Do I Know You?

So, at the gym I attend, there was this kid who seemed to be on the same workout schedule as me. I would see him every day at the same time and he’d usually be working the same body part as me. I noticed he would always try to make eye contact with me, but I just tried to ignore it because I’m an anti-social piece of shit. It’s pretty obvious he is attempting to get my attention, but my attention isn’t something I just toss around to people I don’t know.

 

A few weeks after I started to notice him, I’m doing an exercise when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and it’s the kid.

 

“What’s up, man? It’s good to see you.”

 

He reaches out for a handshake and I reciprocate. I’m confused, but I play along and tell him it’s good to see him too. He tells me to have a good workout and walks off.

 

Now, I’m thinking, shit, I must know this kid. But where from?

 

The next day he comes up to me again. “Sup bro? How are things going?” He asks this with a look that could’ve been perceived as concern, or just genuine interest.

 

What did this mean? Is he just making conversation, or is he referring to a specific situation that I apparently don’t remember anything about? Were things not going well for me when I met him? Did I even meet him? I think about asking him where I know him from, but I don’t want to look like an idiot, so I just tell him things are going good and ask him the same question.

 

“Oh, you know how it is man, am I right?” He says this with a smile and slaps my arm, walking off.

 

I’m really confused now. No, dude, you aren’t right. I don’t know how it is. I don’t remember who you are. I don’t know if you’re just a friendly guy, or if we met under some really strange circumstances that I have no recollection of. Apparently, we have an inside joke, and I’m not in on it. I continue my work out and rack my brain in search of “how it is”.

 

As the days go by, these exchanges keep happening. I wasn’t getting any weird vibes from this kid, he genuinely seemed like a nice dude. A nice dude who I was pretty sure I had never met before. But, I had pretty much reached the point of no return. If I asked him who he was now, I would look like an absolute douche monkey.

 

One day, I walk into the gym and he’s standing by the entrance talking with someone he obviously knows. He asks me what’s up as I pass by, and I reciprocate. The guys he’s talking to then asks, “how’s it goin, bro?”

 

DUDE. Do I know this guy too? Was he at this mystery meeting as well? Or is he just being nice to one of his buddy’s friends? Dammit, I guess me and the original mystery guy are friends now. And I don’t even know his name.

 

I turn to mystery guy number two, and say, “ah, you know how it is, bro.”

 

He cracks a smile and excitedly points at me like we’re playing a pick-up basketball game and he just hit a three-pointer off of my assist. “That’s my dude!” he yells.

 

Things continue like this for over a month. I don’t see the second guy as often, but he greets me now as well. The original kid is there every day. People at the gym are probably thinking me and him are the best of pals, and I’m just praying I don’t have to introduce him to someone I know.

 

One day, one fateful day, me and him happen to start working out on machines located right next to one another. Rather than just the simple drive by interaction, I know that this will now be the time we are forced to have an actual conversation. We make eye contact, shake hands, ask each other how things are going, and then, silence. After about eight full seconds of excruciatingly painful off-into-the-distance stares, each of us thinking what to say next, the kid says,

 

“Hey man, where do I know you from?”

 

I breathe a gigantic sigh of relief. I explain to him I have no idea and he cracks up, telling me he’s been trying to figure it out this whole time. We finally learn each other’s names and agree to grab a beer sometime. Just then, the kid’s friend (mystery guy number two) walks by and excitedly greets us and shakes our hands before continuing on to his workout.

 

I turn to my new friend and ask him what the other kids name is.

 

He just looks at me and says,

 

“No idea.”

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The Crack Chronicles

Today I was sitting in my room studying when a knock on the door interrupted my half-assed attempt of acquiring knowledge. I answered it, and on the porch stood what I can only describe as the human form of crack-cocaine. This man looked like he had just crawled out of the New-York sewer system to restock on bath salts.

I skeptically asked him who he was, and after a moment of hesitation he says,

“I’m here to take some shit out of your garage?”

Yes, he said this in the form of a question. I didn’t know if this guy was asking me if I had anything he could take off my hands, or if he was asking me for my permission to rob me.

I close the door a little bit and say, “Huh?”

He looks confused and says,” I guess my boss wants me to take some shit out of your garage.”

