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Category Archives: Humor

No. Not that one. NO. The other white meat. DAMMIT, THE OTHER ONE!

Today when I was driving home from work I was thinking about business slogans. I have no idea why. I have to assume there was one on the radio because I don’t drive past anywhere with a visible slogan on the way home. That’s because I purposely take this weird back way to get home that may or may not save me time but I get in a rut and then I don’t want to try new things. Also, it’s pretty back there. There are a lot of trees. And there are lilacs by the stop sign so if my windows are rolled down it smells lovely in the car. Yes, I realize there won’t always be lilacs. But there are lilacs NOW, so that’s NICE. Sheesh.

So, yeah, I have no idea what slogan I heard on the radio that made me start thinking about the fact that there are a lot of terrible slogans in the world. Businesses pay advertising executives a lot of money to come up with these things, and if you think about them, some of them are very, very stupid, and make very little sense, objectively.

Let’s discuss some slogans which I have totally helpfully found for you on the interwebs. Because I am helpful like that. Some of these seem outdated. We’re still going to DISCUSS them, I just don’t know that they’re CURRENT. Nice job, Wikipedia, for staying on top of the trends.

Did somebody say McDonald’s?

This apparently was an old slogan for McDonald’s. I think the current one is the “I’m lovin’ it” garbage or something, right? Anyway, I like “Did somebody say McDonald’s?” because the correct answer to this question is “No. Nobody said McDonald’s, George. We’re going to a REAL restaurant. If you want Big Macs, get them yourself on your lunch hour, you troglodyte.”

Have it your way.

I don’t understand this slogan, Burger King. Does anyone know anyone out there who walks into Burger King and custom-orders? Like, “I’d like the chicken sandwich, only with the sauce you put on the Whoppers, and can I get a side of barbecue sauce with my fries, and maybe instead of a vanilla shake, you could put just a little coffee in there, make it a mocha shake?” No. You do not do that, because IT IS BURGER KING. You order off the menu. If you even ask for no tomatoes they look at you like you’ve shit in the glove compartment. You don’t get it your way. You get it the way they made it before they wrapped it in that paper wrapping stuff and if you don’t like it, HIT THE ROAD, there’s probably a Taco Bell half a mile up.

I’d walk a mile for a Camel.

Was it a windy day when you walked the mile for your Camel? What's up with the flippety scarf-thing?

Was it a windy day when you walked the mile for your Camel? What’s up with the flippety scarf-thing?

OK, this slogan is from 1921, mostly because I don’t think cigarettes are allowed to advertise anymore because THE CHILDREN THINK OF THE CHILDREN. But it’s also false. I don’t think any smokers could walk a mile for a Camel. Because of the coughing and out-of-breathedness. Also, why wouldn’t they drive or, well, it was 1921, take the horse and buggy over to the general store for a Camel? Why are you walking a mile for a cigarette anyway? You need to start stocking up on that shit the next time you hit town if you live that far away. You’re going to wear out your shoe leather, old-timey smoker person.

Ivory Soap – 9944/100% Pure.

If this was an ad nowadays, that Christian Coalition for the Family would get all up-in-arms about it. NAKED KID IN AN AD!!!

If this was an ad nowadays, that Christian Coalition for the Family or whatever those doucheknuckles are called would get all up-in-arms about it. NAKED KID IN AN AD!!!

I actually use and like Ivory soap because it’s one of the only soaps I can use on my special snowflake face that doesn’t make me a., turn bright red like a stop sign or b., break out like a leprosy victim. Sadly, this is not a joke. But I have often wondered what the 56/100% of my soap is. Is it bugs? Toxic chemicals? PEOPLE? IS SOYLENT GREEN PEOPLE? I’m honestly curious, here. Also, I find it funny that this is the slogan. “Ivory! We’re almost totally pure, except for that part that’s not, and we’d rather not talk about that!” Come to think of it, Ivory soap’s slogan and how I presented myself to my parents in college so they would continue to send me money now and then have a lot in common.

Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.

I found something that said "Like a good neighbor stay over there" and it made me giggle. Yes. Stay over there. I approve of my neighbors staying over there.

I found something that said “Like a good neighbor stay over there” and it made me giggle. Yes. Stay over there. I approve of my neighbors staying over there.

THIS IS TOTALLY WHAT I HEARD ON THE RADIO TODAY THAT STARTED ALL OF THIS! This jingle has been on a lot, and also there are commercials that make me laugh. So I guess it’s a good slogan in that it makes me giggle. But I don’t think their intended purpose is me singing the version I’ve come up with, which is “Like a good stalker, State Farm shows up when you least expect it!” because that’s what happens on the commercials and the radio ads. POOF! HERE’S STATE FARM! PEEKIN’ IN YOUR WINDOW AT NIGHT! JUST MAKIN’ SURE YOU’RE SLEEPIN’ OK!

Pork. The Other White Meat.

Other than the fact that this makes me giggle because it’s totally a euphemism, it is such a giving-up slogan, isn’t it? “Pork. You know. Pork? From pigs? Like, pork roast? Pork chops? No. Not wings. That’s chicken. NO. Not CHICKEN BREAST. Good grief. PORK, lady. THE OTHER WHITE MEAT!” “Dude. That’s our slogan. We’re gonna make MILLIONS!”

Probably the best lager in the world.

I mean, we think. We haven't tried them ALL, of course. Ha. Ha ha.

I mean, we think. We haven’t tried them ALL, of course. Ha. Ha ha.

This is apparently a slogan for some beer named Carlsberg which I’ve never heard of. I don’t drink beer because of that time I almost died in college from drinking too much of it and now it tastes like a three-day hangover and vomitous shame to me, so I haven’t had any since. Yes. In over twenty years. That’s right. You’re a math whiz. Anyway. I think anyone who has the gumption to have “probably” in their slogan deserves an award. “We’re not SURE we’re the best lager in the world…but probably. Probably we are. I mean, there are other lagers. And those are fairly tasty. But we’re still pretty certain ours is the best. So…maybe put it in your mouthhole? See what you think? I mean, no pressure. Probably you’ll like it, but we can’t guarantee anything.”

There is no spit in Cremo!

HORRID WORD! Did people used to sell things covered in spit back in the day? Good grief that's repulsive.

HORRID WORD! Did people used to sell things covered in spit back in the day? Good grief that’s repulsive.

In 1929 there were cigars called Cremo and this was their slogan. THIS IS THE BEST SLOGAN EVER. What kind of cigars were being sold BEFORE this? Spitty ones? Like, were all the cigars hand-rolled and then sealed with a loogie? I am utterly charmed, disgusted, AND perplexed by this one. No spit, you guys! None! TRY A CREMO THERE’S NO SALIVA IN THERE!

