Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday's SUCK
AUTOMATIC TOILETS
The laziness of America astounds and befuddles me. Are we really too tired, after (truthfully) laboring through wiping our asses that we cannot flush what we were so eager to jettison?
Now, don't get me wrong - I am well aware that there are sanitary reasons behind the existence of these toilets, and they are primary. However, in this respect, the toilets are self-defeating. Sure, you don't have to touch anything to flush it. This helps us avoid the undesirable task of coming into contact with something that, transitively, has touched someone else's penis. Furthermore, no longer does one have to hoist a boot to one's waist and press down on a lever to make their poo swirl down into the depths of the unknown. These are fairly decent arguments to have a toilet capable of flushing itself at its own discretion, though they are easily refuted when one realizes that serial penis-touchers may have indeed touched everything in their immediate vicinity--including your desk, car door handles and perhaps even your silverware--and that one need not be as flexible as a cheerleader to flush the toilet with the sole of a shoe.
Regardless, such arguments (I assume) have been well-respected enough to behoove the manufacturers of toilets to implement a means of flushing that requires no touching whatsoever to get it going. Not only does this conjure a comparison of an easily-excitable teen with little to no bedroom experience (other than working daily on his dexterity) accidentally brushing against his friend's mother's bosom, it makes one question who decided this mechanism was necessary in the first place. Was it a consumer relations associate, so distraught after reading countless letters begging for some flushing method that did not require gloves, who got the ball rolling? Or an entrepreneur with irritable bowels who was fed up with the notion of washing his hands every thirty minutes? Regardless of its source, automatic toilets appear here to stay. Consequently, we must deal with their truly unsanitary actions and embrace that they, like those who insist upon their installation, suck.
Truthfully, touching a toilet flushing lever has never put me in the best of moods. Yes, I understand I just wrote off this argument--and I have no regrets--but I think my reasons are compelling: first, the amount of stain on what appears to be stainless steel quite arouses my morbid (and fecid) curiosity; second, the lever represents saying goodbye to an old friend in a dramatic, quick, and violent way which I am never quite prepared for--to me, it's like shooting Old Yeller in the face with a 12-gauge ("Well, soft and brown fellow, I hardly knew ye, but your purpose is served.").
Despite these two astoundingly poignant observations, I cannot reason that automatic toilets should continue to exist, and neither should you. It is really for only one reason. Remember how I said that their sanitary goals are self-defeating? Well, here's why, in a concise explanation that should implore you to shower after every use:
ASSWATER
Right, I know what you're thinking. Why'd you put so much space there? I could see the word anyway. Instead, in case you're not, you should be filled with disgust and a little bit of attraction. Disgust because you just realized that, though you've never discussed this with anyone, every goddamn time you use an automatic toilet it flushes for no apparent reason and splashes water containing your own fecal matter onto your ass that you've worked for feverishly to clean. Attraction because you know that behind these words is a man courageous and willing enough to point out that we're all getting sprayed with ASSWATER and being complacent about it. Don't worry, my number is available upon request.
Not only is this absolutely repulsive (no, not my assumption of lust), it's rather frustrating as well. Countless times have I been peacefully recalling what I had for lunch, in a vague, brownish-green, word jumble sort of way, when to my surprise the toilet decides I have neared the brooding finale of my Symphony No. 2 (please get that joke) and abruptly calls it quits. Quite frequently this happens while I am wiping. I wouldn't really be mad, if not for this problem, which I shall simply make you envision in a rather odd way: imagine my man-parts (for assistance, Google 'Space Needle') walking down the street on a rainy day, only to be splashed with no warning by an inconsiderate motorist speeding through a puddle. Since I'm almost done, I can somewhat understand the flush--it could be interpreted as an act of courtesy, like, thanks for shitting in me, I'm ready again if you are--but the end result still remains that my ass and balls just got misted by something far from the purest water on earth. Also, all of this is rather unexpected, and provides a very unnecessary jolt in an otherwise placid setting.
This process continues until you are ultimately really done with your business. Sometimes three, four, even five flushes may occur in a given sitting. Upon raising one's pants, the toilet never flushes. Never. Nor is the bowl empty: of course, what's left behind in the toilet are what I like to think of as "White Ass-Flags of Surrender." That is, your ass has finally given up, and you are greeted with a clean sheet or two of victory. These, though not visually disturbing to the stall's next occupant, must be flushed. Thus, you have to press the small, sometimes non-existent button on the top of the toilet, which no doubt has been pressed by the very same people who would have otherwise pulled the lever in the first place.
We have now come full circle. We have sailed through the Asswater only to leave battered and sullied, well aware that what was intended to help us avoid unsanitary contact has caused us grief and left us in worse positions than before: seated, being tortured by the mist of an unprovoked turd tsunami; and standing, knowing that pressing the button is no better than pulling the lever. Hopefully, we have emerged more knowledgeable, now certain that manual toilets are cleaner than their automatic brethren. May we also have emerged more motivated, either to protest against the grievances caused by automatic toilet manufacturers and their proponents, or to wash our asses and genitalia in the sink after we have arduously completed the torturous endeavor with our bathroom nemesis.
