SITUATION 1:

Once standing in line in a men’s restroom, I heard a guy tell his friend that he was standing at the urinal once, and the dude standing next to him at the adjacent urinal looked over and said to him, “You have nice forearms.”

The awkwardness of that encounter is magical. You don’t know if he’s honestly complimenting your forearms, or if he just happened to peek over your guns to see your pistol.

The only thing worse than saying that would be if he said, “Nice pythons.”

SITUATION 2:

You walk into a public restroom and head straight for the handicap stall. Why? Because it’s the luxury suite of any restroom. More legroom. A hook to hang your hat and jacket. You could throw a block party in there. Suddenly, someone starts beating on the door, yelling for you to hurry up and get out. You shout back at him, cussing him out and telling him to go to hell. When you come out of the handicap stall, you see a guy in a wheelchair’s been waiting there the whole time. You ain’t handicapped. He’s probably wet himself by now. You’re an ass.

SITUATION 3:

When you see someone fall in the restroom. Should you help him? Should you leave him there? Either way, that poor guy is a goner. He won’t die from the fall, but from the impending complication of illnesses he contracted from touching the floor in a men’s room. Touching the floor in the men’s room is like having the “Outbreak” monkey wipe his ass with its hand and then letting it put his hands in your mouth to massage your sore throat. Nice knowing ya.

SITUATION 4:

When I’m at the bathroom urinal, what makes you think that I want to hold a conversation with you? The close proximity of our genitalia doesn’t automatically warrant any small talk, chit chat, etc. I ain’t thinking about the weather, the game last night, the new girl in Finance, or anything. In fact, when I’m pissing, I’m just listening to the sound of my own high-pressurized pee slam up against finely handcrafted porcelain. Everlasting calm. The sound of serenity. Why do you have to mess that up?

SITUATION 5:

While inconveniently working at a convenience store, I became an intense people-watcher. Whether spotting some kids who were about to rob the store or just observing the latest old lady trying to get over on a fellow cashier with expired coupons, I had a sharp attention to detail. So I start noticing this big guy (6’3″, 280+ lbs.) coming into the store every other day at about 5:40 PM. Always with a shifty look in his eyes, he’d walk around the perimeter of the store 2 to 3 times, head over to the hair products aisle, stay in that area (out of my sight) for a few minutes, and then go to the restroom in the back. About 10 minutes later, he’d walk back up to the front of the store and leave, usually without buying nothing more than a pack of gum or a candy bar…and panty hose. Because I would work the floor too, I’d have to leave the register and help restock the aisles when store traffic was slow. I’d also have to clean the restrooms at closing. One day, I had to restock some panty hose, which was near the hair products section. I stocked 9 panty hose packages before I was called back up to the register. I didn’t return to the panty hose section until closing when I noticed that one was missing. When I cleaned the men’s restroom, I found some opened panty hose packaging in the trash. This happened for the next few weeks, only when this guy came in around 5:40 PM. Sometimes, I would find the panty hose packaging alongside a candy bar or gum wrapper. You put 2 and 2 together. Nice guy too. Very polite. Well-mannered. Just liked to wear panty hose.

First thing I hear when I get on the bus one Saturday: “I already been in prison. I don’t wanna die.” Me neither, guy. Me neither.

The word face is too small to call my face that. My face needs a bigger word. Like
countenance.

When I was younger, I used to think that there was some sort of nerve connection from my
sides to my rectum. Yup. Seriously. Someone would poke me in the side, and then
the next thing you know, I’d become a human space shuttle launch. Still not sure what that odd, twisted anatomical confusion was about. I wonder where Kingdom Come is because I’ve sent a few folks there. And where is Smithereens?

——-

Based on an actual conversation on public transportation:

SHE: Hey, excuse me, do you mind if I open the window?

HE: I do mind.

SHE: Oh, ok.

HE: Why do you want it open?

SHE: Um, because it’s hot in here.

