You ever see those little kids with the skates automatically built in to their shoes that go zipping around grocery and department stores like they’re the coolest thing in the world?  Call me a bad person, but everytime I see them do that, I start wishing for a big bag of gravel and sand.  And seriously, is walking so strenuous that you need to skate around in grocery stores and stuff?  I swear, the next time I’m in the grocery store grabbing some frozen pizzas and one of those little shits with Heelies skates by me, I’m going to follow him, grab one shoe off his feet, and use a utility knife to whittle those wheels in to more of an octagon.  Let’s see ya fly by me now looking like you’re going over rumble strips.  I’m really surprised I haven’t seen these shoes catching on with adults yet, also.  There’s nothing I’d like to see more than an employee at Wendy’s try to skate over with my food and biff it right in to the friers giving him a Biggie Size bruise.

Do you know how difficult it would have been for the Kool-Aid man to do anything without spilling himself?  Driving over railroad tracks, bending down to pick something up, or dancing are activities that would all cause him to slosh around and spill his insides out.  You’d think he would have some sort of lid for his head….I mean, it’d be a hell of a lot cleaner than going to someone’s house and spilling red fucking kool-aid all over the carpet because  you needed to tie your shoe.  That’s just plain inconsiderate.  And I’m sure in Kool-Aid world, once you lose so much of your insides like he would, it would be take a very skilled doctor and a bit of luck to save your life.  “We need a transfusion!  Now!  Do we have any donors with type Orange-Rush blood?  Hurry!!”

If I get another tattoo, I think I have it all planned out what I’m going to get.  I think I’m going to construct the most generic tattoo ever……grabbing concepts from all the other lame, generic tattoos out there.  First off…..I’m going to have the word “English” on my arm….written in a Chinese character that I can’t read.  Then I’m going to have some barbed wire running around my arm under it and a tribal tattoo stretching out above it.  It will have my name spelled out in gothic lettering, and it will have a naked woman silhouette leaning up against it.  Oh yeah…..pure, unfiltered, meaningless tattoos.  Why does every chick on earth have a tattoo of a dolphin/butterfly/star/chinese character/random tribal bullshit on their lower back?  Does it mean anything?  Does it stand for anything?  Or was it one of those things that they got a discount for when they got their belly button pierced, and then made up a story for so that it sounded legit.  “It represents a time in my life where I was going through changes and wanted to swim free like a dolphin.”  What?  That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard someone say.  I know we say “bless you” when someone sneezes, but what do we say when someone utters the dumbest bullshit phrase I’ve ever heard? We all know you wanted people looking at your ass, browsed the wall of the tattoo parlor until you found tribal patterns that surrounded a symbol you used to draw on your notebook when you were 8 (star, heart, etc.), and slapped it on your lower back, which, let’s face it, should really be labeled “upper ass”. I’m sure when you’re 45 and explaining to your kids why you picked one of the marshmallow symbols from a box of Lucky Charms and had it permanently put on your body, they’ll understand it’s deep significance and not the fact that Mom’s a moron.

Do you think Bruce Wayne had an answering machine hooked up to the batphone?  I mean, there had to be a time when neither him, nor Alfred, nor whoever the hell Robin’s alter-ego was around.  Which brings up the point that Robin could have run around with his mask around his neck, exposing his true identity and I don’t think anyone would have given a damn.  Hey, there’s Batman and that guy that hangs around with him.  I think his name is Steve or Rod or something…..I don’t know, he’s the one who’s always standing next to Batman looking scared as shit.  Anyways, back to the subject, I can’t imagine that the batphone would be answered every time it rang….I mean, Bruce Wayne was a millionaire.  He had to do all that millionaire shit like swimming in his backyard pool and hunting people for sport.  And when technology improved, why didn’t Batman upgrade?  He had no Bat Beeper, he had no Bat Cell, he had no Bat Blackberry (Batberry? Sorry…).  He still used a fucking light shined at the sky.  If I was a criminal in Gotham City, I’d just rob a bank and go around shooting people in the middle of the day.  “He’s been going at it killing people for hours, but until we get some kind of cloud cover or until night falls, we’re pretty much screwed because he can’t see the signal.  Why the hell doesn’t that moron have a more reasonable method of communication?”

Ok, now, when you’re at a theatre and a movie’s about to start, is it really necessary for them to tell you to turn off your pager?  Who are they talking to?  Who still owns a pager?  And if someone did, I guarantee they would be too embarassed to whip that thing out and turn it off (can they be turned off?) in front of everybody.  Because everybody would then know that they’re “that guy” that’s still trapped in the 80s.  Yeah, you know who that guy is.  That guy that still sleeps in a water bed and thinks think gold rope chains hanging in to a vast sea of chest hair that’s exposed only because he’s unbuttoned his shirt down to his belly button is sexy.  He’s usually driving a Firebird with the T-top off or an old Camaro and whistling at anything with boobs that’s walking down the sidewalk.  Which, by the way, does that ever work?  Ladies, would you ever date a guy that honked at you?  I mean, a guy whistles at you, you copy down his license plate number, go to the DMV, do a search, find his name and address, show up at his door and ask him out?  “Oh, hi there.  I couldn’t help but notice you were whistling at me the other day as your friend screamed ’spankalicious’ as you drove by, and I just had to meet you in person to see if you wanted to go on a date or something.”  There’s always those classy guys that keep trying to pick up chicks that way, but it doesn’t work.  I would know.  I screamed “Work it baby” at a girl on the sidewalk months ago, and she still hasn’t called.  She just apparently doesn’t understand I’m just a shy person who screams at women from a moving vehicle.  *Sigh*  It never would have worked anyways……