We drink all we can. The rest we sell.

I mean, unless we drink them all. That's a distinct possibility, I'm not going to lie.

I mean, unless we drink them all. That’s a distinct possibility, I’m not going to lie.

This one’s for another beer I’ve never heard of. Utica Club. Is that Utica as in the city in New York? I’ve been to Utica. I had relatives there when I was little. I don’t remember them being all “we have our own beer here!”, though. This is a very good slogan and it is very honest. I would imagine the people who run this brewery are serious alcoholics, and they drink up most of their inventory. Except sometimes they pass out, and then someone sells some of the inventory to pay for that stuff the janitors used to use in elementary school to soak up the vomit before sweeping it up and it smelled worse than the vomit did, remember that stuff? “We drink a lot of beer here at Utica Club, but when we’ve had all we can, we’ll let you have some. I suppose. *Hiccup.*”

With a name like Smucker’s… it has to be good.

But does it? Does it really? Are you SURE?

But does it? Does it really? Are you SURE?

Smucker’s still uses this slogan and I call shenanigans. Why does it have to be good? Like, is there something magical about the Smucker name? Smucker’s makes a variety of jams and jellies. One of them is raspberry. I hate raspberry. There are too many seeds and if I find out there’s raspberry jam in something I’m eating, I’ll stop eating it because of those effing seeds. So therefore, I don’t find Smucker’s raspberry jam good. I HAVE DISPROVED YOUR SLOGAN. Also, does this slogan imply everything they do is good? Like, if one of the Smuckers’ boys, say Harold Smucker, decides to become a psychokiller who wears his victims’ ears around his neck like a cunning choker, does THAT have to be good? Would any court in the land have to let ol’ Hal go because of this slogan? No, I’m serious, someone help me out, here.

Now you know what it’s like to drive around with me in a car or to watch commercials with me. Mostly I say things like this to ads. Like, every few ads, I’ll start ranting about something random in the ad. I like the Geico Mayhem ads, though. They make me laugh. Good job, Geico.

I want a slogan. Can it be Lucy’s Football: Shut Up and Give Me a Popsicle? Because it is now. NEW SLOGAN!!!

I’m very good at this. Someone tell the ad firms to watch their back.

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And Then Everyone Was Dead

BFF emailed me the other day and sent me the following. He knows I am obsessed with the following things:

  • Death
  • Fairy tales
  • Weird, warped, twisted things
  • Dark humor (even better when it’s not on purpose)
  • Animals

And this has ALL OF THE ABOVE.

This is most definitely why I have the best BFF in ALL THE LAND.

Also, SIDE NOTE!, BFF and I have made a VERY GRAND PLAN. This year I am all vacationed up, and next year, most of my vacation time (and money) will be spent making the most exciting trip ACROSS THE WHOLE WORLD and going to FINLAND, but the FOLLOWING year, I do NOT have plans (well, not DEFINITIVE plans) and I said, “BFF! Do you want to make a plan where we will do something in 2015?” and BFF said “YES I DO!” so we talked about what we should do and it was decided that WE WOULD GO TO MAINE. Maine is on my list of places I have never been and have always wanted to go. This is because I grew up on a steady diet of Stephen King books and read more about Maine than anywhere else in the whole world and have always wanted to visit it and see if the Maine in my head matches the Maine in the real world. Also, Maine has forests and oceans and seafood. These are all things I enjoy on a vacation. (I do not enjoy mosquitoes, but I can learn to adapt, I suppose.)

Ooh, look at all our CHOICES! This is very exciting.

Ooh, look at all our CHOICES! This is very exciting.

VACATION WITH BFF IN TWO YEARS!!! IN MAINE!!! Oh, well THIS is exciting. I’d better make sure my job doesn’t fire me before then, I’d really like to go on this one.

So today we’re going to talk about possibly, in the words of BFF, “the saddest Brothers’ Grimm fairytale I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever you are, Ding Dong Joe, I bring you:

The Death of the Little Hen

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

One time the little hen and the little rooster went to Nut Mountain, and they agreed that whoever would find a nut would share it with the other one. Now the little hen found a large, large nut, but — wanting to eat the kernal by herself — she said nothing about it. However, the kernal was so thick that she could not swallow it down. It got stuck in her throat, and fearing that she would choke to death, she cried out, “Little Rooster, I beg you to run as fast as you can to the well and get me some water, or else I’ll choke to death.”

The little rooster ran to the well as fast as he could, and said, “Well, give me some water, for the little hen is lying on Nut Mountain. She swallowed a large nut kernal and is about to choke to death on it.”

The well answered, “First run to the bride, and get some red silk from her.”

The little rooster ran to the bride: “Bride, give me some red silk, and I’ll give the red silk to the well, and the well will give me some water, and I’ll take the water to the little hen who is lying on Nut Mountain. She swallowed a large nut kernal and is about to choke to death on it.”

The bride answered, “First run and get my wreath. It got caught on a willow branch.”

So the little rooster ran to the willow and pulled the wreath from its branch and took it to the bride, and the bride gave him some red silk, which he took to the well, which gave him some water, and the little rooster took the water to the little hen, but when he arrived, she had already choked to death, and she lay there dead, and did not move at all.

The little rooster was so sad that he cried aloud, and all the animals came to mourn for the little hen. Six mice built a small carriage which was to carry the little hen to her grave. When the carriage was finished, they hitched themselves to it, and the little rooster drove. On the way they met the fox.

“Where are you going, little rooster?”

“I’m going to bury my little hen.”

“May I ride along?”

“Yes, but you must sit at the rear, because my little horses don’t like you too close to the front.”

So he sat at the rear, and then the wolf, the bear, the elk, the lion, and all the animals in the forest. They rode on until they came to a brook. “How can we get across?” said the little rooster.

A straw was lying there next to the brook, and he said, “I’ll lay myself across, and you can drive over me.” But just as the six mice got onto the straw, it slipped into the water, and the six mice all fell in and drowned.

They did not know what to do, until a coal came and said, “I am large enough. I will lay myself across and you can drive over me.” So the coal laid itself across the water, but unfortunately it touched the water, hissed, and went out; and it was dead.

A stone saw this happen, and wanting to help the little rooster, it laid itself across the water. The little rooster pulled the carriage himself. He nearly reached the other side with the dead little hen, but there were too many others seated on the back of the carriage, and the carriage rolled back, and they all fell into the water and drowned.

Now the little rooster was all alone with the dead little hen. He dug a grave for her and laid her inside. Then he made a mound on top, and sat on it, and grieved there so long that he too died. And then everyone was dead.

There’s a lot to discuss, here.

