PUT IT ALL ON RED

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Month: May, 2012

Just a Thought: Maturity

by Jordy Greenblatt

Why is it that whenever people are mad at me, they feel the need to remind me of the year or my age? “It’s 2012. How can you talk that way?” Or, “Jordy, you’re 22 years old. Now act like it!” I know the year. I know how old I am. I’m just an asshole.

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Ask Some Guy Who’s Frantically Trying to Find His Car Keys

by Jordy Greenblatt

Dear GWFTFHCK,
I’ve been seeing this guy for like a month now and for the most part it’s going really well. He’s fun and incredibly thoughtful and sweet to me, but whenever I try to bring up dating exclusively, he just jokes it off and dodges the question. How can I get him to talk about this seriously with me but not risk scaring him off?
Sincerely,
Looking for Mr. Right

Dear Looking,
Hold that thought. Jesus, I could have sworn I had them like one minute ago. I definitely checked my pockets but I guess it can’t hurt to double check. Front pockets? No. Back pockets? No. Shit! Did I have them last in the bedroom or the kitchen? Damn, I really need to keep them in one place all the time. Sorry, what were you asking?


Hey GWFTFHCK,
My mom was pushing me like crazy all throughout college to go to law school, but I’m not sure it’s for me. I took a job as a paralegal this year because I wanted to buy some more time while I made up my mind and this was the only way to do it without her hassling me about it. At the same time, I’m not sure if this is just a juvenile rebellion and maybe I would actually like studying law. Should I start studying for the LSAT and apply this year or finally put my foot down and tell my mom that I don’t want it right now and if it’s meant to be, I can always apply in a couple years?
Yours,
Troubles With the Law

Dear Troubles,
Moms can be domineering sometimes. I’m sure she loves you and wants what she thinks is best for you, but that’s the problem. She wants what she thinks is best for you. Maybe you don’t agree. For instance my mom’s always on my case to be more polite, clean up after myself, etc. She says that’s why I’m always losing track of stuff. Oh fuck, my keys! Where the hell could they be? My place isn’t that big. I don’t care how messy it is; they could only be in a couple of places. Unless I left them in my jeans that are in the wash… Oh God, I hope not. That would be the end of my clicker for sure. Thank goodness my ignition only requires a manual key.


What’s up GWFTFHCK?
My friend Sara says I drink too much and, although I used to be able to just brush it off, lately I’ve been more concerned. In college it seemed like everyone was drinking all the time. But I’ve started to notice that my old college friends have kind of gotten their acts together a little more than I have and they don’t really spend their Friday nights getting drunk anymore. Am I over-thinking this or could this be a sign that Sara’s onto something?
Later,
Drink Up or Grow Up?

Dear Drink Up,
It’s not really a question of how much you drink (within reason); it’s more a question of how reliant you are on alcohol and how much it affects your life. If you like to kick back and have a couple of drinks at the end of the week, that’s not such a big deal. But if you feel like you can’t make it for a few days at a time without getting wasted, then maybe Sara has a point. Also, there are different kinds of drunks. If you just get loud and goofy when you drink, it’s not such a big deal. If you get violent or it starts to distract you from your responsibilities, then it’s probably time to cut back or even cut it out of your life. Wait… responsibilities. Uh oh, Jen’s flight gets in 20 minutes from now. I should have left for the airport a half hour ago. Oh God, where are those fucking keys? She is gonna go apeshit if she calls me when she lands and I still haven’t found them.


Hi GWFTFHCK,
My husband and I are looking into buying a house. He desperately wants a flashy house to make all our friends “oo” and “ah” when they come over. I think that’s out of our budget and we need to be practical, especially with the layoffs at his company. What can I say to him to get him to be more sensible?
Best,
Falling Behind the Jones’s

Dear Falling,
The most important thing is to make sure he knows that you are looking out for your collective future. Sometimes you pay too much for one thing and you can’t afford something more important. Like, I bought this cool vintage lava lamp at a yard sale last week but I’m probably gonna need that money for a new set of keys. Incidentally, you’re not looking to buy a lava lamp from your new house, are you?


Yo GWFTFHCK,
I can’t seem to find my keys. Any suggestions?
Signed,
Fellow GWFTFHCK

Dear Fellow GWFTFHCK,
No.

Just a Thought: Double Fisting

by Jordy Greenblatt

Whenever I’m holding two drinks and someone makes a comment about how I’m “double fisting,” I get really uncomfortable. I know it’s not actually sexual, but it sounds like it is and it sounds disgusting.

Memorial Day

by Melissa Chiasson

In honor of Memorial Day, I wanted to remember the pets of my youth who passed too soon. I wish I could say they died in service to their country, but the US government has already informed me that “Seriously, Melissa, we’ve been through this several times: there is no way a gerbil can earn a Purple Heart, considering said gerbil never spent any time in combat.” I guess I will just have to do Mr. Fuzzball Fizzywink justice with my words.

