The folks over at Upworthy love to bait people. They’re masters of the practice. They are baiting masters. Me, I’ve never fell for the ploy. Still, their talent for baiting cannot be ignored. Upworthy is wildly popular, and it is taking over my Facebook feed. I want a piece of the cheese.
I can bait with the best of ‘em. When you read these headlines I’ve created, your life will change. Even more than after reading an Upworthy article:
—This woman just bought her eighth cat. Think she cray? There’s just one problem: the cats are the only thing keeping her from committing suicide. Now you’re the dick for judging her.
—This teenage dropout is a loser who will never amount to anything. Except that he isn’t a loser, and he will amount to everything.
—A woman grew out her leg hair for her dying husband. As it turns out, she was the one who died. But not because of the reasons you think.
—One man didn’t flush his toilet for 23 years. When you find out why, you will accept gay marriage.
—You’ve probably never shit your pants. Read this. Now look in your pants. They’re full of shit. Find out how.
—A blind owl stole his owner’s wallet and proved that money isn’t everything. It’s just one thing. Find out what.
—A tween changes an entire junior high’s view of body image stereotypes. Click to find out how she lives without lungs, bones, or an endocrine system.
—This man found something in his beard. Something that will make you weep with joy. And horniness.
—One racist educator who lived a life of privilege goes through a series of tragic events and finds herself teaching a classroom full of inner city youth. My jaw dropped when it didn’t involve rap music.
—This video proves that free will exists. Watch it.
—The media tells us to look like Hollywood celebrities. This morbidly obese woman isn’t having it—she shows us why it’s okay to gorge on fast food and not exercise and then get angry when a thin person who works out and eats vegetables is complimented.
—He escaped a life in porn. But he went back, because it was better than normal life. We don’t need to tell you why.
—This pedophile was able to re-imprint his sexual attractions. By working overnights at the zoo. By working overnights alone at the zoo. By working overnights alone cleaning the monkey cages at the zoo. By working overnights alone cleaning the monkey cages with the security cameras turned off at the zoo. By working overnights alone cleaning the monkey cages with the security cameras turned off at the zoo and do we still need to be doing this? Don’t you get it? He’s having sex with the monkeys. Don’t bother reading the article. You will learn NOTHING. You will forget about it before you’ve finished reading it. New headline: Upworthy writer blows his brains out. You won’t believe why (I was saving this one for when I quit).
I’ve been out of the blogosphere for a few weeks, but I’ve been doing stuff:
—I gave three cans of beans to a food shelter. I am now part of the solution.
—I came back.
—I was undercharged at a Subway in Lusk, Wyoming, and didn’t tell them because the service sucked.
—I was overcharged at a liquor store in Mounds View, Minnesota, and I did tell them because the total came to over $8,000 for a six pack.
—I met a woman at an Arby’s in Kearney, Nebraska, who believed South Dakota was an exciting state to visit.
—I went through South Dakota, and wanted to drive off a cliff after passing the 257th sign for Wall Drug. BUT THERE WERE NO CLIFFS.
—Then there were cliffs, in the western part. I decided to boycott Wall Drug instead.
—In the mountains of Colorado, I urinated in a tributary of Clear Creek, the water source of the Coors Brewery.
—I drank a beer infused with bull testicles. This beer: Rocky Mountain Oyster Stout.
—I drank a beer named after Kurt Vonnegut, using a recipe from his maternal grandfather. This beer: Kurt’s Mile High Malt.
A few weeks back, I was in need of blue paint. I was attending a party, you see, and certain parameters of that gathering required me to look like a member of the Blue Man Group.
To Hobby Lobby I went. In the art section, I asked a woman whose name I forget, probably Ruth or Mahalath or something religious, what I could use to paint my head blue. She then quoth Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 28: ‘Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves.’
I told her I was simply painting my dome, not tattooing it. She then reached out and touched the hem of my garment, and again, quoted Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 19. The exchange went as follows:
Hobby Lobby Lady: ‘Do not mate different kinds of animals.’
Me: ‘I don’t.’
HLL: ‘Do not plant your field with two kinds of seed.’
Me: ‘I don’t.’
HLL: ‘Do not wear clothing woven of two kinds of material.’
She had me there, for I was wearing a shirt composed of 60% cotton, and 40% polyester.
Me: ‘Are you going to help me find the paint or not?’
HLL: ‘I do not work here.’
Once again, she had me. So I asked a woman that actually did work there where I could find the paint I needed. She didn’t know. After some looking, I eventually found some blue tempura paint that met my needs exactly.
