Some nerds built a life-size version of Mouse Trap and life is good.
Legitimate painters are still fuming over the success of Bob Ross. That guy shat out joyful trees and friendly mountains and subsequently became adored by millions because of playful musings and an Afro whose only rival in sheer fluffiness were the happy little clouds he painted.
Instead of writing “wash me” in the dirt of a stranger’s filthy car why not leave a more cryptic message like “drain the swamp food, Willy!” They’ll wash their vehicle immediately and then give the police something to do.
Guys want to date a girl with this problem so when she inevitably tells her girlfriends about their sex life she’ll convince them it’s a marathon of lust instead of a four minute “pump and dump”.
Advertisers know exactly what audience they’re marketing to. I sit around all day watching Montel, COPS, and various entertainment-based courtroom shows and I’ve noticed that all of the advertisements during commercial breaks are targeting the unemployed. These ad wizards don’t seem to realize that while going to Culinary School or becoming a licensed Massage Therapist sounds like a good opportunity – you’re ultimately going to miss The Price is Right and Judge Mathis every day.
Finding a job during an economic recession is nearly impossible. I tried looking for one today but when I finally got out of bed to eat lunch the television assaulted me with an hour of COPS followed by an episode of Cheaters. Before I knew it I was napping on the couch and still unemployed.
Sometimes philosophical thoughts suck. Like when a buddy in high school pondered the question, “Dude, I wonder who the ‘you’ is that all musicians refer to in their song lyrics?” Neitzsche probably struggled with that one.
“Love is largely circumstantial and is not based on the undying understanding of two cosmic souls reuniting from whence they came” – is something single people convince themselves as they regretfully unwrap another leftover candy bar on the day after Halloween.
When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be 18 years old, riding a motorcycle, wearing a leather jacket and smoking a cigarette. Now I’m 24, have no means of transportation, wear some faggy Urban Outfitters coat and chew Tea Tree toothpicks. My 8-year-old self would kick my ass and stab me with a pumpkin cutter if he saw me now.
The farewell colloquialism “cheers” reminds me of staying up late with my older brother and playing a game we created in which, at the onset of each episode, I’d have to guess which character was about to say “Cheers is filmed in front of a live studio audience” and my guess would then determine whether we’d disobey curfew in favor of watching the show. The only catch was that my brother held the remote and insisted on watching every episode of Cheers regardless of my guess. Technically, I couldn’t win the game but with a hilarious episode of Cheers as punishment – I couldn’t lose.
