I mean. Honestly. This spot isn’t even that good. Its right in the middle. It’s nothing special. Nothing worth waiting over. Just move along and park farther back. Walk. Wow. That’s an idea. Walk an extra ten feet. It’ll be good for you.

OH MY GOD.

JUST GO!!

Ok. Fuck it. I’m gonna wait here. Thanks you assfuck. God dammit. This is so frustrating. You could have been parked and inside already! This is unbelievable! Maybe if I inch just a bit… no. Dammit.

Finally! Yes. Ok. Wait a second, you’re telling me there was another open spot like 3 cars down? I had to wait that long because you couldn’t go the extra few spots? Man. I hope I run into you inside. I’m not gonna say anything, but you’ll get a glare. That’s the truth.

Ok. Parked.

It’s really quite baffling. Now, the simple answer to this is: “Because car chases are incredible and what would the Bourne movies be without them.” To which I would say this: “Exactly.” Shooting out the tires on the car 7.5 seconds into the chase would put an abrupt end to things right then and there.

Am I the only one who, when watching a car chase in the theater, is just sitting there thinking, “just shoot the god damn tires and let’s get this over with.” Doesn’t it impede on the perception that these cops or whoever is doing the chasing has any training whatsoever? Any expertise in the field at all? Why are we shooting at windshields and trunks when there are 4 rubber, unmoving targets to aim at?

Now, I know some of you will argue that there are safety risks to others drivers if the tires are shot and the criminal loses control of the car. But wouldn’t a dead, bullet-riddled corpse have a little less control of the wheel? A little less care for other drivers on the road? Forget the windshield, go for the rubber.

Basically, I have a hard time understanding why we’re so concerned with looking out for the safety of these criminals anyway. These law-shedding vigilante pupils of civility that feel the best way to get away with a crime is to endanger the lives of just about everyone else they encounter on the never-at-all busy LA highways. This is clearly someone worth protecting. The decision to rob an old lady and then take to the streets is proof enough of the contributions we can expect them to offer to society in the future. Oh, and you can forget about innocent until proven guilty thing. Running from the cops, with the exception of one inexplicable case, is about as overt as one can be about being guilty.

So really, why is this such a tough decision? Why are we following this guy for hours hoping he’ll at some point pull a Forrest Gump and just stop, turn around and say, “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.” The road is cleared. The highway has been properly scraped clean for miles. No one is around. Shoot the tires and see what happens.

In fact, let’s look at this objectively. If you’re desperate, for whatever reason, to keep someone from leaving, from driving away and out of your life forever, what would you do? Pretend you’re standing in your driveway and you have to do something. Do you slash the tires of the car? Or do you bash in windshield?

Now, I’ve gone on record saying there’s nothing better than turning on CNN and finding a car chase that lasts for three hours. And it’s true. For those three hours. Afterwards, I’m just mad at myself for having so thoroughly wasted my time on something whose outcome was never once in doubt. So, something has to be done. Let’s try shooting the tires to start with, so that way I can get back to doing important things with my life - like surfing the Internet or taste-testing the food in my refrigerator.

What do you think, dear readers? Good idea or no? Do you have a better way of handling these absurd situations? Please, give us your thoughts. And be funny about it.

You know you’ll do it. You’ll forgo the tyranny of the jacket and jeans to soak up the 50-degree weather. The same 50-degrees that will warn you winter is fast approaching.

Take your time. Ease into the shorts. Go tanning first. Lay down a base. Winter is a harsh mistress. You’ve stayed in. You’ve eaten. You’ve lost your tan. You’ve gained a couple extra pounds. That’s fine. That’s natural. But you need to get into shorts shape. Don’t just go jumping in headfirst.

And yes. We know it’s warmer. But it’s certainly not warm. Wait until it gets into the 60s. 70s even. You’ll burn yourself out and start wishing for the days of jeans again. You’ll curse the shorts. The sandals. The t-shirts. You’ll ask “would you rather it be too hot or too cold” (there’s no right answer).

