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I’ve found that it’s very difficult to be in fight with someone where you’re yelling at him/her in a pure rage of fury and at the same time sustain correct grammar and syntax.
It’s an art, really. Either you’re going to sound intelligent and lose the anger, or you’re going to sustain being mad, but sound like an idiot. No one really wins. Well, until you win the fight.
Even in trying to walk away from the fight, the problem ensues further. Someone tries to walk out and you want to yell, “WHERE THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO!!!???” But that ends the sentence in a preposition.
You could just drop the ‘to,’ but then there’s no edge. My vote is for restructuring the entire sentence and arguing as though it were the eighteenth century. This leaves you with, “FROM WHENCE THE FUCK DOTH THOU THINK YOU’RE MOTHERFUCKING GOING!!!!????”
This is probably how people fight at Renaissance Fairs. Sounds fun actually.
My friend was telling me that he doesn’t like going on first dates because they feel too much like a job interview. On the flip side, though, I love going on job interviews because they always feel like first dates.
When I live in Los Angeles, I miss the pizza, I miss the bagels, but I think one of the key absentees is going on dates with crazy New York girls. In New York you get real psychos that have tricked you into taking them out for drinks. In L.A. everyone’s just into themselves. But there’s no psycho personality with that.
I’ve had first dates with girls who told me their date rape stories, a couple have told me the names of the children they’re planning on having, one even announced after sex that she was getting revenge on her cheating boyfriend. Kicks the ass of your straightforward L.A. daddy issues.
I think it’s because that in New York City, people wake up with the mentality that life sucks and you have to fight the city minute-by-minute to be happy. Something about that builds character. How you can you be interesting if you can go to the beach every day?
In my opinion, there’s no question as to the best song of the decade. It’s hands-down that bar mitzvah/crappy wedding song (as in the wedding is crappy, not the song), that starts, “Every-body clap your hands…”
It then continues with specific lyrics like, “Sliiiide to the left…sliiiiide to the right.”
This is easily the best dance song in history because the instructions are right there. It’s the perfect song for white people.
Why can’t all songs be like this? The Macarena had to reach a level of saturation that Al Gore was doing it for white people to know all the steps. That took weeks. You can hear the Ev’ry body clap your hands song, and you’ve got the moves down pact immediately.
They should replace the lyrics in Shakira’s Hips Don’t Like to something along the lines of, “Sway your thiiiiiighs to the left…sway your hiiiiiips to the right.” Jews would learn how to dance under such circumstances.
If someone is wearing a T-shirt with a joke on it, it’s usually an effective way to tell that said person is not funny.
I never understood the mindset of purchasing things so not funny, but it must strike as genius while the moron is wandering through Hot Topic or along Venice Beach.
Wearing the shirt is a whole other story, unless the sought intention is to advertise, “Hey, everyone! Just wanna let you all know that I am really not funny. Like, not at all.”
The shirts are so not funny, that they actually borderline on a little crazy. They always say something like, “The voices in my head say, ‘I’m not normal,'” or, “There’s a village missing its town retard somewhere.”
I think I’m most annoyed by the general proclamation made to the forty people on the subway car with whom this idiot is announcing his unfunny joke T-shirt. “I’m not a psychopathic killer, but the voices in my head are telling me to kill you all.”
I take my time when I’m on the toilet. Nothing excessive, just I get a book or a newspaper and make myself at home, even when I’m out and about. But I recently realized that you know you spend too much time on the toilet when the laser beam automatic flusher just decides that it’s been enough.
Ever have this happen to you, where you overstay your welcome on the laser flushing timer? It’s as though a robotically-designed piece of modern technology can’t even fathom that anyone would stay on the toilet that long.
Laser beams and robots can do millions of calculations per millisecond, yet somehow it doesn’t even have it close to its radar, database, point of reason, that I’m not done with the sports section yet.
The machines are taking over.
One toilet at a time.
And doesn’t this seem like a slight waste of laser-beam technology? Shouldn’t we have Terminators by now?
It’s not that white Jewish men don’t dance. That would be a Semetic and cultural stereotype. More accurately, white Jewish men don’t know how to dance. The stereotypes just come out of that.
We collectively have nothing against going to dance clubs and electronica shows and raves. The problem is that we don’t have a prayer at picking up girls in this type of setting.
The Jewish Male, as a species, thrives on using his intellectual wit and cunning sarcasm and promising wealth to belittle the tall, strong, good-looking men who know how to dance.
Therefore when we go to a dance club, we’re put at a severe disadvantage when it comes to potentially getting laid.
A white Jewish male trying to pickup an attractive girl in a dance club is the social equivelant of a warm-weather football team playing an away game in Pittsburgh or Green Bay. Simply put, clubbing for Jews is an away game.
I went to the movies yesterday, and for the first time, the characters in the movie I was watching went to the place where I was watching the movie itself.
It was bizarre. I had a much-needed night off, so I decided to relax, get away from everything, head for a little escapism, so I walked over to the Pacific Theaters at The Grove to see I Love You, Man (pretty good stuff). But about half-way in, the characters in the movie, make a visit to the Pacific Theaters at The Grove.
So I’m left with this existential experience of going to a place and watching a movie depicting the place where I’m watching the movie. The only way to have made this more mind-boggling is if the characters in the movie, went to the movie theater where I was sitting and either: a) watched a movie about me sitting in a theater watching a movie, or b) the actors coincidentally went out that night to the movie theater, and sat down next to me just after they had walked into the movie on the screen.
These are the kinds of things that make the universe implode.
Have you ever taken a job, not because of the benefits package or salary, but because the have the best lunch policy from your job offers?
My current company offers a very competitive lunch-bought-for-you-every-day salary offer, which topped any work-for-regular-money offer I had encountered. But the side effects of this were incalculable.
It’s not just me, it’s the entire office who’s in for this. So what you have, in effect, is an entire corporate environment filled with people who have sacrificed their dreams and hopes to make a difference with their professional careers, all in the name of free lunch.
On the one hand, everyone wants to live a vigorating life, making a noticeable difference in America and the lives of others. On the other hand, that’s like eight bucks we’re saving every day!
Do you ever wish that you could take the most appealing qualities from a variety of girls you have dated and assemble them into one megatron-perfect girl?
The thing that surprises me the most about this, isn’t the fact that I would do it, but how many qualities I would incorporate to accomplish the feat.
It’s not like taking one girl’s looks with another girl’s personality, but you can break it down into alarmingly specific traits. The face from the forehead down, and the forehead up on another (morning, post-sex hair can cause nightmares with otherwise attractive women).
Then you’d want to take the happy-personality of one and the pissed-off personality of another, but you’d want the right kind of humanitarianism for when you show her off.
This is the case for polygamy. Not that you’d want that many women at all times, but you can kind of pick which one you’re feeling at the time. Like shoes. I’m not saying I approve of this. I’m just saying their case is made. I disagree. But that’s what they’re saying, is all.