So I Went to Jail Last Night: Bonus Track

As I mentioned yesterday in the comments, there was a bunch of stuff I left out of yesterday’s adventure but it was already at triple the word count of my average post. Rather than just write a giant story and spread it out over two days I chose to write the story beginning to end yesterday and just save a couple of the highlights for today so heeeerrreeee we go!


My jail bracelet. I can give this to The Wienery in the West Bank for a free meal and I fully intend to




After I first arrived, while I was receiving my pat down from Officer Tendertouch, another cop with a clipboard and pen asked me a bunch of questions. Am I on drugs? Do I drink every day? Am I on medication? Any mental illness? Any allergies? Normally I’d answer questions like these a little more carefully (if the Red Cross knew about how I lived in the Central African Republic after 1977 I’d never be able to donate blood) but my hands were up against a wall and some guy whose name I didn’t even know was getting to third base with me. I wasn’t exactly thinking on my toes so I just blurted out whatever came to my head. I was given a red paper bracelet which I later learned meant I had to see the nurse.


A couple of hours later (after fingerprinting when I was in the cell with the crazy barking guy) I was called out to see the nurse. Oh shit. Everything was such a blur earlier that I didn’t know what I said “yes” to in that questionnaire. Are they going to force me to take jail drugs? Is this how it works? They dope me up and I’m just in the system now? OH SHIT IS THIS HOW THE GOVERNMENT MAKES CRAZY HOMELESS PEOPLE? I sat down with the nurse and she said that I told them I had allergies, asthma and mental problems.

“Allergies? Oh, I’m allergic to clam. Do you really need to know that?”

“Well, we have that in our system now. We like to be thorough.” Shit! They know my weakness now!

The mental problems were ADD. Apparently while I was getting frisked I thought they should know that. When she asked about the asthma I told her it was Exercised Induced Asthma (yes, it’s a real thing), Asthma’s fat cousin. She asked if I was taking any medication for it and I told her that I did as a child but decided to cut out the middle man and just stopped exercising. The nurse cut my red wristband and sent me back to the cell.


A little while later this kid struts into the processing area like he owns the place. Everybody else in the jail either seemed scared or pissed off that they were there but this kid was at ease, like he belonged there. He was home. If his laid back confidence didn’t tell everybody around him that he had been here more than once he let us know with a physical demonstration by walking up to the sink in the cell and turning it on. I tried to look to see how he did this but nothing tipped me off. I think the sink only spouts water for the Alpha male.

He couldn’t have been older than 21 but his hair suggested he was a teenager in 1989. It was part mullet, part ducktail. Like, all buzzed except for the bottom of the back of his head where 5 loosely braided tails came out. I tried googling “braided mullet” and “mullet ducktail” but the internet can’t find any pictures that properly fit his hair desciption. If I ever find it I’ll post the picture on here. I promise.

A couple of guys start asking the kid questions about where do they pick up their stuff after they’re released and what happens next. When you’re in jail for the first time, you aren’t given a pamphlet with a step by step process. Nobody tells you exactly what happens next or when. You’re just called when you’re called and ushered to where you’re supposed to go. It’s kind of disorienting. The kid starts explaining the steps and pulls an orange out of his pocket. One guy asked where he got it and the kid started laughing and said “I swiped it from that guard lady’s desk!”. He then walked out of the cell and just started meandering around the fingerpinting area, eating the orange. The two guards stared at him in shocked silence for a few seconds until the guard at the desk said “Where the fuck did you get that orange?”

“Oh, I found it over there” he said, pointing to the cell with all the sandwich crusts and apple cores, laughing as he pointed.

“Bullshit. You took that orange from my desk, didn’t you?”

“Nah, man. I got it from that cell. It was just there.” He stifled a chortle and shoved an orange slice past his ear-to-ear grin.
The guard at the desk looked at the other guard “Can you believe this little shit? He just stole my fucking orange! I was gonna have that for lunch!” Neither guard had even mentioned how he left the cell without permission. The other guard grabbed the kid by the arm, said “Let’s go, kid. You’re taking a nap.” and led him down the hallway. The guard at the desk sprang up, ran to catch up with the two and grabbed the kid’s other arm. The kid said “I already took a nap! I was in the drunk tank for like nine hours!” and the guard replied “well you’re taking another nap.” They rounded a corner and were out of sight. I heard a door open followed by three loud thuds. I looked at the other guys in the cell and said “That guy just got beat down, didn’t he?” They didn’t respond.