How do you know you haven’t been wiping your ass completely wrong your entire life?  Do you remember being taught this very necessary skill?  Has this topic come up in conversation where someone has described the process to you step-by-step?  How do you know that there isn’t some amazingly ultra-efficient method of wiping your ass that takes one second, uses two squares, and leaves you smelling like lilacs and daisies?  In fact, I’m willing to bet that if a situation came up where you had to wipe your ass in front of a group of people, they would laugh at you and call you a dipshit for your neanderthal-like technique.  That’s right, I’m talking about you.  You’re doing it completely wrong, and I’d like to show you the way the rest of us do it, but you’re obviously covered in a shit-tons of germs, so just forget it.  Now go enjoy your day and resist the urge to ask one of your friends how to wipe your ass, you fucking psycho.

Are you over the age of 35 and looking for that white flag to wave showing that you give up?  Looking for that piece of clothing that just tells everyone, “I’m old, and I don’t fucking care how I look anymore?”  Then you, my friend, need to invest in the tackiest piece of clothing known to man:  the hawaiian shirt.  Oh yes….this abortion of bright colors is the international signal that you no longer care for social norms or looking presentable…..you’re going to wear whatever the fuck you want.  You might as well get rid of all your pants and start wearing grocery sacks everywhere also. I have now given up fashion to the point that I will wear something that resembles a bowl of fruit.
I had to wear a hawaiian shirt last year for “Hawaiian Shirt Day” at work (insert Office Space joke here.)  Anyways, I ran out to Wal-Mart to buy one and was surprised to see that, although I normally wear an XL or L shirt since I’m so ripped (read: tall and lanky), I wear a small in Hawaiian shirts.  Why?  Because these shirts are made for people who have given up or big fat party animals.  On the plus side(no pun intended), I realized at lunch after dropping some ketchup on the shirt that I could spill an entire calzone on that fucking shirt and nobody would notice.  Why?  Because it’s a Hawaiian fucking shirt, and everyone would be too shell-shocked and on the floor seizuring from the bright colors to notice that an entire italian sandwich is running down the front of it. And so, Hawaaiin shirt people, I admire you…..you have turned your back on social norms and decency and have chosen to look like a magic eye poster. Congratulations.

So, the Transformers movie came out last summer and I know a ton of my friends were pretty excited for it. Me? Nah, not so much. I didn’t grow up much on the Transformers. More of a Ninja Turtle/He Man (Which, in hindsight, seemed like a pretty homo-erotic show)/Ghostbusters fan. Why? Because the concept is kind of stupid. It’s shit that turns in to other shit. I mean, it’s not like this is some crazy kind of concept. You know what else is a transformer? A pocket knife. A bag chair. A transvestite (*Cue theme song* Transvestite…..penis in disguise….) I mean, it’s not that out of the ordinary. Now Ninja Turtles, that was out of the ordinary. They were Turtles, they had a rat as a mentor, and a hot chick that hung out with them for absolutely no reason whatsoever (Yeah….April was hot in an 80s sort of way.) My buddy Whitie and I used to always joke about how Shredder got the financing for his evil projects, tho. I mean, the guy had an army of foot soldiers, those weird robot things, etc. Were all of those soldiers on pay roll? Where would you get that kind of cash when all your plans are foiled by animals that live in a sewer? That would be my first sign that I need to find a different profession. If I’m in a job where I can’t out-trick 4 turtles and a sewer rat, I think I’d find a new line of work, not to mention slip in to a deep depression.

Remember making suicides from fountain soda machines growing up?  Going on down the row, adding a little of everything to your cup?  In hindsight, that was pretty fucking disgusting.  I mean, now that we’re older, do we ever just go to the bar, look at the beers they have on tap, and ask for a suicide?  “Yeah, can you just give me a little of each in the same glass?”  Or at a buffet or something, checking out the different kind of soups they have and eventually deciding that the best concoction would be to mix a little of each together.  This whole concept is really only appealing when you’re still young and haven’t developed a really sophisticated taste for more than a Dr. PepsiCokeRootbeerSpriteSliceOrangeDieteverythingIceTea abortion of flavors.

Everyone always has these extravagant, massive plans for when they win the lottery.  They say they’re going to buy cars, they’re going to invest it, they’re going to throw a party, etc.  They say they’d win the lottery, cash the check, and go straight to the car dealership or investment bank or whatever.  Me?  Straight to Burger King.  It would be raining rodeo cheeseburgers all over that place.  I think one of my life goals has always been to drop $1000 at a BK.  I would just want to see the look of pure fear on the cashiers face as I casually order 200 rodeo cheeseburgers, 500 chicken tenders (All with dipping sauce.), 200 orders of fries and a large Dr. Pepper (Hey, they have free refills….I don’t need more than one.  I may be rich, but I’m still pretty cheap).  I imagine they would put some sort of cape on me and hand me a real crown….not one of those cardboard ones, as they carried me up and down the restaurant throwing fries in the air and cheering.  Meanwhile, from across the street, those bastards at Wendy’s would be looking like a little kid standing outside a birthday party watching.  I mean, come on…..how the hell can a burger be fresh and never frozen?  Are they slaughtering cows behind the building?  Is this actual meat?  Is it loaded with preservatives?  It just doesn’t make sense…..they should have made an advertising campaign with the slogan, “Frozen beef or bacteria-filled, preservative-laden square patty?  We chose the poison patty.”