Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
I work at a Domino's in Brooklyn and I think it's really fun. The food is tasty, the employees are nice, and I get to drive around delivering shit. One day, though, I noticed nobody's eating the new oven-baked subs, and I decided to find out why.
I asked one of our regulars why she never tried the subs. She had a bunch of reasons. "Dude, have you seen them?" she said. "They're disgusting. Nobody in their right mind would eat one of those. I mean, look at that picture. If eight million dollars in advertising dollars can't budge your sandwich offa sickening I'll stick to the Meat Lover's pizza, thanks.
"Meanwhile," she said, "look at that ingredient list. 'Thinly sliced steak.' What's up with that? Have you ever been to a steakhouse? Were there lots of dudes telling the waiter, 'Now make sure that top sirloin is sliced like a sixteenth of an inch thick.'
"And 'hardwood smoked flavored bacon'? You guys actually decided it was too difficult to set the bacon in a little room where shit was on fire? That kind of makes it difficult for me to accept all this 'premium' shit. 'Premium' parmesan, 'premium' provolone, you even got 'premium' American. You know it's just oil, right? Are you saying it's high-quality oil, like unleaded?
"When dudes are too lazy to actually smoke their bacon, I'm pretty sure 'premium' just means all the shit that ain't fall on the ground."
I had to admit she had a point, though at our store we use the word "special." "Tell you what," I said. "If you eat one of our toasty new baked subs, I'll do something really disgusting too."
"Oh no," she said. "You work around this shit all the time. You're like inoculated against disgusting food."
"You nuts," I said. "You eat our fuckin' pizzas like every damn day. You know this shit better than anyone."
She didn't answer so I knew I got her. "You're just a coward," I said. "Bitch be too scared to eat a fresh and hearty oven-baked sub."
"No I ain't," she said. "I could jam one down like Kobayashi. I just wanna make sure we're making a fair bet. If I'm gonna eat one of them things then you've gotta do something really sickening."
"Okay," I said. "You name it. Anything."
She thought for a minute. "You know those thrill rides at the church carnival? You gotta go on the Fling N' Puke."
"You're fuckin' kidding me," I said. "That's plain nuts. That piece of shit been put together by drunks."
She pretended to think. "So that's different from your pert and shareable subs exactly how?"
I thought for a couple minutes but I couldn't come up with anything.
"So who's chicken now?" she said. "The dude who doesn't want to depend on rubber bands to yank him back from certain death, or the one who's gonna be eating thinly sliced steak and premium cheese?"
Well, long story short, we agreed. She'd eat a hot and toasty Domino's sub, and I'd go on a thrill ride assembled by alcoholics at Our Lady of the Singing Hedgehog.
Despite all the puking we both learned something: that sometimes shit isn't as bad as you think it's gonna be. We got to thinking that maybe this would make a good slogan in a TV commercial, though maybe you could class up the words a little first. As for that customer, she's a convert. "I totally got egg on my face," she said. We laughed and I held her hair back and I said I was pretty sure it was cheese.
Your faithful employee,
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
I am a newlywed. Our wedding was lovely, but weddings always have one or two issues, and I can’t seem to move on from this one.
My husband and I paid for most everything in our wedding, with some help from our parents. This past summer, my fiancé and I spent some time with an old childhood friend of mine, whom I initially was not going to invite (even though he invited me to his wedding the year before). I didn’t think fast enough when he asked about the wedding, and I told him the invitation was in the mail (and it was a day later).
On another visit later that summer, my friend, newly divorced, half-jokingly told me he didn’t have any money to buy us a wedding gift. Long story short, after this display of vulgarity, I decided to be equally vulgar. I called him to say we are paying for the wedding ourselves, are only inviting a limited number of guests and unfortunately do not have room for his divorced (although they are still trying to work it out) wife. He assured me he will “pay his way” and asked if he could please invite her. I acquiesced. At the wedding, the two of them were making out one minute, shooting daggers at each other the next, making guests at their table uncomfortable. After leaving early, he later texted me — on my wedding night (!) — to tell me they officially broke up and he forgot to leave his gift but would mail it.
After a three-week honeymoon, we arrived home to a lot of junk mail but no gift. I unabashedly told him we never received his gift. He said he never sent it but would have it in the mail by the end of the week. Two months later, no gift. Why does this situation make my blood boil? I think because he lied to my face. Granted he is not a close friend, his life is a bit of a mess, and I should be happy I had such a nice wedding and am married to a wonderful man. But I still want to call him out on it again and again until I get something! Ms. Post, is it time to let it go or can I ask him again where is the gift?