First, the little hen. The little hen was a HUGE PIG. I’m not saying she DESERVED to die or anything, but they CLEARLY had an ARRANGEMENT and she broke it immediately. When my brother and I used to put more food in our mouths than was advisable, my mother would VERY SERIOUSLY intone, “GREEDY GUTS AND PIGGY TOES.” Which was the most annoying and now I hear it in my head every time I sit down to eat, thanks, Mom, but ANYWAY, this little hen was most definitely BOTH a Greedy Guts AND a Piggy Toes.

Don't ever show my mom this, she'll say it proves her point.

Don’t ever show my mom this, she’ll say it proves her point.

Also, “Nut Mountain.” A whole MOUNTAIN of nuts! I’m pretty sure this isn’t a euphemism. Except for the line “so thick that she could not swallow it down.” We all know THAT’S totally a euphemism.

Also, “the” little hen and “the” little rooster. Were there only two of them in all the land? AND, whoever FOUND a nut on Nut Mountain? I’d assume there would be billions of nuts there. THE WHOLE MOUNTAIN IS NAMED AFTER NUTS.

This whole story is already fraying at the seams.

I have to assume that “kernal” is how they spelled “kernel” back in the day, yeah? It’s disconcerting to me to see it spelled that way over and over like that.

Now, I think we all know from health class if little hen can still talk, little hen isn’t choking to death. Little hen is being a liar and I think little hen just wants a drink to go with her stolen nutmeats, you know?

What's it say right there? IF THE PERSON CAN SPEAK, DON'T INTERFERE!

What’s it say right there? IF THE PERSON CAN SPEAK, DON’T INTERFERE!

But little rooster is really the kindest, or maybe he’s in love with little hen, I’m not sure. I would like to say I think she’s not good enough for you, little rooster. She bogarted the kernals; she pretended to be choking to death, I can only assume for attention; and now she’s sending you off to get water on some sort of whim. She seems really high-maintenance to me. Dump her now, before things get so much worse and you’re all “Oh, Amy, this is TERRIBLE” and I’m like “I told you so, little rooster, but you chose to ignore me, so whose fault IS this, really?”

Then comes the worst murderous cockblock (no pun intended, little rooster) in the history of anthropomorphism.

First, we have a talking well. WELL (no pun intended), isn’t that something! Only for some reason, the well not ONLY refuses to give up the water, it (or is it he or she? Does a talking well have gender? This is really an interesting discussion best held by college students all in black smoking clove cigarettes, don’t you think?) says it WILL give up some water for SOMEONE WHO IS CHOKING TO DEATH (I mean, the well doesn’t have any idea little hen is a lying liar who lies, so that means the well is, in essence, holding back something that can save a life; there are some states in which that is a jailable offense, talking well) if – and ONLY if – the little rooster brings it “some red silk.”

WHY THE HELL DOES A WELL NEED SOME RED SILK.

Nice job, talking well. Well-thought-out.

Nice job, talking well. Well-thought-out. No pun intended.

Water just ruins silk. Does the well want to be pretty? This makes no sense in the entire world. Not even a LITTLE bit of sense. The well is just screwing with the rooster. I think maybe the well hates the lying little hen and WANTS her to die. Maybe there’s a love triangle going on with the well and the rooster and the hen, I don’t know. Maybe the rooster isn’t ALL little, if you know what I mean, and the well IS female.

So the poor little rooster ran on over to the bride, who apparently is the one with all the red silk? I don’t know. And was all, “ok. So my friend/girlfriend is DYING, and the effing WELL won’t give me WATER which is WHAT IT IS THERE FOR unless I, for SOME reason, bring it SILK, which it will just RUIN, but anyway, bride, please, for the love of all that’s holy, DO YOU HAVE ANY RED SILK.”

Well! Of course the bride has red silk. I mean, what bride doesn’t! But she’s not giving it up that easily, no no. She needs her “wreath” (I don’t know, I DON’T KNOW) which is apparently caught on some TREE. This whole town cares very little about the well-being of a fellow denizen, right?

So the poor little rooster zips on over to the tree. Gets the wreath. Brings it to the bride. She hands over the silk. He runs back to the well. The well gives him the water. He RUNS BACK TO THE LITTLE HEN…

…who is so, so dead. Not ONLY dead, but SO dead. So dead that she “did not move at all.”

WELL OF COURSE SHE IS. I mean, all these tasks and all this talking HAD to have taken this poor guy like most of the DAY.

I am having just the worst day, you guys. Just the WORST.

I am having just the worst day, you guys. Just the WORST.

OK, so out of respect, let’s not talk about how she got what was coming for being a greedy-guts-piggy-toes, or what REALLY killed her since we know it’s not choking since she was talking while she was supposedly choking to death, and if little rooster had paid attention during Heimlich classes, she’d be FINE now, and just mourn a little with little rooster, who’s super-sad about the loss of his greedy, lying ladyfriend, who probably would have ended up breaking his heart and leaving him high and dry one of these days, anyway, and was probably only in the relationship for his money or his kernals or to mess with his head or something like that. Let’s not speak ill of the dead, even if they were the worst.

So then things really get interesting. (Interesting in this sentence means “weird as hell.”)

Rooster starts audibly mourning; all the animals come to help. (Where were these animals when THE HEN WAS CHOKING TO DEATH?) Some car-manufacturing mice build him a carriage to bring his hen for burial, which is nice. Odd, but nice. Then they did double-duty and became horses to pull the carriage.

OMG WHAT IS THIS I CAN'T EVEN

OMG WHAT IS THIS I CAN’T EVEN

When rooster and his dead friend/lover/liar were on their way to the elephant burial ground, a random fox wandered up all “can I come?” and rooster was like, “sure, but sit in the back, you’ll scare my horses. Who are really mice. That’s how we do it here in Animalland.”

Then I think a sentence is missing or something.

So he sat at the rear, and then the wolf, the bear, the elk, the lion, and all the animals in the forest.

Where did all these animals come from? And how can the mice pull them? And it says it’s a SMALL carriage, how are they all fitting? ALL THE ANIMALS IN THE FOREST! And why were a hen and a rooster in the forest? Are they like wild hens and roosters?

Anyway, I feel we are missing information here, is all I’m saying. IMPORTANT INFORMATION.

So all these animals (being towed by SIX MICE, it’s not like they’re ANTS, who MIGHT be able to tow them, as ants can lift MANY TIMES THEIR BODY WEIGHT, come on, Brothers Grimm) get to the river.

How will they cross the river?

This is where I decided everyone involved in this story might be a complete moron.

OK, so this “small carriage,” loaded with 6 mice, two chickens (one dead, one alive) and ALL THE ANIMALS OF THE FOREST, decide to ride across the river ON A PIECE OF STRAW. I don’t think that’s going to work, buckaroos. Even if it does seem to be a TALKING piece of straw. Everything in this forest talks. Can you imagine sitting on the grass? It’d be all, “Get offa me, ya heavy turdmonster” and you’d be all “WHAT IS THIS?” and then you’d feel TERRIBLE.