So, now we are both just staring at each other, apparently equally confused. I decide that before shutting the door, I’ll give him one more chance. I ask him if he was sent by our landlord.

He responds with, “No.”

So, now I just tell him I don’t need anything taken out of the garage and start to wish him good luck on his next crack adventure when he says, “I talked to some dude who lives here, this is his number.”

Amazingly, it’s actually my roommates phone number. Completely astonished, I figure either my roommate has picked up a bad habit, or this guy is actually supposed to be here. Since my roommate is a pretty smart dude, and a work truck was actually visible in the street, I open up the garage.

The guy asks me what I need taken out and I legitimately have no clue. No one told me about this so I’m completely useless. There is a lot of crap in the garage and I just moved in a month ago so none of it’s mine.

He tells me, “I have no idea why I’m here, my boss just gave me this address. To be honest, I have three broken fingers in my neck.”

Yo, what the shit. So many questions. His boss just gave him an address with no further instructions? And he just went on over to the address and figured there must be shit in the garage? And he has broken fingers in his neck? Who put the broken fingers there? A unicorn? I’m thinking something was for sure broken above his shoulders but it wasn’t in his neck.

So, I tell him to call his “boss” (yeah, I had to tell him) and he does. The phone is on speaker and his boss seems normal. He tells Crack McGee to face the garage door from the inside and the stuff to his left is what he’s supposed to take. Seems to make sense as there is a bunch of shit piled in the corner. The guy mumbles something incomprehensible to his boss then hangs up. He then walks over to the RIGHT side of the garage, looks around and says, “I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, there’s no shit over here.”

Realizing he isn’t joking, I gently explain to him that he was on the wrong side of the garage. He says, “Nah man, he said facing the garage from the inside, to the left.”

I can’t believe this is how my day is unfolding. I’m about to teach a grown man left from right.

But, before I can do so, the man has a moment of enlightenment when he sees the pile of stuff on the other side and shouts, “Well, THIS must be what he’s talking about! My boss can be such an idiot sometimes. You’ll see what I mean when you’re old enough to get a job.”

I’m 22.

I have no further words or feelings for this exchange. Moving on.

The next thing this guy does is fix our broken disposal. Long story short, when he pulls the disgusting broken fork tangled in hair and slime that was causing the blockage out of the pipes, he walks down the hall and into my room with it. I look up from my computer and he says, “Well, here was the problem,” and tries to hand it to me. I jump away from him in fear, telling him throw it away. He shrugs and walks off, leaving me in a variation of the fetal position up against the wall.

When he’s finally done and ready to leave, he tells me again how bad his fingers in his neck are bothering him, and then proceeds to stumble off and say, “Have a good night, man.”

It was 11:00 a.m.

Drugs are bad.

Let Me Get a Bite

You’ve just slaved away cooking up a delicious meal. Or maybe you went out and bought it with your hard earned money. You sit down with said glorious meal in front of you and prepare to dig in. You’re admiring the beauty of the object of food that is about to enter your mouth and take a ride on your taste buds. Right as the consumption party is about to commence, your idiot friend or family member says,

“That looks good, let me get a bite.”

This is bullshit. What goes through people’s selfish minds to where they come to the conclusion that that statement is acceptable, and won’t cause the person they are saying it to to have an imaginary murder session in their head?

In the grand scheme of things, what is one bite of my meal going to do for you? Is it going to nourish you? No. Is one measly bite going to satisfy your craving for whatever it is that I’m eating? No, you’ll just want more, which is happening over my dead body.

So, you must be asking because you just want to taste what I have, right? Well, I was the one who made or bought it, and seeing as I didn’t make or buy it for you, or ask you to taste it, maybe you should go make or buy your own. I’m not Bobby Flay and this isn’t a charity. I don’t care about your taste buds and their well-being. If you really want to taste something of mine I can arrange that, you’ll just have to let me finish what I’m eating.

That was shitty, I know. Pun intended.

If I’m eating a burger or a burrito or a sandwich, I’ll bet money I didn’t order it with saliva that isn’t my own. (Shout out to Taco Bell, it’s complimentary there.) That’s disgusting, and since that’s the scenario your proposing, you are also disgusting.

