test test test
I am getting a colonoscopy.
If I rated medical procedures based on hilarity, colonoscopies would make my top ten. Not as funny as calf implants for dudes or ladies getting liposuction on their toes, but close.
“So, what’s the deal with my b-hole, doctor?”
I have dry feet.
Well, not feet so dry that the skin cracks and you need to dunk them in Noxema. My feet just don’t get sweaty. Like ever. Honest injun! Same with my pits. They don’t sweat. To prove this I didn’t wear deodarant for an entire year. I told only two people – my (now) ex-wife and the one person I managed at a previous job. I got them together for a drink at a local pub – this way I only had to explain once.
I saw the greatest bumper sticker of all time when I was 18.
Driving to my busboy job in the summer of 1994 I had a Beatles album on full blast. I had recently discovered the genius of the Beatles and (like most people with music sensibility) determined them to be the BEST BAND IN HISTORY. I still feel that way. When I pulled up to a red light behind a pick-up truck, I saw IT. Then I never saw IT again. Until this morning.
About fifteen years ago I found myself sitting in my parent’s backyard having beers with a guy I knew from grade school.
I had been traveling around the country working for a beer company doing marketing but my contract was now up. The only job prospect I had was from Pfizer who had called and asked if I wanted to tour with Earth, Wind, and Fire. Now, even though I’m a competent guitar player, the band wasn’t looking to feature my solo acoustic songs as their opening act. Which makes sense because my original music sucks. Well, I mean, it’s great as long as you love aggressive riffs played sloppily without any recognizable structure. Oh, and I don’t write lyrics. Also, choruses are really hard.
D.J., watch this video of live chickens being slaughtered. It’ll make you become a vegetarian.
No, that’s okay. Not interested.
Don’t you care about chickens being tortured and killed?
(minute long pause to soul-search for an answer) No. I guess I don’t care.
For as long as I can remember I’ve been exhausted.
I started taking naps my last year of college. I was studying meditation and self-hypnosis and would put myself in a deep trance following whatever instructions the new-agey book I was reading at the time suggested. Now, many years later, I realize that what I was really doing was falling asleep. I’d wake up fifteen minutes later feeling mildly refreshed. Meanwhile I thought I had meditated and achieved nirvana.
Had an amazing experience on the subway yesterday.
Well, in Chicago we don’t call it the subway. It’s the “el” which is short for “elevated train” because it does, in fact, go above ground. The trains also go below ground, too. I’m sticking with “subway,” although this incident technically happened at an elevated structure.
When I left my home it was -1 degrees.
There’s nothing I own that is appropriate for negative temperatures. If I dug deep into my closet I could find a pair of long underwear. But then what? Put them on under my suit pants? I’d get to work where the temperature is a 72. Then I’d be hot for the day.
I’m not a gun person.
We didn’t grow up hunting and no-one in the family owns a firearm. I’ve shot a gun exactly once, and that was in the Scottsdale, Arizona desert. I hit 3/5 targets and the instructor said that I had a pretty good shot.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