Whatever the result, please understand that automatic toilets suck, and please, warn others.
The laziness of America astounds and befuddles me. Are we really too tired, after (truthfully) laboring through wiping our asses that we cannot flush what we were so eager to jettison?
Now, don't get me wrong - I am well aware that there are sanitary reasons behind the existence of these toilets, and they are primary. However, in this respect, the toilets are self-defeating. Sure, you don't have to touch anything to flush it. This helps us avoid the undesirable task of coming into contact with something that, transitively, has touched someone else's penis. Furthermore, no longer does one have to hoist a boot to one's waist and press down on a lever to make their poo swirl down into the depths of the unknown. These are fairly decent arguments to have a toilet capable of flushing itself at its own discretion, though they are easily refuted when one realizes that serial penis-touchers may have indeed touched everything in their immediate vicinity--including your desk, car door handles and perhaps even your silverware--and that one need not be as flexible as a cheerleader to flush the toilet with the sole of a shoe.
Regardless, such arguments (I assume) have been well-respected enough to behoove the manufacturers of toilets to implement a means of flushing that requires no touching whatsoever to get it going. Not only does this conjure a comparison of an easily-excitable teen with little to no bedroom experience (other than working daily on his dexterity) accidentally brushing against his friend's mother's bosom, it makes one question who decided this mechanism was necessary in the first place. Was it a consumer relations associate, so distraught after reading countless letters begging for some flushing method that did not require gloves, who got the ball rolling? Or an entrepreneur with irritable bowels who was fed up with the notion of washing his hands every thirty minutes? Regardless of its source, automatic toilets appear here to stay. Consequently, we must deal with their truly unsanitary actions and embrace that they, like those who insist upon their installation, suck.
Truthfully, touching a toilet flushing lever has never put me in the best of moods. Yes, I understand I just wrote off this argument--and I have no regrets--but I think my reasons are compelling: first, the amount of stain on what appears to be stainless steel quite arouses my morbid (and fecid) curiosity; second, the lever represents saying goodbye to an old friend in a dramatic, quick, and violent way which I am never quite prepared for--to me, it's like shooting Old Yeller in the face with a 12-gauge ("Well, soft and brown fellow, I hardly knew ye, but your purpose is served.").
Despite these two astoundingly poignant observations, I cannot reason that automatic toilets should continue to exist, and neither should you. It is really for only one reason. Remember how I said that their sanitary goals are self-defeating? Well, here's why, in a concise explanation that should implore you to shower after every use:
ASSWATER
Right, I know what you're thinking. Why'd you put so much space there? I could see the word anyway. Instead, in case you're not, you should be filled with disgust and a little bit of attraction. Disgust because you just realized that, though you've never discussed this with anyone, every goddamn time you use an automatic toilet it flushes for no apparent reason and splashes water containing your own fecal matter onto your ass that you've worked for feverishly to clean. Attraction because you know that behind these words is a man courageous and willing enough to point out that we're all getting sprayed with ASSWATER and being complacent about it. Don't worry, my number is available upon request.
Not only is this absolutely repulsive (no, not my assumption of lust), it's rather frustrating as well. Countless times have I been peacefully recalling what I had for lunch, in a vague, brownish-green, word jumble sort of way, when to my surprise the toilet decides I have neared the brooding finale of my Symphony No. 2 (please get that joke) and abruptly calls it quits. Quite frequently this happens while I am wiping. I wouldn't really be mad, if not for this problem, which I shall simply make you envision in a rather odd way: imagine my man-parts (for assistance, Google 'Space Needle') walking down the street on a rainy day, only to be splashed with no warning by an inconsiderate motorist speeding through a puddle. Since I'm almost done, I can somewhat understand the flush--it could be interpreted as an act of courtesy, like, thanks for shitting in me, I'm ready again if you are--but the end result still remains that my ass and balls just got misted by something far from the purest water on earth. Also, all of this is rather unexpected, and provides a very unnecessary jolt in an otherwise placid setting.
This process continues until you are ultimately really done with your business. Sometimes three, four, even five flushes may occur in a given sitting. Upon raising one's pants, the toilet never flushes. Never. Nor is the bowl empty: of course, what's left behind in the toilet are what I like to think of as "White Ass-Flags of Surrender." That is, your ass has finally given up, and you are greeted with a clean sheet or two of victory. These, though not visually disturbing to the stall's next occupant, must be flushed. Thus, you have to press the small, sometimes non-existent button on the top of the toilet, which no doubt has been pressed by the very same people who would have otherwise pulled the lever in the first place.
