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Are you there God?
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10/25/2005
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These letters were originally posted on Ebaumsworld. That's the first place I saw them anyway. I did not write them. They were probably written by someone much smarter than I, or maybe actually written by first graders, who are also much smarter than I. They were cute and amusing to read, and you'd think that would be good enough...
But just for the hell of it, let's suppose God is a cynical jerk.
Raphael,
I'll give you the genie lamp in exchange for your soul. Then I'll trade your soul to the devil for a chess set and $50.
Seriously, do you even know how easily I could have my own stupid chess set? Do you think I need your money? Hello? I'm GOD.
-GOD-
Norma,
The giraffe EVOLVED to look like that. What are they teaching you kids in public schools, anyway?
Uma Thurman, on the other hand, was a major screw up on my part. I can't believe she did as well as she has with the extra forehead. That one was supposed to go on Jessica Simpson, and now she doesn't have one at all. She's done pretty alright too, I guess. Don't believe them when they tell you I am infallible. Here is a list of some of my biggest mistakes-
- Pontiac Aztec
- France
- Nickelback
- Cilantro
- Bees
- Bloggers
- Christianity (it's a long story)
-GOD-
Jennifer,
Yes they did, and you would too if you really believed in me.
-GOD-
Chris,
Did you draw a cat between the words "to" and "live"? I'm God and I didn't even see that one coming. I see in my manifesto that you are going to be a serial killer in a few years. Good to know you have already nailed the handwriting portion.
In answer to your request, I'd love to let you live 900 years, but I already have you slated to be raped to death in prison. Sorry. I don't make the rules...oh, wait.
-GOD-
Dean,
Thanks for putting my mind at ease, but terrorists come from above, and AIDS comes from behind (as you get older, you'll find that looking isn't the only thing you do "both ways"). You're scheduled for one of the two fates, but we'll let it be a surprise.
-GOD-
Denise,
Don't worry. You're coming back as Camryn Mannheim's tampon. But at least you're not that Horton slut, right? FYI...Jennifer is coming back as Michael Moore's underwear, so you two will probably meet again.
-GOD-
Ruth,
I'm glad you said "one of" my best, lest I smite thee for overlooking the following awesome things that were also invented by me-
- Beef jerky
- Ultimate fighting Championships
- Breast Implants
- The lightbulb
- Donald Trump's Haircut
- Donald Trump's wife
- 3-hole punch
- Dynamite
- Pudding
-GOD-
Jane,
I used to let people live a really long time (see the old testament for more information), but after you do my job for a while you find that there is really no point to being god if you can't kill people at will. Plus, it gives me a way to thin out the population of little girls who ask too many questions.
Sleep tight,
-GOD-
Sam,
No worries there- he's not your real dad. You will, however, have a rather intense skin condition for which you can thank your uncle Lenny.
-GOD-
More letters to God
 Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 7:36 AM |
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Same Road, Same Rules
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10/18/2005
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Hopefully the next few paragraphs will serve two purposes- make cyclists more aware that they are increasingly being thought of as buttholes and make everyone in general more aware of when it is appropriate to end a confrontation.
I personally think that you have to be a little insane to want to ride a bicycle on the street in the midtown/highlands area, but then again, I also find it a little crazy to drive a car there at times. The key is to maintain your cool and keep in mind that if someone makes a mistake and bumps you or does something stupid, they probably didn't mean to.
If you ride a bike and have a sticker on your helmet that says "Same Road, Same Rules", then remember the following:
Stop signs, traffic lights, lane markings, turn signals and speed limits are all rules. I have had numerous occasions on which I didn't leave enough room on the right side of the lane for Outlaw McSchwinnybritches to get past, and have had them smack my car with their hand or flip me off. I have also been yelled at a number of times for stopping at stop signs, turning right (not expecting some retard to come zipping past me on the right) at a red light, and opening my door when parallel parked without checking the imaginary bike lane. One of these days I'm going to clothesline one of you assholes and piss on your unconscious body, I promise.
The spazzes that wear the spandex and ride carbon fiber NASA bikes usually aren't the bad ones. They slow down the flow of traffic, but mostly they play fair. It's the damn trashdick hippie/eco-mmuter types that think they can do whatever they want.
Yesterday on my way home, some unwashed filthbag on a bike was in front of me as I came within a block of my house, rolling at 5 mph in heavy traffic. I will freely admit that my mind was elsewhere. Namely I had just gotten my car worked on and was wondering where they hid the urinal cake because that's what the inside smelled like. I also couldn't figure out what part of changing the oil would have broken the clock on the dashboard.
When I looked up, I was closing in on the bicycle guy. I had to brake pretty hard, but no harm. He, on the other hand, thought I was actively trying to kill him. He glared back at me, and at the time I had no idea he was even pissed off, so I just looked back at him and then looked over at a dog or my ipod or something.
Next thing I know, there's some yelling outside my window- "Yadda blah summa...fuckin PROBLEM, DUDE?"
Usually it's tough to catch me off guard, but he had done so. I can only imagine how stupid I looked as I rolled down my window.
Me- "Whozza...Huh?"
Him- "Why the fuck you trying to run me over, asshole?"
Confrontation lesson number one- Use some logic. If someone does run their car into (or come close to running into) someone or something, 10 out of 10 times it is unintentional and the driver will feel like a jerk without being yelled at. If I had some reason to throw my life away and run over a hippie, he would be a little too dead to ask why I did it.