Oh, I should mention, this is what I was wearing that night –



My face has been blurred to protect my identity.




I had a small role in a sketch for the Reapie Awards and I was told to dress “old timey” so that’s what I went with. After my sister, who can do 1,000 pushups and once bowled a 300 while sleepwalking, posted my bail I met them in the lobby. She told me that when she posted my bail that she told the desk clerk “I’m here for William Young. He’s my brother”. The clerk responded by asking “does your brother look like a 1790s fur trapper”? Apparently I’m the first person to be arrested in suspenders since Orville Redenbacher after all those strippers were found murdered with popcorn shoved in their mouths.


Thanks for reading! I swear this will be the last jail related post but if you want to hear me talk about it out loud with my mouth I’ll be at Google All Over You Facebook: The Vilification Tennis Social Network Show! I’ll be live tweeting the whole show and I’ve been given a few minutes to talk about my experience. Check it out, y’all!

The Drunk Heckler: A One Act Play Written by Me When I Was a Kinda Douchey 22 Year Old

As many of you know this isn’t my first blog. I’ve often reposted stuff from my old myspace blog when I’m too busy/sick/hungover to come up with something new but that was not my first blog either. Way back in the early aughts I had a livejournal account.


Back in 2004 when blogs were still a thing people read, I loved reading stuff from people like Tucker Max and Maddox. Their influence on my early writing is pretty plain to see (as you’ll soon find out). As a young comedian who just started getting some paid work and was still new at the whole “being able to drink” legally thing, I started posting stories about my grand escapades of getting wasted and yelling at people that I thought were dumber than me because they liked country music or something. Frankly, I was kind of a douchebag.


I’ve held onto a lot of the early stuff I’ve written because even though I’m a bit embarrassed by it, there’s still some funny in there and it provides a bit of a snapshot of my life at the time. Here’s something I wrote over 7 years ago. I flirted with chopping out some of the stuff that makes me seem like a pretentious asshole but I ultimately decided to leave it completely unedited for you, the three people that will read this, so you can see what my writing was like back then.


THE DRUNK HECKLER: A ONE ACT PLAY WRITTEN BY ALCOHOL


(Scene: Grumpy’s open mic, Wednesday. An otherwise fine open mic was interrupted sporadically by two drunks in the front booth. One, some longhair, was obviously drunker than the other, as I saw him fall into the wall in the bathroom. He stumbles out the bar shortly after the show is over and is not seen for the rest of the night. His friend {heretofore known as HECKLER} exclaims “Aw, he does that shit all the time! He’ll end up at home sooner or later!” and proceeds to buy Brody, Lizzy, Mitch and myself shots. Lizzy and Brody break off into their own conversation, leaving Mitch and I stranded. Mitch leaves roughly 15 minutes after this happens, leaving only HECKLER and myself. The following is a series of excerpts from the conversation we had starting at 11:30 P.M. and ending at 1:00 A.M. when I finally convinced Brody to leave.)
(Note: Some of you may question while reading the story “Why didn’t Bill just say something really mean/funny to the jackass and leave?”. Three reasons.

1. I like Grumpy’s. The food, staff and open mic are all great. I don’t want to cause a scene by yelling at this fuck and not be welcome back.

2. I didn’t drive that night. Brody was my ride and I still haven’t forgiven him for trapping me with said fuck.

3. The fuck was buying us round after round of free drinks. Don’t judge me.)


HECKLER: No, man! You were really funny tonight! That shit was hilarious! I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to… you know,

ME: Yell shit out in the middle of our jokes?

HECKLER: Yeah! I’m sorry about that! I’m really, I’m sorry, OK? I won’t do it again! I just didn’t know, you know?

ME: Well, now you know.

HECKLER: Yeah! And I’m sorry! You were funny, though! You were one of the funnier ones who were… You were awesome man! That joke you did about the beer bottle thing with the… with the…

ME: The ruffie joke?