Sigh. Well, I tried, but I couldn't even get halfway through the New York Times' first advice column by Relative-Of-Dead-Emily Post. I'd been looking forward to it, too. I'd read an advertisement that said, "Don't miss our new advice columnist tackling etiquette in a whole new world!" and tried to pretend that, despite the fact nepotism clearly got this chick her job, their "whole new world" was totally different from the same old stupid one.
Somebody should have alerted Ms. Gingham Temperance Post IIIrd of the ad, because her response was pure old-school. Let it go, she said. Be happy you're happily married. If you don't let it go, it might appear that you value a gift more than your guest. Some people may think you're greedy!
Ridiculous. The truth is, SOME PEOPLE MAY THINK YOU'RE A CRAZY, GRASPING FUCKING COW. In case people got confused by all that excess wordage, let's cut out the dull bits.
Even though I went to a friend's wedding, I didn't want to invite him to mine. When he asked about it, though, I lied. I said I'd already sent him an invitation and I put one in the mail the next day. Later he maybe joked that he was poor and couldn't afford a wedding gift, so I said, "Well, then, you can't bring a guest!" He begged and said he'd make it up to me so I relented -- but then he didn't bring a gift! He keeps saying he'll mail something but it's been two months. Should I call him again or what?
With the boring parts excised, it's two minutes in the gazebo to the right reply.
Chick, the first person you should call is a PSYCHIATRIST, because you're mentally ill. Apparently it's okay for you to lie and say you've done something if you actually do it within twenty-four hours. "Did you feed the cats?" someone asks. "Yes! Yes, I did!" you proclaim, and the next day you massage Sheba into their emaciated jaws. "Did you put out the fire in the attic?" someone asks. "Yes! Yes, I did!" you shout, and at sunrise you scurry upstairs with a glass of sparkling water.
Perfectly cool. What's the prob? You're not really a liar: you just get your tenses mixed up.
In a "display of vulgarity," your friend says he can't afford a gift. Nobody comes to your wedding without presents, though -- I mean sure, you spent $750 for 100 Dixie cups full of Jordan almonds, but you're no idiot. You slash his invitation in half, since the sharing of your marital bliss was totally dependent on currency, and claim you're "equally vulgar."
No, girlfriend, you weren't equally vulgar. He farted, so you pulled up your skirt and jammed a greased corncob up your ass. Not quite on the same scale. Personally, I think your letter should have stopped there, because then Doily Suffragette Post IIIrd's reply would definitely have contained the words, "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" But you meander on and her footman intrudes and, well, she just loses track.
When everybody with a brain would have suggested you try out for Bridezillas, your poor friend said he'd put something in the mail. See, he wasn't fooled by your "already sent the invitation" lie: something called a "postmark" tipped him off. He knows you don't give a fuck for the truth, which is coincidentally why he told you he ate chicken-fried steak with George Clooney and he saw your dog take your tennis bracelet.
He figured that since you two are exploring the boundaries of sociopathology, he might as well kick it up a notch. He didn't mail his gift within the allotted twenty-four hour period! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't planning on sending something. Me, I'd go to Macy's and pick out a fabulous KitchenAid mixer specifically not to send to you.
What should you do? Fight back! You didn't wrap yourself in 80 yards of hand-beaded tulle just to be a $7,500 doormat. Call him again, and this time demand a tracking number for his gracious tribute to your love. Whatever you do, don't start wondering why you claim you're totally happy yet you CANNOT GO ON LIVING WITHOUT ANOTHER TOASTER OVEN.
So you see, "Forget it and go watch some kitten videos on YouTube!" isn't particularly good advice. It's also not awfully insightful to answer "I value gifts more than my guests" with "It almost sounds like you value gifts more than your guests."
As for the Times, they should probably learn that just having famous relatives doesn't mean somebody is qualified to do a job, but who'd buy the rag if all the pages were blank?
Friday, February 22, 2013
A judge tossed out Lindsay Lohan's lawsuit against Pitbull for mentioning her in a song, but fined her lawyer for plagiarism.Just out of habit Ovadia told the court a truck cut her off, her anklet malfunctioned, she'd borrowed the necklace, and somebody put cocaine in her pants.
