I Really CAN'T Tell You How, Actually . . .

"Tell me how I knew you were gonna say that."
Good God, I can't stand when people say that. And people say that a lot (at least people I'm associated with).

The simple fact of the matter is, unless either a) you previously explained to me how you did whatever it is you did; b) I was there and thus able to clearly describe exactly how you did whatever it is you did from my eye-witness account; or c) you surrendered control of your mind to me - I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW YOU DID IT! Why the hell are you asking me, anyway? Because nine out of ten times I wasn't there when you were doing whatever the hell it is you did and then asked how you did it.

Then there's the fact that at least eighty percent of the time I don't GIVE a shit about whatever you did and are asking me to explain how you did it. Get the hint. People don't care about explaining the action that you did back to you. I mean, hell, shouldn't you of all people know what the hell you did - didn't YOU do it?

Anyway. I'm having trouble staying awake.

Stay classy

Your Mom's Not Dead, Asshole!

Here's a sample conversation:

Bob: Ew Mike, you listen to Celine Dion, what a loser.
Mike: Shut the hell up, Bob, what do you do?
Bob: Your mom.
Mike: Dude. My mom's dead.

Every time I hear this, or something along those lines, I want to kick a baby. I absolutely hate when people say that crap. The whole intention of saying that your mother is dead is to say something that will stop the progression of your self-esteem getting annhilated. In order to do this, you try to make someone feel like absolutely epic shit, and you succeed for about five seconds. During those five seconds, however, you actually are an absolutely epic piece of shit - but only if your mother isn't actually dead. I once made a "your mother" joke to someone whose mother actually was dead and I spent the next week apologizing because I felt like shit. But that's neither here nor there.

It's just a dick move in general. Why would you say something like that just to win a stupidass argument? And moreover, how would you feel if, seconds after you said that your mom's dead but don't mean it, you got a call from the hospital saying your mom actually was dead? You'd feel like shit, and if the person who you just told your mom was dead was as much of a douche as you were, they'd laugh in your face.

Because, as we all know, karma's a bitch.

So . . .

Stay classy.

Get in the Freakin' Stroller!

I was recently at the Woodhaven Mall in Queens, which, like most malls in the country, is freakin' huge. You see all kinds of people in the mall - from creeped-out old guys that just sit on the benches watching the ladies walk by (or rather, watching the ladies' asses as they walk by) to single mothers with their three sisters pushing their kids around in strollers.

But there is one thing about malls - and crowded places in general - that pisses me the hell off. Before I say exactly what it is, let me lay down the logic of my anger first.

If you're in a tight area, such as in a crowded store or in a crowded subway car, wouldn't you want to try and take up as little space as possible? That makes sense, right?

Apparently not to half the people with strollers at the mall.

Countless times, I was forced to literally hop over small children (like hurdle them) because I was trying to get by and they were tottering along next to their mothers, holding onto EMPTY STROLLERS THAT THEY SHOULD'VE BEEN SITTING IN. I mean, have some freakin' consideration, mom! You know that it's gonna be a tight squeeze regardless, but do your part to make it less of an awkward leap over your child and more of an "excuse me, miss" for me, because almost every time I leapt over a kid the mom was like "what the fuck are you doing!?" all pissed and shit, which pissed me off because if your kid was in the freakin' stroller like he was supposed to be, instead of walking at about -5 miles per hour in front of me and blocking my way to where I'm trying to get (which is unimportant; it's the fact that I was being blocked by a toddler that pisses me off), I wouldn't have to jump over the little shmuck in the first place.

GET IN YOUR DAMN STROLLER FOOL!

And whatever you do . . .

Stay classy