Obvious News Flash: Practicing Irish Goodbyes At Parties Saves You Two Days A Year In Time
Gee you mean sparing those fake goodbyes with people you try to avoid, let alone wanna spend two hours catching up with at some party will save me a shit load of time every year? Oh my god really?!? You probably needed to dedicate a ton of time and money to figure out what any person with a normal functioning brain already knows. That’s why smart people practice Irish goodbyes in the first fucking place. Nonetheless, researchers at the UNSW Time Management Institute asked 2,000 Australians how many parties they went to a year, and then roughly how long they thought it took them to actually leave a party once they decided it was time to go. They concluded that Australians went to roughly 25 parties a year, and actually leaving a party once people determined they wanted to, took about 45 minutes. The geniuses therefore concluded that leaving parties without saying goodbye would save people roughly two days a year in time. Ok I have some questions…
First of all, who are these insane party animals you’re questioning? Is all of Australia just one big hoorah at any given moment? 25 parties every year?!? Jesus Christ. Was this poll taken at a college? Also, as someone from the midwest, a place known for their drawn out goodbyes and friendliness so extreme it borders on intrusive and creepy, 45 minutes to say goodbye?!?!? Are you sure this wasn’t seconds?! Maybe if this was a bunch of old women getting together for their weekly knitting and gossip club, but not anyone below the age of 185, that I know at least. “Alright everyone this party is getting lame and I’m sick of hearing your voices so I’m outta hear. Adios.” Problem solved. How hard was that? You’re welcome. And I get it… It’s obviously easier said than done to just leave a party without telling anyone, but it’s the only logical thing to do if you think about. Because you’ll see your family or friends again so you don’t have to worry about talking to them before you go. And you already talked to the annoying people you never wanna see again, much less say goodbye to for another 45 fucking minutes. It’s really the only logical thing to do if you think about it.
The Irish Goodbye is humanities single greatest invention. Try it some time. Because I promise you. Quietly darting out of a party, only to get a few texts on the way home as people slowly realize you left is one of the best feelings you’ll ever have. “Where’d you go dude?!” “Did you leave already?! I didn’t get to say goodbye!!!”
I know. Let’s keep it that way.
Besides I don’t like goodbyes. I’m more of a “see ya later” type of guy.
Dentist’s Aren’t Devils, You’re Just Disgusting
Going to the dentist… It’s something we should all do, a lot of us probably don’t do enough of, and most people absolutely hate. Seemingly everyone you know has a horror story. From having a dentist with the worst breath you could ever imagine, to the time they went in for a routine checkup and came out with less teeth than they started with, the stories are endless. However, for the few and far between, for those of us with those perfectly straight pearly whites, it’s something we actually look forward to. So why is going to the dentist such a pain in the mouth for most people? Why do so many of us treat visiting that building once or twice a year like we’re being shipped off to some horrid concentration camp, never to be seen by any of our loved ones again. What’s so scary about it?
