bringing us the hard hitting stories. CNN couldn't help but tell me that, "Scary Giant Squids Off the Coast of California!" Listen CNN, why don't you go ahead and tell me that there are giant squids nearby, and I'll go ahead and decide to be scared or not. I bet Anderson Cooper wouldn't think they're scary. I bet Anderson Cooper would have given that story the headline, "Giant Squid Not As Badass As Anderson Cooper." Just because Wolf Blitzer's scared of giant squids doesn't mean I'm not going swimming. I'm scared of spiders, but I wouldn't tell people, "Scary Barely Distinguishable Petite Spider On Wall In Bathroom!" Just gimme the facts, I promise we don't have the same opinions.
It's not just the news, and it's not even just the shows (which we won't get into right now). Let's talk about this "Orphan" movie. I wrote a while back that you shouldn't make certain things scary. You shouldn't make Christmas scary. It's unnecessary to make Mist scary. I'm thinkin' orphans probably fall in that category as well. Who thought, "You know who doesn't have it bad enough? ORPHANS!" and went ahead to write a horror movie where an orphan child joins a family and then kills stuff? I'm sure orphans have a hard enough time getting adopted without unnecessary fear being instilled in our culture (also, when I first started writing this, I had no problem writing "orphan," but now that I'm writing it a lot, it sounds like it might be a derogatory word. "Familialy Deficient?" "Soloists?" Is there a better word or is this not a thing?)
As it turns out, other people share this thought process. Also on CNN the other day, I saw that a group of activists are "FURIOUS" over the film and what it could mean for the Oliver Twists. While my initial thought process is, "Don't make orphans scary," I was suddenly against this group making a huge deal out of the movie. It just suddenly occurred to me that the people going to see "Orphan" proooobably aren't the same people looking to adopt. AND, even if they were looking to adopt, they probably shouldn't be adopting a child, kitten, or highway, if they were scared off by a horror movie. "You know, honey, I was all for adopting, but did you see what that fictional child did? She pretended to be an orphan and then killed people! What if they happens to us? Anyway, something to think about while we drive within 5 miles of our home."
TV Might Be Dumb, But I'm Still the Idiot Watching,
Witz
Photo courtesy of Nitro
While watching the news back home in Connecticut, they warmed us up with this little tragedy: Bally Total Fitness gym closing in Hamden! BOOM! Write your local congressman. Not ALL the gyms, just this one club. Now, I know what you're thinking and YES, their memberships will be accepted at other Bally Total Fitness clubs, but NO, there is not a convenient location nearby.
Once they had us on the edge of seats, terrified of what mild inconvenience could next beset us, they dropped this doozie on the viewers: It's rainy outside. Furthermore, it HAS BEEN rainy recently. It's important to note this wasn't part of the weather report, but the actual NEWS. And it was part of the news because this rain led to things like The Strawberry Festival being moved inside.
"Do you think the change of location will hurt the festival?"
"Probably."
"What will happen if that is the case?"
"We will have a lot of leftover strawberries..."
Jesus.
The weather also led to people walking in the rain, as they so diligently showed us footage of not one, but three separate people walking hurriedly and without joy. One woman took a moment longer in the rain to inform the news that, "I was going to take my kids to the pool, but I guess we'll have to go shopping or something." A woman lost in this world. Another woman, though not an expert alleged that, "There are only so many days in the summer, and this rain has been going on for too long." The somber reporter needed add no more to the story. Instead, she simply declared, "From the Buckland Hills Mall in Manchester, I'm Useless."
At the gym yesterday, I found that it's no longer just the local news bringing us the hard hitting stories. CNN couldn't help but tell me that, "Scary Giant Squids Off the Coast of California!" Listen CNN, why don't you go ahead and tell me that there are giant squids nearby, and I'll go ahead and decide to be scared or not. I bet Anderson Cooper wouldn't think they're scary. I bet Anderson Cooper would have given that story the headline, "Giant Squid Not As Badass As Anderson Cooper." Just because Wolf Blitzer's scared of giant squids doesn't mean I'm not going swimming. I'm scared of spiders, but I wouldn't tell people, "Scary Barely Distinguishable Petite Spider On Wall In Bathroom!" Just gimme the facts, I promise we don't have the same opinions.