HECKLER: Yeah! That’s how I know where… that was awesome, man! I’m gonna do that sometime!

ME: What, rape someone?

HECKLER: What? No, I should do the comedy thing sometime! I’m a funny guy! I don’t care what anybody says, I think I’m a really funny guy! I think I’m funny… and I could do comedy. I really do!

ME: You should try it sometime. It’s pretty easy.

HECKLER:… … You don’t like me, do you?

ME: Not really.

HECKLER: And that’s okay! At least you’re being honest with me! Not like sideburns over here (half heartedly shoves Brody, who has had his back to us the whole conversation, Brody turns to us) Man, those are some wicked sideburns. Let me buy you guys another drink!
(elapsed time, 30 minutes)

HECKLER: So I think I’m a funny guy, right? I can do this! It’s like the time I got a D.U.I. and had to go to court. All because I had two beers in an hour! The judge mad me pay a three thousand dollar fine! Two beers in AN HOOOUR! That’s fucked up, man! Can you believe that shit?

ME: (poking Brody in the back) Wow, that’s fucked up.

HECKLER: I know! Wait, hold on (he holds his finger up to me, tilts his head to the radio) I fucking love this song! (he proceeds to air drum)

ME: (noticing he’s momentarily distracted, but in on Brody and Lizzy’s conversation) Hey guys.

LIZZY: I’m sorry, Bill. We’re having a very spiritual conversation.

ME: Really? Me too. Can we go now?

HECKLER: (with the song over, stops drumming) Hey, let’s do some shots!
(elapsed time, 60 minutes)

HECKLER: Did you see the drumming, man? I used to, used to be in a band! It was fucking rad, man. We would tour and shit! Oh, and the pussy! Chicks dig it when you’re in a band, man. That was great. (stares off in the distance for about ten seconds, probably remembering when he was cool) Do you guys get any chicks with the comedy, man?

ME: No. Never.

HECKLER: Man. That sucks. You should be in a band! Fuckin’ jammin (starts to air drum again).

ME: (poking Brody in the back) Hey. Hey. Hey. (Brody and Lizzy both turn around).

HECKLER: Let me buy you guys another drink! (to Lizzy) You were really funny tonight!

LIZZY: Oh thank you!

HECKLER: You’re really pretty. You know that?

LIZZY: Oh… thank you.

HECKLER: But you know who’s really pretty? This guy! Just look at those sideburns! (strokes Brody’s sideburns)

BRODY: (gives me the “we should leave now” look)

ME: (gives Brody the “we should have left a fucking hour ago” look)
(elapsed time, 90 minutes)
(Approx. 1:00 A.M. Brody and I are in the parking lot walking toward his car)

BRODY: Dude, I’m sorry that took so long.

ME: Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

Conversational Spanish

After writing about the DMV hell I went through I went back to the Hennepin County Service Center for the fourth day in a row and everything went smoothly. In and out in ten minutes. While I was relieved to finally get this passport stuff taken care of a small part of me was disappointed that the end of the story was so anticlimactic. No terrorists, ninjas, wendigos. Just me and an old lady and a bunch of forms.


Now that I have successfully applied for a passport I can now go to Mexico for the Akumal Comedy Festival sponsored by Stand Up! Records. This will be the first time I have ever visited a foreign country that isn’t Canada and I’m a little concerned that my Spanish is rusty.


By “rusty” I mean “I took Spanish in high school for two years, got a ‘D’ every semester and haven’t spoken a word of it since”.


Granted, I’ll be spending my time at a tourist resort with a bunch of other Americans and whatnot but what if I get lost? What if I find myself in a place where nobody speaks english? I’d like to brush up on my conversational Spanish before the trip in April but when I google “conversational spanish”, the websites all give me lame ass phrases like –



¿Qué tal ha estado Ud.? How have you been?

¿Cuál es la especialidad del día? What is the special today?

¿Me trae helado, por favor? May I have some ice cream, please?


“May I have some ice cream, please?” Seriously? I need phrases that I’m going to actually use when I’m in Mexico. Thank God for google translator. Let’s translate some useful phrases, shall we?