HE: You can’t open the window. You can’t just come here in interfere with the environment
that everyone else is sharing. You’ll introduce germs into the bus air.

SHE: Huh? Bus air? Are you serious?

HE: (brief pause) I am.

SHE: The only thing I’d introduce into this bus is fresh air.

HE: You know, the surgeon general says that an introduction of germs from one environment
into another makes a bad environment.

SHE: Are you for real?

HE: Plus, there’s a government conspiracy to infect–

SHE: Doesn’t the surgeon general work for the government? What are you talking abo—Stop
talking to me!

HE: I’m just saying. You wanted to roll down the window. You’re the one who wants to make
us all sick.

SHE: By getting some fresh air in here?! If anything, the germs in here would escape and go
outside. It’s fifty million degrees in here, dude! Everybody’s sweating. Hell, even
you’re sweating! Open the damn window!

HE: I can’t do that.

SHE: Fine.

She slides over to another seat and cracks open another window.

Immediately, the stuffy air is replaced with crisp, fresh air sent from God.

He puts on a surgical mask.

Don’t you hate it when someone says “I told you so,” when they never told you shit?

Dogs in strollers. What? Your dog can’t walk? What is it, the first dog opposed to being and acting like a dog? Dogs love walks. They can’t wait to walk. All the dogs in the world are thinking about walking right now. Even the ones walking are thinking about walking some more. You walk a dog in the morning before you go to work. For the next eight hours, your dog is just sitting around waiting for you to come back…just so you can walk it again! It’s got to be the most boring existence in the world. Almost as boring as a baby who hasn’t learned to roll over yet. Can you imagine? Just being on your back all day long, slobbering on yourself, picking at your toes, looking up at a fuggin’ mobile? The mobile’s moving. But you’re not, you immobile sonofabitch. I’m sure that although babies and dogs have similar extremely short attention spans, there’s at least five seconds during each waking hour when they want to shoot themselves in the face. “Oh my God, I’m so bored. I can’t roll over. Can’t crawl out of this goddamn crib. Fido over there just wants to walk around outside to piss and sniff strangers’ asses. FML.”

So I’m on the bus, minding my own business, hating my life, cussing out everyone on the bus in my mind, when this dumbass gets on the bus blasting music from his cell phone. President Obama, can you please send a solitary drone to this guy’s place of residence? No other casualties, please. Just snuff out this asshole. What an ego you have to have to roll up in a public arena and think that everyone’s going to be cool with listening to your horrid musical tastes! First of all, your cell phone speaker sounds like crap. Sounds like you
shrunk your favorite band and sealed them in a tin can that you forgot to poke holes into.  They sound like they’re dying. Secondly, a venue does exist where people of like musical affinities congregate to listen to their favorite musicians. It’s called a concert.  Normally, people pay for admission into concerts. You, sir, now have to pay everyone here on this bus. You’re disturbing the peace, so you either you break us all off with a piece of the dough that we’re well aware that you most likely don’t have since you’re riding the
bus like the rest of us broke fucks, or we throw you out the bus window…in pieces.

Women can go into any men’s restroom. Men can’t go into any women’s restroom. We just can’t. It’s a law of nature. The eleventh commandment. God scribbled it down on a tablet. It just upset Moses so much (“That’s not fair, God!”) that he just left it out when he
stood on that mountain and told all his homies about the cool-ass stone tablets that old guy upstairs hit him off with. If men do step into a women’s restroom, then they are perverts.  Women can take over a men’s john because this behavior is societally acceptable. So the next time you see a man peeing in the street, pat him on the back. Tell him you know feel his pain, his stress, his struggle, his plight. Then move out the way before he tinkles on you. After all, he still is a man, and the vast majority of us still can’t pee straight.

At the end of the day, I wish someone would retire the phrase “at the end of the day.”.