I mean dude, why are you asking me for a bite of my food? Are you homeless? Do you need a job? I can try to talk to some friends and maybe get you an interview or something, but in the meantime I’ll give you a few bucks and you can run down to Mickey D’s and get a Happy Meal, Jesus. You can even keep the toy.

I just can’t really grasp the logic on this one. Sure, sometimes when I see someone eating something that looks good, I want to eat it too. But, I don’t ask them if I can, I think that classifies you as a bum. Like, if your friend walked into your house with an attractive girl, would you say, “hey, she looks nice, let me get a turn”? Now that I think about it, some of you probably would. (If you have, I wanna hear the story.)

Anyway, the moral of this post: If you see me eatin’ a burrito and it looks good, keep walkin’.

Public Germ Rooms

I don’t know how many of you consider yourselves germophobes, but let’s just say that when I have nightmares, they usually take place in a pubic restroom. Trying to hold my breath so as to not inhale any of the floating shit particles, tip-toeing around the puddles of piss on the ground to avoid soaking my shoes in urine, and closing my eyes in prayer while doing my business out of hope that my stream won’t create any dreaded back splash. I can hear the sound sounds of someone grunting one out in a nearby stall. It is truly a horrific scene. After I’m done I sprint towards the exit, the sinks are covered in loogies and hair, therefore I’m better off not washing my hands. I start wrapping my hand in my shirt so that it won’t come into contact with the disgusting door handle when suddenly, I slip on the pee and lose my balance. My heart stops as I realize I’m falling directly towards one of the giant piss puddles. I reach for something, anything, and my hands find a urinal. I scream in agony and despair, letting go immediately. This causes me to continue to fall directly into the giant piss puddle and then everything goes black.

 

That’s when I wake up. My heart is racing and I have to go take a shower just to get rid of the germ demons swirling around in my head. I would consider that a germophobe, right?

 

Anyway, there’s one other place that frightens me just about as much as a public restroom. And that place is the waiting room at the doctor’s office.

 

I was recently in one and it was the usual terror scene. People blowing their noses, old men sneezing and scratching their balls, loud breathing, and the worst of all: Little kids coughing without covering their mouths. Even though I go to an adult doctor now, there are always little kids coughing there. It’s like all doctor’s offices have a coughing kid quota that they need to meet.

 

My phone was dead and I was bored out of my mind. There was absolutely no way I was touching the germ-infested magazines they always have lying around. I just keep my hands in my pockets and try to breathe as little as possible. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the little kids is licking his toy truck. Snot is pouring out of his nose. Sick little bastard. I shudder and start to pray when a putrid smell arises. Yup, the old man next to me had just farted. As I plug my nose the lady across from me (who had been reading one of the germazines) starts to eat an apple, touching it with her bare hands. I am really starting to think I’m in hell now. Besides, aren’t apples supposed to keep you away from the doctor?

 

I am startled when I feel an object hit my foot. I look down and see it is the little kid’s saliva truck. I move my body away from it in the same way that a vampire does when he is exposed to a crucifix.

 

The kid runs over and picks the toy up. His mom yells to him,

 

“Trevor! Apologize!”

 

The kid looks at me blankly and without warning, sneezes on me, spraying his repulsive snot/spit onto my arm.

 

“Sorry,” the little rat says.

 

I scream out, holding my arm out in front of me like it had been dipped in a chemical vat. I desperately look around for a towel or anything to wipe my arm with, but can’t find anything. I scramble up to the front desk and ask the lady if they have a towel I can use. She looks at me with a fake smile, points, and goes,

 

“Yes, sir. Right over there in our public restrooms.”

Whoopty Doo

I never really know how to start these posts off, so, I’m just gonna say that this one is about the recent solar eclipse. This thing was a pretty big freakin’ deal apparently, and when I woke up and saw on the news that people traveled from all over the world just to be in the locations where the eclipse would fully block out the sun, I really couldn’t believe it. Now, I know it’s a once in a lifetime thing for this to occur in the U.S. and blah blah blah blah. If you believe that the solar eclipse is a truly amazing event, and in a way it for sure is, I have no problem with that. You like what you like. But, in my opinion, all this fuss over the thing is stupid as shit.