Judge Denis R. Hurley said the song lyrics were protected by the First Amendment, and agreed with Pitbull's lawyers that attorney Stephanie Ovadia's "legal discussion mostly consists of plagiarized excerpts of articles found on various websites without explaining their relevance to the facts and issues in this case."
He fined her $1500.
Officials tested for disease-causing coliforms at various points inside the 15-story Cecil Hotel where a Canadian tourist's body was found floating in a roof-top water tank. “The tests came back negative, meaning that if they were in the water they are no longer viable,” said Angelo Bellomo, L.A. County's director of Environmental Health. “They could’ve been in there, but they’re no longer viable, meaning they’re dead.”
While this might lead some people to conclude that the dead woman didn't have a colon, the truth is that she was a veritable fountain of disease-causing fecal coliforms. Luckily, the disinfectants put into your average drinking water are strong enough to neutralize all the bacteria, viruses, fungi, and protozoa either inside a human body or involved in the decomposition of it.
The hotel guests, who noted that the water had a "weird tang" to it, were presumably relieved by this news, which follows closely on the heels of announcements that leaking nuclear power plants, pumping chemicals underground until tap water catches fire and accidentally eating drugged racehorses are also perfectly okay.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
The Legend of Zelda: The Twilight Years: Fun! Set in the fantasy land of Hyrule, the plot centers on boy named Link who has to collect the eight fragments of the Triforce of Wisdom so he can redeem them and pay his final expenses.
Call of Duty Salt-And-Pepper Ops: I enjoyed this. The pace has slowed considerably from the original, since this takes place at Normandy Beach in 1982. I strolled around an old battlefield while saying stuff like, "I remember it like it was yesterday. I lost two of my buddies but I got to bang a French chick with a snaggletooth." Then I spent two hours looking for a paratrooper with Metamucil and my pants fell down.
Sonic the Hedgehog Turns Sixty: I kind of enjoyed this, and totally didn't miss the original's heart-pounding pace. Basically you sit in Doctor Ivo Robotnik's waiting room while old dudes pet you and say, "Who's a good hedgehog? Who's a good hedgehog?" On Level Two you try to find a paper cup for free Sparkletts.
Super Mario Brothers Early Bird Edition: A massive misstep by a major player, this game is a disappointment. Basically you sit in an Italian restaurant and try to get the waiter to bring you half a meatball and some Alka Seltzer.
Grand Theft Auto, The Golden Years: I never understood why people enjoyed the original: it's all speeding and racing and crashing. If I wanted to get my heart rate up, I'd check out the price of canned beef stew at the Circle K. So, I was surprised that I actually liked this game. Nobody honked when I stopped to read the street signs. Nobody crashed into me when I approached a hooker and told her that her she was spitting at Jesus directly in the face. And I actually got two points when I got the gas pedal and brake confused and crashed my Dodge Dart through the window of a bingo parlor.
Octogenarian Fruit Ninja: I didn't like this game at all. The developers have definitely helped us old people by having the fruit just sitting there on a table, but how much damage can you do with a spoon?
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
KGB Deals started off strong but quickly slid into a clearinghouse for all the crap you haven't been able to find since Pic'N'Save closed. Throwing shit at a wall to see what sticks, they recently devised their "Dinner and the Movies" deal.
My advice? Stick with their miracle noodles.
The "Dinner and the Movies" deal clearly show us a business that's lost its tether to reality. Let's go to the math.
The movie tickets have a stated maximum value of $26. The Red Lobster gift certificate is obviously worth $25. Given the package's estimated total value of $156, this means the $100 Restaurant.com gift card is worth ... drum roll ...
Now, we didn't just fall off the carrot truck. We started looking for fraud when we saw the words "Restaurant.com." Google turns up a lot of hits for them that also feature words like "ripoff" and "scam." In terms of online reviews, they're right up there with Battlefield Earth.
Ignoring the complaints from restaurant owners who say they never signed up or who want out of their contracts, we note the big problem in a typical restaurant's small print:
See, you're not getting a $100 "gift card." You're getting a coupon for $100 off a $200 purchase. If you think that's worth $105, I have a coupon for a buck off Gatorade that I'll let you have for $19.99. In the "Slightly Damning" department, Restaurant.com sells that $100 gift card for $40:
Forget KGB Deals' $105 valuation: is a coupon for $100 off $200 even worth $40? There are very few restaurants to choose from. When you pull it out at your table, your date will think you're a cheapskate. The restaurant owner will think you're a jerk. Your waitress will assume you're going to short her on the tip. There's a reason eBay has them in the $4 neighborhood.