Roscoe–A delightful dog taken too soon by an errant mail truck that I happened to be driving. What can I say? Six-year-olds were never meant to deliver the mail, especially when drunk.

Cuddles–A slightly less delightful dog that terrorized neighborhood children and was later nicknamed “The Undertaker.” The SWAT team ended her beautiful life in a hail of gunfire. I’m pretty sure that’s the way Cuddles would have wanted to go.

Demetri–The best damn iguana that ever lived. I remember the way you sat on the rock in your terrarium and sunned yourself. It was only after you hadn’t moved from that spot for six months that we realized something wasn’t entirely right.

Mr. Fuzzball Fizzywink–A rebound from Demetri, I never thought I could love you as much as I loved him. Oh, how I was wrong. Ours was a love story for the ages. We went canoeing together, shared ice cream sundaes, laughed and cried together. Napping together seemed like the natural next step in our relationship, until I rolled over and crushed you. Sweet dreams, Fizzywink.

Mrs. Fuzzball Fizzywink–Real sorry about that.

Buster–A rebound from Mr. Fuzzball Fizzywink, I never thought I could love a cat. And I was right.

Patches–Mom said you were my last chance to prove I was responsible enough for a pet. Seeing as I don’t have any pets now, you can see where this one is going. Patches, you were a great puppy! I loved playing with you on the front lawn, and I laughed so hard that I never saw that hawk coming. I like to think he was whisking you off to dog heaven, or, even better, maybe he dropped you off at a more responsible dog owner’s house.

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On a slightly more serious note, thanks to the servicemen and women of the US for all that they have done and do for our country! You make me feel like a lazy bastard for sitting on my ass and writing posts for a humor blog.

Just a Thought: Sticks and Stones

by Jordy Greenblatt

When I was a kid, my babysitter used to tell me that when a bully teased me, I should say “sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.” I thought it was pretty clever. Unfortunately, after that all the bullies knew how to break my bones.

Just a Thought: Child Burger

by Jordy Greenblatt

I saw “child burger” on a menu. I’m not 100% sure what it’s made of, but I’m guessing it’s not children. It was on the kids menu too, so it seems even less likely to be made of children. But then again, if it is, it’s really cruel to feed that to kids.

Aw Crap, Did I Sleep Through the Revolution?

by Jordy Greenblatt

Hey comrades, good morning! Alright fine, good afternoon. Okay, elephant in the room, let’s just come out with it; I stayed up a little too late last night and now I’m showing up two hours after the secret meeting was supposed to start. I’m sorry, it’s completely my—wait a second; something’s different…

Why don’t we have the lights off like we usually do to avoid suspicion? Why was the door unlocked and why didn’t I have to say the password on the way in? Hold on… is that our party’s insignia outside on the palace wall? And why is the king’s severed head being paraded down the street?!? Aw crap, did I sleep through the revolution?

Why didn’t you guys tell me it was gonna be today? Wow, I don’t know what to say. I feel like such a shit. Please don’t think I’m not just as committed to our radical doctrine as any of you. You know whose fault this is? Whoever invented the snooze button! What a capitalist pig! Am I right? Come on guys, who’s with me?

Fair enough, you’re all pretty pissed. I can see that. But it’s not like the king would be any deader if I’d gotten my ass into the shower instead of putting a pillow over my head and nodding off for a few hours. It’s not like the palace guards wouldn’t have shot at you guys if I’d been there. I mean, let’s not give me too much credit!

I’ll tell you what, just as a sign of good faith, I will personally clean up the entire hideout. What’s that? Oh that’s right; we don’t need the hideout anymore. Well, I guess I could clean out our new chamber in the former palace chapel. Already cleaned by my peasant comrades when they were enslaved because of the king’s endless greed? Yeah, I guess I should have figured…

Okay, indoor voices everyone. We don’t want the king’s spies to hear us and… oh yeah; that doesn’t matter now. Man, this is gonna take some getting used to! You know what, how about everybody comes to my place tonight for a celebratory bash? I have some food scraps I’ve been saving up for a special occasion and some bathtub wine made from grapes I got out of the palace dumpster. Oh really? You’re having a feast tonight in the king’s banquet hall? Yeah, that does sound better than what I said. Well, am I invited or… never mind; that’s not important. If you don’t want me to come, that’s totally cool. I completely understand if this is just a “people who risked their lives to end tyranny” type shindig.

Not to change the subject, but kudos on having an entire revolution go down perfectly in a matter of hours so quietly that you didn’t even wake me up! I mean, seriously, great work, guys! What? Yeah, I know we’re talking about me, but I’m just saying.