¿Es esto realmente la comida? ¿Puedo comer esto sin diarrea explosiva? Is this actually food? Can I eat this without getting explosive diarrhea?


Treinta dólares en el pollo en la esquina! Tiene los ojos de un asesino. Thirty dollars on the chicken in that corner! He’s got a killer’s eyes.


Deja la botella. Tengo que tomar la imagen del burro que mostrar fuera de mi cráneo. Leave the bottle. I need to drink the image of that donkey show out of my skull.


No sé lo que has dicho a mí, pero tan pronto como he terminado de beber la botella de tequila me voy a romper por encima de su cara de tonto.. I don’t know what you just said to me but as soon as I’m done drinking this bottle of tequila I’m going to smash it over your stupid face.


¿Quién está tratando de volver loco con, friend? ¿No sabes que estoy crazy? Who you trying to get crazy with, ese? Don’t you know I’m loco?


Hey, todos somos amigos aquí. No hay necesidad de armas de fuego. Hey, we’re all friends here. There’s no need for guns.


Por favor, no hagas esto. Tengo una familia. Please don’t do this. I have a family.


¿A dónde me llevas? Tome esta venda de los ojos! No se puede hacer esto a mí! Soy un blanco, varón americano! Where are you taking me? Take this blindfold off! You can’t do this to me! I’m a white, male American!


Que me dejen ir si puedo hacer esto para usted? ¿Qué pasa si los globos estalló cuando están en el colon? You’ll let me go if I do this for you? What if the balloons burst when they’re in my colon?


Por favor, llévame al hospital. El recto está lleno de narcóticos. Please take me to the hospital. My rectum is full of narcotics.





That should take care of it. I just hope I don’t need to visit the library. I totally forgot how to ask where that is.

Stereotypes!

A Story About Trouble at the DMV Because I’m an Unoriginal, Clichéd Turd

Listen.  I know that writing about having a hard time at the DMV is such worn territory that Dave Barry would call it hack and Garrison Keillor would scoff at it as “old hat”.  DMV jokes are so old that the government has changed the name of the department in various states to try to escape the stigma (it’s Driver and Vehicle Services in MN).  The list of worn out jokes about the DMV is longer than the actual lines at the DMV (ba-zing!).  

 

That being said, here’s a story about my recent experience at the DMV.  

 

I needed a passport but before I could get a passport I needed to take care of my drivers license.  It was revoked last summer due to a traffic stop where I didn’t have proof of insurance on me.  I never really took care of it because I lost the car shortly thereafter and I firmly believe that if you ignore a problem long enough, it will go away.  

 

Of course, time and again ignored problems have not gone away but that’s the funny thing about faith. You don’t need proof, you just believe.  

 

I called the DVS phone number I found on the state’s website on Friday, expecting a half an hour wait followed by a bitter exchange with some disgruntled employee because that’s what happens when you call the government, right?  Wrong.  The hold time was less than two minutes and I got a very helpful rep who answered all my questions.  I actually forgot to ask one question and had to call in a second time.  One minute on hold and a different but equally helpful rep.  All I had to do was fax in my proof of insurance that day and I could go down to a service center on Monday to reinstate my DL, get a birth cert. and apply for my passport.  One stop shopping!  The DMV is certainly sounding a lot more convenient than every shitty comedian has made them out to be.  

 

Day 1:

I headed to the Hennepin County Service Center off of Lake and Chicago (because it was close to home, I totally didn’t drive there because my license wan’t valid.  Yeah.  That’s it) on Monday, ready to spew money at the government so they could give me pieces of paper and plastic that said I was born and could drive and fly out of the country.  While waiting I see a sign that reads “Due to some state regulation bullshit (I’m paraphrasing) we no longer accept Visa” so I run to the nearest ATM to withdraw some cash hoping my number won’t be called while I’m gone.  After a short wait and paying a $30 fee, my license was valid again.  No more getting turned away at bars with bouncers who take their jobs way too seriously (like after my license expires I magically turn underage again JUST LET ME IN TO DRINK).  I asked to apply for a passport and the lady behind the counter told me that they didn’t do that anymore and if I wanted to get a passport I’d have to go to the downtown service center.  