Because this may come as quite the shock to most of you, but if you’re like me and have near perfect teeth, practice the best brushing, flawless flossing, and actually take pride in keeping those 32 rectangles in pristine condition, believe it or not… going to the dentist twice a year is something you can actually enjoy. It’s like going to a car show and having the hottest convertible. From the second you walk through those doors you’re a celebrity. An A-lister. The man about town. The hygienists can’t get enough of em, the dentist walks around aroused the entire time, hell even the people at the reception desk can’t keep their jealous jaws from hitting the floor. It’s quite the sight to see. And it’s a feeling reserved for the best of the best in oral hygiene. For the few of us lucky enough to have that car everybody takes turns gawking at, life is pretty easy, and going to the dentist is our thirty minutes of fame. And I know what you’re thinking… “thirty minutes?!? How the hell are you in and out of a dentist’s chair in thirty minutes?!? There’s no way.” Well average person who practices subpar brushing and lies through their nasty teeth when the dentist asks how often you floss… Try actually picking up a piece of that weird minty string every once in a while. Maybe use that miniature comb looking thing AFTER you down that nightly bag of M&Ms. Here’s a fun little hint… It’s actually 100% legal for you to brush MORE than twice a day. Holy shit is right. Believe it or not brushing in the bathroom at work gets less weird once everyone knows you do it. And if you don’t think a clean mouth at work won’t get you a couple of make out sessions in that back office/storage room nobody uses, you’d be correct. But at least your breath won’t smell like those nasty leftovers you stunk up everyone’s lunch hour with. Just brush your fucking teeth and maybe floss every once in a while. It really isn’t that hard. Or don’t, and be a disgusting slob of shit that nobody wants to talk to because you have various stages of rotting meat stored between your disgusting teeth. I don’t care, more fame for me. However if you’re serious about getting those chompers into the best shape of their miserable lives, here are ten things any moron can do to ensure their next visit to that scary office isn’t so bad:
For the love of God and everything holy in this unholy world of ours… Replace your fucking toothbrush! I’ll make it simple for you monsters… If the head of your toothbrush is messier than your hair after a night of sloppy college sex with someone you’ll hopefully never see again, like that soaked bedsheet, it’s time to replace it. And for all you virgins out there… If your grandparents replace the broom they use to sweep the garage more often than you replace your toothbrush, it’s time to get a new one.
Actually use your Goddamn toothbrush. And don’t take its name literally, believe it or not you can brush ALL of your teeth every time you stick that bad boy in your mouth. Visit the whole neighborhood with that thing, not just the neighbors next door. In order to follow step #1, you’ll have to actually put that thing to good use. Hell if you’re not going to use it on your nasty teeth, scrub the toilet with it. Do something.
That container of fishing line looking stuff you threw in the drawer when you moved in shouldn’t last your entire life. They sell three packs for a reason. And everyone who regularly flosses knows to get the three pack because getting just one never ends well. Because one of them is inevitably going to have a shitty cutter that gets gunked up almost instantly, leaving you to pull line out and cut it with your teeth like some seasoned fisherman on one of those Discovery Channel shows. The floss in the second container you try will eventually break off, leaving half the spool staring back at you from behind its little plastic window. And the third one will work like a charm, from the first mile of twine to the last. The third one is always the charm. That’s what those three packs are meant for. Run that shit between your teeth at least once a day and the next time you go to the dentist, surprisingly, your gums won’t bleed like your grandma when she’s on blood thinners.
Mouthwash isn’t just for your alcoholic grandpa’s driver’s side door. I’m sure you all know at least one coworker with putrid breath, and I hate to tell ya but if you’re not flossing, they’re not the only ones people wanna put a bullet in their heads instead of talking to at 8 in the morning. There are many different types of mouthwash at every one of the grocery stores you go to, a good first step would be buying literally any of them. Take that puppy home, open it up like it’s some fine whiskey your dumb friends convinced you to break the bank buying, take a big swig, swish it around for more than the two seconds most of you do, and you’ll be amazed at how excited other people suddenly are to talk to you.
Chew gum. I don’t care what your retarded health teacher told you in sixth grade. Chew gum. “Did you know that chewing gum for more than 16 seconds at a time can actually cause micro fractures in your teeth?” Yeah and did you know that no one in the history of civilization has ever once needed dental work because they chewed too much gum? How do I know this? Because I have a fucking brain. Because I’m sorry to tell you but if you think your teeth can rip through steak and pretzels every day but not some chewy rubber you’re fucking insane. People had to come up with any excuse for why you shouldn’t chew gum back in the day because it was full of sugar. Sugar free gum solved that problem years ago. Chew it.
Soda isn’t water. And neither is gatorade. If you need more of an explanation, just take a pair of pliers and pull them all out.
If you wake up with a sore jaw every morning, get a mouthguard. You’re grinding those bad boys more than you grinded at all those sweaty basement parties freshman year of college. Let that go untreated long enough and you won’t have to worry about taking care of your teeth anymore.