Not all of these. ONE of these. ONE PIECE OF STRAW.

Not all of these. ONE of these. ONE PIECE OF STRAW.

Anyway, not to anyone’s surprise READING this, but to apparently EVERYONE’S surprise in the scenario, the straw didn’t work, and the mice all drowned. So now we have a dead hen and six dead mice, which is seven dead animals, in case you’re counting.

Then a TALKING COAL (I know, right, even COALS talk here) decided to GET IN THE WATER TO HELP THEM. But, surprise! THE WATER PUT HIM OUT. And then HE was dead! So now we have 7 dead animals and a dead coal, but I don’t know if I count the coal, because it was just a coal. I know, I’m a total coalist.

Then a TALKING STONE wanted to help. Boy, inanimate objects that are not helpful in water are really stepping up here, aren’t they? What about wood? There’s not like a really helpful piece of wood that might help? Because wood would be the best. Talking wood. WHERE IS THE TALKING WOOD ALL UP IN HERE.

So the carriage like 99% made it over the rock, but EVERY ANIMAL IN THE FOREST, remember, was riding all way in the back, making it totally back-heavy, and although the rooster, who at this point had taken the role of the mouse-horses, and his dead nefarious gal-pal had made it over the rock, the rest of the small carriage did not, and ALL OF THE ANIMALS IN THE FOREST FELL IN THE RIVER AND DROWNED.

(If you read that paragraph out of context it looks like I dropped acid before writing this blog post.)

Now, either that’s a really deep and fast river, or there weren’t many animals in that forest. I mean, seriously, what is it, the Amazon? It drowned ELK? And BEARS? Good gracious. What a river. I mean, you’d think that river would talk, right? Every other damn thing in this story did. I’d like to hear this story from the point of view of the river. Or the kernal. That totally girthy and unswallowable kernal.

Is it this river? You're not getting over this sucker with a straw or a coal, you stupid optimistic animals.

Is it this river? You’re not getting over this sucker with a straw or a coal, you stupid optimistic animals.

So the rooster, all alone in the WHOLE FOREST because for SOME REASON every single damn animal IN THE WHOLE FOREST decided to ride on a SMALL CARRIAGE and mourn a LYING HEN (well, I guess he’s not totally alone, considering all the things talk, except the river and the kernal) digs a grave for his hen, buries her, sits on it, and cries himself to death. He does not eat, he does not sleep. He cries and I think starves to death, I assume because he has lost his ladylove, no one in the forest would help him, and he is to blame for the death of ALL THE ANIMALS IN THE FOREST. I mean, that’s a heavy weight to bear, you know?

And then everyone was dead.

EVERYONE.

WAS.

DEAD.

(Can I just say, though, that NOT everyone was dead? Who lives? Well, the people who live are the talking well and the bride. And that means the moral of this story is to waste someone’s time who is trying to save someone else’s life by sending him on pointless errands and then you’ll live while everyone else in the forest dies, and I think that is a very bad moral. This would make a terrible Aesop’s Fable.)

Seriously, can you imagine reading this to a child with their little innocent eyes and such? And you’d get farther and farther along into the story and they’d be like “NO NO WHAT NO PLEASE WHY SO MUCH DEATH?” and you’d shrug and say, “That’s how the Brothers Grimm rolled, Little Lulu. AND THEN EVERYONE WAS DEAD. And someday, I will be dead. AND SO WILL YOU. Maybe even tomorrow, you never know when you might choke on a kernal. Sleep well, lemon tart!” and then you turn off the light and leave them alone WITH THEIR THOUGHTS.

...why momma why...

…why momma why…

Good parenting 101, am I right?

Have a happy Wednesday, MY little lemon tarts.

Watch out for kernals.

And lying significant others who break your little rooster-hearts.

And wells that want things before giving over their water.

And friends who want to tag along, but weren’t helpful when you needed it.

And inanimate objects that SEEM helpful, but will really just lead to drowning.

And mourning so much that you end up dead.

Otherwise, have the best day, you know? Just the utter best. Kisses. Love your faces.


I propose Happy Hour be renamed Confusing Conversation Hour after this.

Actual excerpt from an email to sj Saturday evening:

I’m debating whether or not to blog Drunken Amy’s Dad Stories, which have the subtitles of “Amy’s Dad Talks about Ecstasy” and “Amy’s Dad Discusses Penis Sizes in Various Countries” and “Amy’s Dad Saw a UFO over the Ocean Talking to Whales, Maybe” and “Amy’s Dad Thinks All the Hollywood Stars Live in the White House Right Now for Some Reason” and “Amy’s Dad Went to an Island but When Amy Questioned That, He Yelled, ‘It Was Just the Name of the Store, Not a Real Island, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TONIGHT?’”

Obviously, my debate ended with the devil on my shoulder shouting down the angel on my OTHER shoulder.

I should backtrack a little or this isn’t going to make sense.

Dad’s in Florida until the end of the month. His cousin P. (my second cousin) is staying with him until Monday. I love P. She is one of the most intelligent people I know. She’s also HYSTERICAL. She makes me laugh until I cry. She also listens with her whole self when you’re talking to her. And gives the most thoughtful advice. She’s kind of the best.

So P. is staying with Dad for the week in his swinging mirrored condo. Apparently this means they go out for happy hour a lot, and he calls me late and is…a tad overserved. And says “IS THIS SO LATE FOR CALLING YOU?” and it’s not like it’s 1am, it’s like 10pm, so that’s not SO late. Then he tells me that P. has FORCED him, AGAIN, to go out for drinks, and what a bad influence she is, and in the background she is saying, “NO ONE FORCED YOU TO GO OUT YOU GRUMPY SO AND SO.” They get along very well. She doesn’t put up with his nonsense. And she makes him laugh the hardest. Didn’t I tell you she was kind of the best? She totally is.

So tonight he was supposed to call me at 6:30, but, no. And then I called him at 9. Not home. (SIDE NOTE! He’s staying at a condo and the owner’s name is Bob…something, I don’t even remember. I make up things when I can’t remember. Let’s say Bob McGillicutty. So my caller ID, when he calls, says “Bob McGillicutty.” And when I answer, I say, “Well! Hello, Bob!” or “Bob! Why are you calling so late?” or “Bob! I could totally be dead and you wouldn’t even know because you’re calling me like 4 hours late.” And he always laughs and says, “Bob here!” in a cheerful tone every time. Hee, “Bob here” is my new favorite.)

So he called me at a little after 10. And Dad had been imbibing with P. And also with Aunt G. and Uncle P.

