Water Cooler 8-22-12

Weekly water cooler talk for the self-employed, no one to talk to so it goes out to cyberspace. Please feel free to comment, it would be nice to discuss.

Do all the ants stepped on, spiders squished in a tissue and flies swatted get revenge in their next life?

Was the first person who ever held up a lighter at a music concert just looking for someone?

Anyone else think palm trees look like lazy Christmas trees? “I don’t wanna stand out straight!”

When they merged Taco Bell and KFC together why didn’t they just give it a new name: Oh Crap
Why can’t they make a dust pan that gets everything? There’s always a little bit that just won’t get up there.
If a mime dies in the forest, does he make a sound?  (Happy Birthday Chris!)


The Nose Knows..


Nothing! The Nose knows nothing! Or at least mine doesn’t. Because it is not easy to get a date when you’ve got a long nose hair creeping out and saying howdy

I haven’t had a date for some time now. It seems the rest of my body is doing its best to cooperate, responding to the exercise and healthy eating I’ve been giving it, feeling good. But my nose seems to have something against me. How many times has it done this to me without my knowledge. Now I have hedge, I mean nose trimmers. I am cursed by some Italian thing or something whereby there ain’t nothing on top but it sprouts out of my ears and nose with the utmost speed. I can usually catch it. But then there’s morning like this one, when I shower then finish shaving in the mirror and BANG there it is, this long black tentacle looking thing crawling down from my nostril presumably to shake hands with my mustache.

How many times has that happened when I’ve been talking to a girl? Does the little sucker snake out and hiss? I didn’t think there were that many lesbians.

What did I do to it? Smell the wrong flower? Squeeze too hard with a tissue? Bury it in the wrong woman? Come on fellas, give a guy a break. Women smell nice. I promise to give you a woman with great hair to snuggle into, a natural scented beauty to graze along her shoulder. And I promise to check her feet, cause we know we’ve got something to be attentive to there as well.

But you help me and I help you. We can do this, together!

I Don’t Like Mondays

Mondays usually don’t mean anything to me as part of the self-employed union. There is no weekend, there is no work week. But I woke up, fell back to sleep, and woke up cranky. So here goes, the cranky comedy. I promise it’s only temporary, a single day lapse. But I gotta get it out.

I hate little freakin yapping dogs. I want to kick them and see how far they can fly.

Why is everyone in Walmart so freakin fat and so freakin stupid? What is it about that store? Is it the little Rollover Price Guy? Does something hypnotize them to come and walk slowly through the store, unable to understand that there are others in the aisles and therefore they can’t push the cart that slow and so in the middle no one can pass, and then lure them straight to the Little Debbie’s aisle?

Why are so many white dudes (and I use that term loosely because they really aren’t) trying to look like Vanilla Ice and Eminem circa 1990 something? It was a dumb look then, it’s even dumber now. Get a mirror, turn the ball cap either all the way backwards or turn it the right way.

While I’m on men’s fashions, wearing long basketball shorts with slippers should only be worn by real basketball players in their freakin expensive homes. If you picked it up on MTV cribs or whatever (I’m old I don’t know) it’s not for outside. You just look really lazy and this country doesn’t need any more lazy.

What is with the cigarette behind the ear thing happening again? Will those same people soon be rolling them into their t-shirt sleeves and doing the greased pompadour thing? It came back when I was in high school and even at fifteen I knew it only looked cool in the 50s when everything was in black and white.

I don’t care if you have a Mercedes or a BMW. You didn’t pay for the right to drive like a moron. I like my life and I don’t want to have to watch you and whether you’re looking both ways and seeing that I have the walk signal. I swear I will take you for everything if you so much as touch my shoe.

Mitt Romney, President Obama, SHUT UP! Intelligent men of your age should not be so childish to attack each other. F&*k the Presidential debate, why don’t you two just meet at the damn flag after school and see who can kick each other’s ass. It’s ridiculous, it’s infantile and it needs to be over. Been going on for decades where because of the media we see this rhetoric. Neither of you deserves the job if you can’t show the maturity and growth this country needs so badly. We need peace in this country and this world and it starts with you. F&*k trickle down economics, we need trickle down style, class and coolness. I’m voting for you Mr. President, but the Hope and Change this time needs to be about how we act, how we all act, and you are the role model.


I feel better. Thank you. Tomorrow we return to our regularly scheduled program when I’m not bitter.


On This Day in History

For my mom on her birthday.

Something something years ago an Italian and a Pollack got together. Who knew? Back then that combination was about as rare and reviled by each ethnicity as say, a Republican getting together with one of those Middle East chicks that can’t uncover their face.