Brush your teeth before having your morning cup of coffee. Just try it, and you can thank me later.
Stop opening everything with your teeth. You have ten fingers for a reason. Use them. Believe it or not but popping off bottle caps and chewing on ice like you’re a goddamn polar bear may have some consequences.
Schedule your routine checkups between morning break and lunch. 1. You won’t have ten pounds of cheerios and left over pizza stuck between your teeth that your poor hygienist has to dispose of before actually cleaning your teeth. Plus you can parlay the appointment with lunch and then you’re basically working a half day. You’re welcome.
How To Lose A Customer In 10 Ways: Public Restrooms
You see it all in public restrooms. Everything. From the grossest heaps of fermenting fecal matter, to slimy multi-colored puke plastered everywhere but the intended target. Using public restrooms is like playing a game of Russian Roulette. You either get a perfectly clean and normal bathroom, or you get some indescribable hell hole that leaves you with lingering bouts PTSD. There’s no in between. Playing restroom roulette isn’t for the faint of heart, and those of us brave enough to use them know all too well the dangers lurking behind any door guarded by a stick figure. And restroom roulette doesn’t discriminate when it comes to who makes playing this game so dangerous. Any place of business. From the grossest fast food restaurants, to brand new dental offices in the nicest part of town. Humans are gross wherever they go, with however much money they have.
Way #1: I’ll start with by far the grossest and longest way, and that’s simply the just plain disgusting public bathrooms and their stalls in particular. There’s a cast of characters responsible for these unimaginable crime scenes, each with their own trademark public art exhibits. There’s the people who lay toilet paper on the seats and leave it for somebody else to clean up. You’re so concerned about your fucking ass skin touching germs, yet it’s perfectly fine leaving me to figure out how I’m gonna chisel off 12 ft of greasy ass paper that’s been heat sealed to the porcelain by a combination of butt sweat, semen, and the fat tub’s body temperature after 45 minutes of heaving and hoeing as he works out whatever log jam last week’s feast created. And your ass cheeks don’t need a table cloth, they’re not eating. It’s because of assholes like you, and yours, that half the time I sit down only to discover there’s no god damn toilet paper to use what it’s intended for in the first fucking place. Quit using up entire rolls making your nests or whatever the hell you’re doing. You also get the people who seem to poop by sneezing it out of their asses? I don’t know what you’re eating but you should really see somebody about that. A good rule of thumb for whether the height of the splatter should be concerning or not, is if it reaches the middle of the bathroom ceiling, you’re probably in the concerning zone. Anything outside the toilet bowl is a good rule of thumb for normal people I’d say. Maybe midway up the back of the lid on special occasions. Who else? Oh you have the brown pee people. Uhh drink some water? It’s free at most places. And how is pee even that brown? I don’t have diarrhea that dark. That can’t be healthy. And you can’t forget about the pee all over the seat people. Do you pee out of your ass? You can’t aim a stream of liquid through a target the size of a basketball rim? Really?
Way #2: Being stingy mother fuckers when it comes to basic bathroom necessities, like toilet paper and working appliances like the automatic soap and paper towel dispensers, if god forbid you even get paper towels nowadays. Oh my god not that. Oh no. The trees. Yeah like I wanna wipe my hands in my shirt when I’m on a hot date. That’s sexy. Now I gotta walk back to the table looking like the bus boys ganged up and gave me a swirly because your wall mounted leaf blower is broken and you save your weak conscience and about 18 bucks a month by not buying paper towel. Just give me something for Jesus’s sake. Jesus. Whatever happened to the days of those dudes in the bathroom? Wearing suits and giving you mints and warm towels and shit. Just standing there, smelling your shit. I always felt bad about that. Sometimes you have to go no matter what. There could be a gentleman in a cheap fitting pinstripe, pimp daddy looking boss man suit standing there with a storefront’s array of different colognes, soaps, and creams… And he’s gotta stand there waiting while I extract the meat demon that’s been baking in my gut’s oven for four days. Sorry dude. But I miss the good old days.
