Laughing at Babies

Two year olds are usually cute, especially if they don’t belong to you. Today I saw the cutest kid doing nothing except running in a circle. He kept running and running and running until he eventually hit a wall. He didn’t run out of gas. The two year old actually hit a white wall and fell like a brick to the ground.

So here is my question: is it wrong to laugh kids? Seeing him fly into the wall was actually the funniest thing I’ve seen in a really long time. Sure, he was crying and yeah he had the biggest knot on his fat head. But is it wrong to laugh? Two year olds laugh at me all the time. Why can’t I laugh at them?

So I’ll just tell you how this torrid story ends. I ended up laughing at the clumsy kid and the two year old began to cry harder. And, then the Super Fickle Pickle was escorted out of the store for mocking the kid and causing a ruckus. It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?

Should I Peg the Kid in the Head?

“I bet I can throw this apple at that tree over there.”

“Which tree?”

“The tree over there with the Super Fickle Pickle sitting beside it.”

“Over there? That’s not that far away! I bet I can also!”

“Let’s try! Whoever misses has to buy the other ice cream.”

“Okay one, two, three…”

And, this is one of the reasons why I hate little kids. They do stupid stuff like try and hit trees with apples and oranges. And do you know what always happens? They miss the tree. And, you know what else happens? They always manage to hit the Super Fickle Pickle. And, do they come over and apologize? No. Do they offer to buy the Super Fickle Pickle ice cream after pelting her in the head? No. But do you know what they always do? Run in the opposite direction. So this is why I hate little kids. And, this is the reason why I am investing in an apple and orange grove. To peg them in the head before they peg me.

Get out of the Left Lane! Academic Tutor Coming through

Why is it whenever I am late for work as an academic tutor, I always have to share the road with some fool who insists on going two miles an hour in a thirty five mile an hour zone. To top it off, this same dummy has to drive in the left lane!

Did you miss the memo from the DMV? Did the DMV forget to mail you the real driver’s manual? So, let me break this down to you! Page one of the DMV manual would tell you to not drive in the left lane if you drive slower than most people walk! Do not drive in the left lane if you see people zooming past you in the right lane! Do not drive in the left lane if you see snails and ants laughing at you as they pass you!

The right lanes are for people who drive at least the speed limit. The left lane is for those who go at least 10 miles over the speed limit. If you want to drive ten miles an hour, go to a golf course and drive a golf cart.

Some people actually have annoying academic tutoring clients to meet.

Dedicated to the Hollywood Bouncer

Dedicated to the Hollywood Bouncer

Bouncers in Hollywood believe that they are so important because for five hours a day they make crucial and life changing decisions that regularly affect the world. After all, deciding who will get into a club is almost as important as protecting our streets from criminals, right?

You are not important if after work, you go home to a studio apartment, hanging off the 101 freeway with a cracked window and a 90 year old manager. If you drive to the club in a 1971 Pinto with a missing front and back fender you are not important. If you have to start your car with a screwdriver, then you are not that important in the world. Important people are important 24 hours a day. You are semi important for maybe four. The other hours in the day, you spend sleeping, avoiding late notices from the gas company, eating baloney sandwiches, and scratching yourself.

A bouncer is one of the few jobs out there where all you need is a first grade education and a criminal record to be successful. The only prerequisite is that you can read names off a guest list, stand in front of a dingy rope for 5 hours looking like a constipated bulldog, flirt with girls completely out of your league, and kick out folks who puke on the dance floor. That’s it. You weren’t hired to find a cure for AIDS and you aren’t the commander of an army. It's time to realize you aren’t that important.

The light pole…with 40 signs on it

The Super Fickle Pickle is coming to a neighborhood near you! She will be putting up annoying parking restriction signs on your street. The more she likes you, the more parking restriction signs you get. And, if you don’t adhere to the restrictions on the signs, the Super Fickle will be there to give you a stiff ticket. After all, it’s hard to finance a blog as a pickle, especially if you are super and fickle.

The Super Fickle Pickle did a pilot program in West Hollywood, California. In one neighborhood, she put 5 signs up on one light pole.

Sign one read: no parking any time between 12-3 on the second Thursday of every other month.

Sign two read: No parking on Friday between 7 and 10 unless there’s a parade or a sporting event (parade floats and pink scooters are exempt).

Sign three read: No cars over 8 tons or under 7 tons can park on the street all day Tuesdays unless their axles are imported from China (Tonka trucks are exempt).

Sign four read: No parking on cloudy days or days in which there is more than 51% cloud cover (rainy days exempt).

And finally, sign five read: No parking unless your car has been washed within the last 2 days.

With these signs, I’m sure to make a barrel of money dishing out tickets and accepted large bribes. Life will be great, wonderful and grand. And maybe, the Super Fickle Pickle will live like a pickle should, rich and privileged but still super and fickle.

