Things you should not wear to a job interview:
Things not to do on a job interview:
Things not to put on your resume:
Under other interests:
Note: hunting mimes and shrinking their heads is acceptable, and if you should happen to scrapbook about it…whatever.
Final and key piece of advice:
Memes save lives. 17-year-old Nate Masterson can attest to that. Though he stood outside death’s door for a while, he found the will to live all because of a meme. “I was lying in a coma. Not feeling anything. You know, comatose. And then, I just sensed something… wonderful. Something exquisite. Something GLORIOUS! All of […]
It happened last night, as it has before, on other Saturday nights. My wife and I had taken our seats at a nice restaurant, and the waiter asked if we’d like to order drinks. My wife asked for a glass of chardonnay–whichever was oakiest–and I ordered a malbec. “We have two,” the waiter said, as my wife […]
People in this country will forgive a lot of things, maybe even most things, but there is one thing people find unforgivable.
One thing that is so contemptuous, so vile, that it will send normally docile people over the edge.
It causes the young and healthy to have debilitating brain aneurysms, and reduces white-haired grandmothers to obscene gestures and obscenity laced tirades.
It even caused Pope Francis to punch a mime in the face.
What is this one thing: people who screw-up traffic.
Note: I was just kidding about people who screw-up traffic causing Pope Francis to punch a mime in the face; mimes are the reason Pope Francis punched a mime in the face.
Other motorists don’t care why you’re screwing up traffic, just that you are screwing up traffic. You could be slumped over your steering wheel with an arrow protruding from one of your eyes sockets and most compassionate thing you’re gonna hear from another motorist is: “Hey idiot–use your good eye.”
The incident causing traffic to be screwed-up could be completely beyond your control.
Note: In an unrelated matter, did you know that without transmission fluid, a car is less of an automobile and more of a giant metal traffic clogger? It is.
Here are just some of the ways you can screw-up traffic:
Remember: it doesn’t matter why you’ve screwed-up traffic, just that you have.
Do you think that people hate O.J. Simpson because he got away with double-homicide? No. It’s because when the police came to get him, he got in that Ford Bronco, got on the California highway on a Friday afternoon and screwed-up traffic.
Is your car making a funny sound? Does it give off a bad smell? Ask Mr. Car Person for help, and as soon as he gets the grease off his hands, he’ll type out an answer to your question. Dear Mr. Car Person– My husband “Carl” is a certified public accountant, which as you probably […]
In an experiment at MIT mice fed yogurt as compared to junk food developed luxuriantly thicker fur and bigger testicles that they projected outwards, giving them an air of “mouse swagger.” Scientific American It’s Friday night and, like every other mouse in the lab, I’m cruisin’ the scene–TGIF and all that. I reached […]
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is quite clear on the point that Vogon poetry is the third worst in the universe:
“Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings (Paul Neil Milne Johnstone) of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.”
It is my endeavor to make it the fourth worst poetry in the universe:
There happened a witch who lived on a hill,
of diminutive size, but enormously shrill.
Unpleasing her countenance: all icky and warts,
when wickedly she cackles, how it twists and contorts.
Her stench so loathsome like eggs and arm pit,
one whiff and you vomit in your mouth just a bit.
Small animals would flee, never again to be seen.
At least they weren’t trampled, as they well could have been.
Her sisters she’d gather, all cellulite and hate.
They would cackle and hiss and brag of the children they ate.
And eat they did much in their murky morass,
they had thick chunky thighs, like a hippo’s fat ass.
“We will taunt, we will curse, as well we see fit,
with toil and trouble and all that Shakespearean shit.”
Their husbands did cower in a deep and dank well,
for their wives weren’t just ugly, they’re mean as hell.
But for these poor ladies, all their efforts did fail.
In the end it’s the hero who will always prevail.
Now the creatures just hide in a dark and dank place,
chugging Coors Light and stuffing their face.
Does this tale have a moral, I don’t know it just might,
but probably not: I’m not very bright.
And now Vogon poetry is the fourth worst in the universe. Thank you.
According to the office supplies on Natalie’s desk, Highlighter has become frustrated with the dating scene due to reasons purportedly beyond his control. He claims that his need to be the center of attention is innate to his character and cannot be altered. “I just want someone to love me for who I am,” Highlighter […]
Now that I’ve made the decision to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel there are few slight logistical wrinkles that need to be ironed out.
First and foremost: I need a barrel. I have several vital requirements for the barrel I choose for my journey over the falls:
My search for a suitable barrel has been less than fruitful.
It’s startling just how unhelpful the employees of Walmart are when comes to barrel shopping.
You wouldn’t believe the slack-jawed looks I get when I ask them where they keep their barrels for going over waterfalls in–they gape at me like I’m a moron.
The people at Ace Hardware are even less helpful. Their little jingle: “Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks” is a blatant and disgusting lie. It should be: “Ace is the place where smug judgmental pricks named Rob question your mental stability.”
I went to web site of the deceivingly named Crate & Barrel–completely useless unless you plan to go over Niagara Falls on an overpriced chaise lounge.
(I did however find a delightful celosia black hand-knotted area rug.)
It appears in order to find a suitable barrel for going over Niagara Falls, I’m required to have one custom made.
Going over Niagara Falls in a barrel is turning out to be more difficult than I had imagined, but I will soldier on.
More updates to come.
It’s been recently suggested by some of my Aunt’s that I should die horribly, preferably by my own hand, so this could work out well for them.