|
|
by Paul
Oct 19, 2009 10:55
| |
Is because I've been spending my days in a shack in Montana, trying to figure out how to say this. I've been there for practically a year, and I still can't come up with a nice way to break it to everyone... so I'll just blurt it right out.
Fuck Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
There I said it. Every weekend it's all over the NFL. The players are wearing pink gloves, pink cleats, pink jock straps (I heard). Mike Ditka is reading off of pink note cards. It's pink-diculous.
Do you know WHY I think it's ridiculous? Fine I'll tell you. Breast Cancer Awareness Month is bullshit because Breast Cancer doesn't take the other eleven months off people. First of all, Breast Cancer shouldn't be "celebrated." Secondly... I'm aware of Breast Cancer every goddamn month of the year. So, suck on that!
Secondly... didn't your teacher ever say "I hope you brought enough for everyone!" when you were caught chewing gum in class that one time? If Breast Cancer gets an awareness month, how come Ball Cancer Awareness Month doesn't follow it? That's right... this is cancer descrimination. It's cancist.
Jesus Christ, Lung Cancer has to kill more people than all the other cancers combined (I'm pretty sure based on zero research), and you don't see Lung Cancer with a month.
So to everyone out there "celebrating" Breast Cancer Awareness Month, you make me sick. I could use a little support when I'm "celebrating" it for the other eleven months out of the year. |
| You uncaring pigs. |
by Paul
Feb 4, 2009 10:55
I can tear some serious ass. Believe me. In fact to prove it, I'll tell you how I know. Incidentally, I realize some of you are totally shocked to learn I'm a short white dude, but I digress. By the way I should warn the reader in advance that this particular post will contain some toilet humor. Generally I try to keep it clean, but sometimes I digress. But, I digress.
The other day I wander into the executive wash room at work. I have named the executive wash room accordingly because it...
a) is not in the office at all, but out back in the warehouse.
2) has an ENTIRE SHOWER in it. Awesome.
Anyway, I'm out there to take the Cleveland Browns to the Super Bowl. I love playing football at work because it accomplishes the awesome task combination of dropping anchor, getting paid, and taking up work time not working, all at once. It's quite the tri-fecta.
I mosey in, drop trou', and... the seat is broken. I mean literally. Cracked smooth in half on one side. My immediate reaction is "oh shit." Then I thought, "Haha... I said 'shit,' and it is. I'm funny." How do you crack a toilet seat? Constipation? Favoring one side too much? I'm not sure honestly. I'm not that big of a dude to be sitting down and cracking toilet seats. Believe me, if I did, this entry would be about me bragging about it. It's not an issue of embarrassment... I think think I'm physically incapable.
Enough of this joke. I've got business to attend to. The kids are late for swim class. Since I'm always thinking ahead, I note to myself I should be careful so I don't get my ass cheek caught in the crack. "That'd be funny." I says to myself.
Turns out, it's not funny.
No sooner do I bring in the Haz-Mat team to clean up the fallout, and I realize I am, in fact, trapped in the toilet seat crack. Shit. "Haha, I said 'shit' again. Oh right this hurts. FUCK!" Once I manage to extricate myself from my shitty situation, I wrap things up.
Washing my hands at the sink, I'm thinking to myself... that hurt. That hurt a lot. This must be how girls feel at City Nights (inside Bay Area joke there). No but ("Haha 'butt.'") seriously. In fact, I note to myself... it's a sharp enough pain that if I didn't know better, I would think I was bleeding. Haha. That's funny, I say to myself as I glance over at the toilet and notice a slight discoloration on the seat. Is that... Oh shit (Ha!). That looks like... oh snaps. That IS blood. I AM bleeding. I break out my butt cheek to verify, and sure enough, there's a small cut on my ass cheek.
"You've got to be shitting me."We have a new toilet seat now.
by Paul
Jun 30, 2008 10:48
|
This wasn't a solicitation for a card I didn't have, but a new "version" of a card I already possessed.