Yes, party secretary, I am fully aware of the irony of letting you guys do all the work to overthrow an oligarchy that we hated for freeloading off of our labor, but I feel like you’re over thinking this. I’m pretty sure the parallel is more symbolic than anything else and there’s no reason to get hostile here. I definitely learned my lesson and, trust me, I feel terrible about it.

Hey, why are the Proletariat People’s Guards blocking the exit? Guys, it’s me. Come on! Everyone makes mistakes but it’s important to forgive them… as long as they aren’t cooperating with the bourgeois oppressor. What’s that quote? “To err is human, to forgive divine?”

Yeah, of course religion is the opiate of the masses, I just mean that… hey, guys, I don’t think we need to resort to violence. We need unity now more than ever! If we break into a thousand factions then monarchist reactionaries will take advantage of our vulnerability and replace the king with an even worse tyrant!

Oh, you’re already united against me? Jeez, I don’t like the sound of that! What can I do to make this up to you guys? No, other than martyrdom! Oh really, nothing else?

Wow, I’m beginning to wish I’d just stayed in bed.

Just a Thought: Fortune Cookies

by Jordy Greenblatt

If I wrote fortunes for fortune cookies, I think I’d write, “This paper was manufactured in a plant that also produces asbestos.” And then the lucky numbers at the bottom would be the number for poison control.

A Cover Letter

by Melissa Chiasson

Dear Mr. Lopez,

I write to apply for an analyst position within your organization, the Latin Kings. As a summa cum laude graduate of an Ivy League institution with majors in Economics and Business, I can maximize your quarterly earnings while hustling hard in the street.

I know what you’re thinking–another white kid trying to prove that she is “gangsta” by writing you a formal cover letter? I assure you, Mr. Lopez, I don’t need to prove anything. In college, I tutored inmates at a local prison in preparation for the GED, and most fellow volunteers I talked to said they were doing it to “help someone out” or “find desperate men that would be willing to settle.” Not me. I used that opportunity to market myself to the gang world, and I have the prison tattoos to prove that I’m legit (and I can’t tell you how difficult it is to get a rudimentary tattoo done in the five minutes your supervisor, Scott, gives you for a bathroom break). I don’t want to brag, but let’s just say several lesser gangs have approached me with work offers. I had to tell each, “Naw, man, my dream is to work for the Latin Kings. When you stop being a pussy ass bitch, let me know, and I’ll have you come work for me.” This usually did not go over well and is the reason I wear an eye patch.

Does an eye patch make me gangsta? Of course not. Does an eye patch plus a don’t-fuck-with-me-attitude make me gansta? No, otherwise my grandmother would be a fucking kingpin. Does an eyepatch coupled with superior quantitative skills and an unparalleled understanding of market forces make me gangsta? You best believe it, son.

I don’t want this letter to be all about my outstanding personal characteristics and general badassery. I also have some great ideas to energize your business. After running some of the numbers, I’m convinced you can start charging people more for your protection from rival gangs. If your customers balk at this, offer some throwaway free gift, like a free Latin Kings tote or travel mug. People absolutely love that stuff, and if a free tote ain’t street, I don’t want to be street.

Also, every salesperson you have on the corner should have an iPad. It does nothing to help you sell more, but it does make you look like the cool, hip drug dealers. It also works as a great indicator of employee loyalty. You definitely want to keep an employee who can fend off a potential robber looking to get a free iPad, and you want to get rid of the loser who will give an iPad away like it’s candy (and I can already imagine the excuses: “He threatened to kill me!”; “It’s just an iPad.”; “Please, lady, I’m only thirteen!”).

I have a lot more where that came from, but like any savvy businesswoman, I’m not going to give you my best ideas in a cover letter. For that, you’re going to have to hunt me down and make me an offer I can’t refuse (which would probably be along the lines of $75,000 plus bonuses and full benefits).

Mr. Lopez, the Latin Kings is in position to become the Google of gangs; making mad money while offering a comfortable work environment with a 50% chance of shanking. I would love the opportunity to oversee this transformation and expansion in pursuit of my own personal goal to keep it hood.

Sincerely,

Melissa

Just a Thought: Baseball

by Jordy Greenblatt

I’m not a big sports guy, but I wonder where the rules to baseball came from. They’re so arbitrary. My only guess is that a bunch of mean older kids were messing with some scrawny younger boy by changing the rules as they went along. “If we tag you while we’re holding the ball, then you’re out and you have to wait a long time to play again,” they would shout, hiding their snickers. Then he would just hit it harder so that they wouldn’t have time to tag him. But they would stand further out and when they caught it on the fly they’d say “well, that also means you’re out and you have to go to the back of the line again.” Then he learned how to aim the ball where none of them were standing. The cycle continued as the game evolved into its current form and eventually that kid practiced and practiced until the older boys had to give up changing the rules because whatever they came up with, he would adapt almost immediately and make them look foolish. That younger boy’s name? Babe Ruth. But that’s just my guess.

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