“AMY!” Dad (also known as Bob) said. “Did you know that there are some places where after a certain time, LADIES DRINK FREE?”

What's a ladys? Is it like someone's name? Like Gladys? Does Gladys drink free?

What’s a ladys? Is it like someone’s name? Like Gladys? Does Gladys drink free? Is it a type of drink? Like a Long Island Iced Tea or something? This is a perplexing sign.

“I’ve heard of such things,” I said solemnly. “I have never attended one, because there tend to be people there. People who are drinking. And that leads to people who are shovey and way too loud, and someone usually spills cheap beer on your nice purse.”

“I had to pay. I am not a lady. But G. and P. did not have to pay! LADIES DRINK FREE!”

“You should have worn a muumuu. Maybe you could have had free drinks.”

“NO. I AM A MAN PERSON WHO WEARS NO MUUMUUS,” said Drunken Dad.

Apparently Homer is not a man-person.

Apparently Homer is not a man-person.

So, since sj exhorted me to PLEASE PLEASE blog about what Drunken Dad says about the state of the world, I bring you excerpts from our conversation. Perhaps you will be as confused as I was. It’s ok. It was a confusing phone call.

AMY’S DRUNKEN DAD SAW A UFO OVER THE OCEAN, MAYBE

Dad: P. and I saw a UFO.
Me: What? You did? Where did you see this?
Dad: Over the ocean. She didn’t even take a picture, can you imagine?
Me: You saw a UFO. Over the ocean? What did it do? How do you know it wasn’t a plane? Sometimes they’re planes.
Dad: NO. It was ROUND and then it ZIPPED and LIGHTS WENT ALL AROUND and then it DISAPPEARED.

Ooh, look, Dad, I found a photo for you!

Ooh, look, Dad, I found a photo for you!

Me: Well. That does sound like an alien encounter, for sure.
Dad: If we had a photo, we could send it to that guy you watch on TV.
Me: What guy do I watch on TV that likes aliens?
Dad: That guy that you call a douche.
Me: The Ghost Douche?


Dad: Yes, that one. We would be famous.
Me: Well, the flaw in your plan is that he investigates ghosts? So probably wouldn’t care about UFOs.
Dad: Also, remember that time he thought he was possessed by a girl ghost? Do you think he would think he was possessed by an alien?
Me: Yes. Probably a girl alien.
Dad: I wouldn’t like to watch that.
Me: No one would. Ooh, maybe the UFO was talking to whales, because they’re so intelligent.
Dad: That’s what the government wants you to believe.
Me: That whales are intelligent or that UFOs would talk to them or that UFOs are over the ocean?
Dad: Yes.

AMY’S DRUNKEN DAD DISCUSSES KIDS TODAY AND THEIR DRUG USE

Dad: Today we went to buy teeshirts and the best mother ever bought a teeshirt for her daughter.
Me: OK. That’s nice, right?
Dad: You know all the things. You will know about this.
Me: I don’t even know half of the things, but go ahead. What do I know?
Dad: The teeshirt said “Molly is my homegirl.” CAN YOU IMAGINE? (In the background, P. is saying, “MOLLY IS MY HOMEGIRL!” in a jolly fashion. I love her.)


Me: No. Who’s Molly? Molly Weasley? I’d wear that.


Dad: Weasel? No. MOLLY, Amy!
Me: I don’t know what that means. Who’s Molly?
Dad: AMY!
Me: I don’t…is there something I’m missing here?
Dad: SHE BOUGHT IT FOR HER CHILD!
(I quickly Googled what this meant; it’s apparently a thing with the kids today and some sort of rap lyric referring to ecstasy.)
Me: So P. bought this for her daughter? That seems unlike her. Did J. want that shirt? (SIDE NOTE: J. is my most wonderful third cousin, who I want to adopt. She is a junior in high school and is just utter sunshine. She has a giggle that fills you up with carbonated fizzies. She’s one of my favorite humans.)
Dad: P. has iron balls. She said, “What is Molly?” TO STRANGERS! In the STORE! And no one would tell her.
Me: She bought a shirt but didn’t know what it meant? How did she even know J. wanted it? I don’t think J. does ecstasy. She’s perfection. She wouldn’t do that.
Dad: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW.
Me: I guess I am just confused why P. would buy her daughter a drug shirt? Isn’t she mad you’re talking about her right now? I can hear her right there in the room with you.
Dad: P. didn’t buy a drug shirt!
Me: What? Who are we talking about, then?
Dad: Some WOMAN! At the store! Not P.!
Me: This conversation is as confusing as talking to Gramma when she says “the old guy came to visit me” and that could refer to, like, anyone she knows, and she expects you to psychically know who she means.
Dad: It makes perfect sense to me. Is there something wrong with you tonight?
Me: I’m beginning to wonder.
Dad: Did you know people make drugs in their houses and sometimes the houses explode? P. read that on the internet.

Ka-BOOM. Goodbye, house.

Ka-BOOM. Goodbye, house.

Me: Yes. Not ecstasy, though, I don’t think. That’s meth. That’s a whole different thing.
Dad: Why do you know about meth?
Me: Well, you know me. I run with a shady crew. Always exploding their meth labs.
Dad: I KNEW IT!

AMY’S DRUNKEN DAD DISCUSSES PENIS SIZES IN VARIOUS COUNTRIES

Dad: So what are you doing tonight?
Me: It’s like 10:30. I think I’m doing exactly what I’ll be doing for the rest of the night: nothing. I’m tired.
Dad: Good. If you go out that’s when the killers get you.
Me: I have to write a blog about penis sizes in various countries.
Dad: (chokes on something he’s drinking) I think I heard you incorrectly.
Me: I have this map of penis sizes in various countries and I’m pretty sure I need to blog about it but I haven’t decided how to do it yet.


Dad: Who tells their father something like this?
Me: I do. I do something like that. Don’t you find that fascinating? Someone took the time to make this map.
Dad: That is porn.
Me: No. There aren’t PHOTOS of the penises. Just a map with colors on it saying who has the biggest penises.
Dad: P. could find that map on her phone, you know. She’s very good with that phone.
Me: People with smartphones often are. Plus the phones are very smart. Hence the name. Did you know Canada has larger penises than America?
Dad: No. I didn’t want to know that. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s not true.
Me: I’m pretty sure it is. This seems like a very sciency map.
Dad: It’s probably because of the government.
Me: Our lack of penis size is a government conspiracy? Wow, this is wide-reaching, this conspiracy. Also, I’m very excited about my trip to Finland next year, because they are ALSO better than America, penis-size-wise, so you know I’m bound to totally have a very good time.
Dad: I don’t think you tell your father such things. Also, that’s not why you’re going to the land of Finns.
Me: No, but it’s like an interesting perk I’ve just discovered right now. China and India lose. This must make them so sad.
Dad: Are we still talking about this?
Me: Yes. It is SCIENCE! Science is INTERESTING! And AWESOME!