Way #3: What I call a ‘broken bathroom’. Nothing works. Not even the mirror for god’s sake. The paper towel dispenser is either empty, jammed, or manually operated and I’m not fingering that germ catcher to find out how exactly. Of course the toilet paper is out. Those things hold like 40 rolls, yet they always seem to be empty. The automatic soap dispenser squirts out 6 gallons of blue jizz after not a peep the first 15 times you waved at it like a moron. Of course the garbage is full, you find out as you watch your balled up toilet paper bounce off the landfill sized heap that outgrew it’s bin three days ago, smacking the grimy floor with a wet thud. Great. Now you’re either an asshole, or you’re eating the germs from someone’s asshole when you chew your finger nails later. And of course every toilet is clogged. That’s a given. Yet you still do the walk of shame, bumping open every stall door one at a time as you get a front row view of what clogged them each. At least they’re kind enough to leave you a sign letting you know one of the sink’s hot water knobs isn’t working. Thanks.
Way #4: Having your bathrooms at the end of a maze harder to navigate than the hardest corn varieties. I have irritable bowel syndrome. That means I have to shit right now. Not in 45 minutes when, like Lewis and Clark, I’ve been able to navigate the vast, unincorporated territories that are the hallways and back patios behind your restaurant. Next time have a map on the menu. Or your own Sacagawea. I shouldn’t have to shine a flashlight down a hallway and call out like I’m home alone and scared somebody else is in the house with me. And just a suggestion for all you hipster/vegan/gluten free/whatever the hell else is cool nowadays restaurants… If your “food” moves my bowels faster than a bullet train tuned like an R34 Skyline, I suggest you get the biggest, brightest neon restroom sign you can find and hang that sucker high for all to see.
Way #5: If your hand soap is smellier than the shit I just took, washing my hands with it is kind of pointless. And I don’t wanna hear the germ police on here pleading with me to make sure that after every dump I scrub the skin off my hands, scalding them under boiling water as I sing the abc’s forwards and backwards six times over. That ain’t gonna happen. If there’s nothing visible on my fingers clearly they didn’t touch poop.
Way #6: Those stupid timer sinks that make you play Whac-A-Mole just to wash the fucking soap off your hands. See that’s what I get for washing my hands. Who the hell invented that faucet anyway? What the fuck was their problem? And could you set the timer for any longer? God forbid they stay on long enough for me to whac it on and then actually get my hand back in the water.
Way #7: If your stall is too narrow for a toilet, a normal sized adult male probably isn’t going to be able to sit down and spread out like he needs to. You ever sit down in a public restroom and the toilet paper dispenser is literally just in your lap? Like you’re literally holding it like a newborn. Like it’s so in your personal space you can’t poop and scroll Twitter without detaching it from the wall first. Like you get the point.
Way #8: Baby changing stations. Yeah I said it. I don’t need to imagine some nasty diarrhea diaper leaving its smeary shit graffiti everywhere while I’m trying to relieve myself. This should be a relaxing time. And those things creep me out. Get rid of them. Change your stupid kids in the car or something. Idk. Aren’t diapers basically wearable litter boxes? Who cares. Change them when you get home.
Way #9: Doors that don’t lock. So help me God. If I go into a stall and lock the door, only for some insanely manly biker looking werewolf dude to come barging in two minutes later and now we both know what my pooping face looks like. And if the lock to the restroom door requires some genius IQ level to figure out how it works, maybe leave us a note or get a normal locking door. I shouldn’t have to stand there with my ass cheeks clenched and legs trembling from holding in the brown flood as I fumble with a lock that’s more complicated than any I’ve seen in a bank heist movie.
Way #10: Automatic toilets. Do they really need to flush that hard? I get you need them to move a lot of timber, but there’s no reason that thing needs more horsepower than your grandpa’s corvette. No use washing my hand’s when the rest of me is covered in the flying fecal matter that settled like falling ash.
