I saw the heavy rescue fire truck scream by the other day and thought "man I hope the can rescue that fat man out of the tree."
Based on the things my "friends" write on Facebook I am fairly certain half are seriously contemplating suicide (like) and half are seeking a career as one of those inspirational speakers.
Who puts this junk out there for the world to endure? I saw a prominent member of one industry tweet, in parenthesis, "only something I would tell my best friend." Fantastic! Your mental process was "boy I want to tell Murphykins, hee hee that is what I totes call her, about how Frodo, that's our nickname for him, so secret, was not willing to make love with the lights out. But it is PRIVATE! I know! I will tell 10,000 others that I have a great topic but it is BFF info only! They will respect and appreciate my candid nature.
While stuck in the DMV line I had to listen to a mother/son combo engage in a heated conversation en espanol. My 3 years of high school Spanish have served me well. By focusing on the key words "gusta," "queso," and "Quinta" I can say with certainty that they were discussing the cheese enjoyed on Colombus' voyage. Which history now knows to be definitively Gouda.
One of them then started saying the ABCs, and I thought to praise him for his efforts, but he said them with a Honduran accent and it just made him sound stupid. So, I withheld my praise.
Why is it that I can use the Internet to buy anything, and I mean anything, find a wife, adopt a third world baby, a cute one even, catch up on my friends' latest suicide notes via Facebook, but if I want to renew a driver's license I must wait in a line for hours like a peasant in a third world breadline? Can't it be as easy as Facebook? People drive like total crap anyways so why make it difficult? Nobody likes the fat woman at the counter. We don't consider it a feature.
Men are themselves when they are alone. If you want to know what a man is really like, buy a web cam, hide it, and leave hom alone. Fair warning, there will be at least three minutes of "self-love" in every session. Just edit that out. As it is a constant the data will still be considered scientific.
But if you introduce a second man we start acting ridiculous. Take urinals for example. A man at the urinal by himself is a man at peace. We might do the thing where we pick a target and try to pee on it. We work on our positions, like the captain Morgan, one-handed, no handed (dangerous, but worth it), and if we are really feeling frisky we may fart while peeing. Which is the bacon and cheese combo of human excretion exercises.
But then add a second guy. We turn peeing into a competition because it is all we have to work with. Really it all comes down to flow. The man who can walk away from a urinal with cracked porcelain is the victor. The man next to you and growling like a feral tomcat is probably peeing harder than you. Totally not gay by the way so don't even think it. Flow is a testament to how badly you want it. If you can look the man in the eye while washing your hands with whatever cucumber scented foam the restroom has then you are the superior specimen.
The other morning around 7 am I watched a crew of tow trucks and parking meter "cops" descend on a block of parked cars like vultures. Only these vultures in particular trap Chihuahuas and pinch all six of their tiny dog nipples until they die because they grew bored with settling for carcasses. I hate parking meter cops with their street legal golf carts and their bike helmets and their devil-may-care disregard for human happiness and reason. These people make Hitler squirm, and before you call me out for comparing parking meter cops to the worst dictator-slash-mass murderer-slash-thanks for ruining the mustache for the rest of us guy in history, go look at the photos at Auschwitz and show me a single instance of parking trouble.
I dare you.