It's not just the news, and it's not even just the shows (which we won't get into right now). Let's talk about this "Orphan" movie. I wrote a while back that you shouldn't make certain things scary. You shouldn't make Christmas scary. It's unnecessary to make Mist scary. I'm thinkin' orphans probably fall in that category as well. Who thought, "You know who doesn't have it bad enough? ORPHANS!" and went ahead to write a horror movie where an orphan child joins a family and then kills stuff? I'm sure orphans have a hard enough time getting adopted without unnecessary fear being instilled in our culture (also, when I first started writing this, I had no problem writing "orphan," but now that I'm writing it a lot, it sounds like it might be a derogatory word. "Familialy Deficient?" "Soloists?" Is there a better word or is this not a thing?)
As it turns out, other people share this thought process. Also on CNN the other day, I saw that a group of activists are "FURIOUS" over the film and what it could mean for the Oliver Twists. While my initial thought process is, "Don't make orphans scary," I was suddenly against this group making a huge deal out of the movie. It just suddenly occurred to me that the people going to see "Orphan" proooobably aren't the same people looking to adopt. AND, even if they were looking to adopt, they probably shouldn't be adopting a child, kitten, or highway, if they were scared off by a horror movie. "You know, honey, I was all for adopting, but did you see what that fictional child did? She pretended to be an orphan and then killed people! What if they happens to us? Anyway, something to think about while we drive within 5 miles of our home."
TV Might Be Dumb, But I'm Still the Idiot Watching,
Witz
Photo courtesy of Nitro
Monday, July 13, 2009
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
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
Saturday, June 20, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, June 15, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
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
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
Thursday, May 28, 2009
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!"
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!"
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
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!
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!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Witz Pickz: Customs
Welp, against all odds I made it back to America. Not before I could have this little tete-a-tete with the barely english speaking Prague-ian guy sitting next to me:
Pilot: Coming up on the left of the plane, you'll see the famous San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge...(the guy leans to look out the window)
Me: That's not it-- it's directly under the wing.
Guy: Oh...
Me: That's the Bay Bridge.
Guy: Ah...
Me: Which I guess is still a pretty cool bridge.
Guy: Mm...
Me: It's supposed to be the world's biggest suspension bridge or something.
Guy: Ahh...
Me: Are you interested in bridges?
Guy: No, not really.
See what happens when I'm silent for 11 hours? After the flight, I had a couple of fun little encounters with the good people at customs. The first of which took place with the actual customs agent:
Customs Lady: And did you bring back any food items?
Witz: No. Well, I did-- but I ate them on the plane...it was two croissants...**
Customs Lady: (Awkward silent stare) You can go ahead.
This was immediately followed by this exchange with the customs security woman while she looked at my passport:
Witz: Hi, how are you? (Terrorists wouldn't ask that, right?)
Her: (mimicking my deep voice) Good. You a DJ or something?
Witz: (I paused for a second, only making it more awkward when I replied) Yes, actually, at Stanford.
Her: Hm. (Looking up and scoping me out) Alright, go ahead.
Could I possibly have sounded like more of a terrorist sneaking into the United States for the first time and trying too hard to sound American?? "Yes, I am a radio disc jockey at Stanford University, which is, of course in Palo Alto, and is home to the Stanford Cardinal. How is the weather today? Is it of the seasonal average 65 degrees? I hope there are no droughts or earthquakes, as those are two of California's most problematic natural disasters! Mmm, do I smell hot dogs?"
Finally, I think we are all a little surprised that I've seemingly made it back into the country without the swine flu. Maybe it's because the swine flu is the most flagrantly racist flu ever. "Oh, you're American-- sorry, I'll stay away-- I only kill Mexicans..."
While I might be back in the US, I need to address two cultural issues that I noticed while in France.
The Over-Abundance of Cripples:
The fact that I was seeing people with EUROPEAN CRUTCHES (like ski poles that remind the person just how incapable of skiing they are) distracted me enough that it took me a while to realize HOW MANY people I was seeing with crutches. They were EVERYWHERE! France must give out crutches the way we give out A.D.D. medication (or school nurses give out cough drops), because I simply do not see that many people on crutches here in America. "Broken leg? Crutches! Twisted ankle? Crutches! Foot fell asleep? Crutches! Poor? Crutches!"