Jogging By A Paralyzed Person
There’s something so eerily innocent and fucked up about jogging by a person in one of those Stephen Hawking scooters, only to make them stare at you as you blissfully sweep yourself off your own two feet, one gleeful god given step at a time and run blissfully on by. As an every day runner (Yes I’m better than you and no I don’t like doing it either but I’m not a lazy piece of shit anymore and I take pride in that so shut up and let me brag ok if you got your thirty year-old ass up ((Old. I know.)) and ran almost every day you’d have no problem shoving it in peoples’ faces either ok?… What’s the problem? Oh I didn’t put enough punctuation in there? Need to catch your breath? That’s a lot for an out-of-shape pile like you isn’t it. “Jesus christ we get it!” Ok. End of rant. My apologies. ) Anyways, as someone who runs in neighborhoods most days, and usually in the afternoon when people are getting home from work, you tend to compete for sidewalk and road space with not only a low-level froggeresque stream of various four wheeled vehicles traveling an equal variety of speeds, but an equal number of pedestrians moving with the help of anything from their own two old legs (It’s Florida), to golf carts, bicycles, and last but not least, those damn motorized scooters with what I swear have to be souped up engines because no motorized scooter leaves the factory that fucking fast. I’ve seen sports cars with 400 ponies under the hood clear an intersection when it looks like the red light district slower than I’ve seen these batshit crazy old people blow through stop signs driving these things. I guess my long winded point is you see it all, and perhaps more importantly, you run by it all. Have to. Run by, it all. And today it happened. I ran by someone (I’m pretty sure a quadriplegic) operating one of those electric scooter crazy contraption things as he was driving it on the sidewalk, and for whatever reason, I felt absolutely horrible. And not in like the normal horrible or terrible sort of way, like when you hit the back of your mom’s heel because she’s walking too slow, or apparently you’re “not paying attention” or whatever. No, more like a depressed horrible feeling, with a weird edge of happiness and honestly, joy. You’re just happy to be in the position to pass this confusing yet perfect example of just how cruelly precious life can be. I mean, look at this guy. I thought to myself as I ran by. Holding on for dear life, or to what was left of his life. Literally. To what controlled it. A joystick.
Ironic name for it.
How To Lose A Customer In 10 Ways: Hipster Coffee Shops
Way #1: Hipster coffee shops. We get it. But can I please get a god damn plastic straw? Please? I’m begging you. I just paid 18 dollars for a coffee that tastes like you stuck the brown crayon up your ass, ground it up with your sweaty butt cheeks, shit it into a glass, and now expect me to pay the price of an oil change for it. Well if I’m going to shell out as much as you assholes charge, the very least you could do is give me a straw that actually lasts the entirety of how long it takes me to drink the fucking thing in the first place. I mean come on. My exhaust pipes probably melted half the living room of some poor polar bear family just getting here. I don’t think the straws are the problem.
Way #2: Why do you have 82 different varieties of beans? Nobody needs that many choices. I’m tired. My nagging girlfriend is in the car waiting for her mocha latte half almond milk half milkshake stirred twice with a splash of caramelized espresso whatever the fuck it is. I don’t have time to sit behind some dude wearing those bike shorts with the padded asshole as he questions the overly excited barista about what bean varieties pair best with his hazelnut scone.
Way #3: Do you really need to have your coffee beans sitting there in those over pretentious hemp sacks? We get it. You only buy organically sourced beans that were probably hand picked by people with health insurance. The smelly brown sacks are a bit much, and certainly not the first thing I need to smell at six in the morning. Is this a coffee shop or some dusty tobacco warehouse in turn of the century Havana.