Dad: I hope you didn’t tell your mother about this. You cannot talk to you mother about things like this.
Me: NO. I don’t mention penises to Mom. When I do she starts muttering prayers under her breath. I worry she’s going to get a young priest and an old priest and they’re going to show up at my door for an impromptu exorcism. NICE YOUNG LADIES DON’T TALK ABOUT DING-DONGS, AMY!
Dad: No one ever said you were nice. Your mother knows you’re not nice. It’s the bane of her existence. However, I like it the most. Wait til I tell P. what you are talking about. She is not going to believe this.
Me: I think she’ll find it hilarious. She loves me. I make her laugh. Plus, I think she’ll want to look it up because it’s good to be prepared.
Dad: I don’t want to think about either you or P. being prepared for such a thing in random countries. WE ARE CHANGING THE SUBJECT NOW.
Me: Fine, but I’m just saying, if you ever want to send me to Venezuela, that seems to be the place to go. Yowza.
Dad: STOP TALKING STOP TALKING.

AMY’S DRUNKEN DAD THINKS ALL HOLLYWOOD STARS LIVE IN THE WHITE HOUSE FOR SOME REASON

Dad: Did you see what your President did now?
Me: Oh, it’s hard to tell. What now?
Dad: He sent that guy to Cuba, but if we went to Cuba, we’d be arrested.
Me: Oh, that guy. Of course. If I ask what guy, are you going to yell at me?
Dad: Some rippety rapper. (The internet tells me it was Jay-Z and he and Beyoncé went there for their anniversary? I could research this more but I don’t even care that much. Unless it’s Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” I don’t care at all.)

Aw, how cute are they? Like a little honeymooning couple. With the little polo shirt and the tropical-print dress. ADORABLE.

Aw, how cute are they? Like a little vacationing couple. With the little polo shirt and the tropical-print dress. ADORABLE.

Me: OK, then.
Dad: The White House belongs to US and now all the people in Hollywood live there.
Me: I don’t…huh. What?
Dad: Why when I tell you a thing do you never believe me?
Me: Mostly because the things you tell me sound like crazytalk.
Dad: IT IS TRUE THE REAL NEWS TOLD ME ABOUT THIS.
Me: Uh-huh. The real news told you that all the Hollywood stars live in the White House with the president.
Dad: YES.
Me: Do you think maybe that’s an exaggeration?
Dad: NO.
Me: I think maybe he knows some Hollywood people and maybe some have visited.
Dad: THAT IS OUR HOUSE.
Me: Actually, that’s the President’s house, and I think he’s allowed to have houseguests if he pleases. I’m sure Ronald Reagan had Hollywood people visit. And I’m MORE than sure JFK did.

SIGH SO PRETTY BOTH SO PRETTY

SIGH SO PRETTY BOTH SO PRETTY

Dad: IT IS OUR HOUSE.
Me: Nah. We have houses. Mine’s here and it has cats in it; yours is there and it’s got trees in the backyard. We don’t need the president’s house.
Dad: If you keep your head in the sand about these things eventually you’re going to suffocate.
Me: I’ll put a straw in the sand like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I’ll be fine.
Dad: RIDICULOUS YOU ARE RIDICULOUS.

AMY’S DAD GETS ANGRY BECAUSE HE IS BEING VAGUE

Dad: When we were at (mumble mumble) island today, P. spent way too much money. I wouldn’t do that.
Amy: How come when I was there, we didn’t go to an island?
Dad: What? There are no islands.
Amy: I’m pretty sure, even though you were being a Mumble Mumblerton, you just said you went to an island.
Dad: THAT IS THE NAME OF THE SOUVENIR SHOP. Seriously, are you ok? You’re not getting it tonight. Do you have a head injury?
Amy: Yes. This is most definitely my fault for being slow on the uptake. Maybe the cats stole my breath when I was sleeping last night.
Dad: I keep TELLING you those cats are going to steal your breath. They’re killer cats. You never listen to me and soon it will be too late. BECAUSE YOU WILL BE DEAD. WITH NO BREATH.

Soon P. will be on her way back to the lovely Capital District of New York State (she lives about half an hour from me) and Dad will be ALL ALONE so his liver can detox, I suppose. I think our phone conversations will be quieter. Much less shouting. Fewer non-sequiturs. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Drunken Dad! I will miss you and your shoutery. I raise my store-brand sugar-free fruit-punch to you. And pour some out for my dead homiez, yo. That’s what I learned you do by watching rippety rappers who live in the White House. See, Dad? I totally learn things from watching teevee. I’m not even a disappointment.


Traveling the world with the most enthusiastic/obnoxious photography subject EVER.

I have about an hour to write this. This is going to be word-short and photo-heavy, my little potato pancakes.

NOW I WANT PANCAKES DAMMIT.

OK, so a looooong time ago, I was all, “Where are my photos of my trip to Europe back when I was a young and still-not-yet-disillusioned kiddo?” and thought they were lost to the ages but then I found them in a bag of things my mother brought me a couple years ago. When I was all, “MOM! Why didn’t you tell me those photos were in there?” she said, “I put those in there? Why would I have done that?” so I think Mom is losing it.

There were ALL KINDS of goodies in the bag. Therefore, you get:

PHOTOS OF AMY BEING A DORK AT A YOUNGER AGE IN VARIOUS LOCALES

today.

You can see how my hair has gone through many iterations. Also, my eyebrows used to be OUT. OF. CONTROL. And I still like making faces in photos just as much as I did back then.

Let’s see what we have first, shall we? It’s not just Europe in here, you guys. It’s ALL the locales.

Oh, I should warn you, these are terrible because I don’t have a scanner so I took ‘em with my cell phone.

Who can guess where I am. Anyone? Anyone? Red rocks? Pretending to look for alien life forms? No one? Really?

SEDONA!

This was from a trip my brother and I took to some place in Sedona where there were spaceships. There was a sign that said not to climb these rocks. I did it anyway. Then I made this face. I think I was probably about 24 here.

Please note the flannel shirt; it was the late 90s, so I thought I was Kurt Cobain, still, apparently.

I’m not sure what’s up with that hair. It’s not my hair color, and I guess I was going with shoulder-length that year.

This is 20-year-old-Amy pretending to be shocked at the news that King Arthur is dead. This is apparently King Arthur’s tomb. I don’t know how they know such things, either. The internet tells me I was at Glastonbury that day, apparently. I don’t remember anything about this trip at all. Do we think I was drunk? It’s a possibility, kiddos.