Blind People:
I don't know what it is, but the french are TERRIBLE at being blind! At first, I thought I'd witnessed an isolated incident; a guy wandering down the sidewalk, running into every patio chair that was in the way. Every few feet, someone walking by him would turn him in the right direction and off he'd go, careening to the side and slamming into the next outdoor table that came along (which was just as funny to watch as you'd think). It was actually a lot like this video that Euro-Trip told me about:
Only, it wasn't an isolated incident.
As I started paying more attention, I saw numerous blind people just doing an awful awful job of being without sight. One guy was stumped by an alcove and needed the help of a passing woman to get him back on track. Another blind guy (I swear) clipped his shoulder on a passing street sign and barely managed not to tumble to the ground. The champion of all blind people (and I promise these weren't just drunks with sunglasses) was caught in the phenomenal predicament of being stuck between the bumpers of two cars-- unable to figure out the direction he needed to move to set himself free from the hell he had stumbled into. Thankfully, a construction worker guided him back to the sidewalk, to the chagrin of patio tables everywhere.
Now I know you're wondering why I didn't help any of these blind people out, but here's the thing-- I don't speak french. So to go over and try talking to these blind people seemed like a bad idea. It seemed like I might be saying, "Hey, not only are you blind and trapped between two cars, but not even your heightened sense of hearing is gonna help you out with the fact that I'm speaking English." Besides, it seems to me that everybody helping these blind people might be the very reason they are so entirely disastrous at being blind.
"Maybe That Translates Funnier In French...",
Witz
**Possibly the shortest distance between Witz and a cavity search.
Pilot: Coming up on the left of the plane, you'll see the famous San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge...(the guy leans to look out the window)
Me: That's not it-- it's directly under the wing.
Guy: Oh...
Me: That's the Bay Bridge.
Guy: Ah...
Me: Which I guess is still a pretty cool bridge.
Guy: Mm...
Me: It's supposed to be the world's biggest suspension bridge or something.
Guy: Ahh...
Me: Are you interested in bridges?
Guy: No, not really.
See what happens when I'm silent for 11 hours? After the flight, I had a couple of fun little encounters with the good people at customs. The first of which took place with the actual customs agent:
Customs Lady: And did you bring back any food items?
Witz: No. Well, I did-- but I ate them on the plane...it was two croissants...**
Customs Lady: (Awkward silent stare) You can go ahead.
This was immediately followed by this exchange with the customs security woman while she looked at my passport:
Witz: Hi, how are you? (Terrorists wouldn't ask that, right?)
Her: (mimicking my deep voice) Good. You a DJ or something?
Witz: (I paused for a second, only making it more awkward when I replied) Yes, actually, at Stanford.
Her: Hm. (Looking up and scoping me out) Alright, go ahead.
Could I possibly have sounded like more of a terrorist sneaking into the United States for the first time and trying too hard to sound American?? "Yes, I am a radio disc jockey at Stanford University, which is, of course in Palo Alto, and is home to the Stanford Cardinal. How is the weather today? Is it of the seasonal average 65 degrees? I hope there are no droughts or earthquakes, as those are two of California's most problematic natural disasters! Mmm, do I smell hot dogs?"
Finally, I think we are all a little surprised that I've seemingly made it back into the country without the swine flu. Maybe it's because the swine flu is the most flagrantly racist flu ever. "Oh, you're American-- sorry, I'll stay away-- I only kill Mexicans..."
While I might be back in the US, I need to address two cultural issues that I noticed while in France.
The Over-Abundance of Cripples:
The fact that I was seeing people with EUROPEAN CRUTCHES (like ski poles that remind the person just how incapable of skiing they are) distracted me enough that it took me a while to realize HOW MANY people I was seeing with crutches. They were EVERYWHERE! France must give out crutches the way we give out A.D.D. medication (or school nurses give out cough drops), because I simply do not see that many people on crutches here in America. "Broken leg? Crutches! Twisted ankle? Crutches! Foot fell asleep? Crutches! Poor? Crutches!"
Blind People:
I don't know what it is, but the french are TERRIBLE at being blind! At first, I thought I'd witnessed an isolated incident; a guy wandering down the sidewalk, running into every patio chair that was in the way. Every few feet, someone walking by him would turn him in the right direction and off he'd go, careening to the side and slamming into the next outdoor table that came along (which was just as funny to watch as you'd think). It was actually a lot like this video that Euro-Trip told me about:
Only, it wasn't an isolated incident.