Way #4: For the love of God, we get it with the french press. It’s the superior way to make coffee. Sure. I don’t give a shit. Whatever gets the caffeine into my veins the quickest. I don’t need to watch you work a full shift making my coffee. Plus you know they probably added half the steps in there just to make it look harder. Like they’re back there stirring shit, pouring froth into machines, measuring out individual granules of sugar, punching buttons, contacting NASA’s satellites, whatever they have to do to make me feel like $42 is an acceptable amount to charge for two cups of diarrhea water. I guarantee you my Keurig can make just as good of a cup of coffee as the moonshine still you built behind the counter.
Way #5: Why are all you hipster coffee shops so annoyingly environmentally friendly? I’m all for loving our planet and doing what we can to ensure it’s around for future generations, but you can’t tell me that washing your glasses in recycled bath water or whatever you weirdo hippies do is somehow better for the polar bears and still cleans the glasses just as well as coffee shops with normal thinking owners.
Way #6: Can we cut it out with the witty anti wifi signs? It’s a coffee shop. What the fuck else am I supposed to do while I’m in here? Is this a prison sentence? And I’m certainly not going to chit chat with the morons sitting at any of the tables next to me. What are we going to talk about? The newest sewing stitch they’re learning? What? Just give me the password so I can check the boxscores before your absurdly uncomfortable chair cuts the blood supply to my lower extremities. That’s another thing.
Way #7: Why is it that the more expensive and hipstery a coffee shop is, the smaller and less useful their furniture is? It’s like they don’t want you staying longer than it takes the ungodly small chair to make your legs numb. Do you actually want us using them? Are they just for show? If I’m going to spend half my paycheck every week choking down your overpriced caffeine gasoline, the least you could do is splurge on some faux leather couches or padded chairs big enough to fit both cheeks on at the same time. And can we knock it off with the tiny tables? I get it. You don’t like wood because plants have feelings or whatever. But if I don’t have enough space for my computer, phone, coffee, chapstick, AirPods case, loose pair of women’s underwear, or whatever else I accumulate over the course of a coffee shop sesh, this isn’t going to work. And it’s not me, it’s you. I have more flat surface space to set a coffee down in my damn car than I do at a lot of these hipster watering holes.
Way #8: Don’t even get me started on the bathrooms. My god. For starters, I can see in HD through your toilet paper it’s so thin. How is it more environmentally friendly to use tissue paper when you need to use half the fucking roll cleaning up those turbocharged caffeine craps your well rested bowels shoot out at 600 miles per hour every morning. And for the love of everything holy on this earth, just give me some god damn paper towels please. PLEASE. I’m begging you. Nobody wants the mini jet engines blowing shit particles and sperm debris all over them. Kinda hard to appreciate clean hands when the rest of you is covered in other peoples’ germs and dried up body juices.
Way #9: I don’t need a science fair styled poster board exhibit full of depressing pictures from whatever cause you’re guilting me into donating to. I’ll gladly round up. I’m already paying $9.50 for a fucking coffee, what’s another 50 cents so little Charlie gets his disgusting cleft lip fixed. Done. You can save us the sob story.
Way #10:
Bowling 101: Night Bowling vs. Day Bowling
Night bowling, or black out bowling, or midnight bowling, or laser show bowling or whatever the hell your hometown calls bowling after old people go to bed. Everybody who’s ever bowled more than like three times in their life knows that bowling under black lights is for chumps. First of all, the second those black lights come on, you all instantly find out who’s not wearing clean clothes. You have no vision, which every seasoned bowler knows is key. If I can’t see the oil pattern, I can’t bowl it. Plus those black lights are fun for like three songs and then you just wanna see normally again. Also, bowling shoes are ugly enough, we don’t need to turn the lights off and highlight them for the world to see. Night bowling is so overrated and anybody who disagrees clearly had much better bowling alleys growing up.
I think day bowling is a thousand times more fun. For starters, day bowling is usually much more quiet. You normally get a nice relaxing, yet kind of peppy country/pop playlist to slightly tap a foot to instead of those hair pulsating ones they play to accommodate the black lights. You don’t have to scour and scratch for every good ball. You instead get your pick of the litter, and being the pickiest bastard is fun as all hell. I love going through ball after ball until I get that perfect fit, spreading god knows what diseases and germs from one greasy hole to another as I go. Every once in a while you’ll have to compete with a gym class or like an old person day care program, but there should be plenty of balls to go around.
