On Telecommuting

Definitely the best hit I got for a Google Image
search for "telecommuting."

Actual dialogue from a conversation with friends Thursday night:


"Self-motivation is really … a struggle."

"The day I work from home is the first day I go to work high."

"Huh. Do I wanna file expense reports or do I wanna rub one out? I think my dick says I should rub one out."
"No, fill out those expense reports! They're important!"
"REALLY??"

On Reptilian Nightmares

Aside from the one photo my father showed me of his recent trip to Paris, he also paused briefly on a snapshot of this little gem out on it's fountain pedestal again:

That would be Hercules defeating the river god Achelous, and by "defeating," the Greeks apparently meant "beating to death with a fucking rock."

But my thought is this: That's obviously a giant snake. the Greeks would have been like, "Well, the evil river god took the form of a giant snake," and then they had one carved. A giant, unruly, badass megasnake. There's almost no way they could have imagined that seriously HUGE snakes actually existed. They just took something that could kill a man and get pretty sizable and then made it what they thought was impossibly huge, then said their great hero killed it.

How fast would an ancient Greek shit his pants if we showed him a thirty foot boa constrictor? Would he just freak the fuck out and ask to call Perseus or some other famous guy to kill the thing? I'm sure there's a nice zoo in modern Athens that would just make him drop a single, enormously long deuce continuously as he walked through the snake house.

Just don't tell him we went with the Roman names for all our planets. I don't think he could take that.

On My Father

 

I can't say I really give a crap about any of the other works of art and architecture my dad showed me from last summer's trip to Paris, but this one kind of sums up who my father can be at the best of times.

My father is the type of man who, when everyone is crowding in front of the Venus de Milo to get the best possible photo, will walk around to be the only person taking a photo of her ass.

God bless him. The Louvre probably wasn't very amused.

On Telemarketers

Judy found she count make far more money in India than as an
Anne Hathaway stunt double.

I got a telemarketer calling the other day.

Normally, as soon as I find out what their deal is and determine that yes, I do not want any part of it, I say something to the effect of, "No, thank you, I'm really not interested, please don't call again. I'm hanging up now. Goodbye." Usually that works.

I know what you're thinking. "Usually?" Are there circumstances in which hanging up on a person doesn't end the interaction? Well, apparently.

"Hi, Mr. Zucker?" Yes, they new who they were looking for. In fact, the girl was very adamant about not selling me anything. She was verbose, even, in elaborating precisely how much she did not want to take my money. Instead, she wanted to sign me up for their special block list. Turns out, companies have been calling a company that handles magazine subscription services and trying to get people to renew or buy more subscriptions when the ones they had weren't even expiring. This girl wanted to make me feel very comfortable by showing me she had all my special information and subscription data. Being on this list would block those calls, and even calls from this company.

The only problem being she was the only person to bother me about this.

Think about that. Yes, it might be nice to be blocked from the call lists of companies who have no right to call me, but they already don't call me. In fact, if this company hadn't bothered me in my post-dinner stupor, I probably would never have had to deal with anyone.

Plus, I'm already on the federal DO NOT CALL list, but I don't suppose that counts for a lot.

On Dogs

Shh, shh, just go to sleep. It'll all be over soon.
You won't be able to hurt anyone else ever again.
Sleep now, forever, demon spawn.

When people came to the New World they brought their pets. When they moved Out West, they did the same. Homesteaders and frontiersmen occasionally had to deal with bears.

The thing is, big dogs like shepherds, retrievers, danes and labradors, they would try to fight off the bears an protect their masters.

Obviously, they died. Horribly. By bears.

But little dogs? Those little rat-looking things and toys and spaniels? Things that were bread with tiny bodies and short legs so they could burrow down into rodent dens and flush out the offending vermin? They yapped and yapped and yapped at the bears until they got annoyed and left.

Those fuckers scared off bears and lived.

And that's why celebritants like to carry tiny dogs around with them. They're afraid of bears.

On Men's Clothing

Seriously, this guy's like eight heads tall.
In comics, he'd be a superhero.
A tall one.

I've come to a realization: American clothing companies hate small men.
Girls' clothes look like tiny versions of women's clothes, with Juniors, Miss, Petite and everything in between. It's fairly impossible to not find your size, assuming that size is smaller than, say, a 9.

Men? No. I went through an entire mall's worth of department stores and specialty shops and even a Marchall's looking for a simple softshell winter coat. And do you know what I found?

They don't make size small, anymore. Anywhere, really.

Sure, some have that little S printed on their necklines, but that's just a tiny lie. Most are too big, if you can ever find them.

And I get it, guys, your thinking is, "Most men are bigger than a small," so you just make fewer smalls and more of the other sizes. Mostly mediums.

But guys, have you ever seen a store full of clothing at any point other than delivery day? Smalls are the first thing to sell out!I comb through an entire Men's department of Ms and Ls and those abnoxious navy blue XL tags and not a single S in sight.

Obviously, there are far more S-men than there are S-clothes in the world.

Apparel makers are just being S's about it.

On What God Really Hates

I'm not really positive there is a biblical God and I couldn't prove it anyway, but I'm fairly certain if it exists it does not hate a lot of things. But a lot of people seem to think they know what He hates. Mostly, they tend to focus on "fags."

I'm going to take the pedestrian approach and just rule out the vague possibilities that they think their God has a thing against a bundle of sticks or British cigarettes, though that last thing might be somewhat sensible. No, I believe they mean to say that God has a thing against homosexuality, which if you think about it is pretty weird. I mean God makes all-female species of lizards and vertebrate virgin births. He does some pretty bizarre stuff and gay isn't even on the list.

Think about this: The top 10% of anything is a pretty rad achievement. One in ten people are gay. How about that?

So what does God hate? Maybe it was a miscommunication. Maybe someone just misheard Him.















Disunity. God totally hates people acting against togetherness, at least in the New Testament. The Old Testament was pretty much nothing but. File that under the maybes.

Ooh! Bad proofreading! None of the prophets ever seemed to be much for punctuation, but that's really more of a recent innovation. Still, considering how many different versions of even the most basic stories there are going around from the Early Days, I'm guessing if God didn't have a problem with poor writing and diction from The Beginning ("In the beginning there was the Word"), He's definitely developed a distaste in the aeons of being misquoted since. Poor syntax, check.

Maybe? I guess? I mean they usually taste pretty bad. Not like I've had a whole lot of experience with that, though. I'm just saying they're clearly made from that smelly red rubber crap paddleball balls are made of and, man, those things taste awful.

Yeah, I'm absolutely backing this one.