Whenever I watch these true crime shows and they show a young black guy, all of a sudden some random hip hop beat is played as if that’s his theme music. These are the only people who have music like this. Even the villain doesn’t have music. This is so racist. This is
so stupid. This is so inappropriate. This is so unfair…because I never got any of this racially specific theme music. I want some too. Some really good racially offensive theme music.  Something with a lot of bass and an ill hi-hat. Sheeeeit. Slide in a stanky guitar riff and some harmonica, and I’ll be your best friend.  I want to bop down the street after just robbing a liquor store, dribbing a basketball, munching on a watermelon slice, dropping my food stamps all over the place, all while wearing a KFC bucket on my head.

Q: There are 10 incompetent asses in a room. How many incompetent asses are there?
A: 30. The 10, their 10 behinds, and the additional assistant asses on their phones or laptops.

A tortoise-porpoise hybrid. Something that just popped into my mind. Doesn’t make any sense, I know. The words have similar spellings. That’s all. It was only natural for me to merge the two animals into one slow, old, squeaky beast.

Dosed off on the bus. Woke up to a woman with a thick accent saying, “‘scuse me,” but it sounded like “kiss me.” Awkward moment. She was trying to get up from her seat and go by me. Still in a sleepy fog, I thought she wanted to sit in my lap.

Give your dog a break. There’s no need to dress your dog in a sweater, vest, coat, jacket, pants, overalls, skirt, jumpsuit, scarf, lederhosen, or any other item of clothing. Dogs already come with stylish coats, designed by Nature. You think your dog looks cute. It
looks ridiculous. And it knows it. And this is why other dogs are picking on it, beating it up, and snatching its lunch money. Wonder why Spot always looks sad and keeps climbing to the top of the couch? Spot’s contemplating suicide.

If man’s best friend is an animal (dog) and rocks (diamonds) are a girl’s best friend, then the nation’s 50% divorce rate makes a lot more sense now. We’re all crazy.

Why do we call people who have passed away “late?” Aren’t they, in essence, early?

WHEN YOU KNOW THE NEXT FEW MINUTES PROBABLY WON’T BE GOOD, Reason #281: When the first thing you hear someone say as you’re getting on the bus is, “I already been in prison. I don’t wanna die.”

The word face is too small a word to call my face that. My face needs a bigger word. Like countenance.

I wanted to inexplicably roundhouse kick these triplets who were walking toward me.

There’s a debate on whether or not to use the dollar coin solely and kill dollar bill production, or to keep the status quo. Some people really do hate change.

So the lady at the grocery counter this morning asks the guy in line in front of me if he prefers paper or plastic. This cat says, “Well, I prefer to pay with my bank card.” Unable to take it, I just went to another line.

Say this on Thanksgiving: Felicitous Meleagris gallopavo diurnal course, populace! No one will acknowledge your dumb ass.

Just heard a woman say, “I have a man crush on Channing Tatum.” What?

A gift card is really a gift from an indecisive person to you so that you can use it to buy that person something nice.

There’s a dating website called BlackPeopleMeet.com. One day, I got an email from BlackPeopleMeat.net. Let me just tell you now. They are not the same site.

Full-finger rings are cool…sometimes. You have to have a certain panache to pull it off. And if you don’t, then pull it off. The ring, that is. I saw one the other day. Looked sort of like Art Deco meets Art Nouveau. Pretty eclectic. However, I quickly realized that I can’t wear one without looking like one of three things: 1) a broke-ass dragonslayer who somehow ended up in the wrong time period…who happens to be black, 2) some depressed goth kid who scratches people’s backs for money…and happens to be black, or 3) or some modern-day knight who can’t afford a whole shield and uses his ring instead…and happens to be a reject from a Prince cover band.

Every time Taylor Swift sings or a song of hers is played somewhere in the world, an angel baby dies.

Jill wanted Jack to promise her the world.
So Jack surprised her one day, “Here’s a globe, girl!”

Eleven.

She said “Promise me the wind,” on an awkward date.
So he got her a portable fan that oscillates.