As I started paying more attention, I saw numerous blind people just doing an awful awful job of being without sight. One guy was stumped by an alcove and needed the help of a passing woman to get him back on track. Another blind guy (I swear) clipped his shoulder on a passing street sign and barely managed not to tumble to the ground. The champion of all blind people (and I promise these weren't just drunks with sunglasses) was caught in the phenomenal predicament of being stuck between the bumpers of two cars-- unable to figure out the direction he needed to move to set himself free from the hell he had stumbled into. Thankfully, a construction worker guided him back to the sidewalk, to the chagrin of patio tables everywhere.
Now I know you're wondering why I didn't help any of these blind people out, but here's the thing-- I don't speak french. So to go over and try talking to these blind people seemed like a bad idea. It seemed like I might be saying, "Hey, not only are you blind and trapped between two cars, but not even your heightened sense of hearing is gonna help you out with the fact that I'm speaking English." Besides, it seems to me that everybody helping these blind people might be the very reason they are so entirely disastrous at being blind.
"Maybe That Translates Funnier In French...",
Witz
**Possibly the shortest distance between Witz and a cavity search.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Witz Pickz: Grave Decisions
You are not going to believe this shit:
Yup. Child molestation is back on in Paris. I don't know who lobbied for the change or what happened, but the sign doesn't lie. I suppose Paris could be split into molestation legal and molestation illegal zones, I dunno-- it's all very confusing. This does present the United States with a great opportunity though. We should start marketing France's laissez-faire molestation laws (hahaha...god, I'm clever) all over the place in an attempt to get our molesters to move to Paris. It will a) get rid of some molesters and b) make it super awkward for non-molesters to travel to Paris (at which point I will start the site pedophileORfrancophile.com and camp out at the airport with a camera...and then go to jail).
Incidentally, in the off chance that I'm wrong and the sign is not related to child molestation, what does it possibly mean? Nobody I've asked, including some french citizens, have any idea. My best guess is, "It is now okay to let your children run free in traffic" or "It is not okay for you to let your children run free in traffic," and frankly, my first theory seems way more reasonable.
Speaking of which, here's something I learned today: Even if you are about to eat Le Petit Ecolier cookies, it is never okay to say, "There's a little schoolboy with my name on it," out loud.
I found something else unusual as I was walking through a famous cemetery (I say "famous" not to be pretentious, but strictly because the other option is simply to say, "as I was walking through a cemetery" which seems like I have a lot more explaining to do. "Oh, it was a FAMOUS cemetery? Nevermind then, that makes perfect sense!"). I noticed that a number of the graves had multiple families' names on them, which seems a) kinda cheap and b) an awkward conversation. I mean how do you bring that up? How long do you need to know someone before it's appropriate to bring up going halvies on your eternal resting place?
"Listen...I know we just met...and maybe this is a little premature, but...do you-- do you want to share a tomb?"
I mean, I'll like someone on Monday and won't be able to stand them by Friday. I make best friends ordering turkey at the supermarket! I'm not in any kind of position to be asking anyone to share a grave with me!
I have good friends that I can't even share an order of Thai food with because they always order the weird shit-- how do you decide that you're able to split a grave? Even if you say "No crosses!" or "Don't do anything weird!" you're both saying, "Deal," but really thinking, "Whatever you say-- you're gonna die first and then I'll do whatever the hell I want-- and I want a grave shaped like a racecar." Then you die first and get to spend eternity with this statue keeping you company:
You get to the afterlife:
Witz: Dude, what the hell was that??
BFF: What?
Witz: Uhh, the small naked child statue??
BFF: I thought it was poetic!
Witz: We look like child molesters!
BFF: That would explain why we're in hell...
Witz: Well...maybe-- it could also have a lot to do with my extensive joking about rape, the deaf, the mentally challenged, the physically challenged, various ethnicities, and a fairly prominent disregard for the seriousness of child molestation...*
Which brings up another point-- is sharing a grave anything like marrying for a green card? Like, if I'm a cusper, but my grave-mate is going to Hell, do I get dragged down too? Is the opposite true? If so, that makes the decision even more difficult. "Well, Nitro hasn't done anything awful YET, but I could see him doing some really heinous shit when he gets to be eighty plus."
Retirement Home Police: How could you sexually assault that extremely old woman??