The Hot Drag Queen Just Voted

Late to work, I sprinted across the street carefully avoiding this massive pothole in the middle of the street. After I crossed the street, I noticed something very…well…out of the ordinary.

There was a person, with a very large Adams apple, rocking big hair extensions, sitting at the bus stop, singing the words to Michael Jackson “Thriller” in an extremely low voice. This six foot tall hot drag queen, who was apparently going to work, was wearing a low cut, very revealing dress.

After admiring he/she’s makeup and pink fishnets, I noticed something that clashed with the big hair extensions and outfit of the hot drag queen. Right above he/she’s breast was an ‘I voted’ sticker.

I don’t know why I was so taken back by the sticker. Why was it so peculiar to believe that drag queens with pink fishnets in Hollywood vote and care about policies? They have opinions about universal healthcare, the war in Iraq, poverty just like everyone else in the country. It’s interesting how you stereotype individuals  before meeting them, even when you consider yourself progressive.

I wonder who the hot drag queen with the big hair extensions and pink fishnets voted for. I guess we will never know.

Eat your vegetables!

I’m short! It’s so obvious. It’s the first thing everyone notices when they first meet me. I haven’t grown since the sixth grade. In fact, I think I’ve shrunk. Everyone in my family is of average height or taller. What the hell happened to me? Do you know the sad part? I ate my broccoli.

When I was a baby, I used to hate eating certain vegetables. Unlike most kids, I didn’t mind eating brussel sprouts and I took a liking to salad and green beans. But one thing I hated eating was broccoli and mushrooms. I managed to avoid mushrooms but my mom always made me eat broccoli. When I asked why I should have to eat the disgusting vegetable, my mom would respond “it will make you tall.” I felt that was a good enough reason to shovel the gross vegetable down my throat.

I ate them and I grew to whopping five feet tall. I thought I would grow a bit through junior high or high school so I continued to eat broccoli. That, of course, never happened. Finally, I decided to confront my mother and tell her that I was going to sue her for punitive damages. Eating broccoli was painful and it didn’t deliver the desired results. And do you know what my mom said in response to me? “Without the broccoli, you would have been only four feet tall.”

The New Improved Hillary

I wish Hillary would leak some controversy about herself. She’s just so boring and a bit of a wet blanket. I like edgy candidates and every time I see her on television I yawn.

I think I would vote for Hillary if I found out she had a boyfriend on the side named John Paul, a 23 year old musician who didn't make more than twenty thousand a year. John Paul would be even more interesting if he shared a studio loft apartment with three roommates, one of which was a bisexual trapeze artist. I think I may even vote for her if we found out that every Friday night, they all played beer pong together and occasionally she won.

I think I would vote for Hillary if I found out she rode a motorcycle. I think it would be fascinating to find out that she was part of a biker’s club and that she revved up her hot pink bike every Saturday. She could even just drive her bike up and down her driveway. I wouldn’t care. I think it would be even better if her motorcycle had streamers or a big yellow flag in the back.

I think I would be more inclined to vote for Hillary if she had a pet pig named Lester that she did aerobics with every morning. I would even vote for her if she admitted that Lester was actually her campaign manager and made her crucial daily campaign decisions. Finally, I think it would be cool to find out that Lester and she played tag every morning and Scrabble every night.

I don’t care what anyone says. Hilary’s boring and lame. I’m glad she’s not an axe murderer but I do wish that she was a bit more edgy.

Yes, I do talk to myself!

On Thursday, I was driving in wall to wall traffic to work. Instead of listening to the boring radio in the morning, I decided to instead entertain myself by having a nice little conversation…with myself. I told jokes and screamed out the punch line. I gossiped about a few of the fools I would encounter at work. I even told a ten minute cleverly contrived story to myself, which consisted of a ghost, a flying cookie and a purple chicken (don’t you wish you were in the car with me?). I was having fun!

All of a sudden, I turned and saw this unnaturally perfect couple starring straight into my Toyota Corolla. Apparently, I hadn’t rolled up my windows while telling my adventurous story and the nosy couple had heard the entire thing. It was obvious that the couple felt sorry for me. I can’t possibly understand why.

So I must ask, why does the world act like those who talk to themselves should be committed to a mental institution? What is so wrong with talking to yourself? I happened to like myself very much and find my conversations with myself intellectually stimulating. No one can make me laugh like I can! If I am my only audience, then I don’t have to worry about offending anyone! And, if I tell a bad joke, then I don’t have to worry about being booed.

To some I may sound crazy and trust me, I totally agree that I have a few screws loose in my lopsided head. But I would probably be even loonier if I didn’t talk to myself. I cannot be the only person in the world who talks to themselves. I just may be the only person who admits it.