(via the-absolute-best-posts)
(Source: david-mills, via msanthropology)
Making Eye Contact With Strangers: People Who Look Like You, Me, and Obama
- EXT. Walmart Entrance - AFTERNOON
- I'm exiting Walmart.
- Walmart Employee (sitting morosely at a table full of cake): Buy some cake for a dolla. Help some babies.
- Older Man (who recognizes the shared WTFness of the situation): I just... this place is crazy.
- Me (politely): Yep.
- Older Man: I have a question for you. Really quick.
- Me (internally): Shit.
- Older Man: Do you know where I can find a Church of God Our Father?
- Me: No.
- Older Man: Or any church around here? Do you go to church around here?
- Me: I have no idea. I'm not from around here.
- Older Man: Me either. I'm a pastor from Texas. Where you from?
- Me: California.
- Texas Pastor (formerly Older Man): What do you think of this place?
- Me: Um.... it's hot (as balls!)... and....
- I watch as a new batch of people enter the Walmart I've just exited and decide not to wave my arm a la a Price is Right showcase girl to further explain my particular feelings about this place and its residence.
- Texas Pastor: Don't worry, I hate this backward ass place too. Excuse me, but these people around here are unbelievable.
- Me: Yeah.
- Texas Pastor: Well, as I said I'm from Texas and I'm a pastor.
- He proceeds to show me his driver's license, his business owner identification card, and an ATM card.
- Texas Pastor: I got out of my car and left my keys on the passenger seat. I can show you the car and the keys if you want. I called AAA, and they're backed up for hours. My car has a smart chip, and they're gonna make a duplicate key for me, they got my vin number and everything.
- Me (internally): You want me to....?
- Texas Pastor: I'm a pastor. I mean I'm out here just trying to get in my car. I bank at Texas Elite and there is a $300 daily limit on withdrawals. I just got done explaining to these redneck fools in here. And really, I'm a pastor. I mean I been praying on it all hard. I asked about the church cause I'm looking for good people. Basically, all I need is like $37 more to pay these people to get me in my car. And I've been asking people who look like me, you, and Obama to help me out.
- Me: I wish I could help you, but I'm super poor. I feel your pain, because my bank's closest branch is 300 miles away. Sorry.
- Texas Pastor (turning to reenter into Walmart): I see. Thank you. I'm just trying to get out of here.
- It may seem like this was a long conversation. It wasn't. It probably took you more time to read this than it did to for me to live it. Also, I can't really say for sure, but according to him here is worse than Texas.
What’s your deepest darkest secret?
I can never take this question seriously. I can’t take most things too seriously, because if I did I’d probably implode… or better yet, I would disintegrate into a pile of glitter. And if you know how I feel about glitter then you know how obnoxious I think a human being sized pile of glitter is.
I probably hate that question for the same reason I hate most things. I’m a fucking asshole. I recognize it as bullshit. People ask about your secrets when they run out of things to say, but still want to establish intimate conversation, or they’ve got some serious shit to get off their chest.
Person 1: What’s your deepest, darkest secret?
Person 2: I don’t think that I could ever really be happy. I’m afraid that I will always be searching for something and never be able to find it, because I don’t truly know what it is. Wow! I’ve never said that to anyone. I feel so close to you right now. What about you? What’s your secret?
Person 1: I kicked a baby to death.
Person 2: Oh my God! What? Why would you do that?
Person 1: So I could have a deep dark secret to share to establish intimacy with you. And I totally get what you’re saying about being afraid that you’ll never be happy. That’s rough.
I get that there are situations where the question is useful -like AA or NA meetings. I mean the reason you’re sucking off strangers in alleys to fund your habit of freebasing cocaine is probably because you’re holding onto a pretty big fucking secret. I get it. I just don’t think that asking that question is appropriate dinner conversation unless you’re out to dinner with a licensed therapist.
Truthfully, what you do in dark alleys and at dinner is none of my concern. Just don’t ask me that question and expect me to take you seriously. I won’t, because you’re lame.
![[x]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4pdvvUfv71qlfhs0o1_1280.jpg)
Making Eye Contact With Strangers: Oh, NO!
Ext. Sidewalk - Day
Random Gentleman: Hey there, pretty lady. Where you think you going looking all sexy?
Me: ????
Random Gentleman: You have a nice day okay, sweetheart.
Me: You too (said in a way that conveyed that I could couldn’t care less about the rest of his day, unless it involved trying to murder me).
Random Gentleman: When you and me goin sit down and share a cup of Kool-Aid? How ‘bout cherry flavored?
Me: Bwahaha?!
10 points for originality. Minus 50 points for soliciting me with Kool-Aid.
Forever and ever. Amen.
(via 2jamess)
Friday February 17, 2012 12:12PM
I was told that choosing to drink and cry all day today wasn’t efficient. My official response was, “Fuck efficiency.” In retrospect, my response should have been, “Efficient for whom?”
I’m sure as far as plans go this one is surely going to work out, although I’ve chosen to nix the crying, as it is involuntary and unpredictable. I don’t want to force it. I am contented with the simplicity of this plan. I’m going to get a bottle of vodka. I’m going to drink it. The end. And it’s only laterally self-destructive.
(Source: thetvscreen, via the-absolute-best-posts)
![tastefullyoffensive:
[via]
Exactly.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4k3thZ0bT1qewacoo1_500.jpg)
![tastefullyoffensive:
[via]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4c53rSPBZ1qewacoo1_500.jpg)
Sperm: Masters of Disguise
I’d like to address two major issues.
I think spermatozoa (1) are sneaky and (2) hilarious when in disguise.
A long time ago, but not too long ago, I had a conversation about sperm dressing up as eggs (of ovarian origins). I think the idea of a couple of sperm stacked together in a makeshift egg costume trying to fool other sperm is hysterical. A seemingly normal egg hanging out.
“Just us eggs in here!” says one of the sneaky little spermies trying to throw its voice to sound like an egg. Something feels sketchy. Then you notice a little sperm tail hanging out a back seam. Tricky little bastards.
More recently, I had a completely separate and unrelated conversation about a legion of stealthy sperm dressing up as ninjas -their mission complete before you’re even aware they’re there… if you are ever even aware they were there in the first place.
This image proves that Google does amazing things. [x]
Jon Stewart 2004 Commencement Address at The College of William & Mary
Good stuff.
(by williamandmary)
