|Posted on April 6, 2013 at 2:40 PM|
I'm combining three smaller bits into one extra awesome blog this time around. Please to enjoy:
There's a scene in one of the recent episodes of 'Justified' where a hit man, posing as a cop, has the misfortune of running across Marshall Raylan Givens. He orders Raylan to get out of his way or face the business end of his pistola. When he draws on our good Marshall, Raylan puts him down with extreme prejudice. After thoroughly aerating the bad guy, Raylan looks at the body of a man who, only moments earlier, he had assumed was a fellow lawman and says, "Jesus, I hope I got that right."
A friend decided that she needed a few things from the mall the other day. So, with nothing else to do, I tagged along as she did a little retailin'. We stopped at the usual places and I tried my best not to look like a pervert while she searched for the perfect pair of underpants. When we got to a store directly across from the restrooms, I excused myself to release some coffee back into the wild. Upon coming out, I walked into the store and came up behind a pretty little brunette who was holding up a transparent white jacket/shirt/thing and said, "You wear that and no one will have any doubt what your boobs look like." I then realized that I had never bothered to look close enough at the cute girl I was talking to to make sure that she was the one I'd come in with. I thought, Jesus, I hope I got that right. My friend turned around and giggled and I let out a little sigh of relief knowing that I wouldn't be getting forcibly removed from the mall for sexually harassing a coed. Tiny victories.
The point of this story is to 1) draw a parallel (however thin) between myself and my favorite small screen cowboy and B) to demonstrate just how bad I am at paying attention even when it's in my best interest to do so.
Ding Dong Duck
I learned this week that ducks are one of nature's least romantic animals. Males have counterclockwise spiraling penises – a corkscrew if you will, while females have clockwise spiraling vaginas because they just don't want any of that nonsense. Oh, and the males get their rocks off in the most rapey way possible (although the scientific phrase is "forced copulations.")
And yet, despite this genital arms race, you can't walk through the local riverside parks during the summer without having to constantly dodge the fluffy little duck babies and their impressive pooping abilities. I guess the ladies of duckdom need to re-evaluate their anti-shag measures.
I bring up sexually predatory Anatidae Anseriformes because Faux News (and their merry band of dumbfucks) threw a stink after learning that the government had spent just shy of $385,000 on a duck dong study by Yale University. I could mention that even the most obscure scientific knowledge often has real world benefits later on or argue that, if we're gonna keep letting churches run tax-free, we should at least spend just as much money as they would pay in order to advance our understanding of the world around us and combat their Iron Age mythology, but I'll just post a link to a clip about that foreign exchange student who was named after a duck's dork instead.
Facebook is not getting any better at putting ads in my newsfeed that are actually relevant to me. They are, however, occasionally hilarious. Like this one:
I often turn to the women in my life when I need pain reliever or chapstick or a Kleenex or tweezers because I just expect them to be able to pull whatever I happen to want out of their purses. In fact, a part of me believes that the scene in 'Mary Poppins' when Mary pulls furniture out of her carpet bag is a documentary. If I said I was hungry and one of these ladies pulled a burrito out, however, I don't think our relationship would survive. In fact, one look at this ad was all it took for me to make the decision to NEVER trust any woman with a McWrap (do they know it sounds exactly like 'McCrap') in her handbag. Fajitas are a different matter entirely.
Categories: People and Culture