 

Day 2:

I head to the downtown service center to get my birth certificate (forgot to take care of that at midtown) and passport.  I’m able to get my birth certificate no problem but the State Department only takes checks for passport applications.  I don’t have my checkbook on me because it’s not 1963.  If my landlord accepted debit cards I wouldn’t even need a checkbook.  I’m given a passport application and leave a little annoyed but relieved that tomorrow will be the last time I have to come back and this will be taken care of.  

 

Day 3:  

I arrived at the downtown service center with a folder containing my birth certificate, a checkbook, passport photos, my drivers license and papers and a passport application.  I made sure the application was filled out in black ink and answered all questions including my SS#, place of birth, my spouse’s age and place of birth, both of my parent’s dates and cities of birth, my destination, date and duration of trip.  At this point I’m seriously considering just calling INS with an anonymous tip that Bill Young is an illegal immigrant from Mexico.  Less paperwork and free airfare.  I call the US embassy when I want to go home and we all have a good laugh over the mix up.  

I get my number (D239) and sit down and wait for it to get called.  20 minutes go by and no such luck.  No “D” numbers are even being called but other numbers are called like crazy.  When I notice that people seem to be skipping ahead of me in line I go to the receptionist and ask if there’s a problem.  She seemed annoyed by me and asked if I had a number and I showed her the slip.  I told her I already had my photos if that would speed things up.  She told me that it wouldn’t make a difference and returned her gaze back to her computer, indicating she was done with me. 

After a half hour of playing the shitty trivia on the waiting room TVs which consisted of three questions on a loop, I went back to the receptionist desk and another, more helpful person was there.  She apologized and explained that only certain employees can process passports and one was working on a request for a mother and her three kids.  I showed her my number and she said there were still two people ahead of me on top of the family of four currently being helped.  Suppressing the rage that was slowly building in me with the realization that I’ll have to come back a fourth time to take care of this, I thanked her but said I had to leave now and asked her to remove my number from the queue.  

Right at that moment a manager ran to the desk and apologized for the wait.  He said he and another rep were going to start processing passport requests and called out the next numbers in line.  D237, 238 and 240.  The receptionist gave an awkward smile and said to me “Sorry, I just took your number out of the queue like you asked.”  I did what rational person would do in this situation.  I broke down and laughed like a maniac.  “30 seconds!  If you had been here 30 seconds earlier!” I screamed, dribbles of spit running down my mouth as my eye twitched.  The manager, visibly concerned by my actions, quickly pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled some instructions on it.  He gave it to me and said that I could come back the next day and receive priority service for my trouble.  

 

So today’s the day I successfully apply for my passport unless the office is overrun with wild dogs or there’s a fucking gas leak or something.  

 

Seriously.  There’s gotta be an easier way to smuggle heroin.  

The Continuing Saga of You Freaks Typing Weird Shit Into Search Engines.

Hello, Jena’s facebook friends and people searching for that girl in the “one weird trick” ad! It’s time once again for us to look into the site stats for this blog and see what people are typing into google to get here! I’ve done this time and time again and I never cease to be amazed and a little disgusted. Here we go!


the fuck u dairy dairy
I don’t know if this person is looking for some weird “rule 34” porn or if there’s an actual dairy called the Fuck You Dairy. Their motto: Fuck you! Eat some cheese.


what if i go for days without showering
Do you really need to ask google about this one? Speaking of questions with obvious answers –



will sriracha sauce make my butt hurt
Depends on where it goes in, really.



ways to make a child cry
So I guess there’s at least one person out there who wants to make a child cry but doesn’t know how? At least that person has the internet.



does god want us to yell on a street corner?
Of course he does. That’s why so many people do it.



what does $40 of herion look like picture
I just love the idea of the guy googling this to see if he got ripped off on his score just to come to this blog and find nothing but political rants and fart jokes.


Thanks for searching, weirdos! I hope you find whatever sick thing you’re looking for!

Craigslist Job Postings: The Legend Continues.

