Chicken In A Bowl
When I was young, I used to think that tartar sauce was made from the same tartar that can get on one’s teeth. Out of all the wrong stuff that I’ve thought about, this is clearly among the most misguided and counterfactual of clusterfucked ideas of mine.
Lately, I’ve seen runners with miners’ head lights on their heads. Why, joggers? You’re just running down the street at night. That’s all. There are street lamps above. Just look up and you’ll notice them. Actually, you don’t even have to look up because they’re shining light DOWN on you. Where are you going with that light on your head? Jogging in some caves and caverns? Are you going to rescue real miners? You’re jogging down Easy Street, not charging into the Bat Cave.
Speaking of running, running with your dog is pointless. You’re trying to go forward while your dog keeps sniffing the nearest piece of shit on the ground. You’ll never get your heart rate up if you keep on starting and stopping. Meanwhile, your dog’s heart rate’s beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings because it’s happy as shit to be smelling shit.
Chivalry may be dead, but it’s got company. Masculinity is dead, too. Don’t believe me? Holla at me the next time you see a grown man walking a dog the size of a tomato can. Or the next time you see a grown man caressing a cat in his arms like it’s his newborn, first-born son. Or any guy who still wears Crocs.
Why does the arrow in the In-N-Out Burger logo look like it’s going up and away? Up-N-Away Burger may be more appropriate.
Guaranteed way to look like you fell on your head as a child: Power-walking downhill.
Ordered a tall blonde once in a Hollywood Starbucks. Felt like such a sellout.
When I’m walking down the street and a woman comes out of nowhere and walks in front of me, and then she turns back to look at me as if I am following or stalking her…Lady, please! I was walking on this street first. Get over yourself. You ain’t that special. In fact, you’re the one stalking me from the front.
Typos. I once typed a text that read, “I’m eating chicken out of a bowl.” That was after a quick revision, though. I had originally typed, “I’m eating chicken out of a bowel.”
While eating lunch, the wind blew and knocked over my chocolate shake. The shake fell over my lap. “Great! Now it looks like I shit myself from the front.”
The fortune cookies I get aren’t usually fortunes. They’re more like suggestions. Sometimes, not even that. For instance, things like “Have a great day,” “Your shoes are untied,” “Today is Tuesday,” and “Give a brotha a chance, son!” are not fortunes.
Blanche, Ethel, Myrtle, Barbara, Mildred, Doris, Louise, Frances, Shirley, Ruby, Betty, Helen, Agatha, Phyllis, Beatrice, Marge, Ruth, Leola, Gretchen, Gertrude, Martha, Opal, Rose, Eleanor, Marlene, Gladys, Josephine, Ilene. All old-fashioned (some would say antiquated) names that sound a lot better than North.
Think Ink|Thinq Inq 