Elderly Nitro: What?! Sexually assault her?? She was DROOLING!
But say you do find someone you think you could split permanent rent with. Even if you find someone with the same decor preferences; even if you somehow work out the financial side of things (Ok, I make more, so I'll pay a little more, but I get the "Ring in-case I'm not actually dead bell" on my side of the grave**); even if you are 100% certain that you want to share a grave with someone-- the names become an issue. I'm not talking about whose name goes first-- I'm simply talking about space. Berkowitz and Pomoloupolos don't work. You can obviously rule out all hyphenated last names. It's just too dangerous. "Dude, calm down! I'm positive both our names will fit."
Yeah, Poisson got fucked.
I just don't see how you could find a grave-mate. Then again, having said that, if anyone is interested in splitting a simple, yet cozy plot, with the tomb in the shape of the phone booth from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, please send me an email. Bonus points if your last name is Pickz and double points if it's Pickz-Dot-Com as a result of a series of failed marriages. Let's make this magic happen.
Ce N'est Pas Grave,
Witz
*Here's how the rest of that conversation goes:
BFF: Where'd you do all that?
Witz: On my blog.
BFF: Pff-- you have a blog?
Witz: Yes.
BFF: Ha!
Witz: Great-- now I'm not just "Naked child on his grave child molester guy" I'm also, "the naked child on his grave child molester guy WITH A BLOG." I'm never gonna get laid.
**If I paid more, I would definitely demand to be buried on my left side with my right leg sticking out across the other person-- JUST in case death really is an eternal sleep. I don't care if it's a dude, I just want to be comfortable.
Yup. Child molestation is back on in Paris. I don't know who lobbied for the change or what happened, but the sign doesn't lie. I suppose Paris could be split into molestation legal and molestation illegal zones, I dunno-- it's all very confusing. This does present the United States with a great opportunity though. We should start marketing France's laissez-faire molestation laws (hahaha...god, I'm clever) all over the place in an attempt to get our molesters to move to Paris. It will a) get rid of some molesters and b) make it super awkward for non-molesters to travel to Paris (at which point I will start the site pedophileORfrancophile.com and camp out at the airport with a camera...and then go to jail).
Incidentally, in the off chance that I'm wrong and the sign is not related to child molestation, what does it possibly mean? Nobody I've asked, including some french citizens, have any idea. My best guess is, "It is now okay to let your children run free in traffic" or "It is not okay for you to let your children run free in traffic," and frankly, my first theory seems way more reasonable.
Speaking of which, here's something I learned today: Even if you are about to eat Le Petit Ecolier cookies, it is never okay to say, "There's a little schoolboy with my name on it," out loud.
I found something else unusual as I was walking through a famous cemetery (I say "famous" not to be pretentious, but strictly because the other option is simply to say, "as I was walking through a cemetery" which seems like I have a lot more explaining to do. "Oh, it was a FAMOUS cemetery? Nevermind then, that makes perfect sense!"). I noticed that a number of the graves had multiple families' names on them, which seems a) kinda cheap and b) an awkward conversation. I mean how do you bring that up? How long do you need to know someone before it's appropriate to bring up going halvies on your eternal resting place?
"Listen...I know we just met...and maybe this is a little premature, but...do you-- do you want to share a tomb?"
I mean, I'll like someone on Monday and won't be able to stand them by Friday. I make best friends ordering turkey at the supermarket! I'm not in any kind of position to be asking anyone to share a grave with me!
I have good friends that I can't even share an order of Thai food with because they always order the weird shit-- how do you decide that you're able to split a grave? Even if you say "No crosses!" or "Don't do anything weird!" you're both saying, "Deal," but really thinking, "Whatever you say-- you're gonna die first and then I'll do whatever the hell I want-- and I want a grave shaped like a racecar." Then you die first and get to spend eternity with this statue keeping you company:
You get to the afterlife:
Witz: Dude, what the hell was that??
BFF: What?
Witz: Uhh, the small naked child statue??
BFF: I thought it was poetic!
Witz: We look like child molesters!
BFF: That would explain why we're in hell...