Normally this is to be expected every so often. What struck me as odd however, was the fact that when I looked at the information on the card, it looked identical to what I had already.
I whipped out (that's right!)... my old credit card. Sorry ladies. I checked it out... and sure enough, every bit of information on it was exactly the same; right down to the expiration date (isn't that why I'm supposed to get a new card?).
Oh wait I left something out. My existing card is friggin' cool and all black. Plus it has my initials "PS" in a big ass monogram across the background.
The new card is AN AMERICAN FLAG!!! Hang on...
AN AMERICAN FLAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Needless to say I called the "activation" phone number to discuss my displeasure. What follows is exactly the way I remember the conversation... which I'm pretty sure makes it admissible in court. I may or may not have changed the kind of credit card to protect my identity from theft and/or to amuse myself.
DiscoverCardKid: Thanks for calling Discover Card. For security purposes may I have the last 4 digits of your social security number?
Paul: Oh you mean the one I just punched into your automated system?
DiCK: Yes.
Paul: Why does it ask me to punch it in if you're just going to ask me for it? Can't you just read it off your screen?
DiCK: Um, ok. Can I have the full name of the card holder?
Paul: Absolutely. Paul Sobel. But I'd prefer if you called me by my Christian name, "Skittles."
DiCK: Ok Skittles. What can I do for you today?
Paul: Well basically I got a new card in the mail from you guys today, and I want to know if i can throw it directly in my trash.
DiCK: Ok well... we'd prefer if you didn't.
Paul: I'll bet. Anyway, it's the exact same card as I had previously, except you know... it's a big ass flag.
DiCK: Oh so you like the old card better?
Paul: Shit yeah son. Do you realize my old card is awesome, all black, and has my initials as a monogram across the background?
DiCK: Yes, I see that card here.
Paul: Great. See, nobody is PS except me (and other people who are PS). But this new card has a big ass American flag on it. Do you know how many people are American? Exactly. All of them.
DiCK: Well Paul...
Paul: Skittles.
DiCK: Sorry, Skittles. We send out new cards periodically to account for wear and tear. If you would like, I can send you a new card with your previous appearance. How is that?
Paul: That would be great. Because think about it... what if I don't even like America?
Editor's note: It was at this point I believe I may have forced him to deviate from his script.
DiCK: Um... you... don't like America?
Paul: What? How dare you. I love this country. But have you watched the news lately? We're not exactly popular. I don't want to whip this card out in Europe and get shot on general principle.
DiCK: Right.... right. Ok Skittles. I have you all set up, and we'll be sending that card out for you. You should receive it in two to three business days. Is there anything else I can do for you today?
Paul: Super duper. I think you've done plenty. Have a great day!
So with that being said... I accomplished my mission of... things. I think I'll pause now for you to applaud my efforts and tenacity.
And..... GO! |
| Oh by the way... Three business days later I got my new card in the mail. It had the American flag on it. Good night! |
by Paul
Apr 1, 2008 10:46
No come on, guess. You guys never listen to me, I swear. Anyway, since I'm constantly being harassed to write funny things, I set out on a task this weekend to involve myself in some cheeky shenanigans. Also, this one might take a few paragraphs, so either shut up in advance or go get a Snickers (fatty).
Since I'm the hunter, and the girl is the gatherer... I went to Target to hunt for furniture to build (preferably without tools). Not because I can't use tools mind you; I'm the hunter remember? No, more because I'm lazy.
So I loaded up my cart with a variety of goods to-be-assembled by your's truly. As I'm in the DVD area (because that's where they put the DVD furniture, not in the furniture section), a guy looks at me and asks, "Hey, do you guys have the soundtrack to the Sound of Music?" Um, where do I start? Ok, how about with the fact that I'm wearing a dark blue, long sleeved shirt, AT TARGET. How about the fact that I'm wearing Adidas slippers? Man target has really relaxed the dress code for their stock boys. Slippers and our competitors' colors are now acceptable attire. I actually took a moment to look down at myself to make sure I wasn't the idiot (am I ever? Don't answer that).