We have now come full circle. We have sailed through the Asswater only to leave battered and sullied, well aware that what was intended to help us avoid unsanitary contact has caused us grief and left us in worse positions than before: seated, being tortured by the mist of an unprovoked turd tsunami; and standing, knowing that pressing the button is no better than pulling the lever. Hopefully, we have emerged more knowledgeable, now certain that manual toilets are cleaner than their automatic brethren. May we also have emerged more motivated, either to protest against the grievances caused by automatic toilet manufacturers and their proponents, or to wash our asses and genitalia in the sink after we have arduously completed the torturous endeavor with our bathroom nemesis.
Whatever the result, please understand that automatic toilets suck, and please, warn others.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Tuesday's SUCK
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny
First, Santa
Consider this situation:
It's Friday, and you've just gotten your paycheck. You and your spouse's five year anniversary is coming up, so you want to get him or her something special, something so awesome that it will just blow that person away. You spend most of your check on that, not crippling your bank account but stretching yourself financially. You surprise him or her with the gift by leaving it in a location where you know that person will see it. He or she opens it, and is absolutely elated.
When you see him or her next, you essentially expect the hug and thanks of your life. Instead, your spouse praises that fat, bearded homeless guy you guys both saw while you walked to dinner downtown yesterday. The homeless guy happens to have a drinking problem, and you overheard him discussing his flying abilities with his small, elf-like companion.
How would you feel about this? I imagine a bit of jealously would start to creep up, and perhaps some anger. Why should someone completely unrelated to you get credit for all of your hard work and generosity?
Well, this happens every year, except the fat homeless guy doesn't really exist, but is probably slightly better dressed. This man is Santa Claus, a concoction whose purposes are to take credit from the deserving and make children question their parents sanity and credibility.
I don't want to lie to my children. If they ask me where babies come from, I will Google "vaginas" and grant them with my knowledge. If they ask me why two men are kissing, I will say because they love each other and because they're not going to heaven. However, I will likely cave and proliferate the notion of Santa Claus. I will do this due to societal pressures. If I had my way, I'd tell them that I bought their gifts. All of them. If I had my way, when they came home from school asking why everyone else was talking about what Santa got them for Christmas, this is what I'd say:
"I worked my ass off through college, applying for jobs, and the past six years trying to get promoted so I could buy your ungrateful ass this remote controlled purple Mazda Miata, which you will likely break in a week and which also likely indicates you will be gay by the age of 17. I want credit for this shit. I don't want some imaginary fat old guy, who keeps in his company an enslaved race of assumedly inbred elves, harbors flying animals who travel faster than any of our best air and spacecraft, possesses limitless wealth and resources, and whose existence is only slightly more plausible than that of God, to get credit for the debt into which I just plunged our family. You won't be able to afford college thanks to this! I want you to know it was me who did this, not a guy who breaks into our home regardless of its fortifications, uninvited, with intentions of looting our dairy products and baked goods."
I will not do this, but I will loathe not doing it. I will somehow avoid telling them that the circumstances under which they received gifts sounds much more plausible when explained as a drunk, aged criminal who happened to rob a Toys R' Us and wanted to exchange the stuff he stole for some food, but was too embarrassed to ask politely, so he found his way into our home through the chimney of all places, and performed the exchange while we all slept.
That is until they reach the age of 6, when I will brazenly shatter their dreams and reveal to them that I have been their provider of fun and toys for their entire lives, the Abel Magwitch to their Pip, (likely) without the whole convict thing, shitty accompanying storyline, and retardedly obtuse language.
The Easter Bunny
The Easter Bunny has nothing to do with Easter. Easter is all about Jesus' finale, when he blew everybody's minds and was like
Let's first approach this from a biological perspective: rabbits cannot lay eggs. The selection of the animal for this holiday was foolish and poorly planned. If it were me, since we're in the spirit of making things up, I would have picked a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Yes, Cindy, the very same Tyrannosaurs Rex that managed to survive two mass extinctions and laid those massive eggs in our home last night, and in the homes ofeveryone else every Christian family in the country! Sounds similarly plausible, right? Or why not a platypus. Much cooler and more peculiar, and also educational.
Second, what is achieved by having children search for eggs in fields? Are we training future mine spotters, as if technological improvements will lead to mines being made of purple, pink, and green plastic and not be hidden under the ground? If we're going to do this, we might as well put some stationary machine guns in the same field, with live rounds, and make it done at night. This way, the poor, disadvantaged children whose parents could not afford night vision goggles wouldn't get any of the spoils.
Finally, how can a rabbit do all of this anyway? Rabbits don't even have opposable thumbs. At least a man is more capable of delivering presents than a semi-domesticated animal. Also, if it is a rabbit, why doesn't he free his companions upon entering homes with rabbits as pets? This is a heartless rabbit, one who does not care about his fellow man and lets him remain encaged and tortured by small children whom he rewards with candy; provided that they're not Muslim or Jewish, anyway.
Neither of these faux gift-givers are logical, so they suck.