First off, thanks to everybody who linked/liked/read yesterday’s thing about cookies! Now that a bajillion people are reading this I assure you that I will sell the fuck out as fast as I am able. Maybe I could start doing those annoying blogs that randomly links to products that have nothing to do with the subject matter?


*Note to potential advertisers; I have absolutely no shame and an insatiable hunger for money.


Anyway, enough about the delicious taste of Domino’s new Stuffed Cheesy Bread. Let’s get back to what this blog is all about. Applying for shitty creative job postings on Craigslist!



When I first responded to a shitty Craigslist “talent” job post I was hoping that this could be a weekly thing and though I found a couple other job postings that were awesome/awfully response worthy, I soon found out that most of the “talent” that people were looking for on Craigslist is Bangbus wannabes like Fucktruck, Coozecruise or Chubsub (BBWs getting nailed on submarines. You may remember them from “20,000 Pounds Under the Sea.) looking for women. Seems like according to Craigslist I’m not talented because I’m not a woman who wants to have sex on camera.


Even though the prospects have been thin I still check every once and a while and I think I’ve found a good one.


Seeking Romantic Erotic Fiction For Female Audiences (Anywhere)

Stories should consist of approximately 5,000 words.

The protagonist must be female, perhaps a professional woman (not required), and having interaction with at least one male. Stories should be sexy, sophisticated, and respectful. The stories must have a Happily Ever After ending or a Happy For Now conclusion.
Each story should be written in one of three temperatures: warm, hot or scorching — and indicated as such, according to the following scale:

• Warm: just a reference to a sex toy or bedroom accessory; mild language
• Hot: may be a brief memory of prior use, or somehow an actual experience; descriptive language
• Scorching: actual use during story, perhaps even more than one; explicit language and situations

Stories may be categorized in any of the following sub-genres of erotic romance:

• Historical–takes place in the past
• Contemporary–takes place in current time period
• Multicultural–characters are ethnic
• Ménages`–characters have a relationship that consists of three partners
• Polyamorism–characters have open romantic relationships with more than one person at a time (not the same as having more than one sexual partner, but actual relationships)
• Paranormal–consists of paranormal or speculative elements

However, the following elements will not be considered in submissions:

• Bestiality
• Sex with minors (under age 18)
• Rape, in any form

We are not currently seeking M/M or F/F stories.

Submission Instructions:

• Rich Text format or .doc files, saved as StoryTitle_AuthorName
• 1″ margins all around
• Times New Roman, 12 point font

Initial responses to submissions will be made within three weeks. We look forward to reading your story.

Location: Anywhere
it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Compensation: $75


$75? Ka-ching! I’ve never done it before but I think I can write some steamy, Fabio on the cover romance geared toward a female audience.

The Countess Jacqueline DiMargeruite strolled through the stable as she made her way to her favorite horse. As a woman who came from a rich family but still works really hard so she doesn’t have to rely on her parents because she’s independent, riding her horse on the weekends is one of the few things that can relieve the stress of working a long week as a successful business woman. She eyed Juan, an ethnic man of at least 18 years, brushing the mane of one of the horses.

Jacqueline remembered a hot, brief memory of them together in the past.

She noticed he was brushing the horse’s mane too hard. “You should brush softer. Use long, slow strokes” she said. He thanked her for the good advice. Jacqueline loved the way he could take constructive criticism.

He looked up at her. “Such wisdom and such beauty. Please reconsider my offer to run away with me. I know I am just a stable boy but I’m going to college right now to get a practical degree. Something in business or whatever. I’ll be able to provide for you but you can still totally work if you want to.”

Jacqueline blushed. “You know I can’t.”

“Then make love to me, right now! I brought a flannel blanket to lay down on the hay to make it slightly less itchy.”

Jacqueline cupped Juan’s strong, ethnic chin in her hand. “I’m really not in the mood right now. I’m just so exhausted and this week has been ‘ARRRGGH’, you know?”

Juan firmly grasped her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Of course. I don’t want my lust for you as a woman to undermine my respect of you as a person. Your needs and desires are just as valid as mine.” Jacqueline shuddered as he leaned in close and whispered into her ear once again “Your needs and desires are just as valid as mine”. Juan stepped back. “Would you please lay down on the blanket and allow me to rub your feet? They must ache from wearing high heels all week at your job as a high powered business executive.”