Me- "Well, no. I just got a little close and wasn't paying atten-"
Confrontation lesson number two- if someone tries to apologize to you- especially if you have just yelled at them- you are rapidly becoming very deserving of a severe beating and you should just let it go.
Him- "You need to get home a couple minutes early, motherfucker? What's your problem?"
As you can see, our friend the human colostomy bag chose another way of steering things, and by this point I felt I had been nice a little too long. I took my knife out and drove it through his hand, pinning it to the car door. I then tooled around town for several hours using his tattered corpse as an example to the rest of them.
Kidding. But I would definitely write it into a screenplay that way.
Me- "Actually, I didn't mean to get so close, and I tried to apologize for it, but thanks for being a complete dripping cockhole about it. You're probably on your way to the dentist, so don't let me slow you down." (Let the record show the guy had one tooth in front, and he didn't even seem to be taking very good care of that one.)
Him- "motherfucker something bitch something else"
Now it gets fun- the light turns green so I start to go forward. I am about ten feet from the driveway to my building on the right, and Stinky Kineval decides to be a badass and bunnyhop onto the sidewalk so he can continue yelling at me. Bummer for him when I turned in front of him and he had to stop to keep from running into me. Well, I had my turn signal on...
Same sidewalk, same rules. Right, jackass?
In a rare moment of good judgment, he thought better of following me into the parking lot. The steel gate would have closed behind him, leaving him no way out. I figured I could just stay in my car and call a friend of mine who would be happy to come pick him up for trespassing.
Give folks the benefit of the doubt once in a while if they mess up. The only way you can possibly look dumber than they feel is to berate them for it (unless it is one of those people who continue making stupid mistakes over and over. Then all bets are off). Also, if you are pissed off because you can't afford a car or dental care, remember that it is 100% your fault and/or 100% your problem, so don't take it out on me.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 5:39 AM |
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Time-Release Chortle Suppository
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10/11/2005
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Some jokes are called "Joke Grenades" because there is a lag between the time of the telling and the laughter. This can be either because it is inappropriate to laugh at the time- like a tumor joke made in the pediatric cancer ward, or because it takes time to figure out why it is funny- like Fred Durst's career. This was a case of the former, which really isn't a joke grenade in the strictest sense; more of a time-release chortle suppository.
I was at a tradeshow in San Francisco, wandering around, looking at the displays other companies had, and I was approached by a salesman of some sort. The kind of salesman that is so good he can read the badge hanging around your neck and say your name like he has known you his whole life. You totally forget you are wearing a huge sign with your name on it and assume he is a long lost friend.
"Dusty! How's it going?"
"err...pretty...hey, good to..."
"Say, do you know what we do at Megacorp?"
(reading sign, pointing at the words to illustrate that I am reading the sign) "Intelligent solutions for B2B marketing?"
"haha. YES! Very Intuitive! Haha!"
"Okay. I'm going to walk away now. Good talking to you, Brett." (His nametag said 'Brad')
"Ohhh...wait. There's someone here I want you to meet, you won't be sorry."
"That's okay, you probably will."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind."
Here is the part where it is assumed that because I am male, I care about or follow sports in any capacity. He walks me over to this guy in his twenties who is the size of New Hampshire and obviously an athlete and says "Hey Johnny, this is Dusty Scott." As if the guy would somehow be impressed by meeting me.
I shook the guy's meaty hand, he was polite, and said, "Hi Dusty, nice to meet you."
In my defense, he wasn't wearing a nametag or anything, so I asked him his name. Apparently I am the only person in the United States who hasn't heard of Johnny Atomic (I can't for the life of me remember his name or where he plays, only that he is a college football star the likes of which we haven't seen since Bobby Brown).
His reaction was sort of off-putting, as he gave me the condescending chuckle and looked around at his handlers as if to say "Someone tell this idiot who I am."
Brad the sales guy came valiantly to his aid, telling me his name was Tommy Forever or something, number 22 on the San Bernafando Comets (with an annoying "you moron how can you not know who he is" laugh that made me want to find out where he lived so I could sneak in one day while he's at work, crap in his microwave and set it on high for 59 minutes), and I responded by tenderly and unintentionally inserting the suppository.
"Oh, I don't follow NASCAR, but it is good to meet you."
One of my many problems is that sometimes I say stuff off-the-cuff without taking stock of things. Like the fact that this guy was black and NASCAR is a pretty hillbillycentric sport.
I personally find the idea of a twelve foot nine, 4,200 pound black guy driving a racecar around a field full of rednecks hilarious, but on any given day I might have guessed synchronized swimming, bowling, sharp shooting, or any number of other non-sports. As usual, I was the only one laughing- save one guy who ducked behind a podium and giggled like a retard with a shiny new button.
Unfortunately, what I found even funnier was watching the other people at the booth
glance awkwardly at everything except me and the big guy who was about to kill me.
If Lenny Pigskin had been laughing everybody would have had a good chuckle, but he didn't seem to think it was very funny, and like the CEO in a boardroom, everyone followed his lead on what did and did not count as humor. I started to wonder if I had finally crossed the line and was about to be stomped into a paste.
The next day I ran into Brad the Sales guy again, and he said that he initially thought what I did was rude *shocking* but added that when he told the story to his coworkers over dinner, they loved it. Apparently mister tri-county football star's diva behavior didn't garner much favor from the people around him, so they all enjoyed seeing a smartass like me inadvertently piss the guy off at the risk of having my neck snapped.
The moral is that suppositories can be unpleasant at first, but they almost always work.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 3:46 AM |
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