I Was A 20-Something Teen Wolf

"Give me.…A keg.…Of Visine."
"Please."

I think I'm turning into a Teen Wolf.


Hey, some of us go through it a little later in life than others, alright?

And before the one person who watches MTV original scripted programming pipes in, no, I mean the Michael J. Fox Teen Wolf, where a legitimately dweeby, sweaty little dude sucks at everything until PRIMAL, ANIMALISTIC POWER is unleashed by his hormones and he turns into a total d-bag for a semester until he learns to control his shit and matures as a person. Not the version where a tall, skinny, beard-incapable male model with glasses gets mauled by a tall, skinny, sexy-stubbled male model asshole werewolf and turns into the exact same person but who occasionally turns into a werewolf and eats a deer or something.

See, I used to be socially awkward. Not Amazing Spider-Man awkward, but just awkward enough that I would sometimes think being just slightly more awkward could be convenient because it would bump me into the Asperger's range and I'd have an excuse.

But then I grew emotionally. I needed money and I needed to learn how to interact with people, so I took a job where I'd have to do a lot of people-talking. It did pretty well, as a therapy. I knew what I needed, I practiced it, and it helps. Now I can talk to pretty much anybody, at least for a bit, seem nice enough to them, no matter my actual mood, just generally leave a decent impression.

I also try to remain overtly honest so any self-deprication isn't viewed as covering for actual cockiness. I try to agree when people tell me positive things about me, modestly, so that I try to remember they're true things. This … works some of the time? Either I forget and appear to really not believe I'm awesome (usually true), or I agree too readily since it's a habit now, and I come off as cocky (only sometimes true, like 40%.…maybe 45).

The point I'm trying to make is, I'm trying to keep a handle on my douchey-ness and my preternatural manliness, but I'm getting really confused finding long, soft hairs in all my laundry, even the clean stuff. That never used to happen before I started getting girls.

But I don't remember getting that many girls recently, either, so I'm hoping I've just been secretly turning into a Teen Wolf every few weeks and remembering to redress and lock the door behind me when I come home near dawn.

Hopefully I don't eat those two cute deer that live out back.

Of Those Who Can't Failing to Teach

A family asked me yesterday for a book that would teach their son–for homework that night I learned–the similarities between the branches of government. "Branches" being a word I supplied; they went with "sections" and "parts."

Keep in mind, they also did not understand when I explained thrice that there was nothing in the store and it would have to be ordered, taking longer than 20 minutes to arrive.

The branches are, for those who don't remember 7th grade history class, the Legislative branch (Congress), the Executive branch (the President), and the Judicial branch (the courts). When these two wunderelterns attempted to list them, mom got "Parliamentary" and "Prime Ministreal," which isn't even a word. Dad fared no better with "Communist" in place of Congress and "President," which is actually more horrifying, because in between his wife's attempt and his own, I said them all. To them. They were there. And still, neither one of them even remotely got "Judiciary." I would have taken any variation on "courts." Nothin'.

God help that poor child. If his parents teach him that "Communist" is a branch of American government, we're going to have a little Young Republican on our hands fairly quickly.

On Uncanny Resemblance

The following persons have come into my store in the year since I've worked there:

Egon Spengler, married to an aging Miss Congeniality:

Character actor and the dick boyfriend Jack from Rookie of the Year, Bruce Altman:

Jerry Stiller, Ben Stiller's dad:

Michael Moronna, a.k.a "Big Pete," except as a baby:

I have counted up to 4 different Tim Robbinses.

Tall Don Knotts:

 Commissioner Gordon (animated series version)"

Nite Owl II, Dan Dreiberg:

Saul from Battlestar Galactica: 

And as of last night, Latino Michael J. Fox, Michél Hay. Zorro:

I can't believe Michael J. Fox has never been photographed
wearing a sombrero.

 That's right, "Zorro" meant "The Fox." Your mind is blown. Now to double that: Latino Michael J. Fox's real name was also Michael. Boom. Now have a cigarette, roll over, and fall asleep.

Michael J. Fox Worries for Your Immortal Soul

Someone left this at work last week. As expected, the paper was of low quality, as was the logic. Surprisingly, the writing was eloquent, though clearly the proofreader was ignored when (s)he [Let's face it, it was probably a he, as religious leaflet orderers tend towards the … shall we say domestically "traditional." - Ed.] pointed out that the first six entire folds were negated by the final point made in the seventh.

But wait! What's that at the bottom?

Why, it's Marty McFly!

"What are you, in the navy?"

Why does Marty seem so concerned for my Jesusly well being? He never seemed that religious, what with the teenage rebellion in his mid-twenties and the time traveling and fate altering.

Then again, he's got a steady girlfriend he intends to marry, finds temptation to sin but manages to avoid it with some sage advice and a little extra-natural help. Maybe it was a stealth-Christian film.

You know, like anything with Kirk Cameron that isn't overtly Christian.

"While I Do Not Agree With What You Say, I Will Kick and Scream Until You Stop Talking"

I was legitimately outraged today by politics, something that usually does not happen because I have a very nice, small social circle that generally agrees with everything I say.

However the one thing I can't abide, in any field of study, is the willfully ignorant controlling any situation by means of domineering, bullying and just generally talking over the voices of reason until they can't hear dissenting opinions anymore.

Here, for example, we see a crowd of Tea Party douchebags heckle a health care advocate who, according to the sign he holds, has Parkinson's disease.

Allow me to repeat that. Tea Party members are filmed here jeering a man with a costly, crippling disease:



Now I can't prove that this man has sat down on the ground because his increasingly painful and debilitating disease has put him into a small fit whereby he decided he must sit for fear of injury by fall, nor could I prove he's brought to tears by a bunch of assholes in chinos throwing dollar bills into his face while he suffers immobile.

All I'm saying is there's a flaw in your logic when you tell a disabled man he needs to work for his medical coverage.

Sure, I suppose he could put those tremors to good use and get a job mixing paint down at Home Depot, but of course then he could pay for the medicine that controls his tremors.

Then his performance at work slips and suddenly he's out of a job and can't afford his medication. His tremors come back, which would actually help him get his job back if he hadn't just been fired for starting out great and then doing a really shitty job all of a sudden. Now no one will give him a good reference and he looses his house and has to go on Medicaid, which gives him three generic ibuprofen a day and a bottle of Pediasure.

I swear, I'd be all for gutting and hanging stupid people who disagree with me if I didn't have all these hang-ups about protecting the weak and teaching the uneducated and guaranteeing every dissenting opinion the right to shout its idiocy from the rooftops.


And now, just so we don't have to discuss actually doing anything to improve politics, here's a palate cleanser:



…and now you have cholera.