When I lived in Echo Park, the Jehovah’s Witnesses would knock on my door every few months on a Saturday morning at 10:30 on the dot. Doesn’t matter what month they showed up, they ALWAYS knocked on my door at 10:30am on the dot, and always on a Saturday. I used to suspect that their canvassing of the neighborhood started at *my* house, on their assumption *I* was the one most in need of help in my neighborhood. Occasionally as a child I had to sell chocolate bars, jewelry, and kaymak door-to-door, so I’m a smidgen sensitive to their plight. And it’s gotta be a rough gig to be rejected 99% of the time, so as a rule I try to be courteous to them, even though I’m not interested in their dogma and I’m eager to get back to whatever sinful thing I was doing just before they interrupted me. I would also try to be polite when the Mormons came by. The Mormons didn’t come by as often as the Jehovah’s Witnesses did, but the Mormons did make an occasional appearance. When either group would knock at my door, I’d usually say something like, … Click Here to Read On! …
Tiger’s got 99 problems, but unlike Jay-Z, women seem to be all 99 of his problems. This is my official acknowledgment of the whole Tiger Woods affair — Excuse me, I meant situation — The whole Tiger Woods affair situation:
“Blah blah Tiger Woods, blah blah, rock star?! Blah blah he think he is? Robert Plant? Blah blah Eazy-E? Blah blah, golf? Are you kidding me? Fuckin’ golf?!”
In the future a douchebag family will name their kid Tyler-Connor Hunter-Dylan.
A fun game I play: When I’m in a very crowded place with lots of families (Disneyland and such) I like to randomly shout out “Tyler!” “Connor!” “Hunter!” or “Dylan!” just to see how many people turn to look, thinking that I’m calling them.
Middle names can be fun. I don’t have a great middle name and I know a few people who have no middle name at all. Their parents probably thought that two names were sufficient. “We gave you a first name, we gave you a last name, we fed you until you were 18, now get the hell out of our house, you bastard.”
Parents sometimes give their kids stodgy lame-ass first names like Brock, Bradford or Benton, but to make up for that stale business, certain parents give them a middle name more appropriate for a party college, like Keanu or Rain or Primadonna or something. The kid will likely use his regular name for most of his life, but just before heading out to UCSB he’ll decide that instead of being known as Tim, he’s going to be known as Shilo for the rest of his life, because that’s his middle name and he and his folks really bonded over Neil Diamond. Okay. It’s fair. That’s why you were given three names, I guess. So you could bow-out if your first name makes you feel like … Click Here to Read On! …
It’s pretty obvious that none of the zealots who claim ownership of the traditional Holy Land are capable of managing the land with integrity and in keeping with the allegedly elevated sense of honor and humanity that you would expect of religious folk.
So I propose we move the Jews to New York, the Palestinians to Luxembourg, and hand over the entire plot of land to archaeologists, who would know how to treat, to study and to protect those ancient relics. Maybe even get National Geographic involved for the photography!
And then of course we’d give the archaeologists a few nukes in case anybody tries any monkeyshines!
Here is my hypothesis to you: You can achieve all of the life change you are looking for simply by attending the orientation sessions of a few different self-help programs.
Spend only enough money required for parking. Otherwise, sit in for free, get a juicy morsel of insight here and there — just enough to prod you into change. Stay for the Q&A if you have to. Don’t overwhelm yourself. Take action, rejuvenate your spirit and then move on to the next fucking thing. But for dear love, don’t buy anything and don’t pay for any courses.
If you are feeling nauseated and decide to eat something anyway, remember to chew your food very, very well so it doesn’t hurt as much when you inevitably puke your guts out.
There’s nothing quite like passing a chunk of hamburger up through your sinuses and out your nose.
I was skulking in the dark on my enclosed patio when I saw a shadow walk past my patio door. I wondered how my neighbor would have felt if she knew that I was standing on the patio when she walked by, just sort of staring into the howly fog. “Arooooooooooo! Pretty creepy!” I mused. I thought about a few ways in which I could go about my life and really creep people out to the max at the same time. “It could be the new national pastime,” I suggested to whomever was listening. (Creepily, I was the only one listening.)
* Grow a beard. My beard is creepy. I scare children with my beard. Never let the fibers all be aligned in a single direction. I’m like Santa Claus when he was just an at-risk juvenile being sentenced to perpetual community service at Guantana-Norte Pole. Ta-daa! Hail Santa!
* When opening doors, open them just a crack. Look out with one eyeball for a few minutes to make sure the coast is clear. Once you’re reasonably sure the coast is clear, stick your head out and look back and forth, then back again, then forth, to ensure nobody’s there. If somebody is there, say “oh, excuse me!” and close and lock the door. Then open it back up a crack immediately and stare out with one eye. That’s entry-level creepy.
* While shopping at the supermarket, pick a thin, waifish white woman and follow her through the store. You’re not really doing anything wrong — you’re just picking up and investigating legitimate groceries that you might find in each of those aisles. But make sure that you walk down every aisle she does, and make sure you pick something off of the rack. If she looks at you, smile awkwardly until she looks away. That’s creepy.
* Whatever it is that you’re doing, do it extra slowly. Channel Jeff Goldblum in your endeavors. Do it with bugeyes and with slow, deliberate, oozy motions.
* If you’re pouring yourself a drink at a party, pick up the container, look at it, pick up your glass, look at it, pour the drink very slowly, look at it, measure it, look at it, comment on it, look at it, pour some more, look at it and measure it. Wipe the bottle with your finger, look at it, and then suck tenderly on your finger. And look at it.
* If you get caught looking at someone, look at them much harder, with a big sweetieboy smile on your face. Make the girl or boy think for sure that you were looking at them and only them. Point if you have to. That’s deliciously creepy.
