Love in the Time of the Sniffles

I'm not sick. I'm not even hungover. My boss, however, is sick and I don't want to have what he has so I'm playing it safe by not returning his emails. As a result of my proximity to a great deal of nose-blowing and sniffling, I have decided that the next time I am sick, I'm going to be very selfish and competitive about whatever I've come down with. Whenever you run into an ailing friend, co-worker, or arch enemy, you know they are sick because to show how pleased they are to see you, they immediately cough all over you and ask if you've brought any soup with you. Before you can even ask what they are sick with (because you weren't going to in the first place), they inform you that they "have what everyone else has" or "picked up what seems to be going around" (poverty also seems to be going around, is that contagious?). Not me, though, because I value originality, even in my diseases. And in order to make my illness sound more glamorous than your common cold, I'll probably say something like "Oh, this old thing? Picked it up in some third world country. You've probably never heard of it" or "This is a completely new disease. Just released by Apple, and only in Asia so far. They can't even identify it yet." I'm prepared to lose a few friends to keep my individuality.

*Sorry if I misled anyone - no, this post was not about love, not even cryptically, it was just an under-whelmingly clever title.

Not LOL

Disclaimer: Eat me.

In my opinion, our world has been dumbed down by emoticons and internet acronyms. There’s only a few I find acceptable. Here is a complete list:

Emoticons:
:-\

Acronyms:
NTTAWWT

I have a particular issue with “LOL” (laugh out loud) because I’m positive 95% of the time the person excitedly typing it is not actually “laughing out loud.” You see, it's bullshit. Besides, why type “LOL” when you can simply type “ha” or “haha” or “hahaha”. The root “ha” can be used to indicate multiple levels of hilarity. My definitions are as follows:

“Ha” = Worthy of a snicker, and mildly entertaining. Like something you’d hear from a bum on the street.

“Haha” = Entertaining, because the comment eliciting my “haha” response likely came at the expense of a third party. Think of Neslon Munz laughing at someone in an episode of The Simpsons.

“Hahaha” = Genuinely funny, and very likely at your own expense, because you’ve just made fun of yourself. I like laughing at you, not with you.

“Hahaha(any number of additional “ha’s”)” = More than three consecutive “Ha’s” should fill you with pride, as it’s likely your joke would have passed for an actual laugh-out-loud moment had you actually been surrounded by people rather than being anti-social and on the internet.

Bonus:

“Fuck off” = genuinely funny, probably true, and definitely at my expense.

So next time you think to write “LOL” ask yourself if you’re actually laughing out loud. Because if you’re not than you’re just being dishonest. Prick.

Jesus might love us, but does he really LIKE us?

Disclaimer: Please do not attempt to interpret this post as any sort of actual philosophical argument about God. If you've ever read this blog or associated blogs before you may have noticed that I generally stick to pretty superficial criticisms and this post is no exception. After all, I am Catholic, kinda. That being said I do not welcome commentary of any kind unless it is "job well done," "keep up the good work," etc.

I walked through Harvard Square on my way home last night and witnessed a group of some kind of Christians proclaiming Jesus's (Jesus'?) love to a bunch of hipsters through a megaphone. They repeated the words over and over to the crowd of unamused onlookers who were really reading The Weekly Dig or whatever. I didn't keep my headphones out for very long, but it did make me think. How do we know that Jesus actually loves us? It's hard enough to determine when people really love you, and they have human mouths and are capable of speech. Personally, I haven't heard from the guy in a while despite repeated texts, telepathic messages, etc. When was the last time he called just to say hey, picked up a check, or appeared to us before 3 AM when we were on a bunch of drugs and were probably hallucinating the experience? Maybe he's just not that into us? Are we just deluding ourselves into thinking we're the only one for Him when He's totally over us and is already macking on another group of followers? Maybe it's time to look deep within ourselves, head to the gym to lose that 5 pounds we've been talking about, buy a killer new outfit, and channel our inner confidence to go out and find ourselves a smokin' hot new messiah who loves us for who we really are ... a bunch of people who haven't been to church in a while.