She laid down on the blanket while Juan rubbed her feet for however long was enough, probably a goddamn hour. Then they watched 27 dresses on his iPad.


Pretty hot. Right, ladies? That’s just a sample, too. In chapter 3 he makes her a dinner and then does the dishes and chapter 5 is just 500 words describing him bringing a toilet seat down after using it.

Yeah. You Didn’t Have the “Green” Thing Back in Your Day.

Several of my facebook friends shared this little meme-story on their walls recently. No author is attributed because fuck it, it’s facebook.


Borrowed ♥ “Checking out at the grocery store recently, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment. I apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this green thing back in my earlier days.” The clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations.” She was right about one thing — our generation didn’t have the green thing in “Our” day. So what did we have back then…? After some reflection and soul-searching on “Our” day here’s what I remembered we did have…. Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled. But we didn’t have the green thing back in our day. We walked up stairs, because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn’t have the green thing in our day. Back then, we washed the baby’s diapers because we didn’t have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts — wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right. We didn’t have the green thing back in our day. Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house — not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she’s right. We didn’t have the green thing back then. We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn’t have the green thing back then. Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint. But isn’t it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the green thing back then? Please post this on your Facebook profile so another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smarty-pants young person can add to this…”


How has this not been called out on it’s bullshit yet? Unless this shopper was 90 years old they probably had an electric dryer in “their day”. Also, I don’t know what grocery store they’re going to but I’ve been to hippie organic co-ops and nobody’s given me shit for not having a reusable bag.


Whatever. Here’s a more accurate portrayal of how this conversation would have went down.


“Checking out at the grocery store recently, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment. I apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this green thing back in my earlier days.” The clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations.” She was right about one thing — our generation didn’t have the green thing in “Our” day. So what did we have back then…? After some reflection and soul-searching on “Our” day here’s what I remembered we did have…. Back then we had mercury in our batteries and our light switches which we threw away into landfills because we didn’t have the “green” thing back in our day. In fact, we let school children play with mercury in science classes with their bare hands! We didn’t have hybrid cars, we were lucky to get 15 miles to the gallon but we didn’t bother to think about it because gas was so cheap. The gas also had lead in it. Our house paint also had lead in it because we didn’t have the “green” thing back in our day. The Grand Canyon was so choked with smog you couldn’t see across it because she was right, we didn’t have the “green” thing. Back in our day we dumped 20 million gallons of herbicides and defoliants on the jungles of Vietnam killing not only a ton of vegetation but people, birds, animals, whatever because we didn’t have the “green” thing back in our day. We sprayed our food crops with DDT and fished the blue walleye into extinction because we didn’t have the green thing back in our day. Back in our day Lake Erie was so polluted that it literally caught on fire because we didn’t have the “green” thing back in our day. Isn’t it completely plausible that the current generation laments on how wasteful we were because we didn’t have the “green” thing back then? Please post this on your facebook so another self absorbed nostalgia addict baby boomer can realize that older is not, by default, better.

Sexy Sex Blog: Where Sexy People Talk Sexily About Sex

I was searching through the craigslist want ads searching for that coveted “Videogame Tester / Candy Taster” job that I always seem to just miss when I saw an ad that said “Top Bloggers / Writers Needed”.


Well, I’m a blogger / writer. Whether or not I’m top is a matter of opinion and my opinion says yes so let’s read on.


“Currently looking to add two quality bloggers/writers to our already growing staff! ConverSextion is a tasteful site based out of Chicago for adults to openly talk about dating, sex, and romance. All applicants must provide at least one sample of their work. For more information or to apply please visit www.ConverSextion.com. Pay is per story.

Compensation: $15-$25
Principals only. Recruiters, please don’t contact this job poster.
Please, no phone calls about this job!
Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.”


Well now we have a problem. I think everybody knows I’m a virgin. I’m not ashamed of it. Jena said that we should wait until our 10th anniversary to have sex so it will be special and I agree. I just need to make up a sexy story. Shouldn’t be too hard. Let’s do this. I shall write the story in italics because everybody knows it’s the sexiest typeface.