Ten.

She wanted him to promise her the heavens and stars at night.
He told her the best he could do was to catch a meteorite.

Nine.

One fateful day, she said to him, “Promise me sunshine.”
Right then and there, he knew he had to draw the line.

Eight.

“I can’t promise you that; sometimes there’ll be showers.
I can’t promise time; hell, it’s DST, we just lost an hour.

Seven.

“Through all of your wants, through all that you ask,
I feel like you just want to keep me busy with tasks.

Six.

“My goal is to make you happy. This is what I chose.
I gave you my heart and soul, but you never ask for those.

Five.

“Dear Jill, that exchange’s not fair like a carnival.
One of us participates and the other won’t start at all.

Four.

“This shouldn’t be tug o’ war; there shouldn’t be a score.
It shouldn’t be a game; it’s more than mine or yours.

Three.

“We should be working together, you know, working as a pair.
Don’t act like you’re sitting on a throne when it’s really just a chair.

Two.

“Where ya going now? Don’t walk away. Don’t eschew it.
Funny you’re leaving this table when you bring nothing to it.

One.

I treat you like a queen, even though all you want is stuff.
I can promise you that I’ll try.” Jill said, “Trying’s not enough.”

“……………”

It’s way too hot these days. The only time I want to see 110 degrees is at a college graduation.

One day I was wearing my ivy/newsboy/driver’s cap. All of a sudden, I hear a woman laughing her head off. She’s sitting in a car with a handicap license plate on it. She bellows out, “You look like a taxi cab driver.” I say to her, “Well, with that handicap license plate, you look like a cripple, right?” Too mean?

Who decided to come up with the term “sweet tooth?” Teeth don’t have taste buds. Wouldn’t “sweet tongue” or “sweet taste buds” be a better descriptor?

Ever seen anyone who has that type of face you want to head butt.

If you’re a black Congressman with a flattop/high-top fade in 2012, you must be a penis. House Representatives Alan West of Florida and Artur Davis of Alabama, I’m talking to y’all.

Elderly people, stop walking on the bus when it’s in motion. I’m tired of seeing your bodies flying all over the place, slamming into poles, seats, and my bag of Fritos. It’s hard enough for you to walk on solid ground.

—

An Internet oldie but goodie:

I understand that Scissors can beat Paper, and I get how Rock can beat Scissors, but there’s no way Paper can beat Rock. Paper is supposed to magically wrap around Rock leaving it immobile? Why the heck cant paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can’t paper do this to people? Why aren’t sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they attempt to take notes in class?
I’ll tell you why, because paper can’t beat anybody, a rock would tear that up in 2 seconds. When I play rock/ paper/ scissors, I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, oh, I’m sorry, I thought paper would protect you 😐

—

Real convo.

PERSON: Ok, I want chicken now. And eggs.

ME: I just want to eat a pregnant chicken. 2 birds, 1 stone.

PERSON: LOL. Ewww.

ME: That’s smart, right?

PERSON: No.

ME: No?

PERSON: No.

ME: Ok.

—

Just saw a police car with an “Out of Service” sign in the window. Not sure what it means, but I’m hoping it’s the world’s worst undercover cop.

Some guy on a Stamps.com commercial said that there’s nothing worse than having to wait in line at the post office. I can think of several things worse than that. Like getting shot in the face.

Constipation is just like boredom. Sitting around literally waiting for shit to happen.

Nicki Minaj sings that she wishes she “could have this moment for life.” After singing that
for 4 minutes, hasn’t that moment passed?

There’s a urology office in Alhambra, CA, called Dikranian Urology.  Think about it.

I know these waterfree urinals are supposed to save the world and all, but some of these
urinals need water. Some of them are insanely filthy. Some of that buildup looks like blocks of cheddar. Oh…Oh God…Urrrrrgh…Blurpurrugh. I just lost my appetite.