Woman Risks Getting Herpes After Stealing Coins From Monkey Pond
You’re at the mall or a restaurant and they have a fountain with seemingly ten trillion dollars worth of coins from generations of morons down on their luck, hoping a few pennies thrown into some stagnant water will turn their lives around. We’ve all thought about taking a handful. Who hasn’t fantasized about pocketing 76 cents worth of algae ridden loose change?
Well a lady in Tasmania finally accomplished what the rest of us have been too scared to do when she did just that. However not at a mall or her favorite restaurant… Oh no. Australian Authorities reported that a woman broke into a monkey enclosure at a city park to steal scoop fulls of coins from the fountains, and unbenounced to her probably a few pounds of herpes poisoned fecal matter in the process. City officials in Launceton, Tasmania issued a press release urging the herpes coin thief to seek immediate medical attention, as if someone that stupid has ever been inside a doctor’s office. Yeah I’ll hold my breath. You have to give her credit though. Like I said earlier… Living out every little kid’s dream. Those bajillions of coins in fountains across the world tease us every day. We walk by them. Able to do nothing but stare and wonder. They’re the untouchable pots of gold at the end of every 90s mall walk way. Hell we had a restaurant in my home town that would literally give you pennies to throw in their stagnant pond water. If only I was blessed with the same courage and lack of brain cells…
Bowling 101: People Watching
Bowling… the mysterious world, tucked between bars and downtown eating spots in just about every American town big enough for a set of traffic lights. The cigarette smoke, and heckling thuds of balls clacking together in chaotic applause. The scent of hotly fresh, sweat soaked socks rubbing against the well worn insoles of sour bowling shoes hangs damp in the air. This is bowling, baby! And there’s nothing like it.
See, the beauty of bowling is everyone’s an expert. It doesn’t matter how often you bowl. You could be a pro bowler or a kid fresh off the boat from wherever they don’t have bowling, and about fifteen minutes in and everyone is an expert. The dude who has never broken 100 knows all the adjustments he needs to make and when it’s the lane’s fault, or the oil pattern’s fault, or the ball’s fault etc. Like… Oh you missed a spare by three feet? It’s gotta be the oil pattern. Right. Or… Oh you haven’t gotten a strike in 6 games? Obviously the balls don’t have the grip you’re used to. Yes. That must be it. I love how after maybe four turns, the newbie knows just as much as some pro on TV bowling 250s consistently. It’s my favorite thing about going bowling. The people watching. Bowling is one of the most underrated people watching events one can go to in their life time. You see it all:
There’s the before mentioned excuses everyone comes up with as to why they couldn’t keep a ball on a 3 foot wide strip of wood for 40 feet, much less hit the exact 2 mm wide spot on a pin like they always think they’re going to, and then every single time act surprised when the ball is in the gutter ten feet before said pin. And forgive me if my lane dimensions are off as I didn’t feel like googling them.
There’s always the one hardo guy down at the very end bowling by himself, who thinks he’s like some former hall of famer practicing for his upcoming appearance on espn 17. Whenever they don’t bowl a strike or pick up a spare, they act like it’s literally the worst ball they’ve ever bowled, despite bowling like that their entire lives. Perhaps ESPN would’ve called by now had you been able to average more than a 180 for the last forty years.
There’s the people that run up and basically throw the ball like they’re pitching in a cricket match. I always love when they act surprised too as they walk away. Like throwing the ball damn near overhand as hard as you can wasn’t going to send it bouncing down the lane with the decibel levels of a gunshot.
There’s the gym class of kids, each with their very own set of jocks using 14 pound balls they can barely lift, let alone toss down the lane with any real aim or intent. As if the ladies who don’t want to be there in the first place have the slightest interest in how big THOSE balls are. Come on fellas, the way to a woman’s heart in a bowling alley ain’t through the size of the ball you’re using, it’s how you use the oil pattern.