In the face of reality, KGB's package value plummets. Using the Restaurant.com price, it's worth $91. Using eBay this amazing $55 bargain drops to, er, $55.
"Deals"? If I were the Russian secret police, I'd think about hiring a libel lawyer.
ME: What? The St. George cheese is "peppery, grassy and slightly sweet, like an aged Swiss or young Asiago"? Hang on -- let me make a little note. (Writing) NEVER COME HERE AGAIN.
Friday, February 15, 2013
New Wisk does.
Everybody's seen that episode of ABC's Primetime where a motel room looks clean until some wise guy turns on a blacklight. Then all of a sudden the room looks like a Jackson Pollock painting. There are swirls and globs and bubbles and splotches everywhere. You thought that room was clean? You thought wrong.
Your entire room is covered in cum.
You remember that little stunt all too well. In fact, it was like watching Kennedy get shot: The image seared itself into your brain. You remember where you were when you first saw it, when you realized that all those pastel-colored bed coverings you'd spent hours lounging on were actually covered with the sex eruptions of people who don't even get under the comforter before they fuck.
Well, new Wisk can get out those stains, and if you take it along with you when you travel you can enjoy that $24 Econolodge room without Googling stuff like, "How long does sperm actually live?"
Oh, c'mon! You thought we'd show you cum stains in a motel room? We want to sell you detergent, not make you stay home until Jesus returns. But you know what we're getting at when we say Wisk can help you erase "invisible" stains. Because who cares about "invisible" stains, right? You can't see them! Nobody's going to pick out a detergent based on how well it handles invisible stuff.
What? Really? People are taking this seriously? In that case, stay tuned for new Febreze Intense, wiping out all those household odors that you can't actually smell.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Yesterday I joined the Atlanta Young Republicans in a community outreach of delivering candy to fire stations for Valentine’s Day. We divided up in teams, mostly ladies, to divide and conquer the 41 stations across the city. When we arrived at a station, our schpeel [sic] went a little like this: “Hi my name is ________ and this is my friend _______ and we’re from the Atlanta Young Republicans. We just came out today to share our appreciation and deliver this bucket of Valentine’s Day candy. We are really grateful for all that you do.”One paragraph in and we're up to our ankles in red flags. First, I don't believe I've heard of community outreach that doesn't actually reach out to the community. And I don't believe I've ever heard a blogger refer to herself and her friends as "ladies," unless she's writing for ChristiansAgainstTheDemonLiquor.com.
Still, I'll never criticize anybody who makes me picture them in hoop skirts and feathered hats.
Clearly there's an unspoken agenda: these "ladies" want to improve the Republican reputation. They could have saved eight bucks at Rite-Aid by taking some common-sense advice. Don't call yourselves ladies, and don't give out "gifts" that look like the crap you couldn't finish at Halloween.
At most of the stations, this opened the door for casual conversations. It was a really great opportunity to meet real public servants and make them feel appreciated. At one point, my car partner and I even discussed how we’d like to do MORE for our local fire fighters because of how kind they had all been to us.Sigh. I've written previously about the burdens of being smart in a stupid world. This little idiocy is the text equivalent of stopping at the top of an escalator to answer your phone. Anyone with an IQ over 40 will immediately leap back a couple paragraphs to compare and contrast these lines:
That was, until, we were turned away because of political affiliation. Apparently one of the chiefs was concerned about accepting candy from a Republican group because they did not want to appear partisan. This prompted an email to a supervisor that resulted in a city-wide candy delivery shut down. I’m sorry, sir, but when did accepting candy from young professionals who wanted to solely express gratitude become a political statement?
"Hi my name is ________ and this is my friend _______ and we’re from the Atlanta Young Republicans."
"[W]hen did accepting candy from young professionals who wanted to solely express gratitude become a political statement?"
This is the confirmation we needed that there is something wrong with this woman that has resulted in her becoming Republican. And there's this extra Easter egg. "Young professionals," she specifies. Like "young professionals" handing out candy isn't a political statement, but old jobless folks just want to plant bombs for the IRA.