There should be some sort of standard for panhandling. Some type of bum etiquette. When you get approached by someone yelling, “Ay man! Gimme some money! I know you got some change, you muthafukkin’ stank-ass bitch,” you’re probably going to be less inclined to help him out.

If your store’s security guards look like they need bodyguards, then you should hire new
security guards.

Saw some guy this morning enter the restroom, wash his hands, go to the urinal, come back to
the sink to wash his hands again, and then use some hand sanitizer on the way out. First
thing that pops in my head: “That gentleman’s genitals must be absolutely filthaaaaay!”

“I’m not familiar precisely with exactly what I said but I stand by what I said whatever it
was.”  –Mitt Romney

Casual “wheelchairing” ain’t cool. If you don’t need one, then walk. If I see one more
person GET OUT of their wheelchair, straighten it up, and then get back in it, I’m going to
climb to the nearby highest point, scream like Ric Flair, leap off, drop-kick that person in
the chest, and send ’em rolling backwards into the traffic.

“Moo moo sah fah lah fah taffy can!” –what some nut said this morning on the street

Saw this guy on the bus the other day.  Had to get a pic of his shoes.  …I pray the Lord my sole to keep…

Ahhh, ain’t nothing like that new-city-bus-but-it’s-not-really-new-because-this-dude-is-staring-at-me-while-licking-his-fingers-and-wetting-his-pants smell.

Sign: Baby on Board.
Translation: I’m a cartoonishly horrendous driver who uses this sign to encourage you to drive with care because my baby’s with me when, really, you need to watch out for me.

The 20k race walk shouldn’t be an Olympic sport. Folks are just walking fast. The commentator complimented someone’s “walking technique.” C’mon!

Everyone fawns over puppies and babies. No one fawns over a fawn. Seems pretty unfair, given that the word is their actual name.

People kill me with this whole “don’t eat the animals” kick. Why are you hating on meat? We’re all meat! Why would you hate on yourself?

Being a hardcore grass grazer ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard of some vegetarian having to go back to eating meat because of a serious lack of iron. You see, iron is a metal. The word metal unscrambled is LMeat. Metal has meat in it! And the L stands for Lots. So eat it!

Shouldn’t the word menopause be changed to womenopause, and the word menstrual cycle to womenstrual cycle?

While watching the London Olympics, I came across some interesting facts. Each gold medal is 92.5% silver, 1.34% gold, and the rest is copper (with a minimum of 6 grams of gold). The silver medal is 92.5% silver with the remainder being copper. Lastly, the bronze medal is 97% copper, 2.5% zinc, and 0.5% tin. So any silver medalist can put down any gold medalist by letting that person know that their gold medal has just as much silver in it as their silver medal has.

Always wanted a tattoo but there’s really no point. That would be like taking a black Sharpie to a Snickers bar. You’ll be able to see it, but just not too clearly.

These “Friends” photo frames are completely unnecessary. If I see you with a group of people in a framed photograph, of course, I’m going to think that you’re either friends or family. Having “Friends” emblazoned on the frame just makes you look insecure and redundant. I mean, if manufacturers are going to continue making these frames, then they should start making “Enemies” frames, too. Might as well. I’m sure someone out there has a picture of themselves surrounded by 7 or 8 smiling, congenial, extremely photogenic archenemies, archrivals, and people they’d personally love to put in the ground.

I don’t understand why dog owners let their dogs lick them on the face and in the mouth.  No idea why.  None at all.  I’ve always heard that a dog’s mouth is cleaner than human’s mouth.  So if this is true, by letting their dogs lick them in the mouths, aren’t these dog owners actually making their dogs sick?

Email signatures are dumb. Your inspirational quote from Einstein, Ghandi, MLK, Steve Jobs, Ayn Rand, your mama, Bruce Lee, Wolf Blitzer, your 3-year-old son, incredibly sage grandpappy, or anyone else that you have at the bottom of this chain letter that you forwarded me is not, will not, and cannot inspire me to go out and do good in the world. Especially when the only things I’m thinking about right now is calling your internet provider to disconnect your service, and dispatching my hitman to mash you out.

