Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

People I Hate #211 (In A Series)

January 19, 2018

Who: The guy who opened the gourmet popcorn store at the mall.

Why: I’m assuming this dude didn’t just open it on a whim. He probably went to business school or worked as a manager some place where he learned his trade and I think it’s safe to assume he did some research and got a small business loan or some investors. So what business model does he choose? A proven franchise? A novel tried and true retail outlet with a local flavor? No. The nichiest of specialty boutiques, a gourmet popcorn store. Does he think people wake up every day and say to themselves, “Hey – I could really go for a bag of cotton candy flavored kettle corn. Let’s head to the mall!” or something stupid like that? Hell no – gourmet popcorn is an impulse purchase at best and this joker has decided to put all his economic eggs in one weak-assed gimmicky basket. He might as well call the store “Gone In 90 Days!”

How I justify it: He’s just taking up space that could be a Sanrio or a Halloween Express or something useful. Don’t waste my time – or my mall space!

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Tales From My Screwed-Up Childhood #12

January 13, 2018

When I was a kid, I had a dog named Ringo. He was an older dog and I was really young – about three or four – when Ringo became ill and had to be put to sleep. Of course, my idiot parents didn’t want to tell me that, so they made up a story. No, not the “he went to live on a farm” one. I was told that Ringo had been taken to the vet but he had escaped from his cage and run out into the road and then been hit by a car. I have no idea how any adult could think that was the better white lie for a preschooler, but that’s the family in which I was raised.

Begins to explain a lot about me, eh?

Me-yow!

January 8, 2018

As ads go, it was pretty straightforward. Slightly sexy, but classy. Very upscale.

I caught sight of it in a local newspaper, sandwiched somewhere in between the want ads and the movie listings. About eight column inches all told – an ad for a fine clothier or furniture store, something of that nature. It showed a lovely female dressed seductively in a nice lacy slip or camisole lay demurely on a richly upholstered divan, maybe a day bed. She held in her arms a Siamese cat to which she seemed to be talking sweetly (no doubt a beloved pet). She wasn’t tarty or sleazy, no far from it – she was portrayed as a beautiful young woman with great taste, the perfect model, the perfect target audience identifier, sure to garner a few new clients for the upscale shop.

Point is, there’s this major league hottie in her underthings lounging on a sofa and what is the first thing I say upon seeing the ad?

“Ooooh!!! Kitty!”

sigh

Man, I have GOT to get out more.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

December 24, 2017

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Just a cute kiddie song, right? Hardly. The little brat singing the ditty is all a-titter that his mom’s liplocking old St. Nick – y’know, just pasting a big wet one on the Jolly Old Elf – snogging Father Christmas right good. The kid has no earthly idea that it’s his own dad. In fact, the little dipwad opines, “What a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night?” Ya think, ya little doofus? Oh yeah, I’m sure Pops would have been pleased as punch to catch his wife making out with another guy, Spirit of Christmas or not. Let’s face it – if the kid is correct in any sense (and it’s not his old man in a fake beard playing tonsil hockey) that means “Mommy” is, at best, a flirt and a cheat – at worst, whoring herself out to get the kid his Christmas presents.

Face it. Your entire childhood is one seriously screwed up pastiche of Freudian mishigas.

10 Things About Christmas That Really Bug Me

December 22, 2017

I know, I know. “Bah humbug,” right? Hardly. I’m not in this to demean the season. Christmas is cool. But there are definitely a few things about it that really bug me. Not the lines and mall parking lots and how people seem to forget how to drive the last few days before the big day. No, those really piss me off, sure, but I’m talking the odd things here and there that most people wouldn’t even think twice about. Like a stupid conversation at the table next to you while you’re dining out, these things just annoy me to the point that my holiday experience in toto is diminished.

Everything’s Closed. “We will be closed on December 25 so that we can spend Christmas with our families.” Really? Honestly? What about people without families? What about those folks who don’t celebrate Christmas? Shouldn’t they be working? No way. Christmas is a holiday and pretty much everyone takes it off regardless of religion or intent. Like how you willingly take Memorial Day off but don’t bother even a second to remember the men and women who’ve sacrificed for our country while you grill hot dogs and sun yourself at the beach. Not that I begrudge anyone a day off but I just resent having to limit my cuisine choices to Chinese food if I choose to dine out on 12/25.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. Well, keep it to yourself. I’m sick of hearing about it. You want snow? Then you want traffic fatalities and freezing temps and ice storms and old people being stacked up like cordwood. Snow sucks. You like snow? Move to Greenland!

The music. Sure Yule ditties like Wonderful Christmastime and Feliz Navidad, just to name two, should be lumped in with water boarding as forms of torture, but I can narrow down my seasonal bile to one song, one moment that so irks me I can barely type this because it makes me think of it: Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree. The original Brenda Lee version. I try to block it out of my memory but it’s when she sings, “Rockin’ around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop.” Then there’s this note – this evil note – that sounds like some instrument being strangled. It goes up in pitch a bit. I can’t even describe it. I don’t know music well enough to understand its origins. I only know that were I certain what instrument made this sound I might go on a one-man crusade to destroy each and every one of them to ensure this sound was never recreated ever again.

Naughty or nice. Even as a kid, this moral absolute bothered me. I could be pretty good all year but do one bad thing and all that good was cancelled out? How naughty did you have to be? I mean, I knew some nasty bullies that always seemed to get stuff from Santa every year. What the heck was the fat man’s criteria? And no one ever got coal or switches. The whole thing seemed like nothing more than a way for parents to control their kids. Which it was.

