Facebook secret code...fake code.

Bring me tickle me Elmo or the wrath of God will come upon you and your family! Ok, the lady I saw at Target today wasn’t that bad, but I thought she was a minute away from pimp slapping the Target employee that said they were sold out of some toy. The women argued that two days ago she was told they had ‘plenty’ and couldn’t understand how now they have NONE! It was like a five year old trying to understand how Marty Mcfly could interrupt the time space continuum. Hell, I still don’t get it.

So I decided that this woman needed to be gently introduced to a little something called equally irrational. I followed her to the checkout line where she was still venting about the incompetent target employees to someone on the phone. After she got off the phone I pretended to take a phone call that had some crucial secret information. Taking careful note of the woman’s age (45 or so) and her failed attempt to be trendy I knew I needed to hit her where it counts, her inflated sense of herself.

The fictional one way phone conversation went like this…’Honey, what was that secret password posted on facebook to get the 50% off discount at Target? So you are telling me all I have to say is “I am a secret santa shopper”? So If I say ‘I am a secret santa shopper I will get 50%’? Its 3:55pm so the deal is only good for 5 more minutes, I better hurry’. Hook line and sinker…bitch.

I then snuck out of line and took up a great viewing point a lane over and just watched the awesomeness unfold. So she tells the check out women the ‘secret code’ and she just looks at the lady like she is nuts. Once the total comes the woman starts to question why she isn’t getting the facebook secret code discount. I am about to pee my pants. After a minute of bewilderment the cashier calls over a manager. The manager tries to explain to the woman that they have never run a promo anything like that. But I am the ‘secret santa shopper damn it’. About ten minutes go by before the humiliated woman storms out and the employees and surrounding customers get a good chuckle ‘no I am the secret santa shopper, no I am!’

You have been irrationalized.

The Middle Finger

Where are we as a society with the hand gesture,’ the middle finger’?  Collectively we need to determine the proper use and frequency that is acceptable for ‘the bird’.  This all started today when a fellow motorist was trying to make a right hand turn out of the middle lane instead of the right lane like a normal human being.  The pedestrians in the street caused him to come to a complete stop in the middle of the intersection.  I honked and tried to drive around him, he gave me the bird.  Not cool. 

I have been flicked off, given the bird, flipped the middle finger, and once the middle finger salute.  While in the car and several times in person, once over the phone and twice via text message.  Sometimes with a smile, many times with a F you, but never with a side of a cheeseburger (read my blog and you will understand how hysterical and poignant this joke is).  My problem is sometimes the finger is a ‘hello I hear you’ and sometimes it is an ‘I am going to hunt you down in the woods like a wild pig and serve you to my family this holiday’.  There has to be a scale at which we can properly measure the intent or intensity of said finger. 

 

For me, the finger is my old school salute to a poor soul that would never appreciate a witty tongue lashing.  I mean have you ever shot a 65 year old man the bird?  They go nuts!  You have to give it a shot.  Next time you get cut off by a Buick drive up next to the guy and smile and give him the old school finger (don’t get fancy with the thumb out to the side) just the single finger, smile and stare.  Then get the hell out of their cause dude is about to blow his lid for having been in a shitty marriage for 30 years, never blowing Nam off the map and Connecticut letting to dudes get married.    

Holy Cow, there is a blog dedicated just to the finger....http://flipthatbird.com/

Smell my Holiday Cheer

Per usual, an excellent experience in Starbucks this morning brings me to my computer this morning filled with wistful words longing for understanding of my fellow human beings.  Call it chronic ignorance, but this holiday season has neither educated my neighbors on manners nor bestowed upon them an appreciation of personal space.  My wish this Christmas is for all mankind to gather together hand and hand, arm and arm, side by side and pull your collective heads out of your asses.

Cold and tired I was anxiously waiting in line to order my Grande Americano when suddenly there was someone behind me, right behind me.  It wasn’t that I saw her come up behind me, rather I was pummeled by the overwhelming stench of Bath and Body Works stripper body spray #4, ‘fresh privates’.  Every time I tried to take a step forward or sideways she was right behind me, my stinky little shadow.  Turning my head side to side to try and get a peak at my current adversary, she dodged my glare like a squirrel in a dog cage.  I kept trying to sneak forward to stay away from her, but I just couldn’t lose her.  I was about to give up hope and suffer miserably for the next 60 to 120 seconds, and then I had an idea…beat her at her own game, fight dirty and teach this close stander a lesson.  So I farted.  That’s right, I farted.  I practically farted right on her hand she was so close.

When I finally turned around to view my foe (now several steps back) I was surprised to see she was an attractive woman about my age.  I winked, she was not amused. 

I want to kiss Dave Thomas on the face.

Let me tell you why Wendy's is awesome.  It is the $0.99 Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger.  Now let me tell you why Wendy's is the most magical place on earth. 

It happened just a few days ago on a very snowy Chicago winter day.  No, really I am not saying this just for dramatic effect, it was really coming down.  It has little to do with why Wendy's is spectacular, I just think it helps set the stage for the amount of awesomeness that was about to happen.  As I was pondering what would accompany my Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger I noticed that you could order a half salad which then came with several options of sides.  It seemed like a pretty reasonable idea.  Bottle of water, small soda, French fries, frosty, double cheeseburger...wait what?  Are you telling me I can order a small salad and get a side of double cheeseburger?  Dave Thomas, I know you can hear me.  Offering a double cheeseburger as a 'side' is genius.  You tease me from the grave, you burger billionaire. 

Why 3-D movies have ruined my life.

Admittedly I have only seen one 3-D movie, Clash of the Titans, and I was mildly impressed and slightly annoyed with having to wear the glasses for two hours.  The 3-D movie phenomenon has now exploded and there are rumors that they are remaking Monster-In-Law in 3-D so we can all see J-Lo’s ass in its full glory.   Amazingly, none of this has contributed to the ruining of my life.

So you are very confused on why I hate 3-D movies, in fact it isn’t 3-D movies at all that have tormented me so.  Rather it is a secondary term that has been developed to describe non 3-D movies…wait for it…here it comes…Regular D.  That’s right, we are calling all normally produced and viewed movies, Regular D.

Now maybe it is my background in art that has me all tied up, but I believe the term for this is actually 2-D.  But no, this term is clearly not PC or savvy enough to describe a movie so we had to make up some nonsense word that causes sharp pains behind my eyes every time I hear it.  I bet to make it even more hip and cool the spell Regular D all funky so the kids like it.  Reg-You-Lar DEE!