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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
If you start a sentence with “I’m no expert, but…” you can pretty much finish it with anything.
I learned once in a history class that the table in the center of the British Parliament was traditionally the length of two swords, the idea being that it would prevent one member from murdering an adversary in a moment of passionate debate. At first I thought this seemed like a good idea but then I realized it was kind of excessive. As long as it’s a little more than one sword length across, the worst they can do is fight for a while without actually killing each other. In fact, that would probably be more entertaining. Unless they somehow found a way around the table.
Suspending a kid for cutting class is like flogging a masochist for perversion.
If I had a nickel for every time I went to a vending machine with 95 cents, I’d be a much happier person.
PUT IT ALL ON RED 