Directions Would Be Nice

In my pursuit of sustenance, I went to McDonald's for lunch. If you're curious about the food, I didn't find it all that good. It's not that I have a problem with McDonalds because their food isn't healthy or something. It's just that they did a shoddy job making my Crispy Chicken sandwich. Anyway, as they were doing their shoddy job, I decided to grab some napkins from the condiment counter just to the left of the order station. I noticed that the napkin dispenser actually had directions on it.

"Pull Up"

I think this is a reaction to that coffee incident long ago. For those of you that don't recall, some lady ordered coffee through the Mickey D's drive thru, and after receiving and holding it in her hand for a while, she spilled the coffee while trying to sip it, while trying to maneuver her car. She received burns on her crotch region and hands. It was all quite debilitating. Due to the fact that she was not properly informed that she might, in fact, receive a burn if she were to spill Mickey D's coffee on her lap while trying to drink it while also trying to drive her car, she rightfully sued McDonald's. Since then, everything seems to come with explicit directions. I'm happy McDonald's has gone out of their way to explain to me how to take a napkin from the napkin dispenser. But I noticed they were missing some other important instructions that might lead to me hurting myself.

• I don't think it’s clear you're supposed to take a wrapper off of the straw before putting it in your drink. Directions would be nice.
• I think the package of salt McDonald's provides should actually say "Salt Inside" rather than salt on the package itself - this might confuse people who think the package is the salt. Same goes for pepper.
• Sometimes I confuse the knife with the fork - or is it the spoon? I was hoping they could print the names on each utensil. And maybe directions if there's enough space. I'd hate to cut myself with the knife because I thought it was the fork.
• Furthermore, while the directions on the ketchup and mustard packets do say, "tear here", it fails to tell me to squeeze out the contents. I had to figure that out on my own and it took me a while to realize that ketchup wasn't the reddish stuff as well as the delicious plastic.

With these changes, I’m sure the items listed will go even better with future Crispy Chicken sandwiches. I really love that paperfoil wrapping! It’s delicious.

Dog Chases Tail, Disproves God

After careful deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that a dog chasing its tail is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. This would fall just behind old women falling over, and hermit girls admitting their feelings to the high school hunk only to have their feelings crushed when the high school hunk laughs at them. How could such a trivial ritual be worse than old women falling over and hermit girl rejection, you ask? Context. Why would god create an animal more capable than any other of experiencing joy, yet also give that same animal a predilection towards regularly attempting the impossible? The logic is so counterintuitive; it blows my mind. Think about it: dogs can drag us from fires, they can sense when we’re unhappy, and they even understand that chewing grass is good for indigestion. They’re some of the more intelligent animals out there. But they can’t figure out that they’ll never catch their own tail. How can tail-loving canines expect to evolve without understanding the impossibility of their task?

Ironically, this disproves both evolution and intelligent design. Surely evolution would have taken care of the tail-chasing dogs via survival of the fittest, correct? And surely, no benevolent creator would be so cruel as to keep tail-chasing an insurmountable habit of the some the humblest, happiest, most altruistic creatures out there, right?

So, no evolution, and no benevolent creator. Sad.

Not the Coke Cap I Remember

I was flipping a coke cap up and down earlier today, when a thought struck me: what do those seemingly random numbers printed on the underside of the cap mean?

After careful research (google search: “Conspiracy, Coke and the New World Order”) I found the real uses of the code:

#1 – An encryption algorithm the government is testing to ensure no one can break it, like from the movie Mercury Rising.
#2 – A secret military code used by CIA agents to coordinate covert operations. Why the CIA is using military codes, I don’t know.
#3 – The bottle cap machine at Coke’s manufacturing plant has gone sentient and is trying its hardest to inform people of Coke’s plot to take over the world. The problem is that the machine is communicating in Esperanto, and while it is the most widely spoken constructed international auxiliary language in world, no one actually speaks constructed international auxiliary languages.

$40

What really goes on at the YMCA after hours?