First, Santa
Consider this situation:
It's Friday, and you've just gotten your paycheck. You and your spouse's five year anniversary is coming up, so you want to get him or her something special, something so awesome that it will just blow that person away. You spend most of your check on that, not crippling your bank account but stretching yourself financially. You surprise him or her with the gift by leaving it in a location where you know that person will see it. He or she opens it, and is absolutely elated.
When you see him or her next, you essentially expect the hug and thanks of your life. Instead, your spouse praises that fat, bearded homeless guy you guys both saw while you walked to dinner downtown yesterday. The homeless guy happens to have a drinking problem, and you overheard him discussing his flying abilities with his small, elf-like companion.
How would you feel about this? I imagine a bit of jealously would start to creep up, and perhaps some anger. Why should someone completely unrelated to you get credit for all of your hard work and generosity?
Well, this happens every year, except the fat homeless guy doesn't really exist, but is probably slightly better dressed. This man is Santa Claus, a concoction whose purposes are to take credit from the deserving and make children question their parents sanity and credibility.
I don't want to lie to my children. If they ask me where babies come from, I will Google "vaginas" and grant them with my knowledge. If they ask me why two men are kissing, I will say because they love each other and because they're not going to heaven. However, I will likely cave and proliferate the notion of Santa Claus. I will do this due to societal pressures. If I had my way, I'd tell them that I bought their gifts. All of them. If I had my way, when they came home from school asking why everyone else was talking about what Santa got them for Christmas, this is what I'd say:
"I worked my ass off through college, applying for jobs, and the past six years trying to get promoted so I could buy your ungrateful ass this remote controlled purple Mazda Miata, which you will likely break in a week and which also likely indicates you will be gay by the age of 17. I want credit for this shit. I don't want some imaginary fat old guy, who keeps in his company an enslaved race of assumedly inbred elves, harbors flying animals who travel faster than any of our best air and spacecraft, possesses limitless wealth and resources, and whose existence is only slightly more plausible than that of God, to get credit for the debt into which I just plunged our family. You won't be able to afford college thanks to this! I want you to know it was me who did this, not a guy who breaks into our home regardless of its fortifications, uninvited, with intentions of looting our dairy products and baked goods."
I will not do this, but I will loathe not doing it. I will somehow avoid telling them that the circumstances under which they received gifts sounds much more plausible when explained as a drunk, aged criminal who happened to rob a Toys R' Us and wanted to exchange the stuff he stole for some food, but was too embarrassed to ask politely, so he found his way into our home through the chimney of all places, and performed the exchange while we all slept.
That is until they reach the age of 6, when I will brazenly shatter their dreams and reveal to them that I have been their provider of fun and toys for their entire lives, the Abel Magwitch to their Pip, (likely) without the whole convict thing, shitty accompanying storyline, and retardedly obtuse language.
The Easter Bunny
The Easter Bunny has nothing to do with Easter. Easter is all about Jesus' finale, when he blew everybody's minds and was like
SSSYYYYYYYYKKKKKKKKEEEEE, bitches!
Let's first approach this from a biological perspective: rabbits cannot lay eggs. The selection of the animal for this holiday was foolish and poorly planned. If it were me, since we're in the spirit of making things up, I would have picked a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Yes, Cindy, the very same Tyrannosaurs Rex that managed to survive two mass extinctions and laid those massive eggs in our home last night, and in the homes of
Second, what is achieved by having children search for eggs in fields? Are we training future mine spotters, as if technological improvements will lead to mines being made of purple, pink, and green plastic and not be hidden under the ground? If we're going to do this, we might as well put some stationary machine guns in the same field, with live rounds, and make it done at night. This way, the poor, disadvantaged children whose parents could not afford night vision goggles wouldn't get any of the spoils.
Finally, how can a rabbit do all of this anyway? Rabbits don't even have opposable thumbs. At least a man is more capable of delivering presents than a semi-domesticated animal. Also, if it is a rabbit, why doesn't he free his companions upon entering homes with rabbits as pets? This is a heartless rabbit, one who does not care about his fellow man and lets him remain encaged and tortured by small children whom he rewards with candy; provided that they're not Muslim or Jewish, anyway.
Neither of these faux gift-givers are logical, so they suck.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Monday's SUCK
In-class Know-It-Alls
Everybody knows these people, provided that they have taken some schooling, either high school or in college. Mostly I will be referring to college level Know-It-Alls, but this plague of individuals exists in grades 9-12 as well.
In-class Know-It-Alls are notorious for unabashedly raising their hands at the slightest hint of a question. Doesn't matter the question, if they think they have something insightful to say, BOOM, hand up. Normally, I don't have a problem with people contributing in class. My least favorite classes are those that discourage classroom discussion and just feed you information like it is fact. Unfortunately, though one would think that the information being professed IS fact, it most often is not. This epidemic is seen in business classes. It's a typical, here's how you do it, don't ask why, you're just supposed to depreciate the value of a stripper at 10% per year for 7 years, but why?, I said don't ask. Et cetera. Science classes don't really do this. You're allowed to ask why, and are encouraged to do so.