Because, honestly, you’re not fooling anyone.

“Man. Just feels good to wear shorts today”

“Are your teeth chattering?”

So. Just don’t rush the shorts. You’ll have plenty of time for it later.

• Keep It Short: Let’s be honest. Hearing someone talk about a dream is like listening to someone trying to tell a joke they only kind of remember. Lots of “wait… yeah”’s in there. I mean. It’s difficult because dreams rarely happen in a really linear and logical timeline. So sure, there’s lots of jumping around. But also, it’s the least mutually beneficial type of conversation. This happened to you, in a dream, and it wasn’t real. I’ll listen but if it goes over 5 minutes, I’m automatically going to tune out. And this leads me to my second point.
• Don’t Expect Me To React: What can I say? It’s hard to empathize with something that was made up by your subconscious. The best you could ever get from me would be, “Wow. Welp, that is weird”. That’s it. There’s nowhere else to go from that. I’m not going to analyze it. I’m not going to ask for more. I’m not going to show genuine concern. It was made up. Better yet, if your dream isn’t really funny in some way, don’t even tell it to me. At least if it’s funny it serves some high storytelling purpose.

Now. I understand that we can be viewed as negative here on this site. And that’s not my intention. It’s really not. I have weird dreams and I like to tell them to people. But I try to wrap them up in 30 seconds or less. Or explain the context of why said dream was weird when it happened at this particular point in my life. Or. If I’m telling someone about a dream and I realize I can’t remember large chunks of it, I’ll just stop and apologize. I won’t sit there and look up while I try to remember. Because, honestly, I don’t care that much. A lot of times I regret even bringing it up. But. That’s just me. 

I enjoyed the movie The Departed. I liked it when Leonardo’s character ordered a cranberry juice. I thought it was funny when that asshole said, “whaddaya got, yer period?” And I liked it when Leo bashed his face in with that glass. What I don’t like is that now whenever I go to a bar and get cranberry juice, 50 people ask me if I’m on my period.

Thing is, its already annoying being the sober one at a bar. So every time someone makes that joke and high fives someone, it’s just like a slap in the face. But you know – it’s part of a bigger problem. Servers who treat you like an asshole if you’re not drinking.

Listen. Maybe I’m not drinking because I’m the DD. Or maybe I’m a raging alcoholic who can’t handle alcohol. Either way… I don’t need a server trying to be edgy by peer pressuring me to get something. I’m only at the bar because all my friends are here. I didn’t feel like staying in by myself with a good book this Friday night. So right. Fuck me. You know?

No. Just be cool about it. The good bars are the ones that don’t charge. The ones where the bartender is a sober and knows how annoying drunk people are (I feel like I may be dangerously close to being a huge buzzkill. Let me be clear, drunk people suck only when you’re not drunk, if you’re drunk with them, they’re awesome).

Thing is. I suppose if I really cared, I’d just start getting club soda with lime or something. But. I like cranberry juice and how it cleans out the old kidneys. So, I suppose for the old kidneys’ sake, I can handle being asked about my period.

Oh. And confession. If I see someone drinking cranberry juice – I ask if they’re on their period. I mean. You kind of have to. Right?

Seriously. Social media is ruining movies. For instance, can you imagine what it would have been like if Austin Powers came out when Twitter and Facebook were around? That shit was awful all on it’s own without 47,151 status updates saying “Yeah Baby” and “Shag” or whatever other bullshit little sayings came from that series of flicks.

Here’s where I’ll allow that I’m being kind of a snob. I’m one of the people who was familiar with Zach Galifiinifnaknknskndks’ work before The Hangover, so I don’t see him and automatically say, “TRICIA!!! GET IN HERE!! IT’S THAT FUNNY GUY FROM THE HANGOVER!!” I guess I have a little ownership issues. Same as how the Kings of Leon became infinitely less cool when 13- year-old girls started singing along to their songs.