So, Hobby Lobby, it is my opinion that you should invest more in your employees, particularly on training them in knowledge of paint.
1: You love lists. This is a list.
2: You can share this list on Facebook, or Twitter, or Tumblr, to let everyone know that you have read a list, and that you want them to read the same list.
3: This list connects with you in some deep way, it confirms a belief you hold, or it talks about your childhood. It really does.
4: You would someday like to make a list of your own, but this list listed all the things you could ever dream of listing. Now you have more free time to read lists.
5: After you say ‘list’ a lot, it begins to sound like it’s not really a word.
6: If there were a top ten list of the top ten lists, this list would be included.
7: This top ten list is unique in that it only contains seven items.
A Walmart near my home recently moved to a new location in the next town over.
In the world of corporate warfare, a lateral move is an odd tactic for a sprawling empire. The retail giant has never shied away from cramming as much Walmart into the world as it can. Why go to the trouble of moving a store from one town, when it would be easier and more profitable to leave the original location, and simply open another?
For example, everyone that shops at Walmart is morbidly obese, and has anywhere from five to seven children, no older than age four. The sheer logistics of transporting the raw tonnage of just one Walmart-supporting familial unit across town and into the store is mind boggling, especially when the family knows they will be competing for items to cough on and space to sweat with hundreds of other identical individuals. It has to be difficult. Just imagine for a second. Now add five miles to the drive. If you listen closely, you can hear the ball bearings on all those 1995 Dodge Caravans quivering in terror.
Why risk discouraging these honest, blue collar, XXXL sweatshort-wearing folks from travelling to the new location by adding extra distance to their trip?
Think about it. Money, a commodity of which Walmart has an unlimited supply, would normally solve any problems the company has with legal issues, labor disputes, real estate, and of course, constructing as many Walmart stores as possible.
So, what possible problem exists that won’t go away when money is offered as the solution?
The only explanation for the relocation is this—the site is haunted. Multitudes of ghosts, uninsured and very very poor because they worked at Walmart while among the living, have taken up residence in the store. These former employee ghosts scare the children. When children get scared, they urinate and defecate everywhere. When there is liquid waste and scat everywhere, even the regulars become alarmed and the area is declared a biohazard. Not even Walmart’s fat cash stack can sop up that much bodily fluid.
Add to that the fact that no amount of money will get those ghosts to leave, because they are ghosts, and they don’t want or need money.
This is only the beginning. Look for a rising number of Walmart stores to change locale in the near future as they slowly become overrun by ethereal beings who lack the means to cure a simple cough. All the confusion and jostling around will eventually frustrate the customer base enough to give up on the beloved brand entirely, and give rise to a new dynasty waiting in the wings, a company not infiltrated by a mass paranormal invasion.
I think my relationship is on the rocks.
I recently told this chick I’m seeing that it’s unacceptable for her to have dated anyone before me.
On every trip to her house since then, I can’t help but notice the lack of effort she’s put into obeying my command—travel through time, and change the past. One day, when she was in the restroom for a really really long time, I poked around a bit. An investigation of her internet search history came up with exactly zero schematics for a flux capacitor. The ‘Recently Watched’ category on her Netflix showed she hasn’t viewed Quantum Leap, Timecop, or the episode of Family Matters where Urkel invents a time machine. On the bookshelf, there was nothing even close to the subject of physics, let alone the theory of relativity, knowledge of which is essential to transcend linear time.
How I interpret this: she has not even thought about travelling back in time to change her relationship history in order to make me happy.
Next time I’m visiting, when she’s passing the laxative-laced Taco John’s meal I will have brought for her, I think I’ll use the alone time to inspect the shed and see what’s going on in there. From the outside, it doesn’t appear big enough to house a DeLorean, or even a circular metal pod that is thick enough to withstand the sparks and zaps that occur when space-time is warped, but we’ll see.
If the shed doesn’t turn up anything, the excavation of her yard then begins, in search of a large elliptical disc that she maybe recovered from aliens and is using to reverse engineer their technology in hopes of making the buttons and gears more useful for human hands.
If that doesn’t work, I don’t know.
Does anyone out there possess knowledge of bird digestive systems? I’m pretty sure the one that lives on my balcony has diarrhea. Normally, they leave small, white, circular marks that easily wash away with any rainfall. Lately, there are giant chunky piles with residual splatter that travels up to three feet.
I’ve already pumped a few worms full of Pepto and left them in a dish near the nest. The projectile shatting only seemed to intensify after that.
Help! I don’t know what to do!