That ended up being really tangential. Anyway, the people I'm talking about really just love to say shit. They just love it. I'm beginning to think that they get off slightly when they hear what they have to say, because they almost ALWAYS think it to be profound. They really, truly think that no one EVER has come up with what they just said; that, or, they think no one else can figure out what they just answered. They also love to verbally answer rhetorical questions, and state personal scenarios or recall things that they have experienced which they somehow associated with the current topic. Usually, it is difficult to ascertain why they made such an association.
Here are a few hypothetical, but realistic, examples of In-class Know-It-All actions:
Professor: Now, we all know roughly when World War I took place, but the circumstances surroun--
K-I-A: *HAND SHOOTS UP* Before World War II.
Professor: ...right, so, the circumstances surrounding the beginning of....
Professor: Companies want to get you to think that their brand is the best; to ignore others and just choose theirs.
K-I-A: *HAND OUT OF NOWHERE* Like, so, I was watching TV the other night and I saw a commercial for Brawny paper towels. And then like, when I was shopping I just grabbed them, you know? Cause the guy's like a lumber...what do you call that? Like a forest person? A lumber...lumber something.
Professor: ...so companies, wait, what?
Professor: *mumbling to herself* ...11 times 3 is...
K-I-A: *no hand this time, but said in a nonchalant, snide, smartass tone* Thirty three.
Professor: Yes, thank you. It is a wonder how I managed to pass high school algebra let alone keep my learning disabilities in check to obtain a Ph.D. Seriously, thanks. I never would have been able to figure that out. I'm very glad you were in class, as it is unlikely ANYONE here would have known how to solve such a complicated and tricky problem. Thank you, sincerely.
I'll never understand these people. Why they think it's not annoying to everyone else when they raise their hand and, via extended monologue, tell the class not only that horses are mammals, but they know because THEY WENT TO A PETTING ZOO ONCE...I will never know.
One favor I can thank these people for is providing countless examples of how to explain some of the most basic concepts and knowledge like they just encountered a stroke of genius, and must describe what they discovered in layman's terms so the rest of us can understand. Another, I suppose, is that they make the rest of us look just a bit smarter. I can think of many times when someone playing mental word association in class decided that there was a connection between their inane thoughts and a lecture, vocalized their connection, but then stated that they were confused about it.
One instance happened yesterday. A girl in my Marketing class raised her hand to tell our professor that some ab workout ball she saw on TV had a totally confusing and falsified graph to describe its effectiveness. The best part was the reaction she described upon seeing the graph. I can only describe it as such: OMG LOL THAT GRAPH SAYS THIS THING IS 408% MORE EFFECTIVE THAN CRUNCHES LOLOLOL HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE YOU CAN'T MEASURE THAT HAHAHHAHA OMFG I'M GONNA BRING THIS UP IN CLASS LOL THAT MEANS LIKE IT'S 408 TIMES MORE EFFECTIVE LOL GRAPH LOL ILLOGICAL LOL. Understand? Not like I need to explain this, but it certainly is possible to measure the effectiveness of a workout...or at least the muscle activity involved. No one bothered to explain this to her, so she continued in her diatribe about how their marketing campaign was ludicrous based upon this nonsensical and totally indefensible graph. She laughed during this, as if she were scoffing at the absurdity of some scientific measurements displayed in an easy to read and understandable format. What's more, her friend, or fellow idiot, or something, laughed with her, likely adding to her own perceived credibility.
I think this girl, and people like her, might think that they have been blessed with some type of special knowledge, superior rationality, or both, and must demonstrate it to others. They're kind of like the apostles when they were all gathered in that room, and the Holy Spirit was like sup go tell err'body 'bout Jesus and all the crazy shit he did, oh btw sup check out this FIRE OVER YOUR HEADS isn't that sweet? Alright yeah anyway go do that...wait damnit I forgot something...here's a copy of Rosetta Stone, it can teach you a bunch of languages...wait what? What do you mean what do you do with--oh, shit. Computers. Yeah. Alright whatever you can all speak any language you want. Except...that...these people are...well, look, I have no idea how they compare to the apostles other than that they tell everybody something that they think is cool, and I guess if they wrote it down and somebody read it 2000 years later, that person would have a similar reaction of what the hell is this? regardless of whether it was authored by an apostle or Christine in Marketing. Except the stuff that Christine in Marketing wrote would sound a lot stupider. And way more obvious.
Everybody knows these people, provided that they have taken some schooling, either high school or in college. Mostly I will be referring to college level Know-It-Alls, but this plague of individuals exists in grades 9-12 as well.
In-class Know-It-Alls are notorious for unabashedly raising their hands at the slightest hint of a question. Doesn't matter the question, if they think they have something insightful to say, BOOM, hand up. Normally, I don't have a problem with people contributing in class. My least favorite classes are those that discourage classroom discussion and just feed you information like it is fact. Unfortunately, though one would think that the information being professed IS fact, it most often is not. This epidemic is seen in business classes. It's a typical, here's how you do it, don't ask why, you're just supposed to depreciate the value of a stripper at 10% per year for 7 years, but why?, I said don't ask. Et cetera. Science classes don't really do this. You're allowed to ask why, and are encouraged to do so.