I’ll never forget that time I had sex with this girl. She was so sexy. I saw her at this hip singles bar I hang out at with my friends. There’s always a ton of girls there who love to have sex. She looked at me with her eyes in a sexy way. The kind of way that says “we should totally have sex. Not right now, though because we’re in public and that would be weird. We should hang out for a little, have a conversation and then leave and have sex at your place or my place. My place is kind of messy, though, and I have a cat so if you’re allergic and don’t have any Claritin on you we should probably have sex at your place. However, if you’re not allergic and don’t mind some laundry on the floor we should go to my place because I only live like a block from here and have a really comfortable bed. It was on sale. Normally you’d pay $500 for a mattress like this but I got the mattress and box frame for $300. They even delivered it for free.”



I’d seen that look a million times.



I walked up to her and offered to buy her a drink. She accepted and I asked the bartender for a Sex on the Beach and then gave her a look to convey that although the drink on it’s own is tasty, I ordered it to express sexual intentions. The bartender brought her the drink and I paid for it, tipping generously to show that I have a lot of disposable income and because he brought it pretty fast even though there were a lot of people ordering drinks.


We talked about various sexy things. Edible panties, flavored lubricants and fuzzy handcuffs. After a few minutes of sexy conversation with the bartender I thanked him for his time but suggested he get back to serving other people. I then turned my attention to the girl and talked with her for a while. She thanked me for the drink and said that most guys don’t usually do that sort of thing for girls. I told her that I wasn’t like most guys and then suggested we head someplace a little more private, like a bedroom.



We had so much sex that night. It lasted for hours. Just when I thought “there’s no way we could have any more sex” we had a bunch more sex. Our bodies mashed together nakidly and we sexed each other until we were completely unable to have any more sex.



The next morning we had some sex and then parted ways. She had her life to live and I had mine. She asked if she’d ever see me again and I told her that maybe she would. She then asked that if she saw me, could we have sex?



I looked into her sexy eyes and said “totally”.

Wish me luck in my new career as a sex story blogger!

Dairy Free Day 6

It’s been almost a week with no milk and cheese in the house. One can certainly learn a lot about food by making a radical change to their diet. Here’s a few things I’ve learned.


1. As far as milk substitutes go, almond milk is the best. I bought soy, rice and almond milk for the family to taste test because we need a milky thing for cooking and pouring over cereal. Almond milk rules. I don’t even know why they make rice and soy milk. They taste like shit water and deserve the worst of punishments for what they did to my mouth. Fuck you, soy and rice milk.


2. We’ve started taking probiotic pills and holy shit do they give you gas. These last few days have been nothing but a constant stream of burps and farts coming from everybody involved. It’s like an Adam Sandler movie but without all the blatant product placement.


FART FART EAT POPEYE'S AND SHOP AT K-MART FART FART

 


3.  When naming milk substitutes, dignity is thrown right out the window.  We got a vegan mac and cheese called “Mac and Chreese” (Chreese, like “trees” because it’s made from plants HAHAAAAAA) and I bought a sour cream substitute from Tofutti (yes, just like the Mr. Show sketch)

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5i6BHBuqxE&w=420&h=315]

called Sour Supreme. On the package it says “BETTER than sour cream!”. The worst part about it is when I saw it at the store I thought it might be. Almond milk is delicious, why wouldn’t this be as well? It says it’s better than sour cream right on the package! Imagine my disappointment when I actually tasted the stuff.


It wasn’t horrible but it was no sour cream. Why would you lie to me like that, Tofutti? Are you trying to convince yourself that it’s better? Let’s face it. Nobody’s buying this shit because they want to, they’re buying it because their body or religion or whatever told them they can’t have dairy. While I get that you don’t want to name your product “Not as Good as Sour Cream but Hey, it Doesn’t Taste Like Shit so Cut Us Some Slack Here Because You Can Only Do so Much With a Goddamn Soybean!” don’t lie and say it’s better. You’re not fooling me and you’re not fooling yourself.


It’s not better than sour cream. Damn you, Tofutti, you went and broke my heart.