* Before you say anything to anybody, smile at them for four seconds. One-two-three-four-now-talk-but-do-it-slowly-and-deliberately.
* If you have a cubicle, make sure to play a lot of 1970s porno-style music. Gyrate your hips whenever your victim walks by. Wink and say “Yes, it is.” That should confuse them.
* Before you leave the elevator, position yourself right against the crack of the door so those rude people who think they can get on before anybody else can leave, are met with a face-full of your face. Don’t be afraid to lick them, because they are your bitches.
* When meeting someone for the first time, it is okay to pretend to be a rabid dog-man and to nip at their heels.
* Listen to The Brady Kids’ top four or five hits all the time. Jan will take you to her sugar shoppe and you will say yes. That’s creepy.
* Eat marijuana candy for breakfast so that by lunch you are a jumbled mess of smiley, drooly, effusive goodness.
* Wear a cape, but also wear short pants. Spandex bicycle shorts are preferable. Ooze…
* When someone is talking to you, lick your lips a lot.
* Wink your eye at people a lot. Open your mouth slightly when you do.
* In public, suck on your index finger. Up to the third knuckle. Make eye contact with someone close by.
* When meeting a fair maiden, don’t kiss her hand, suck on her fingers for thirty seconds. Show her that you have no gag reflex.
* If you are a man, wear a sports bra. Whether you need one or not, that’s pretty creepy.
* Create your own sign language and use it during board meetings.
* Any time someone finishes a sentence you should pretend to shoot a pistol at them, and make a Kch! sound from the side of your mouth.
* Wear a necklace reminiscent of a voodoo pouch. The more feathers that stick out of it, the better.
There are definitely other things you will need to do to be extra-creepy and I will keep you apprised as my list grows.
I’ve watched COPS since 1989 and The People’s Court since I was a little boy. Using both of these informative “what you oughta do” shows as a resource material, I have learned this:
If you ever borrow a car, you are required to make sure that there are no narcotics, guns, stolen clothes, electronics, tools, jewelry, children, burglary tools, or other contraband in the borrowed car when you took possession of it. Don’t forget to check under the seats, the center console, the ashtrays and the gaps between the rear seat cushions. If you intend to carry any passengers, make sure to have them empty their pockets and purses so that you might do a thorough search of their property for anything illegal. Then, you have to make sure that the car is correctly and currently registered with the car owner’s name clearly printed on the registration. You need to verify that the plates match the VIN as reported on the registration, and that the registration and insurance cards are easily available to you within the cabin of the vehicle upon demand by a police officer.
You will then need to do a walk-around with the registered owner to identify any existing damage on the vehicle, marking off trouble areas on a scale drawing of the car on paper. We recommend a flattened top view or an interrupted sinusoidal projection. Mark detailed notes about the location and description of damage on the inspection sheet. Both you and the registered owner should sign off on this document, with copies produced in duplicate, triplicate or even quadruplicate in case the owner might initiate a civil claim for damages against you in the future. To better protect yourself, you will need to write up a lending agreement contract, get a receipt acknowledging that you paid the agreed-upon fees if any, avoiding cash in favor of checks, money orders or credit cards.
It is a very wise idea to invest $100 and get a professional, licensed mechanic to verify that the car is in good working order in case there is a major mechanical defect that you could get accused of causing down the road. Make sure to get a receipt for this transaction as well. If you make any repairs or improvements to the vehicle, retain all receipts and see to it that you have appropriate written permission from the registered owner. If you expect to be reimbursed for these expenses, you need to include that in your lending agreement contract to ensure that you will have a legal claim in the future. Also, it’s probably a good idea to take detailed photos of the car from all sides, including underneath, to demonstrate what the car looked like prior to your taking possession of it. Make sure that the axles are straight, that there is no obvious chassis buckling, and that there aren’t any potentially catastrophic oil leaks. Check the tension on the belts, the fluids and the tire pressure.
When you return the car to the registered owner, you are going to have the RO sign off on the car’s condition as proof that you have brought it back in a condition acceptable to the terms of your agreement.
According to both The People’s Court and COPS, you have to do all of this shit or else you’ll probably get arrested and/or ruled against in a civil suit.
Alternatively, you could rent an economy car from Enterprise for $20, get the damage waiver, and save somewhere between $70 and $5000 depending on the severity of your prior criminal history.
I’ve always wanted to learn how to speak Spanish so that I could say convincingly, “Hey Jackass, don’t leave your shopping cart on our lawn!” in the person’s native tongue.
While yes, I could learn the phrase alone, having a strong working knowledge of Spanish is important when they inevitably reply, “It’s not my cart!”
I would reply in my best Spanish, “I don’t care if it’s your cart or not, don’t leave it on our fucking lawn!”
“But you said it was my cart.”
“It doesn’t matter whose cart it is; I know that the cart belongs to Vallarta Supermarket, but you have it, so for the sake of expediting this conversation, it is your cart.”
“But it’s not my cart.”
“Look jackass, it’s irrelevant whose cart it is; It’s rude to leave a shopping cart on someone’s lawn and since you were in possession of the cart, I ascribed the cart to you, as yours.”
“But it’s not my cart.”
“Are you an idiot?”
“Of course not. I speak perfect Spanish, don’t I?”
“That is true, your Spanish is very good, but if you are not an idiot, why are you hyper-fixated on this debate about whether or not the shopping cart belongs to you or not? A smart person would be paying attention to the core issue that it is wrong to leave a shopping cart on someone’s lawn.”
“But it’s not my cart. And I didn’t leave it on your lawn, dickhead. The white lady across the street did.”
I’m not quite sure where my Spanish education will take me, but I’ve always considered it a wise investment to learn another language for the purpose of being able to communicate successfully with that culture.