There’s the guy who brings his own equipment, everything but the kitchen sink, and averages maybe 3 more points than everyone else. He’s got his own shoes, balls, oils, hand cream, ball towel, glasses, sweat bands, and even custom ball bag with a slot for his virginity card.
I could go on and on and on. The list of delightful morons is endless. As much as I love baseball, I think bowling is America’s true past time. You can’t tell the story of any small town without talking about its band of misfits and main characters frequenting the local bowling alley. The bowling alley is the heartbeat of small town America. It runs in our lanes.
Swimming Instructers Are Fucking Psychos
Jesus christ what in the h e double hockey sticks what are these serial killers doing in the same zip code as these innocent little kids, let alone the same SWIMMING POOL. Like this first video for example. Watch this and tell me this lady isn’t a serial killer.
Just look at her facial expressions. And how they change as she goes from “come here little girl” fake nice Linda the witch, to evilly deranged as she so clearly enjoys launching little pigtails head over heals into the pool at like 600 miles an hour. I mean Jesus christ the second time. Look at the splash that little tike makes. I’ve seen smaller splashes from fat people doing cannon balls.
And then you have this absolute nightmare of probably some unfortunate idiot’s wife. And save it. I don’t want to hear whatever insane hippie excuse you have for why this is the way you need to teach some 42 day-old how to swim. “Oh actually… When a child is between one and two months old, their nasal and throat passages aren’t yet fully formed, thus forcing the child to exercise these muscles while they’re still developing is especially crucial to their” Oh blow it out your ass. How about I take YOUR $200 and try to drown YOUR stupid kid. Ok? Yeah I’ll jam a leaf blower down their throat, tie a twenty pound weight to their ass and chuck em in the pool from the top of the life guard’s lighthouse ladder thing and see if they can pop back up like a fucking buoy. Jesus christ a third time. And the way she stands there snapping her fingers a half mile above the kid’s head as if that actually does anything. Give me a fucking break. The stupid thing’s flailing around, doing literally anything and everything its way underdeveloped brain can think of not to drown, and you think snapping your fingers like you’re trying to get the dog to stop licking your vibrator while talking to your mom on the phone, is going to help anything at all… “Well actually, babies have a pre-developed” oh shut up. No they don’t. Whatever you were about to say.
This shit is insane and anyone who says otherwise is insane too. There is no reason your kid needs navy seal training before blowing out their first candle on a birthday cake.
Who’s Stealing My Night Time Mouth Guards?
How the hell do I keep losing my night time mouth guards? Seriously. Does anybody else have this issue? I buy those $20 do it yourself mouth guards from Walmart because apparently I grind my teeth like a damn meat processor at night, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how I lose them as often as I do. Aside from my virginity (obviously), I literally never lose anything. I can’t remember the last time I lost my chapstick before finishing it. And the only time I ever lost my wallet was when somebody broke into our apartment and stole it, and I still found it outside in a bush. However, when it comes to the thing that keeps my own jaws from slowly crushing my pearly whites, I can’t for the life of me keep one for more than maybe a month before I inevitably lose the damn thing. It of course doesn’t help that they make these things clear in the first place. Ahhh… clear. The perfect color. Wouldn’t want to make them say… literally any other color. Actually just try A color. See through? Really? Oh I must see right through the fucking thing every time I’m trying to find it! See through? You’re serious. Yeah like that’s not some evil way you guys make more money from idiots like me who lose the fucking things all the time because THEY ARE LITERALLY SEE THROUGH. This should actually be illegal. It’s bad enough I have to sleep with a chunk of cancer plastic in my mouth every night, but now I gotta get down on my hands and knees searching for this damn thing every few days because it falls out and again… is literally colorless. You guys literally could not make these things harder to find if you tried. Get it together Oral-B. My life is falling apartment one $20 mouthguard at a time.