That ended up being really tangential. Anyway, the people I'm talking about really just love to say shit. They just love it. I'm beginning to think that they get off slightly when they hear what they have to say, because they almost ALWAYS think it to be profound. They really, truly think that no one EVER has come up with what they just said; that, or, they think no one else can figure out what they just answered. They also love to verbally answer rhetorical questions, and state personal scenarios or recall things that they have experienced which they somehow associated with the current topic. Usually, it is difficult to ascertain why they made such an association.
Here are a few hypothetical, but realistic, examples of In-class Know-It-All actions:
Professor: Now, we all know roughly when World War I took place, but the circumstances surroun--
K-I-A: *HAND SHOOTS UP* Before World War II.
Professor: ...right, so, the circumstances surrounding the beginning of....
Professor: Companies want to get you to think that their brand is the best; to ignore others and just choose theirs.
K-I-A: *HAND OUT OF NOWHERE* Like, so, I was watching TV the other night and I saw a commercial for Brawny paper towels. And then like, when I was shopping I just grabbed them, you know? Cause the guy's like a lumber...what do you call that? Like a forest person? A lumber...lumber something.
Professor: ...so companies, wait, what?
Professor: *mumbling to herself* ...11 times 3 is...
K-I-A: *no hand this time, but said in a nonchalant, snide, smartass tone* Thirty three.
Professor: Yes, thank you. It is a wonder how I managed to pass high school algebra let alone keep my learning disabilities in check to obtain a Ph.D. Seriously, thanks. I never would have been able to figure that out. I'm very glad you were in class, as it is unlikely ANYONE here would have known how to solve such a complicated and tricky problem. Thank you, sincerely.
I'll never understand these people. Why they think it's not annoying to everyone else when they raise their hand and, via extended monologue, tell the class not only that horses are mammals, but they know because THEY WENT TO A PETTING ZOO ONCE...I will never know.
One favor I can thank these people for is providing countless examples of how to explain some of the most basic concepts and knowledge like they just encountered a stroke of genius, and must describe what they discovered in layman's terms so the rest of us can understand. Another, I suppose, is that they make the rest of us look just a bit smarter. I can think of many times when someone playing mental word association in class decided that there was a connection between their inane thoughts and a lecture, vocalized their connection, but then stated that they were confused about it.
One instance happened yesterday. A girl in my Marketing class raised her hand to tell our professor that some ab workout ball she saw on TV had a totally confusing and falsified graph to describe its effectiveness. The best part was the reaction she described upon seeing the graph. I can only describe it as such: OMG LOL THAT GRAPH SAYS THIS THING IS 408% MORE EFFECTIVE THAN CRUNCHES LOLOLOL HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE YOU CAN'T MEASURE THAT HAHAHHAHA OMFG I'M GONNA BRING THIS UP IN CLASS LOL THAT MEANS LIKE IT'S 408 TIMES MORE EFFECTIVE LOL GRAPH LOL ILLOGICAL LOL. Understand? Not like I need to explain this, but it certainly is possible to measure the effectiveness of a workout...or at least the muscle activity involved. No one bothered to explain this to her, so she continued in her diatribe about how their marketing campaign was ludicrous based upon this nonsensical and totally indefensible graph. She laughed during this, as if she were scoffing at the absurdity of some scientific measurements displayed in an easy to read and understandable format. What's more, her friend, or fellow idiot, or something, laughed with her, likely adding to her own perceived credibility.
I think this girl, and people like her, might think that they have been blessed with some type of special knowledge, superior rationality, or both, and must demonstrate it to others. They're kind of like the apostles when they were all gathered in that room, and the Holy Spirit was like sup go tell err'body 'bout Jesus and all the crazy shit he did, oh btw sup check out this FIRE OVER YOUR HEADS isn't that sweet? Alright yeah anyway go do that...wait damnit I forgot something...here's a copy of Rosetta Stone, it can teach you a bunch of languages...wait what? What do you mean what do you do with--oh, shit. Computers. Yeah. Alright whatever you can all speak any language you want. Except...that...these people are...well, look, I have no idea how they compare to the apostles other than that they tell everybody something that they think is cool, and I guess if they wrote it down and somebody read it 2000 years later, that person would have a similar reaction of what the hell is this? regardless of whether it was authored by an apostle or Christine in Marketing. Except the stuff that Christine in Marketing wrote would sound a lot stupider. And way more obvious.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Friday's SUCK
Misused, Pointless, Stupid, and Annoying Things People Say, Part One
I loathe being trite. If there were some way for me to come up with a new, original phrase every time I spoke, I would do it.
Alright, I could do that - but I'm too lazy.