The Nutcracker. Don’t get it. Never will. It’s ballet. Church is bad enough – now I have to watch ballet? Dammit.

The science of Santa. It never fails. Every year some goon releases statistics on how fast Santa’s sleigh would have to travel to make his rounds and how, using wormholes and tesseracts and whatnot, he could actually deliver the presents in one night – and even how, through genetic engineering, possibly create a flying reindeer. Every year. IT’S PRETEND, YOU UBER-GEEKS! At the very least, it’s magic. So shut the hell up.

Which brings me to …

Legit news going soft to track Santa. I went to CNN’s web site one year and on the front page was the headline “Santa makes first US stop in Florida.” NORAD is tracking Santa, they claimed. I even heard on NPR that the US government had lifted airspace restrictions to allow Santa to fly on his rounds. Again: IT’S PRETEND, PEOPLE!!!!! I’m all for creating a mystique for kids but I resent the lessening of legitimate journalistic sources through fictitious means. Somehow I just don’t see Edward R. Murrow making up this crap.

A Christmas Carol. Not that it’s a bad story. Hell, it’s a great story! Wonderful characters and just a superlative Dickens tale! Yet every time I read it or see it portrayed, I can’t help but think that Scrooge was really a great big a-hole and that maybe he was the last person on Earth to deserve such a wholesale shot at redemption by the entire netherworld.

It’s a Wonderful Life rip-offs. Every sitcom seems to do one. Every character seems to have that George Bailey moment. Every one of us, we are led to believe, has a guardian angel ever ready to make us see the light. Which, of course, is complete BS. Would the world really be worse off if Skippy from Family Ties had never been born? Don’t know. Love to find out though.

Tangerines and nuts in stockings. Lame. Just bloody lame. Even Tiny Tim wasn’t this lame.

Sparky MacMillan still wants a hula hoop.

CSI: Crime Seuss Investigation

December 15, 2017

It is with sad regret that I must report on the passing of a beloved holiday icon.

Dr. Seuss’ Grinch, one-time Christmas stealer, was found dead in his mountain home near Whoville early last Saturday. The coroner’s report attributed his death to an enlarged heart.

Whoville M.E., Quincy Q. Who, noted that some physiological change had apparently occurred within the last twenty-four hours causing the Grinch’s heart to grow as much as three times its normal size. “Normally, a Grinch’s heart is a very small muscle; one could say an empty hole.” He went on to explain, “Their cardiovascular systems are not very well developed at all.”

The catalyst that supposedly caused this heart malfunction remains unknown, although sources report that, sometime before his death, the Grinch consumed a large quantity of Whovian Roast Beast, causing his cholesterol levels to rise to an enormous rate.

The Grinch is survived by an unnamed dog and Cindy Lou, his common law wife.

But What’s Up With That Seal?

December 11, 2017

I could go into deep detail about my longtime love/hate relationship with the 1960s Batman television series … how the show’s camp nature seemed to forevermore stain the public psyche where the Dark Knight was concerned yet how much damn fun the whole mishigas was so it almost offsets my ire …

I could go into detail about it all but I think this clip speaks for itself…

A Piece of the Action

December 9, 2017

At the office, whenever there’s a birthday card to be signed for a co-worker, I always write the same thing: I know it’s you who’s been stealing stuff from the supply cabinet but I won’t tell anyone if you give me the biggest slice of cake. Surprisingly, I’m right most of the time. And I really get some amazing slices of cake out of it.

cake

FIVE RANDOM FIVE

December 4, 2017

Five Failed General Mills Monster Cereals

Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Honey

Invisible Man Berries

Zombie Toast Crunch

Godzillalicious

Creature from the Bran Lagoon

 

Five Zebra Fears

LionsHyenas

Stripes make them look fat

Global warming

There’ll be a Racing Stripes II

 

Five Autocorrects for Dirty Words

Batch

Peninsula

Tattle

Vagus nerve

Madden Football

 

Five Regrettable Purchases

The Boogie Bass

Stale Girl Scout Cookies

Bell bottoms

Rental insurance

Ticket for The Emoji Movie

 

Five More Ways To Leave Your Lover

Just stop tryin’, Ryan.

Hit yourself repeatedly with a rake, Blake.

Hide in a closet and be really quiet, Wyatt.

Take off on a stolen Schwinn, Flynn.

Cook her up in a pot and eat her, Peter.

 

You Can Stop It Any Time Now

December 1, 2017

Yelling at me when I walk into a Moe’s Southwest Grill, I mean.

Oh sure, I know it’s supposed to be a charming greeting that sets your restaurant franchise apart from the other chains – and maybe there was a slight novel attraction at first – but we all know now that the staff hates it, the customers hate it and it’s little more than a jarring holdover of a more unaffected, spontaneous time. It’s not as though everyone participates: you get one, maybe two, employees who let out a half-hearted “welcome to moe’s” in hopes that enough voices will join in to drown out the obvious contempt and distaste in their own. But it never happens. It’s the fast food equivalent of when you were a kid and your mom would make you thank other adults for giving you something or having you in their home. Mom: “What do you say to Mrs. Tietelbaum?” You (muttering under your breath as you shuffle your feet in awkward defiance): “Thank you, Mrs. Tietelbaum.” You didn’t mean it and everyone knew it – just a perfunctory mandate from the powers-that-be to feign a meager ounce of sincerity.

Well, Moe’s, you can stop it any time now. You’re welcome.