If you answered "wild late-night drinking parties with celebrities" you are right! When swimming in the YMCA pool, you can look forward to things like being slapped across the face by someone absentmindedly doing the backstroke or "accidentally" being groped by an overweight middle-aged man in the lane next to you. Equally as often, you will swim directly into something you did not expect to find in an indoor pool (ranging from a shoe to something marginally smaller than a petroleum tanker). This morning I found myself fearfully swatting away what I believed to be a jellyfish or small seal. It turned out to be a Solo cup and cocktail straw. Which can only mean one thing; the YMCA hosts crazy pool parties after closing. What else could explain the bottle of Stolichnaya I swam into next? I understand the allure of pool parties, but -- and this might make me sound like a snob -- the basement of a YMCA might not be my first choice. On the other hand, I'm disappointed I wasn't invited. Maybe if I would have splurged for the additional member fee I could have met Orlando Bloom drinking a strawberry daiquiri poolside.

If you are looking for porn, you aren't going to find any here. Yet.

This creation of this joint blog was my brilliant plan to ride on Daanish's coattails, because people actually seem to read his blog and have legitimate things to say about it. My reader base is probably approximately close to the number of people who find themselves routinely watching Wings reruns at 6:30 AM Monday-Friday (which consists of myself, and maybe a couple other people).

I know this because I have installed some phenomenal technology that allows me to track where it is being read from (roughly) and where it was referred from. My favorite part of this is that if it is referred from a search engine, I know exactly what someone was looking for, and how disappointed they probably are. So what I want to know is, why do google searches for things like "no one to blame for my own mistakes" keep being directed to my blogs? I guess the more disturbing of these results is why someone searching for "xxx older women pictures" would end up on my blogs. I'm not THAT desperate for readership. Maybe I'm taking google too personally but I'm starting to get a complex.

$1500

I spend more time in coffee shops these days. It’s sad, because I used to make fun of what I’m becoming. I simply could not make sense of how people could bring themselves to spend 5 hours typing on their Macbook, pretend-reading their textbook, or sipping a cup of coffee. They were, I concluded, doing absolutely nothing. Then it finally hit me. If I too want to avoid doing any actual work, I should just head over to the local shop, grab the best table, and order the cheapest item on the menu. Check, check, and check. It’s happening a lot these days. Good timing, seeing as I’m in school and all. But the extra time spent with baristas is not without some value.

I’ve begun to notice the artwork covering coffee shop walls. This artwork, I presume, is created by local painters, who have partnered with coffee shops to promote and distribute their masterpieces. The quality of the artwork is of no consequence to an unrefined cretin such as me. What interests me is that the artwork itself has prices on it. Exorbitant prices. Now, I won’t restart the age-old discussion of how one can legitimately value colored smudges on a canvass, but I will say, if those no-talent hacks can put high dollar value on their garbage, than I can most certainly put high dollar value on mine.

And hence we come to the point of this post.

Inspired by the revenue model employed by local painters, I will now place dollar values at the bottom of each of my posts. While other bloggers attempt to make money off their cyber-presence by offering ad space, I will make money by charging people for exclusive-rights access to my utter genius. Confused? Allow me to explain: If you feel sufficiently impressed OR think what I wrote is so retarded that you don’t want anyone else exposed to it, all you have to do is pay me the amount listed at the bottom of the post, and I will delete the steaming pile of shit I just wrote, and send you the only remaining copy of the post in a mahogany frame. You pay for shipping. And the frame. And I promise, I’m not using this revenue model because there’s currently no interest in advertising on this internet presence. I’m taking this tact because it’s revolutionary.

Ashley, you can thank me later.

This little slice of genius: $1500

The internet needs to lose about 20,000 lbs

There is an astounding amount of worthless information on the internet. It's a well-known fact that the average American maintains 7.2 personal blogs. In some states, the family pet has as many as 3 blogs on average. This is a disconcerting issue to me, specifically because I was always taught to get rid of things that were no longer in use. Didn't your mother ever tell you to go through your closet for things that no longer fit you or still contain shoulder pads? I think the internet needs to go on one of those celebrity cleansing diets where it spends some really uncomfortable time at the spa and subsists on chicken broth for a week. And where do the unused websites even go after we've trashed them? Do we put them on a barge like toxic medical waste and float them back and forth across the ocean to other continents, so they can be traded like a hot potato? I don't know the answer to that, but I bet the Salvation Army could use a donation of my personal websites from junior high school.

Coming soon:

• Intelligent posts!
• A mascot!
• Thursday!

Send donations to:
The Disfigured Hamster
Cambridge, etc.
USA