I guess I should cheer every time one of my dipshit Facebook friends posts another update about watching The Hangover or tweets some quote from Zach G. But I don’t. I get mad. It takes away from my enjoyment of the movie.

So. For my sake. If you like The Hangover – just keep it to yourself, you’re not scoring any points for originality. Besides, everyone knows the funniest movie ever is Stripes.

“Sorry, I must be smoking crack again!” Says the forgetful employee for who forgot to fill his/her timesheets out.

“Oh man. Look at Terry! He’s got a wacky tie on! He must be smoking crack or something!”

HAHAHAHA

Seriously? How is this funny? How do people think this is an awesome thing to say? You know what? If he was smoking crack, he’d be a fucking mess. He’d probably try to steal some shit from your desk or break into you car – just so he could buy more crack.

I don’t think we should blame creativity or forgetfulness on smoking something. I think if your coworker came in with a real dead look in his eyes and beat the shit out of you and took your shoes – then he’s probably smoking crack. Or if you come in and he’s naked under his desk scratching his skin off – that’s probably crack too.

But somehow this has become the middle class joke of choice. I bet a priest could say this joke referring to losing his place in the sermon and the whole congregation would laugh so hard they’d barf.

If this is something you say, stop it. It’s not funny. It’s never been funny.

I mean. I don’t know how to act when someone tells me this:

“Oh Man! What are you smoking?”

“Smoking? Nothing… why, are my eyes red or something? I… I don’t understand what’s wrong”

“No… that thing you just said, that was crazy, what were you smoking last night to make you think to say that??? HAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“What? Nothing. I don’t smoke.”

“Yeah right, you’re on crack”

“No… I’m not…”

It’s a horrible joke. I’d rather talk about how “this winter is the coldest I can remember” than have some empty back-and-forth trying to be funny/cool/with-it.

So. In conclusion. The title of this story was sarcastic. It’s not the funniest thing ever to say ever.

I’ll admit it. The first time I heard “Tik Tok” by Ke$ha I thought to myself, “Oh, god dammit, what is music coming to these days.” But then. I listened to the lyrics. I mean REALLY listened and I tell you what. I was stunned. Beneath all the loops and autotunage and stupid dollar sign for the S was a real anthem for social activism. Let’s take a look.

Ok. So. We’re gonna start with the easiest lyrics to interpret:

“And now the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger”

Wow. You know? This COMPLETELY rewrites social norms that say men need to be attractive. Ke$ha basically says that it doesn’t matter if you’re old, disgusting, wrinkled, skinny or what – she cares about your personality. It’s quite a rebellious statement in a society so caught up in looking “good”. I think Ke$ha needs to be applauded for such bravery.

“Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back”

What empowerment. Ke$ha is basically saying, “I’m going out and I’m going to hook up with a guy and have ignorant sex – and I don’t care.” Usually society makes it seem like women want “relationships” and men want to “hook up” but, again, Ke$ha is not so easy to figure out!! She’s really owning her sexuality and proving that being a woman in 2010 is a whole new ball game. As much can be implied from her lyric:

“Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy”

She feels like a rich man who is also the owner of the popular Bad Boy record label as well as clothing line and many other pursuits. Quite a statement coming from such a young woman! But with such confidence and guts as to completely throw away all of society’s conventions, I think she can achieve it.

Now, let’s take a second to examine this idea of Ke$ha empowering women’s sexuality:

“I’m talking about - everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys trying to touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk”

Realize. She’s not going to smack them if they touch her “junk” but only if they get too “drunk”. That shows us that she’s saying, in essence, go ahead and grab me… but you’d better be able to seal the deal later! By playing the role of aggressor she flips traditional gender roles. I can’t help but be impressed by this young lady.

All in all, I’d have to applaud this brave new artist and her opening salvo on gender roles and social norms. I hope she has a long and successful career.

However. I could be wrong. She could just be another awful, auto-tuned, soulless pop singer.