I got a story to tell that’s hard to explain.
Please bear with me as I swerve in the lane
Of memories. I promise to do my best
To confess and get these feelings off my chest.

I was coloring in my book on the front porch
It was the middle of June, sunny and scorched,
She stopped by and said she admired my crayon box.
She wore jean shorts, a rayon shirt, and slouch socks.
Her name sounded nice. It was Brienna.
She said her favorite crayon was burnt sienna.
I said, “Funny, I only see that color on our TV monitor.”
She said, “I just really like it, plus it rhymes with my moniker.”
OK, OK, OK. We didn’t really talk that way. Illogic.
But our imaginations were pretty kaleidoscopic.
We quickly became friends, she was new in town
Two peas in a pod, we cruised around
That summer, we never slumbered, just laughed and joked
Mischievous kids, we got in trouble with our folks
Riding bikes with popsicle sticks in our spokes
Tagging up walls, dodging the law, and climbing oaks
Soon the fall began, bringing school in session
We were in the same class, same grade, same lesson
Our favorite subjects were recess, lunch, and PE.
Favorite snacks: Crunch n’ Munch and anything sugary.
We were inseparable, even teased the older meatheads
Steadily building up our 4th grade street cred

We took the bus home after the last school bell.
It was hot. It was cramped. Elementary school hell.
So we decided to skip the bus and take a stroll
And see what new adventure would unfold.
We got halfway home when she tugged on my sleeve
Said she knew a secret path home that was covered with leaves
A woodland sea of orange and brown, burnt sienna all around
Slowly falling down, this was our hallowed ground
It was our little world, a land where we could dream
Never was there a place so free and serene

Then one day she told me she would meet there after school
She said “see ya there” and I said “cool.”
Before I left the premises, this I almost missed,
She leaned over sweetly and gave me my first kiss
My heart was beating so fast, a mile a minute,
Floating on cloud nine, happiness infinite
I glided to the street path, never touching the ground
I’m sure my grin could be seen for miles around
So I sat there and waited
And waited…and waited
Seems like a lifetime went by, or so it felt
I ended up walking the secret path by myself
The minute I got home, I told my parents
I was a ball of nerves, which was so apparent
They called her parents, who called the cops
Within hours, the whole neighborhood was combing the block
Prayers, volunteers, and hopes flooded the area
There hasn’t been an experience that was scarier.
We held an event at school, to let Brienna know she wasn’t alone
To let know we loved her and we wanted her safe at home

The next day still haunts me again and again
I can still visualize the scene, just around the bend
A few feet down the path, near the shadowy end,
Among the orange and burnt sienna, they found my best friend
One shoe was missing, her hair was all mangled
The coroner said that she had been strangled
Her clothes were torn and backpack stranded nearby
Her eyes were wide open, fixated on the sky
Even in death, she was still looking for answers from up high
This is the origin of my soul’s eternal cry

It’s been 25 years and the pain’s not erased
It’s part of me now, here at your resting place
On this morning, mourning is the only emotion
I tried to move on, but was consumed by the notion
That I could’ve done more for you, but I was of no use
Yeah, I know that I was young but that’s really no excuse
I could’ve protected you, I’d trade my life for yours
Your limitless spirit, your smile I adore
I admit that any woman after you can’t get a fair start
Because none of them knew the secret path to my heart
Like you did. My feelings for you are deep rooted.
Your parents still live on the corner of 10th and Euclid.
The world didn’t deserve you. You’re too good for us.
I close my eyes now as the wind sings a chorus,
Whispering your name in rich, bold melodies
Spreading you to the world, with vivid memories
Of coloring books, and sleepy autumn days,
Beautiful friendships, magnificent sunrays,
And you—my first love and best friend Brienna
And this is how I will always remember burnt sienna.