let it fly at your own risk

There are lots of things that I like to make fun of, which I think is what makes me such a mature individual, but few of them give me as much pleasure as laughing at someone who is puking.

I don’t mean puking because you ate some bad chicken, because that’s not really that funny, but puking because you drank eight sake bombs and then thought four shots of Petron would be the perfect way to follow that up.

So when I stepped out of the karaoke place on Saturday night and saw a girl bent over ralphing (the best synonym for puking there is), I just had to laugh, and of course, take a picture.

Might want to throw those shoes out.

It’s kind of hard to make out, but that girl in the white top is puking her guts out.  Her Man Friend is coming toward me, because he incorrectly kept telling me “That’s not funny man!”

I just kept laughing and insisting it was, because of course it was!  She was puking!  I think my exact words were, “Hahaha!  She’s puking!  Puke!”  And when he kept getting angrier I just shrugged and told him that it was too late because I had it all on film.  I’m a fun drunk.

I don’t know why people get so mad.  Someone throwing up in public is about the funniest thing ever.  I’ve been made fun of for puking by others and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

If you’re puking because of too much alcohol, quite simply, you deserve to be laughed at.  You acted like an idiot and now your body is revolting and telling you that maybe it’s time to reexamine your life.

I can’t help it – if I see a Puker, I am laughing.

So if you’re ever out with me and you feel your stomach rumble and you think you’re going to hurl, better get to the bathroom so I don’t see you.  Otherwise you better believe that I’ll be pointing and laughing, and hopefully taking a picture of you for all the world to see.

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inside voices

I try to be nice.

I know, that might seem like Crazy Drunk Talk coming from me, and maybe it is because part of me still feels hungover from last night and wants to maybe vomit on my desk, but it’s the truth.

I really do try – with the emphasis on “try.”

But what I don’t understand, and what makes me not be so nice sometimes, is when people who speak a foreign language feel that they can talk at obscenely loud levels.

Why do they think this okay???

And this is not about being tolerant of other people.

This is about me having to cover my fucking ears to keep them from bleeding when I’m standing next to an Asian couple.

This is about me wanting to strangle a group of Hispanic girls on the train because I feel like if I go to jail afterwards at least I’ll be in a quiet cell.  Well, at least until my cell mate tries to make me His Woman.

I don’t care if people are not White/American/Whatever The Fuck!  I mean, good for them, I’m a white American male, it doesn’t get any more lame and uninteresting than that.

I just want them to keep their fucking voices down!

Just because no one around understands what they’re saying doesn’t mean they can scream when they’re standing two feet away from each other.

And this goes for American high school girls too, because I have no clue what they’re saying even though they’re apparently speaking in English.  All I hear is “like” every fucking third word and it makes me want to throw myself down a flight of stairs.

I can’t fucking take it.

But this is why I have this blog.

So I can tell all of you about how much I hate stuff and how I try and be nice but usually end up being The Asshole Who Said The Wrong Thing.

And hopefully no one is offended by this post, but if you are and you want to talk about it, I only ask that you keep your fucking voice down because I’m right here and I really don’t care what you think anyway.

i dream of dancing

If I could have one wish from a genie it would be to be able to do The Robot, really, really well.

I’m talking The Best In The World.

I’d do it all the time.

In the bodega, someone would ask where they can find the trash bags, and look out! I’d be popping and locking in that direction, helping that person out.

Oh, and parties? Forget about it.

I’d be invited to so many parties that I’d have to cancel on people, maybe even Eva Mendes‘ bash. But I’d probably find time for that one.

I’d pick being able to rock The Robot because I wouldn’t want to Punk Out on my genie and go with the “I wish for a million more wishes” wish.

Because you know, my genie would be doing me a favor, and I wouldn’t want to be an ass.

Whoever the genie was that granted that wish the very first time, basically screwed all the other genie’s for the rest of eternity.

Can you imagine?

A couple genie’s were probably out at happy hour, swapping horror stories about The Biz, when another genie came in and shared the bad news: “Did you hear??? Frank granted someone a million more wishes! Well, we’re fucked now!”

Needless to say, Frank was not a popular dude.

But I wouldn’t pull that shit on my genie.

I’d take the The Robot, impress – oh I don’t know – everyone in the world – and be happy with that.

Plus, I hear that Eva loves a good dancer.

try harder

I go to the gym 5 days a week, so a lot of my posts I’m sure will have some hate for the people I encounter there.  Today I ended up being next to one of those people – the dreaded Treadmill Walker.

So I’m just doing my thing and running on a treadmill, trying to stay focused on something other than the fact that I actually hate running and only do it so I don’t get a huge gut that would require I get a nickname like “Buddha-belly” or “Porky,” when this guy gets on the empty treadmill next to me.  I’m stupidly-competitive, so naturally I check to see what speed he has going.

It’s 2.5.

Okay.  I think, “Oh, he must just be warming up.”  I wait for another 12 minutes.  Nothing changes.

This is where I lose it.

I don’t understand people who use the treadmill for walking.  If you’re gonna come to the gym, do something.  Do something that makes you sweat.  Yes!  Sweat!  That’s what you should be doing – you should be sweating.  And walking on the treadmill is not the way to do that.  If at any time you come to the gym and think, “Hmm, today seems like a nice 20 minute walk on the treadmill kinda day,” Just turn around and go home.  Because the amount of calories it takes for you to walk to the train and then walk home from the train, is probably the same you’d be burning while here taking up a treadmill for people who actually want to exercise.

I wanted so badly to reach over, tap him on the shoulder, and explain this concept to him – but I didn’t.

I let it slide.

Because I’m an understanding dude.