Category Archives: jackassery

A morning in haikus

Hit the snooze button
Nine minute respite from noise
Then "Mariamba"

Hair dichotomy
Roots like North Sea--drenched in oil
Ends as dry as straw

Chug Emergen-C
Now I feel stronger, better
Placebo effect

Email: spam spam spam
Spam word of the day spam spam
Spam groupon spam spam

Forgoing coffee
Drinking Diet Coke instead
Giving me mad burps

Sun burned lips last week
Chap Stick really does nothing
Salad dressing stings

Here's a "did you know:"
iPhones play old RPGs
Never work again
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I’m so full of fun that everyone should be jealous

I really don’t have much to say, so I’m just going to take a swig of this cotton candy vodka and see where life takes me.

Mmmm. It’s like a carnival in my liver.

Behold! This is my eye!

Where did that come from?!

Anyway.

So you know when you’re going to have a houseguest and you’re like, “God, I should probably clean. Or at least fold all these piles of laundry.” But then you think that there’s no point in doing it NOW, since this person is arriving in a week and that’s still plenty of time to re-mess up your place. So you wait. And then things come up and you get lazy and then all of a sudden they’re coming, like, tomorrow. And then you have to decided what’s more important: dignity or watching a couple hours of TV. What I’m saying is that I have no desire to sweep and vacuum.  Whatever, it’s just my sister anyway. And if she wants to stay with me, then she better get used to the tumbleweeds of hair that will be blowing past her while she sleeps. And then…holy crap is that a cut on my hand? When did I cut my hand? Was it when I was cutting cucumbers? Why is it just stinging now? Aaaahhhhh!

Nah, I’m good.


The devil is in the details

(That idiom KIND OF applies, if you don’t think about it too much.)

Two recent events that have confirmed my suspicion that I am, in fact, a horrible human being:

1. Recently, I was leaving my house in order to go shopping for food or something stupid from Target. As per usual, a flock of small children were playing some sort of uncoordinated game of pick-up football. Or pass-the-football. A football was involved and they were throwing it, is all I’m saying. God.

As I walk by, one of the children goes for a long pass. As he is running, he trips over his own limbs from what I can only assume is a lack of motor skill development. He crashes onto the pavement in a tangle of limbs, not even trying catch the football anymore (that’s not how you make the team!). The ensuing ear-splitting wail is preceded by one of those silent screams where the kid’s mouth is opened in exaggerated pain and terror–you know, the one kids do because every time they feel pain their body is like, “But what, what is this FEELING. What do I DO? Should I make a noise? Am I making a noise now? Is my mouth open? Is noise coming out?” and then their face screws up something stupid because they haven’t coordinated the brain with the vocal cords yet. But the following wail is, indeed, earsplitting.

The second the first dissonant note tears through the air, I literally RUN to my car. I don’t want to deal with that shit.

As I’m fleeing in my car, I think to myself, “Huh. I guess I probably should have checked if that kid was okay.” But then I looked out my window and some adult was tending to him. So at least there’s that.

(Kids are such fakers anyway, though. He didn’t even tear his jeans. Talk to me when you’ve impaled your leg on your own bicycle gear and stopped a fall with your face. /end clumsy justification of misanthropy.)

2. I was coming back from a run and enjoying my cool-down walk when I was forced to stop at a busy intersection. From my block, but crossing the other direction, was this crouching, enfeebled old woman carrying canvas bags full of who-cares-what.

Now, you know how old people move slower then us spry, young folk? Well, other old people would be able to complete a marathon in the time it takes her to do a 5k, yaknowwhatimsayin? She’s slow. That’s what I’m saying. And I just watched her go. I watched her shuffle along with her bags at some sort of ungodly pace. My inner monologue went something like this:

“My god, that woman is slow. I hope I don’t move that slowly when I’m old. How can I avoid going that slowly when I’m old? Why is she walking if she can’t really walk? Did she escape her home? What’s in those bags? I wonder if they’re heavy or really light but she thinks they’re heavy because she’s old. Remember working in the grocery store? Old ladies were always like, “Don’t make the bags too heavy!” and I’m all, “Ma’am, there’s only eggs in there!” and they gave me that face that just means they’re jealous of my youth. Particularly then because I was a teenager. I wish I were a teenager again. Good God, no I don’t. Holy crap, is she not even half way yet? My God. Look at her go. I admire her determination. God this light is long. I want to go home. Home home home home. SHE’S STILL ONLY HALF WAY!”

And then this teenage kid rode up to her on his bike, put her bags over his handle, and helped her cross the street. It was heartwarming, really, to see that people still care enough to help their fellow man. I might have even teared up if I weren’t dead inside.  But then I realized, “Awwwww shit, I just didn’t help an old lady cross the street. That’s like Good Person 101.”

Oh well. Maybe if I ever see an old lady fall down, I’ll check and make sure she’s okay. I think that would make up for both things.


I’ve started talking to myself. No big.

/Intro music

Hello, good people. My name is Lisa, and it’s time for our first installment of Lisa vs. Lisa, a piece in which I interview myself.

We should be impressed with how much time I spent on this

Hey, Lisa. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk with me this morning.

Oh Lisa, it’s really no problem. I’m really not busy at all. Well, I tell a lie–I am kind of busy, but I’m way too caffeinated to be productive right now. Also, nothing I do really matters anyway.

Let me stop you right there, if I may, because this segues nicely into our first question.  Lisa, were you aware that many people compare you to a worthless pile of garbage–

Wait, I don’t think–

Let me finish, please. A worthless pile of garbage that a homeless person wouldn’t even sift through for cans. How do you respond to this?

Well, everyone and everything has an important societal function, I think. You know how you can’t have happiness without sorrow? Can’t have pleasure without pain? Well, how do you have awesome things without…garbage? What I’m saying, Lisa, is that I make other people look better. I’ve been doing it my whole life, and, frankly, I have a natural talent for it. I plan to rent out my services one day.

Oh? Do you believe that there’s a market for that?

I’d like to think so. I mean, I’m not very well-versed in “the market” or “the economy” but–

Yes, you do seem to display an almost willful ignorance on many topics. Is this intentional?

Intentional in that do I actively pursue ignorance in favor of intelligence? No. It just kind of happens that way. I’m afraid that my brain has atrophied to the point of near uselessness. I have to pick and choose what I retain carefully.

Like song lyrics?

Like song lyrics, yes. And not just any song lyrics, mind you–crappy pop songs that no one will remember in five years. I tried to fight this for a while, but the brain does it what does.

It does seem like its priorities are a little off. Tell me, can you even remember the plot of the book that you are currently reading?

No, Lisa, I cannot. But if you ask me to sing the Spice Girls…

Not now, thank you.

Another time then, maybe. I’m always good for a song.

Lisa, I must say, I just find you remarkable. Here you are: single, lonely, with no career prospects, no discernible talent, and waning intelligence, but you manage to still wake up every morning and–

Well, wait. I don’t think you’re being very fair. As far as career goes, the Recession–

It is the poor carpenter that blames his shoddy tools…

I’m not sure that metaphor really applies here. Anyway, Lisa, I feel like you came into this interview with some sort of misguided bias against me. I have been nothing but civil. There are certainly some good things about me. I’m pretty sure my mom likes me, anyway.

I apologize if you feel that way. Of course, I’m sure your mother is rather fond of you. I would love to let you explore your good qualities, but I’m afraid we’ve run out of time for today. Lisa vs. Lisa will be sure to have you back on soon. Good day, everyone!

Bitch.