 

Alright, you mean to tell me that the moon (which we see almost every night of our lives) is going to block the sun? So, kind of like when you hold your hand up in the sky, or wear a hat? Or use an umbrella? Or just close the blinds on your windows? Also, clouds.

 

What’s that you say? The moon is really big so it’s going to make parts of the world dark? So, kind of like what we call night time? Or, when it’s super early in the morning and the sun hasn’t fully risen? And this event only happens for two minutes? Hmm, yeah, I think I’ll pass. I got better things to do, like eat a grilled cheese, or pick my nose.

 

I guess the logic I’m trying to push is that if you’re going to act like this eclipse is so god damn amazing, then I wanna see you wearing your tin-foil-dildo-hats and using your cereal box telescopes to watch every sunrise, sunset, half-moon, full-moon and everything in between. Because when you really think about it, all those things are amazing. The fact that were are living on a giant rock that’s floating in space and orbiting a massive fireball is amazing.

 

One last thing, and I don’t even need to try to make this sound funny. There are people who have been partially blinded from staring at previous eclipses with their bare eyes. Yes, staring at the eclipse. A.k.a the sun’s rays. With their bare eyes. And these geniuses are now issuing a warning to the masses that you should not stare at eclipses. Well ah shit, Sherlock! Thanks for the heads up! I was planning on staring at the sun right after I was done sticking my penis in an electric outlet and bungee jumping without a rope!

 

Gotta love people, man.

The Most Interesting Teacher in the World

Have any of you ever known someone that has a story for absolutely everything? That one person that no matter what subject you bring up, always has some kind of inconceivable anecdote or embellished first-hand experience with said subject? You know, the people who knew George Lucas in high school and gave him the idea for Star Wars, or, once bested Mike Tyson in a street fight that conveniently had no witnesses. Yeah, I know most of you are picturing someone in your head now.

 

I myself had a high school physics teacher who had a story or experience for anything you could possibly imagine, no matter how absolutely crazy or outlandish. It was so painfully obvious that this guy was lying through his teeth, you could practically smell the shit on his breath.

 

“Hey, Mr. Bullshit, (we will call him that for the sake of the story) did you see the game last night?”

 

“Ah yes, I love basketball. You know, back in high school, they would call me ‘Swish’, because I used physics and geometry to perfect the trajectory of my shot. Could make it every time.”

 

Interesting stuff, Mr. Bullshit. And how come he didn’t decide to pursue his amazing talent and inevitably become the greatest basketball player of all time, you ask?

 

“Ah, I injured my toe and lost interest after that.”

 

How convenient Mr. Bullshit, how convenient.

 

He once helped another teacher get their computer to work correctly, (pressed the restart button) and proceeded to tell the entire class about his technological expertise, noting that he “accidentally” hacked his way into the C.I.A. database when he was younger. After a visit from some mysterious men in suits, he was anonymously told to tone down his computer prowess. Yeah, this is the same guy that is teaching a high school physics class and sporting a bad haircut. Totally believable.

 

He got so bad we actually started purposely bringing up ridiculous topics just to hear his inevitable anecdotes.

 

“Hey, Mr. Bullshit, I’m thinking about trying to become an astronaut.”

 

“To be honest, very overrated career choice. Take it from me, most of the guys in NASA are pricks.”

 

Humblebrag much, Mr. Bullshit? Completely fabricate aspects of your life much, Mr. Bullshit? This guy casually implied that he worked for NASA at a point in his life. To his high school physics class. With a straight face. Not to mention, he apparently stopped working for them because he viewed them as idiots. Someone that makes shit up like this so consistently, is a far-fetched concept in itself. Just telling you guys about him makes me seem like I’m the one who’s full of it. It doesn’t stop here though. Oh, no.

 

“Mr. Bullshit, I’m trying to pick up poker, any suggestions?”

 

“If you’re serious about it, my only advice would be to never learn to count cards. As tempting as it is, it’s not worth the consequences.”

 

“What do you mean? You know how to count cards?”

 

“A long time ago, yes. And I had a lot more money back then because of it, too. Let’s just say I’m not welcome in Vegas.”