This is 20-year-old Amy again, pretending to be depressed that this super-historic rock is cracked. The back of this photo says “Amy is sad that the Anesbury stone is cracked” and it looks like I wrote that on there in the dark. Let’s see what this “Anesbury stone” is and where I was that day. OK, apparently it’s “Amesbury” and it’s a town close to Stonehenge. I remember going to Stonehenge. I wanted to see Druids but there weren’t even any Druids, it was super-depressing. Why were we hanging out with this stone, I wonder? Man, I’ve forgotten a large chunk of my 20s.

HOW CUTE AM I HERE SERIOUSLY. I want to hug myself, I’m so damn adorable. OK, so this is 20-year-old-me standing on either side of the international date line in Greenwich. Again, I don’t have a single recollection of being in this place, so it’s a good thing I have this photo. AND I AM SO CUTE IN IT. That’s a good smile. As you can see, I have an army-navy black trenchcoat here. This was before the trenchcoat mafia so I was safe, I guess. Also, I miss that sweater, it was super-comfy.

Ooh, now we’re skipping into the FEW-CHUR. I’m 28-ish here. Mer and I went to California for a trip. This is me outside of the Winchester Mystery House. That house totally gave me the shivers. This is pre-shivers, though. I’m not even making an obnoxious face here, so that’s a nice change for me.

This might be my favorite. This is me in Berlin. Dad, when I was little, used to say “CHECKPOINT CHARLIE!” a lot, so when I got to Berlin and there was a whole Checkpoint Charlie museum, I was so pleased I did a little dance. Then I had my photo taken with this odd look on my face to show him I was here. This was 18 years ago and I still have that shirt. And I still wear it, too. That shirt was a good investment. I can’t say the same for the eyebrows, though. WHO TOLD YOU THOSE WERE A GOOD IDEA, AMY?!?!?

I don’t know why this is so yellow, either. The hell, phone-camera? This is young Amy doing some sort of flamenco dance outside of a tall archway. As you can see, I am wearing a skirt. And Doc Martens. As one did in the 90s. I know, I am quite fancy. FINE, I will look up where this arch was. The back of the photo says I am at the Colosseum in Rome. I think this photo looks like Instagram before Instagram existed. I WAS AN INSTAGRAM HIPSTER! I don’t remember visiting the Colosseum in Rome. OH WAIT NO I TOTALLY DO. There were cats. CATS EVERYWHERE. And one of the guides was all, “They live here, don’t touch them.” Well, THAT’S sad.

This is another photo of the trip with Mer. Mer, I miss you the most right now, by the way. We are at Haight Ashbury. However, someone stole the “Haight” street sign so I assume anyone expecting to turn at Haight would be lost. All we could find was this Ashbury sign, and someone said, “Yeah, this is Haight Street, people are always stealing the sign.” Jeez, how about a little peace, love and understanding, you thieving asshole? Anyway, these jeans were a mistake. They came pre-ripped-up and after about three washings they fell apart. They fit really well, though. I’m not even acting like a goon in this one. Mer brings out the LADY in me.

That is all the photos of me. Well, there were a lot of photos of various pieces of architecture, so I was all, WHO CARES ABOUT THOSE. No one, is who. Why weren’t people taking more photos of me? I’m really the most awesome. With the faces and poses and such.

I will leave you with this, because just seeing it again made me laugh and laugh:

When we were in Paris, I needed an adventure so one day I left the city all on my lonesome and went to Rouen, which is a pretty little town not too far away. It’s where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. That’s not WHY I went there, I’m not like a Joan of Arc fetishist or anything. I just wanted to get out of Paris and have a solo adventure, is all.

Anyway, this was a Joan of Arc wax museum, only everything was falling over, and it was terrible, and at one point, one of the figurines had a Hanes sweatsock unceremoniously plopped on its hand. Like it was a sock puppet, I guess. It wasn’t on purpose. I think some kid did it. But it struck me as hilarious, so I seriously had to lean against the wall and laugh until I almost cried. SWEATSOCK! I apparently did not take a photo of the sweatsock, or it didn’t come out. A LOT of my photos did not come out. Remember back in the day when you didn’t know if your photos would come out, like, when you used FILM and you HOPED and you PRAYED they would? I don’t miss those days at all. Not even a little bit. I love digital, me. Instant gratification!!!

I hope you have enjoyed today’s installment of Amy Takes You Around the World and Makes Faces in All the Different Places. I’m pretty sure I have more of these photos so can totally do another one of these someday when I have like an hour before bed and nothing else to say.

Happy weekend, all! Remember: the rules for a good photo are location, light, and lunacy!


Only fools rush in. Unless I stab them with a letter opener. Less rushing, more bleeding.

One thing kids like is to be tricked.  For instance, I was going to take my little nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse.  “Oh, no,” I said.  “Disneyland burned down.”  He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he thought it was a pretty good joke.  I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but it was getting pretty late.  ~Jack Handey

It is April Fools’ Day. I don’t care for such things. Mostly because I think this day gives people license to be a total and complete jerk to others, and then when you don’t laugh at the joke, YOU look like the ass. Because YOU ARE NOT IN THE MOOD OF THE DAY.

HA HA A TERRIFYING CLOWN. That's hysterical.

HA HA A TERRIFYING CLOWN. That’s hysterical.

On Friday at work, my coworkers thought it was funny to leap out at people. I’m not sure if they were doing a pre-April-Fools’-celebration, or it was just a funny thing they were doing. One person leaped out at my boss, which scared her so much she screamed, then cried. This made everyone laugh and laugh. THAT IS NOT FUNNY. When friend A. came over to tell me how awesome that prank had been, I told him in NO uncertain terms that if anyone ever did such a thing to me, I would stab them with my letter opener. I’m pretty sure he knew from my stern face I wasn’t kidding. And by the fact I put my letter opener right by my mouse for easy access.

See, I have an insane startle reflex. I have a touch of PTSD from things that have happened in the past, and I do not like things popping out at me. I’ve talked before about how terrible I am at haunted houses around Halloween, because there, you are PAYING for people to leap out at you. I also don’t like surprise parties where people jump out at you. What the hell is fun about people leaping out at you like that? Nothing. I would walk right out of that party. When I was about six or seven my parents had one of those parties for me and every photo of me at that party are me pouting because people all leaped out and I was SO MAD because I felt like I was being TRICKED.

NOT FUNNY. You are all dead to me now.

NOT FUNNY. You are all dead to me now.

Anyway, so today, I thought I would research April Fools’ pranks and we would talk about them. And why they are a mistake. A TOTAL MISTAKE.

So first, there is a whole website of pranks. It has helpful tips like “plan ahead!” and “make sure you’re not being MEAN!” and “don’t prank strangers!” Well, once you prank a friend using one of these, they’re going to become a stranger, because they’re sure as hell not going to be your friend anymore.