Would you have done the same thing from the Young Democrats? I’m calling you out, because I don’t think you would.Yes, all of you who were so kind and told us such funny stories are TOTAL SONS OF BITCHES.
It’s interesting that the further south we went into the city, the less receptive people became. (I thought liberals liked free stuff???)Sigh; of course it was inevitable. This is the evil drunk bitch who lives in every apartment building. "I'm upscale and friendly and I love everybody!" she says when she's sober. And after fourteen Dirty Martinis she's trying to get you to kiss her shoes by saying, "Oh, please! You're a lesbian -- you've had far worse things in your mouth." All along she's been thinking bad but playing nice. She's been saying, "Hi! I really appreciate you!" while thinking, "Look, another goddamn lefty is stealing our Republican mini-KitKat bars."
What the heck has the world come to? You can bet that the next time I deliver a meal to an Atlanta fire station, I will wrap it in elephant print saran wrap and tie Ronald Reagan quotes to each individual tray. I’ll deliver it in my ‘Friends Don’t Let Friends Vote Democrat shirt’ while playing ‘God Bless the USA’ on my iPhone.Clearly she's foaming at the mouth while writing this, because her Halloween leftovers have magically morphed into fried chicken and mashed potatoes. But this is the fabulous finale that we just have to applaud. We're picturing fireworks bursting over her head as the liberal firemen slam doors in her face and her smile hardens into a jagged-tooth rictus. She's totally divorced from reality here, taking a stand specifically to get nice people to dislike her more. If these fabulously wonderful, kind bastards won't accept her generous offering of candy/meals that only desperate handout-seeking liberals want, then the next time she performs "community outreach" she's going to be totally nuts.
In the end, though, we have to admire this fabulous delusion, with a paper-thin veneer of kindness just barely masking the hate. We can't wait until this woman is a grandma and little Scotty, her grandson, says the mac and cheese is a little salty.
"Is it, dear? Oh, I'm sorry," she'll say to his face. And next time he comes around she'll tip eight cups of Mortons onto his plate saying, "That'll teach the fuckin' son-of-a-bitch!"
Friday, February 8, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Listen to this testimony from Linda M:
The minute I woke up from surgery I was speechless. I thought my face looked good, but I wasn't expecting a new hairstyle. I was like, "What's up with that? What did you do to my hair?" And they were all, "Isn't it pretty? It's so flattering. You should leave it this way for the rest of your life."
Brenda K absolutely raves about it:
They brought me a mirror and I could barely see my face. My hair was five times bigger than before. I could see my eyes and part of my nose but that was it. The assistant said the swelling would go down in three to six weeks, and I said, "You mean my face or my hair?"
It changed Carol C's life:
I was in the recovery room when a friend came to visit. She was astonished. Naturally she was all questions: Was it expensive? Did it hurt? Had I been driving backwards in a convertible? Had I dunked my face in a tidepool?
Margo G has nothing but praise:
I thought my face looked pretty good, but I really love this new hairstyle. I think it's fun and flirty and fits my personality. I started playing with it but they they kept hitting my hands and saying, "Don't look there! Don't look! MOVE YOUR GODDAMN HANDS AWAY."
Clarissa A has nothing but praise:
My grandkids kept staring at my enormous hair and asking if I kept stuff in it. Finally one day I told them the Easter Bunny lives up there. Well, they started poking and prodding at it, and then suddenly little Kayley gets this big grin on her face and she says, "I just saw his asshole!"
If you're interested in looking younger and more vital, call today to find out if Lifestyle Lift is right for you. With Lifestyle Lift you can say goodbye to aging, say hello to a fresh new face, and toss all those earrings away.
Monday, February 4, 2013
By January 1984, tens of thousands of New Yorkers were infected with AIDS. Closeted homosexual mayor Ed Koch, who'd repeatedly ask people "How'm I doin'?" and then tell them to shut up when the response was negative, had spent just $24,500 on AIDS, covering not just medical care but also risk reduction and community education.
In San Francisco, a city one-tenth the size of New York, straight female Diane Feinstein had spent $4.3 million.
Today Koch was buried beneath a tombstone he purchased that reads, "My father is Jewish, my mother is Jewish, I am Jewish." Start the countdown until someone adds, "Gay? Who's gay? It's none of your business! That's slander!"