 

So now you’re a card counter? And you could do it well enough to be some Vegas big shot, illegally raking in the Benjamins and wearing your sunglasses indoors? They should make movies about you.

 

On second thought, your life experiences would actually be too closely parallel to most Hollywood movie scripts. Funny how that works.

 

My only regret is not asking Mr. Bullshit about the capture of Bin Laden, as I no-doubt missed out on some badass first-hand SEAL Team Six stories. Hell, I should’ve asked him for the cure to cancer, I’m sure he’s got it stashed away somewhere. I honestly don’t know if he thought we were mentally equivalent to kindergartners, or if he was the most insane person in the world. Maybe he was even telling the truth about everything, in which case, he needs to contact the Dos Equis beer company immediately. Although, now that I think about it, he’s probably already turned them down. Dammit, this guy is too good.

All The Time

I bet you hear the phrase, "all the time", all the time. It's such a common phrase, anyone who even halfway knows the English language uses it on a daily basis when describing something they do frequently. But have you ever really thought about how strange it sounds to say? You probably haven't, because you're probably normal and not weird like me. These are just the thoughts and questions that swirl around my noggin.

If you say something like, "I make tacos all the time," to me, you're saying that during all the time you have, absolutely all of it, you're making tacos. When do you sleep? When do you go to the bathroom? Exactly how much does "all the time" really mean? Are you using other people's time to make tacos as well? How much time even exists, and how are you monopolizing all of it to make tacos? How many tacos have you made? Who shops for all the ingredients?

How did this phrase even originate? It had to have come from someone who actually used the phrase in a literal context. What was he/she doing all the time? Maybe it was someone describing human's inhalation of oxygen while here on earth? Was it a World of Warcraft player's response to someone who asked him how often he jerks off? We may never know.

It doesn't even sound grammatically correct. Whether you say it as "all the time" or "all of the time", to me it sounds like a quote from the fictional movie character Borat.

"Bang, bang, skeet, skeet, my name ah Borat I like having the sex for all of the time!" (Read in Borat accent)

It would make more sense for the phrase to be "during all my time", that way you wouldn't sound like some kind of grammatically incorrect multi-dimensional alien wizard-dragon who holds sole possession of "all of the time."

I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, the point I'm trying to get at is that the phrase "all the time", is extremely strange. All I'm asking is that if you're going to use the statement, just don't do it all of the time. Now, does that mean I want you to merely use the phrase "all the time" sparingly? Or, does that mean I want you to not use all of the time in the universe to say "all of the time" repeatedly? Jesus, I confused myself again. This happens all the time.

Dry Water

If you want peace and quiet, do you start lighting off fireworks? If you want to stay awake, do you take sleeping pills? What if you’re a vegetarian, then would you make a steak for dinner? If you aren’t clinically insane, you probably answered “no” to all those questions. Well, here’s another question, why do people get into a swimming pool if they don’t want to get wet?

 

I can’t count the number of times I’ve actually annoyed someone in a pool by accidentally getting a minuscule amount of water on their upper body, or God forbid splashing them and getting the dreaded water on their face. Yeah, the water. You know, the stuff they’re sitting in.

 

“Oh, but I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

 

Well if you don’t want to get your hair wet then a pool probably isn’t the best place to be, is it, bud? Last time I checked, a pool is a pretty wet place. Also, hair dryers, towels, air, etc. All very effective for removing water from hair.

 

People who think like this are the same people that throw away the crust on their pizza or only eat the inside of their bread. The very same unstable individuals that order a quesadilla with “light cheese”. I mean seriously, just get freakin’ burrito.

 

If you don’t want to get wet in a pool, then why don’t you just go sit in a bathtub? Oh, the waters too hot in a bathtub? (Yeah, I’ve actually heard this excuse before.) Well, there’s this really cool thing called using the cold water valve! You can even use the cold water and hot water valves at the same time to ensure the temperature is to your liking! Oh, but you want to be able to sit in the sun? Well, now you’re just suffering from a bad case of first world problems. There are people starving in the world, not knowing when their next meal might be, and you’re mad because you can’t be in the sun with half your body in water and the other half completely void of all liquid or precipitation. You’re what I would call a human dingleberry.

Anyways, I don’t want to rant for too long. I’m also hungry, and I think I’m going to make a quesadilla. With plenty of cheese.

