Champagne Tastes, Kool-Aid Pockets

Have you seen baby strollers these days? A lot of them look like moon rovers. Like this one. Umm hmmm…

Why do dogs defecate and then turn around and kick dirt on it, when the majority of the dirt lands nowhere near it?

Many single moms look for a man who gets along really well with their kid(s). While this act definitely has sincere intentions, maybe something is being overlooked. Maybe the guy gets along with kids so well because he’s more like them than an adult…

People who come to work with wet hair…please go back home. Do us all a favor and run around the block first to air-dry that mess. You look like you just fought alongside Braveheart for 4 days straight. Or just got off a journey with the Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship.

My friend told me that her friend wanted to have her birthday party in a really trendy, swanky part of town, but she always complains about being broke. I told my friend that her girl had “champagne tastes” and “Kool-aid pockets.” My friend chuckled and said she had never heard that saying before. That surprised me, but it got me thinking about myself. I wondered whether or not I fit that description. After some considerable thought, I concluded that I’m not that type of person. I’m more of a “Kool-Aid tastes, Kool-Aid pockets” kind of guy.

Nothing worse than an old person who refuses to sit down on the bus. Elderly folks, if I offer you my seat on the bus, you should take it. The centrifugal force from the turn coming up alone is enough to send your frail body through the window and into orbit. I know you’ve been here for centuries and you feel that you can do anything, but time isn’t your friend, my friend. Neither is gravity. You should sit down. Take a load off. No one wants to see you bouncing from wall to wall and person to person, all because you feel like you can hold your own against physics and inertia. You can’t. Just sit your old ass down. When I get old and incredibly stubborn, hopefully someone will do the same for me.

The term adultery sounds like something one needs to do in order to become an adult. It almost sounds like a rite of passage…
FATHER: Son, it’s time.
SON: Is it really, Pop?
FATHER: It sure is. Time for my boy to become a man. It’s time you committed…adultery.
SON: Yay! Soon, I’ll be an adult…an adulterer! Just like you, Pop!
FATHER: Whoa! Hold your horses, son. One step at a time. Adult, first. Adultery, second. Alright?
SON: OK.

A coworker of mine just started coughing in the middle of a meeting. Said he was choking on “snack dust.”

People throw out hot coffee that has gone cold. Yet people drink iced coffee. Isn’t iced coffee colder than coffee sitting at room temperature? Hmm…

People walk over puddles so their shoes don’t get dirty. When you think about it, it sort of doesn’t make sense. The whole point of shoes is to keep your feet from getting dirty. To protect your feet from stuff on the ground that could hurt you. Right? Well, people. There’s only one solution. We need shoes that protect the shoes that protect our feet. Shoes for shoes. Sure, we’ll all look like we’re wearing Ronald McDonald-sized clown shoes, but our shoes will be safe and sound, as will our feet. Layers and layers of safety, comfort, and peace of mind for all.

I’m at my best and sharpest when I drink shitty coffee. The worse the coffee, the better my mind works. Therefore, I go around and grab cups from all types of fine establishments. Bank coffee, car shop coffee, gas station coffee, and construction site coffee are at the top of my list.