Instead, I revert to speaking that which has likely already been said. I do make an effort not to utter overly-repeated, misused, and often stupid phrases which are tossed about carelessly like babies in a car without carseats driving over more babies; on a rough road, no less.
Unfortunately for me and the rest of us who are aware there is a proper way to speak, many people are guilty of such infanticide. I hate these people; they suck, and these are the sucky things they often say:
Could care less
Could you? Then why don't you? You must be so disinterested in your lack of caring that you decided to avoid caring at the least possible level, and instead care at some pedestrian, half-assed, neither bountiful nor depleted level. Why even mention, then, that you could care less? Is it necessary to let everyone know that you sort of care about something, just not enough to shut the fuck up about it? Your middle-of-the-road caring has produced an oversight regarding what you most likely intended to say: you couldn't care less.
I suspect that it is possible you really meant what you said...if you were talking about something asinine like grapefruits or stamp prices. These are things that you could care less about if you really felt like it.
Some things I couldn't care less about:
...but he's a nice guy
I call this the "eternal cop out."
Actual conversation where "...but he's a nice guy" is used:
Well-informed Gentleman: I do say, Disillusioned Lady, Constable Jefferson is a rather peculiar and unlikeable fellow.
Disillusioned Lady: Oh dear! Why would you say such a thing, Well-informed Gentleman?
Well-informed Gentleman: He is just dreadful to be around; constantly being a real wanker.
Disillusioned Lady: I suppose you may be right...
Well-informed Gentleman: Indeed! Furthermore, he is a considerably daft bastard and poor at billiards and polo, not to mention entirely incapable of fox hunting!
Disillusioned Lady: Though I must agree on all counts, I find that Constable Jefferson, despite his plethora of flaws and shortcomings, is a nice bloke.
Well-informed Gentleman: Bollocks! What does that have to do with any of the facts I have presented?
Disillusioned Lady: Nothing, I suppose. I was merely offering a retort to your disparaging statements.
Well-informed Gentleman: That is not a retort, Disillusioned Lady. It is a poorly-formed excuse for every one of his faults!
Disillusioned Lady: But...but...he is--
Well-informed Gentleman: Rubbish!
As you can see, in this direct excerpt from a real conversation that took place in 1783, "...but he's a nice guy" has been used for centuries mostly by women in order to excuse a man who sucks at life. In this case, Constable Jefferson sounds like a worthless piece of shit, but is excused for being a nice guy by the Disillusioned Lady. Even if this man really is a nice guy, it unfortunately does not make up for his general lack of any life skills. Being nice is easy; it should not be praised so heavily and used as a means of excusing someone from sucking at everything else.
Bless you!
Whoever came up with this saying was clearly retarded. No need to debate its origin; being blessed for sneezing is exactly the same as someone commending you for farting. Now, I say this myself, and I clearly can't be mad at myself, hate myself, or think I suck, can I?
No.
So I have to hate the person who came up with this dumb phrase. I hate the reasoning behind saying it. I hate the circumstances surrounding it when said. I hate everything to do with this overused, pointless, useless saying.
First of all, in case this part isn't clear: one need not be blessed for his or her nose involuntarily reacting to some stimulus. Your "soul" is staying put. You're not going to fly up to Jesus just because some shit flew out of your nose in response to pet dander.
Second, why are you judging me for not saying it? YOU JUST FUCKING SNEEZED. An appropriate response to this would be, "Dude, don't sneeze on me, you unsanitary bastard," not some response sanctifying the person for adding germs to the environment. I get angry when people think that I should say "bless you" if they sneeze (if you couldn't tell that already). They think I'm not being polite, and are sometimes OFFENDED. How is that polite?????????????????????????????? Next time you drop a foul smelling, infant-sized deuce, I'll be sure to commend you for such a deed, lest I be judged! Sorry, but I don't see any legitimate reasoning for dignifying someone's sneeze, unless they managed to cure AIDS in the process of sneezing.
Third, if I do say it the first time, do I have to say it the next eight times you sneeze? I don't know the rules for sneeze blessing, and if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't understand them. Following this, I feel that people with more allergies are being blessed way more often than the rest of us. That is absolutely unfair. Just because you aren't normal doesn't mean you deserve more blessings than I do. Nobody goes around blessing midgets just for being tiny. Also, what if somebody sneezes and a priest is around? Does he say "bless you"? If not, is that priest an asshole?
Well, yeah.
ATM machine/PIN number
Based on these two common phrases, ATMs must be the most redundant technology on the planet.
It's really simple here: ATM stands for automated teller machine. PIN stands for personal indentification number. These are A-C-R-O-N-Y-M-S. There's no need to repeat the last word twice. Do you say CD discs? UFO object? OJ juice (unless referring to OJ Simpson's semen)? JFK Kennedy? I could go on forever.
Just stop. Please.
I loathe being trite. If there were some way for me to come up with a new, original phrase every time I spoke, I would do it.
Alright, I could do that - but I'm too lazy.