Anyways, these two touched fingers, same way my parents conceived me, and 42 minutes later out popped mom. That wasn’t her first name it just gives me the willies to call her by her first name; seems disrespectful at my something age. I’m not afraid of my age I’m just afraid that you’ll do the math and the aforementioned mom will get mad that I told her age.

So she did the things most kids do: the dishes, the laundry and all the cleaning. Her mom wasn’t super nice. But her Dad was cool and he taught her how to eat a big hunk of Italian bread with a stick of butter and not throw up.

Eventually she married this Norwegian dude who got lost skiing or whatever they do in that cold ass country. Then they did that finger thing – twice – and had two kids.

Then blah blah blah, they grew up, disappointed their parents by not touching fingers with another woman cause she would make an awesome grandmother. There’s still time. But mom was pacified by her ever planning of parties and the daunting task of topping last Year’s Halloween and Christmas decorations.

Meantime the present is when it matters and she’s a vibrant something something year old woman with an inquisitive mind, the cooking skills that would make Julia Child lose her silly accent and your mouth water and the love for her family and friends Gandhi would be jealous of.

So here’s to my mom. You rock.

And God said…


A short film about God.

Fade in:


God: Hello.  Hello.  Is any one out there?

God snaps his fingers and there is light.

God: Ah, better. But still nothing.

Cut to:


God: Need some color. Blues good, I like blue.

God waves his hand and creates the sky and sea.

God: Good I could use a swim. and some color.

God jumps in the ocean.

God: Ok, where do I lie down?

And God creates land.

Cut to:


God: Man I gotta get out of the sun.

Cut to:


God creates the stars, moons and Happy Hour.

God: Man I need some action.

Cut to:


God created every living creature of the seas and every winged bird, blessing them to multiply and fill the waters and the sky with life.

God: Now that’s what I’m talking about. Hey guys, guys, guys! Oh right they can’t talk or let me pet them.

Cut to:


God created the animals to fill the earth. On day six, God also created man and woman  in his own image to commune with him. He blessed them and gave them every creature and the whole earth to rule over, care for, and cultivate.

Cut to:


God is reclining in a lounge chair.

God: Who da man?

Cut to:


God sits in a large office chair surveying a dozen monitors. On one three punk girls are being jailed for protesting. On another trouble in the Middle East is being broadcast while two more play violence in Korea and Africa. The other eight show rhetoric of the United States Presidential race.

God puts his head between his hands.

God: Oh crap why didn’t I stop on Thursday.

The Check’s in the Mail


There are no five more dreaded words to the self-employed than “the check’s in the mail.”

“I will always love you”, “It’s not you, it’s me”, even “your house is on fire” pale in comparison. Because let’s face it, without that cash, that dough, that moola, you’re not going to get a girl who will eventually dump you nor are you going to have the money for a mortgage.


The Long Walk

It is sad when you are desperately waiting for checks to pay that next bill. When you know exactly when the mailman comes every day. When you look out your third floor fire escape to see if you can see him and his little push cart coming down the street.

It is a long walk, second only to the one-night stand walk of shame, to go see if you have that check, indeed, in the mail. You walk with your fingers crossed, slowly, because there will be either supreme relief or possible depression waiting for you. You insert the key, turn the lock, and YES. There it is, the envelope you’ve been waiting for. F%$K! It’s not a check, it’s another advertisement for Charter Communications this time hidden in an envelope to make it look like it’s not junk mail.

Fine. Ramen noodles it is. Thanks mailbox, thanks mailman*, thanks for nothing. Until tomorrow. I hope these fingers are uncross in time, cause I squeezed them too hard.


*Mailmen don’t find it funny when you choke them to see if their tongue comes out like Bart Simpson’s does when Homer chokes them. They also don’t realize you’re doing a comic parody.


It’s the Fountain’s Fault!

I always wondered why people thought it was ok to spit in public and the answer came upon me on my walk this morning. It’s the fountain’s fault.

From a young age, we go to malls, parks, little tourist areas; and we see various fish and game spitting as if it didn’t matter. So how can we not pick that up? If it’s good for a frog, or a dolphin, or even a lion, then it’s good for a human! And our parents never tell us that it’s only ok if it’s decoration.

Further, many of us attend an attraction such as SeaWorld or an Aquarium that features a performing mammal show and there is inevitably something blowing straight out of someone’s blow-hole. So how can we not want to duplicate, and in fact, excel  at that?!

So we take it to the streets. Where not only can our animal friends view it, but we can impress our fellow human beings, all of whom understand because we don’t want to be beat out by anything with four legs, or fins, or feathers.

And don’t even get me started on those Dragon fountains-that’s just fighting for Democracy not letting them get the better spit!!!