Here are some VERY GOOD IDEAS* (*not at all good):

  • “Go into your victim’s closet and steal one of each of their shoes. Hide them and then laugh while they frantically try to find a match!” Um. If someone stole one of each of my shoes and used up the minimal time I have in the morning to get ready, and I found out they did that, I would beat them around the head and neck with the remaining shoe. And also I’d be late for work. That’s not funny, that’s asshatty. Also, what are you doing in my house? Did you sneak in like a burglar? I live alone. This is worrisome.
  • “Take a box of cereal, crackers, etc., and cut out the entire bottom. Set the box on the cupboard shelf and then dump the cereal or crackers straight into the top of the box (if the contents of the box came in a plastic bag, discard the bag). Close the top. Then, when your victim goes to grab the box, the contents will fall straight out onto the floor!” OMG WHAT. What a mess. WHAT. A. MESS. Also, cereal is not CHEAP, you know. You just wasted my good cereal by TOUCHING it, then making me dump it on the FLOOR. Also, again, may I ask how you got in my house?
  • “Take your victim’s disposable water bottle and make sure the lid is on tight and that it is completely full. Then take a small push pin and put several holes in the bottom. A small amount of water will drip out when you do this, but then water pressure will prevent any more from coming out the holes. When your victim grabs the bottle, it will either leak when they squeeze it, or water will come pouring out of the holes when they take off the top.” Again, this is such a douche move. You just ruined my clothing and also my water bottle. Now I have to get changed, and also get a new bottle of water. Again, HOW DID YOU GET IN MY HOUSE.

    Get out of my house, you prankster. WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT CROWBAR.

    Get out of my house, you prankster. WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT CROWBAR.

  • “Take a candle, light it, and let it burn until some melted wax builds up. Blow out the flame, then set the candle on its side on some waxed paper, allowing the melted wax to drip into a puddle. Wait for it to harden, then remove the waxed paper. Now you can place the candle “mess” on something valuable–like your wife’s favorite coffee table!” HA HA HA HONEY I RUINED YOUR FAVORITE COFFEE TABLE! Who has a “favorite” coffee table? I mean, seriously? That implies you have multiple coffee tables and have chosen the favorite one. Also, this is kind of sexist. Because wives often have favorite pieces of furniture. HA HA. Gag.
  • “Offer to make a sandwich for the victim. But don’t remove the wrapper from the slice of cheese. When they bite down they’ll get a chewy surprise.” Hey, Charlie, here’s a sandwich, yum, HA HA APRIL FOOLS’! Charlie? Charlie? Are you choking? Charlie? Do you need me to do the Heimlich? CHARLIE ARE YOU OK? (I actually pranked myself with this one a while back. It was the grossest thing, and I almost threw up because paper and teeth made such a weird noise in my head. Gack, thinking about it makes me shudder all over again.)

    Wasn't that a super-good joke, Charlie? Ha ha! CHARLIE!

    Wasn’t that a super-good joke, Charlie? Ha ha! CHARLIE!

  • “Replace the lotion in your victim’s lotion bottle with mayonnaise.” WHAT THE HELL. OK, this is wrong on a lot of levels. A., I know some people who hate mayo more than anything in the world. This would make them so disgusted they would never talk to me again. B., this would mean you have to take a shower, because now you’re covered in disgusting greasy mayo, which has EGGS in it, and is only good on SANDWICHES. And C., did you just throw away someone’s LOTION? Why are you so wasteful?

Then I found this site on Parade. That means a bunch of people got this in their Sunday papers today. DO NOT DO THESE, people who got this in their Sunday paper today. Just because it’s in the paper doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

  • “This one’s for diabolical parents: When the kids are sound asleep, switch them to each other’s beds. Just make sure you’re there to see their reactions when they wake up!” HA HA! What kind of kids sleep through being moved to another bed? Also, if I was a kid, and I woke up in my brother’s stupid bed, I would not be all “APRIL FOOLS’!” I’d be all “This bed smells gross and why did you touch me while I was sleeping? Is this what bad touch means?”
  • “Replace the cream filling of Oreos with toothpaste, then invite your target for a snack.” Here, Charlie, sorry about the sandwich thing, have some dessert. HA HA APRIL FOOLS’, CHARLIE! Oh, shit, Charlie, are you choking again? Is it because you just ate a whole mouthful of toothpaste when you were expecting delicious creme? CHARLIE ARE YOU OK? What do you mean, you don’t want to be my friend anymore. APRIL FOOLS’ PRANKS ARE FUN, CHARLIE!
  • “Sprinkle grape Kool-Aid mix inside the showerhead to turn the water—and your victim’s skin—purple.” HA HA YOU LOOK LIKE A GRAPE! Oh, it’s not coming off? Even with multiple showerings? And you can’t go to work and now you got fired and you can’t pay your rent and you’re homeless and living under a bridge sharing your cardboard box with a hobo named Toothless Joe? Sorry, dude, it was really a good prank, though. The newspaper said so.

    HEE HEE! Good one*! (*Not at all a good one)

    HEE HEE! Good one*! (*Not at all a good one)

  • “Place mini marshmallows on top of the ceiling fan’s blades, then ask someone to turn it on.” Um. Why is this even funny? Your living room is now covered in mini-marshmallows. Yay? Ha?
  • “Fill soap dispensers around the house with pancake syrup.” Yes. Yes, when I wash my hands, I’d love if my soap was a sticky mess. Good. Also, why are you wasting syrup? It’s super-expensive, if you buy the real stuff.
  • “Spread a layer of cream cheese over your target’s deodorant.” WHY ARE YOU MAKING PEOPLE COVER THEIR BODIES IN FOOD. Is this 9 1/2 Weeks? No? It’s DISGUSTING, is what it is. And it’s going to make people late for work.
  • “Dip the ends of your officemate’s pens in clear nail polish.” A., I’m in charge of buying/replacing office supplies, so this wouldn’t be so much “funny” as it would be “Amy, my pens stopped working, can I have some new ones?” all day long, so, no. And B., I read “pens” as “penis” and therefore, the sentence was SUPER-FUNNY to me, and a lot more naughty. And also I was wondering what kind of relationship you have with your coworkers.

OK. Now that we have read all of these super-good ideas, what have we learned, my little pranksters?

THAT APRIL FOOLS’ PRANKS AREN’T FUNNY.

Don’t do these things. Don’t even do them. Except maybe the penis thing. The penis thing is kind of funny. Mainly because I read it wrong.

Happy April Fools’ Day, my sweetest spring flowerbuds. Watch out for pranksters today. I give you permission to stab them with letter openers if you must. Just try not to get caught. Blame it on that one weird guy in IT, if you have to do stabbery. You are WELCOME.


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