That’s So Unrealistic

There are plenty of annoying things you can do while watching a movie. Talk through it, ask constant questions about the plot, eat loudly, etc. But to me, there is nothing worse than whining and complaining about how unrealistic the movie is.

Now, if the movie’s entire plot revolves around realism, you have every right to complain about the factual inaccuracies or blunders. There are plenty of movies that are downright stupid and deserve to be criticized. But, if the movie is about dragons, or a kid’s toy possessed by an evil serial killer, (shout out to Child’s Play) why in the hell are you complaining that the main character shouldn’t have been able to jump that far, or that the cop should’ve ran out of ammo? Last time I checked, dragons don’t exist, and neither do evil possessed kid’s toys. You’re willing to go along with people living in a magical land of dwarves and elves, but you can’t tolerate the characters going long amounts of time without eating?

“They wouldn’t be able to break that lock, that would never happen.”

Oh yeah? The breaking of the lock is fake, but the huge bloodsucking vampire chasing them isn’t? The lock breaking couldn’t happen, but a man turning into a pale, immortal creature of the night could?

People actually find it logical to pop in a movie about talking animals, and then complain about aspects of the plot being fake. Hey there, do you not realize the entire premise of this movie is based on something that is impossible? And you’re complaining about someone holding their breath for too long?

“There’s no way that car would explode like that.”

Hey bud, it’s a movie about talking gorillas. Let’s put things in perspective here.

Anyways, that’s probably enough ranting for today. If you’re one of these people I’m talking about, I guess my parting message to you would be: Give documentaries a try. Or dog crap. It’s really up to you.

 

8-Year-Old Man

When you were a little kid, did you ever just wish you could get behind the wheel of a car and drive to wherever you wanted to go? Did you long to be able to take off, not needing your parent's approval or permission, and head down to your favorite toy store or Fast-food restaurant? I'm sure all of us felt that way at some point in our childhoods. But of course, we could never make that far off dream a reality, as we all would have to wait many years to finally be able to drive a vehicle. All of us except one 8-year-old boy from Ohio.

 

According to a news article I recently read, this 8-year-old boy I'm referring to, drove his dad's car over a mile to the nearest McDonald's to get his sister some food. How did he learn to drive you ask?

 

YouTube, of course. Where else?

 

Apparently, after his sister informed him that she was hungry, he took to YouTube and searched up a video on how to drive. Cause, what else would an 8-year-old do? Be a normal 8-year-old and ignore his sister, crap his pants, then continue to watch cartoons? Nah, not this kid. After watching the video, he and his sister hopped into dad's car and took off. Witnesses said he obeyed all traffic laws, successfully made a few turns, and drove the speed limit. What else would you expect from this badass mofo of a kid? The police eventually got involved, but not after the 8-year-old savage and his sister finished their cheeseburgers. The Most Interesting Kid in the World then told the cops he learned to drive from YouTube before flicking his cigarette at them and hopping back in the vehicle and burning out. (Okay, I made up the part about the cigarette and burning out, but that's the version of the story I'm going to believe.)

 

First of all, this kid is 100 percent growing up to be Chuck Norris. If I wanted food at 8-years-old, I would probably beg mommy to make me some, and if she didn't, then I would cry and look for skittles in the couch. What grade is an 8-year-old in? I think it's 3rd. Dude, in 3rd grade my mom was still dressing me and combing my hair. I was completely useless. This little guy is operating vehicles and using the Internet extremely effectively. He's even selflessly providing for his sister. When I was that age, the only time I ever interacted with my sister was to call her a poopface. (I'm beginning to look like quite the little douchebag.)

 

This kid is the type who could be abandoned in the forest, and within a few days, be leading a pack of wolves. He would gain their respect by defeating a bear in hand-to-hand combat using Jiu Jitsu that he learned from a YouTube video. I mean, really, what are the chances this kid doesn't grow up to be a Navy SEAL? Sure, he disobeyed his parents, but when you're a go-getter to that degree at such an early age, your future is pretty bright. And most likely includes you growing up to be James Bond or Indiana Jones.

 

Then again, maybe he'll just grow up to be a driving instructor.

 

 

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