Some of my friends are pregnant. Whenever they reveal the news, there’s always this moment where everyone around congratulates them. “Oh my gosh congratulations! A baby!” As though this miracle was hard to accomplish. Like they really tried hard. Even when people say, “we’ve been trying for months,” it’s like, really? Trying is hard work? Listen: I’ve been trying to get Superbowl tickets for months. You know how much time and energy and money I’ve spent, looking and searching and scouring the internet and talking to sketchy people and driving around the city? That’s trying! How hard is trying to make a baby– you had a lot of sex?
Next time someone announces they are having a baby, I’m going to announce that I’m not having a baby. And people better congratulate me, because the fact of the matter is– it’s much harder to have sex and NOT make a baby than to have sex and make one. I spend most of my evenings thinking about ways to NOT get girls pregnant. I have given up hard-earned money for various objects and devices, invented by scientists in labs, designed for the sole purpose of not making babies– a task so difficult that millions of dollars are still spent every year to find better ways to not make babies. So please, save your congratulations for someone who deserves it: me.
Did you know that some lizards, what they do when they get mad is they do lots of pushups. Say another lizard is like, “I know you didn’t just step on my Filas,” then the first lizard might be like, “I don’t see anyone else stepping on your Filas, so it must have been me.” What follows is a brief staring contest, then BAM– it’s pushup time. If one of them does enough pushups the other lizard is like, “oh snap you must be really strong, I don’t want to fight you!” and the other lizard runs away. Crisis AVERTED!
Sunday is a little thing I like to call Chinatown Num Num Day™ and today was no exception (enjoy the trademark– It took me a long time to find that key combination). You might be tempted to call Sunday “Sleep Until 1:00 and Do Nothing Day “(not trademarked due to shame– painful, painful shame), but you’d be wrong, because starting today, Sunday is all about one thing: Chinese People. Hard-working, delicious Chinese People.
Dim sum carts operate on the same you-dont-get-paid-till-your-shit-is-gone basis as entrance photographers at Six Flags. E.g., A hardly unexpected white-people “no thank you” to the chicken feet led to so much sadness. The cart lady had that look in her eyes– that look that says, listen, I don’t get paid till all this chicken feet is gone, so come on, help a sister out.
Also in chinatown is a store that sells everything from 30 cent dishes (I bought four) all the way up to, that’s right, you guessed it– an 8 foot model sailing ship. At last, my lifelong dream of reshooting MASTER AND COMMANDER with crickets was about to come true. Is she fast, I wanted to know?
“Fast ship! This is the 8-foot chinatown model ship that made the kessel run in less than twelve parsecs.” I was so impressed with the clerk’s mysterious reference that I offered to buy the ship outright, while images of crickets and little lego cannons danced in my head, but it cost more than I had at the time. 283 dollars more, down to the penny.
In the future, I hope America stops choosing presidents based on “votes” and “elections” and has a giant video game contest, no girls allowed, to see who’s the best. The winner gets to be president, and also gets a sack of money with a dollar sign on it. So I guess when my so-called friends say I should stop playing Team Fortress 2 because my spine is permanently bent and my right eye hasn’t stop twitching since Friday, what they’re really saying is, “You have my vote, Mr. President.”
Posted by spoonito 
Posted by spoonito 
Posted by spoonito 