Instead, I revert to speaking that which has likely already been said. I do make an effort not to utter overly-repeated, misused, and often stupid phrases which are tossed about carelessly like babies in a car without carseats driving over more babies; on a rough road, no less.
Unfortunately for me and the rest of us who are aware there is a proper way to speak, many people are guilty of such infanticide. I hate these people; they suck, and these are the sucky things they often say:
Could care less
Could you? Then why don't you? You must be so disinterested in your lack of caring that you decided to avoid caring at the least possible level, and instead care at some pedestrian, half-assed, neither bountiful nor depleted level. Why even mention, then, that you could care less? Is it necessary to let everyone know that you sort of care about something, just not enough to shut the fuck up about it? Your middle-of-the-road caring has produced an oversight regarding what you most likely intended to say: you couldn't care less.
I suspect that it is possible you really meant what you said...if you were talking about something asinine like grapefruits or stamp prices. These are things that you could care less about if you really felt like it.
Some things I couldn't care less about:
- people who say could care less
- whether Barry Bonds plays baseball again
- baseball
- my business classes
- women's basketball*
...but he's a nice guy
I call this the "eternal cop out."
Actual conversation where "...but he's a nice guy" is used:
Well-informed Gentleman: I do say, Disillusioned Lady, Constable Jefferson is a rather peculiar and unlikeable fellow.
Disillusioned Lady: Oh dear! Why would you say such a thing, Well-informed Gentleman?
Well-informed Gentleman: He is just dreadful to be around; constantly being a real wanker.
Disillusioned Lady: I suppose you may be right...
Well-informed Gentleman: Indeed! Furthermore, he is a considerably daft bastard and poor at billiards and polo, not to mention entirely incapable of fox hunting!
Disillusioned Lady: Though I must agree on all counts, I find that Constable Jefferson, despite his plethora of flaws and shortcomings, is a nice bloke.
Well-informed Gentleman: Bollocks! What does that have to do with any of the facts I have presented?
Disillusioned Lady: Nothing, I suppose. I was merely offering a retort to your disparaging statements.
Well-informed Gentleman: That is not a retort, Disillusioned Lady. It is a poorly-formed excuse for every one of his faults!
Disillusioned Lady: But...but...he is--
Well-informed Gentleman: Rubbish!
As you can see, in this direct excerpt from a real conversation that took place in 1783, "...but he's a nice guy" has been used for centuries mostly by women in order to excuse a man who sucks at life. In this case, Constable Jefferson sounds like a worthless piece of shit, but is excused for being a nice guy by the Disillusioned Lady. Even if this man really is a nice guy, it unfortunately does not make up for his general lack of any life skills. Being nice is easy; it should not be praised so heavily and used as a means of excusing someone from sucking at everything else.
Bless you!
Whoever came up with this saying was clearly retarded. No need to debate its origin; being blessed for sneezing is exactly the same as someone commending you for farting. Now, I say this myself, and I clearly can't be mad at myself, hate myself, or think I suck, can I?
No.
So I have to hate the person who came up with this dumb phrase. I hate the reasoning behind saying it. I hate the circumstances surrounding it when said. I hate everything to do with this overused, pointless, useless saying.
First of all, in case this part isn't clear: one need not be blessed for his or her nose involuntarily reacting to some stimulus. Your "soul" is staying put. You're not going to fly up to Jesus just because some shit flew out of your nose in response to pet dander.
Second, why are you judging me for not saying it? YOU JUST FUCKING SNEEZED. An appropriate response to this would be, "Dude, don't sneeze on me, you unsanitary bastard," not some response sanctifying the person for adding germs to the environment. I get angry when people think that I should say "bless you" if they sneeze (if you couldn't tell that already). They think I'm not being polite, and are sometimes OFFENDED. How is that polite?????????????????????????????? Next time you drop a foul smelling, infant-sized deuce, I'll be sure to commend you for such a deed, lest I be judged! Sorry, but I don't see any legitimate reasoning for dignifying someone's sneeze, unless they managed to cure AIDS in the process of sneezing.
Third, if I do say it the first time, do I have to say it the next eight times you sneeze? I don't know the rules for sneeze blessing, and if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't understand them. Following this, I feel that people with more allergies are being blessed way more often than the rest of us. That is absolutely unfair. Just because you aren't normal doesn't mean you deserve more blessings than I do. Nobody goes around blessing midgets just for being tiny. Also, what if somebody sneezes and a priest is around? Does he say "bless you"? If not, is that priest an asshole?
Well, yeah.
ATM machine/PIN number
Based on these two common phrases, ATMs must be the most redundant technology on the planet.
It's really simple here: ATM stands for automated teller machine. PIN stands for personal indentification number. These are A-C-R-O-N-Y-M-S. There's no need to repeat the last word twice. Do you say CD discs? UFO object? OJ juice (unless referring to OJ Simpson's semen)? JFK Kennedy? I could go on forever.
Just stop. Please.
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