Friday, June 13, 2008
Last Saturday night I went out for drinks with my friend Dave. In one of the bars we went to we ended up running into some friends of Dave from his grade school days. It was a girl he went to school with, her friend, and her friend's boyfriend, Ceasar. As I was introduced to them I shook their hands, enter their names here, and said it's nice to meet you, I'm Paul. When it got to Caesar...I said, "Caesar, it's nice to meet you, I love your salad." The second these words left my mouth I hated myself. Jesus, I mean really? Who the hell says that shit? Me, that's who, Captain Asshole, at your fucking service. Verbal diarrhea doesn't do it justice, it's more like verbal aneurysm. I can't control it, before there's even a thought of, "Gee Paul, are you going to regret saying this?" It's out there, it's gone, skip to damage control. What made matters worse was that my two new acquaintances and Dave were laughing. Caesar on the other hand seemed mildly amused and frankly, I can't blame him. The next words out of my mouth were, "Please stop, don't laugh at that, it only encourages me." You see, when you think you're a funny person, like I do, you like to believe that it takes some level of intellect and brains to be funny. The worlds a shitty place and most people seem pretty miserable, trying to put a positive spin on things and make people laugh isn't easy, it's hard...it takes skill. That's what we, I, like to believe. Then we have what I've just described. I called attention to the fact that this poor guy's name is also shared by a popular unhealthy salad. People with brain damage and sever retardation are capable of making this link. It wasn't hard at all, it was easy, too easy. Sigh, it was a joke, for lack of a better term, it was supposed to be funny...sort of, and it just came out of my mouth. Did it take much smarts or intellect? No... But people laughed... Sorry Caesar, I'm a twisted little man who needs the laughs of other to feel valuable and worthy...and I love your salads.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
If you're dating an anorexic girl or one that just obsesses over weight, I suggest a gift certificate to Lane Bryant or Torrid, one of those fat girl stores. Nothing sends home that message of bodily inadequacy like letting them know they'll never be skinny enough in your eyes either.(Don't blame the mirror chubs!)Reminding them there's always room for improvement will bring on a long and self destructive shame spiral that will ensure you won't be getting dumped by them anytime soon. Follow this up with presents like gift certificates to your favorite eateries. That way, when all is ordered, eaten, and purged, it's really like buying a present for yourself.
Hello everyone, my name is Paul, and this is my blog. As with much else in my life, I don't really have a plan or burning reason to start this or do this but, alas, here we are. I'm an aspiring comedian and writer and for the most part this should be an outlet for those kind of things. Now would be an opportune time to say something clever and witty to show my talents as aforementioned...but that would be too predictable. I cannot promise that I will post with any regularity at this point but hopefully the more I get used to this whole blogging thing, the more I'll share with you my weird twisted take on what's funny. I'm off to be gayer than an aids quilt and take pictures of myself for my profile, see y'all soon!