Witz: Well...maybe-- it could also have a lot to do with my extensive joking about rape, the deaf, the mentally challenged, the physically challenged, various ethnicities, and a fairly prominent disregard for the seriousness of child molestation...*
Which brings up another point-- is sharing a grave anything like marrying for a green card? Like, if I'm a cusper, but my grave-mate is going to Hell, do I get dragged down too? Is the opposite true? If so, that makes the decision even more difficult. "Well, Nitro hasn't done anything awful YET, but I could see him doing some really heinous shit when he gets to be eighty plus."
Retirement Home Police: How could you sexually assault that extremely old woman??
Elderly Nitro: What?! Sexually assault her?? She was DROOLING!
But say you do find someone you think you could split permanent rent with. Even if you find someone with the same decor preferences; even if you somehow work out the financial side of things (Ok, I make more, so I'll pay a little more, but I get the "Ring in-case I'm not actually dead bell" on my side of the grave**); even if you are 100% certain that you want to share a grave with someone-- the names become an issue. I'm not talking about whose name goes first-- I'm simply talking about space. Berkowitz and Pomoloupolos don't work. You can obviously rule out all hyphenated last names. It's just too dangerous. "Dude, calm down! I'm positive both our names will fit."
Yeah, Poisson got fucked.
I just don't see how you could find a grave-mate. Then again, having said that, if anyone is interested in splitting a simple, yet cozy plot, with the tomb in the shape of the phone booth from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, please send me an email. Bonus points if your last name is Pickz and double points if it's Pickz-Dot-Com as a result of a series of failed marriages. Let's make this magic happen.
Ce N'est Pas Grave,
Witz
*Here's how the rest of that conversation goes:
BFF: Where'd you do all that?
Witz: On my blog.
BFF: Pff-- you have a blog?
Witz: Yes.
BFF: Ha!
Witz: Great-- now I'm not just "Naked child on his grave child molester guy" I'm also, "the naked child on his grave child molester guy WITH A BLOG." I'm never gonna get laid.
**If I paid more, I would definitely demand to be buried on my left side with my right leg sticking out across the other person-- JUST in case death really is an eternal sleep. I don't care if it's a dude, I just want to be comfortable.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Witz Pickz: Ambiguously Gay Paris: Discoveries In the First Two Days
They say that travel teaches you not only about other cultures, but about yourself as well. So far, I've learned a little about each.
Last night, fueled by jet-lag instead of red bull for a change, I was up until 4am drinking wine and hanging out with my sister, some of her friends, her bulgarian roommate, and her bulgarian roommate's parents-- all of whom spent the night. With limited sleeping space, but plentiful drinks, my double-bed sized air mattress suddenly became a bed for two, and thanks to the powers of Awkwardness, that meant that I'd be sharing it with one of my sister and my mutual friends-- we'll call him Euro-Trip. We slept head to toe (because we don't like to look at each other when our groins touch), which did help us avoid some discomfort, but since we both fell asleep on our sides, also led to us waking up with our clothed asses forming a yin-yang*, which, while very zen, was also very weird.
Later, we played this fun game called "Heart Attack" where we eat a steady supply of bread, cheese, pancakes, pastries, crepes, and wine, and then walk around as much as possible. We got lunch at a small cafe, and Euro-Trip went ahead and ordered the "tartare de boeuf" which he thought was steak. I saw the waiter laugh as he passed the order to the chef, which should have been a hint, but I assumed he was just laughing at how awesome we were at ordering in french. As we finished eating some pattee, which tastes like Slim Jim Cream Cheese, our food arrived. The french must be the best energy conservationists in the world because here's what he got:
Now, I know what you're thinking-- you're thinking, "Why does that look so familiar?" Well, it's because that is actually Meatwad from Adult Swim's Aqua Teen Hunger Force!
and to a lesser extent, Mickey Rourke:
TARTARE DE BOEUF IS: RAW! FUCKING! BEEF! I understand that different cultures have different forms of "acceptable cuisine," but when a guy orders "the raw meat wad" with an American accent, and he hasn't been repeatedly raping your entire family in front of you, you need to let a dude know what's up. Like, if I were a waiter in America and somebody walked in and ordered sheep's cock, I would feel a moral obligation to say, "Alright, cool, just wanna go ahead and check to make sure you know that sheep's cock is actually a sheep's COCK, ok?" I know it must have been amusing that someone finally ordered the beef wad, but come on! How is that a necessary menu item? Who is going around saying, "You know, I'd like to go out to dinner with my friends, but there's a package of raw beef in my refrigerator that I've been dying to rip into..." There is also the chance the they were completely fucking with us:
Chef: Yo, see if he'll eat raw beef.