It’s true, random eye contact is almost always awkward. No matter the situation. With some waitress across a room. With your boss. With your best friend. Every time it happens its horrible. And usually accompanied by some head movements to try and mask it. A stretch. A look over the shoulder. But. The most awkward of all eye contact is creepy rearview mirror eye contact.

You’re in a car. You’re already a little pissed because you didn’t get shotgun. But whatever. So, you’re back there. The music is a little too loud but the people driving don’t realize that because it’s always louder in the back seat. So, you zone out. You start staring. Out the window. Straight ahead. And then it happens. The driver checks the rearview mirror and BANG. You’re caught.

You’re now the creepster in the back seat staring at the driver via mirror. It’s awful. And, after it happens, it severely limits areas you can check out. You now lose the entire cone of vision in front of you. You’re left to look down or left or right. Suck.

What’s worse is the intensity of the rearview mirror eye contact because it is literally just the driver’s eyes. It’s kind of dangerous. Thrilling. Dramatic. You and a pair of eyes. Locked. Together. So intense.

It’s gotta be the most awkward. Thoughts?

• Plans: You have to make plans beforehand. Maybe it’s a bar you go to all the time. You’re a regular there. They know your drink. But NYE? No dice. Gotta buy a ticket. You have to spend $80 to get admission to a bar full of assholes. Not only that, but you almost never get to hang out with all the people you want to. One friend will buy a ticket here for $75. Your cheap friend will refuse to spend that kind of money and suggest you guys just buy some beers and stay in. Your friend who thinks he’s a player thinks that’s bullshit and wants to get some sweet kiss-action. Then, your buddy calls you and tells you he bought some tickets to this other place with some people from work. Awesome. That’s exactly how I’d want to spend NYE, with your work friends. Fuck. Soon, you end up waiting too long to do anything cool because each person in your group has different plans and you wind up at home watching Ghost Hunters.
• Amateur Hour: Back to the $80 to get admission to get into a fucking PACKED bar full of assholes. Nothing brings out all the dudes and dudettes from the suburbs who never go out and never hang out like NYE. All the sudden it’s a mad rush downtown to get shitfaced at a bar that’s not located in a strip mall. So, inevitably, this means a huge increase in crying/dramatic girls, dudes who are out to prove a point and people who love making out in a dark corner. Fine. I get that. I would just like someone to acknowledge that the only reason this bar is even around is because of people like me. And my degenerate friends. People who are out here supporting everyone. Supporting the cause. Making sure that this place doesn’t go under. Paying for the air conditioning. Tipping. But no. Tonight, the one night I’d want to cash in on all the hard work I’ve done, I’m forced to sit at some booth facing a wall because I didn’t get there at six o’clock. Oh, and this guy is barfing now. Great.
• Pressure: No holiday has pressure like NYE. If you don’t have a BF or GF you can’t enjoy yourself because you know midnight is coming. And with midnight comes having to kiss someone as tradition demands*. Fuck. I couldn’t find anyone to kiss the last 364 days, but tonight, when the pressure is on, I’m supposed to deliver. Just what I want. If it were up to me I would hang out with the friends I managed to get here with and get drunk and talk about baseball and stuff. But no. Because I’m single I have to be scouting out girls the whole night and try to talk to them even though I have no confidence and get uncomfortable with the whole situation. Then, add in that your buddies are watching you or trying to point out girls for you “Dude, go talk to her. Just do it. Stop being a pussy.” Because, you see, I won’t and I will just give up. Then, when it does strike midnight I’ll look around all melancholy and be depressed for a second. Then, after a little bit we’ll leave but be unable to find a cab because the people who never party feel like it improves their experience if they interact with a real live cabbie.

I mean. I really hate NYE. So, those are my three big reasons, what do you think? Post some more reasons below, I got disgusted and had to stop.
*Please note: I’m aware that as a red blooded male I should think this is awesome, the whole thrill-of-the-hunt thing. But I don’t. I never like this. It’s pressure I don’t need.