Waiter: No way, that's gross!
Chef: Oh c'mon man, they're American-- they eat Jack In the Box, Taco Bell, and Waffle House! They'll eat it!
Waiter: I wouldn't feel right...
Chef: They're responsible for Ashton Kutcher AND Howie Mandel.
Waiter: Fine, I'll do it.
Either to his credit or early disease and worm ridden demise, Euro-Trip ate about half of the dish along with all of his and my fries, in the hopes that they would form a metaphorical and physical box around the meat in his stomach, hide it away, and never speak or think of it again.
Finally, I discovered something about France: No child molesters allowed!
It's such a basic idea, really, but a simple sign reminds people that the whole pedaphilia/kidnapping is, in fact, not ok. Maybe this is just the event planner in me, but there's an important message here-- good signage goes a long way.
In A World of Pain et Fromage,
Witz
*aka an Ass Puzzle aka a homoerotic Barrel of Monkeys
Last night, fueled by jet-lag instead of red bull for a change, I was up until 4am drinking wine and hanging out with my sister, some of her friends, her bulgarian roommate, and her bulgarian roommate's parents-- all of whom spent the night. With limited sleeping space, but plentiful drinks, my double-bed sized air mattress suddenly became a bed for two, and thanks to the powers of Awkwardness, that meant that I'd be sharing it with one of my sister and my mutual friends-- we'll call him Euro-Trip. We slept head to toe (because we don't like to look at each other when our groins touch), which did help us avoid some discomfort, but since we both fell asleep on our sides, also led to us waking up with our clothed asses forming a yin-yang*, which, while very zen, was also very weird.
Later, we played this fun game called "Heart Attack" where we eat a steady supply of bread, cheese, pancakes, pastries, crepes, and wine, and then walk around as much as possible. We got lunch at a small cafe, and Euro-Trip went ahead and ordered the "tartare de boeuf" which he thought was steak. I saw the waiter laugh as he passed the order to the chef, which should have been a hint, but I assumed he was just laughing at how awesome we were at ordering in french. As we finished eating some pattee, which tastes like Slim Jim Cream Cheese, our food arrived. The french must be the best energy conservationists in the world because here's what he got:
Now, I know what you're thinking-- you're thinking, "Why does that look so familiar?" Well, it's because that is actually Meatwad from Adult Swim's Aqua Teen Hunger Force!
and to a lesser extent, Mickey Rourke:
TARTARE DE BOEUF IS: RAW! FUCKING! BEEF! I understand that different cultures have different forms of "acceptable cuisine," but when a guy orders "the raw meat wad" with an American accent, and he hasn't been repeatedly raping your entire family in front of you, you need to let a dude know what's up. Like, if I were a waiter in America and somebody walked in and ordered sheep's cock, I would feel a moral obligation to say, "Alright, cool, just wanna go ahead and check to make sure you know that sheep's cock is actually a sheep's COCK, ok?" I know it must have been amusing that someone finally ordered the beef wad, but come on! How is that a necessary menu item? Who is going around saying, "You know, I'd like to go out to dinner with my friends, but there's a package of raw beef in my refrigerator that I've been dying to rip into..." There is also the chance the they were completely fucking with us:
Chef: Yo, see if he'll eat raw beef.
Waiter: No way, that's gross!
Chef: Oh c'mon man, they're American-- they eat Jack In the Box, Taco Bell, and Waffle House! They'll eat it!
Waiter: I wouldn't feel right...
Chef: They're responsible for Ashton Kutcher AND Howie Mandel.
Waiter: Fine, I'll do it.
Either to his credit or early disease and worm ridden demise, Euro-Trip ate about half of the dish along with all of his and my fries, in the hopes that they would form a metaphorical and physical box around the meat in his stomach, hide it away, and never speak or think of it again.
Finally, I discovered something about France: No child molesters allowed!
It's such a basic idea, really, but a simple sign reminds people that the whole pedaphilia/kidnapping is, in fact, not ok. Maybe this is just the event planner in me, but there's an important message here-- good signage goes a long way.
In A World of Pain et Fromage,
Witz
*aka an Ass Puzzle aka a homoerotic Barrel of Monkeys
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