In the split second it took me to assess the situation, I decided the following:
A) Let him finish his question (even though I realized by the second word what was happening).
2) Telling him "Sorry, I don't work here." isn't nearly up to my standards.
2i) What CAN I say to him that will be up to my standards?
2ii) Which elements of my surrounding (I am actually a licensed ninja) will aid me in my options for a response?
... oh right, and
D) How dumb is this guy?
This is what happened:
Me: Yes, I think we do (point away from me over his shoulder).
He: (Turns to look) Thanks bro.
I immediately turned the corner of the aisle (see 2ii) and pulled my cart around after me. Let it not go unnoticed that the same man who asked me about the Sound of Music soundtrack responds with the term "bro."
Back at home I unpack my set of shelves, the desk, and the DVD rack. Yes, all at once, why? No, I'm not sure what can go wrong. I'm not sure I'm following you here. Anyway...
I build the desk and DVD case effortlessly. I'm pretty sure the ease of those tasks automatically gains me admisstion to MIT for higher education, but I digress.
The shelves I purchased, are wire and metal (man and manlier), so I set about putting the legs together. Once I got done doing a quick martial arts kata with my shelf-leg-bo-staff (I told myself I could have been a world champion), I stood next to the "leg" and observed to myself that it was taller than I am. "Man this is tall." I noted (Told you I observed to myself). This can't be right. I look back at a box that tells me this is a 72" shelf. Seventy two inches... man what is that like... oh wait... that's six feet tall. Two thoughts enter my head at this point.
Un) Goddamn six feet tall is a big ass shelf!
Deux) If it's six feet tall, why the hell doesn't it say that? Who the hell knows what the hell seventy two inches is... the hell?!
Right? Don't lie to me, you had no idea how long/tall seventy two inches is. I'll tell you how long it is. It's long enough for me to keep spelling the number out entirely, that's for sure.
The moral of this story is, once I assembled said big-ass-shelves... It took me a few minutes to load it up with all the random boxes and crap that had previously been occupying my entire office/den/dining room area. Just like that. No tools required, and that six foot shelf fixed all of my problems folks. Incidentally, the few minutes it took me to load the shelves up happened the next day because, well, building it was an accomplishment that was important enough to get its own day; not to be mixed in with the menial chore of putting objects on a shelf.Since I know you're all looking to me for advice, the next time you have a crisis in life, think about the moral of this story. Have you tried to solve the problem? Ok, that's fair. Now, have you thought about throwing a six foot shelf at that issue? Broke? Broke up with your boyfriend/girlfriend? Maybe you're just broke in the face? First things first here... try to fix it with a six foot shelf. Don't say it didn't work if you haven't tried it.
by Paul
Mar 24, 2008 10:45
|
Watch this video. Sike! Gotcha. Yes I know, awesome video, but seriously... I meant this video. I'll wait.
Back? Yes I know I spelled psych wrong. Here is my review of that commercial:
.........
......................
.....
..............?
I have no friggin' idea what the hell I just saw. So I guess this Sobe Life Water is so tasty, it just makes you smile. That's what I do whenever I eat or drink something that tastes really good.
Secondly... did I say "What the hell?!" yet? Ok good. What the hell? Does it make lizards dance? If I drink it do I become evil? You saw what happened to the lizard's eye. Another lizard ate something (Had to be the fat lizard too right?). It might have been another lizard. I don't even know! Why am I yelling?! Will I turn into a canibal if I drink this stuff?
Thriller? Why? Why not Get Low by Lil' John and the East Side boys? F it. Why not On Top of Old Smokey (or my personal favorite On Top of Spaghetti... either because I'm Sicilian, or possibly because that's a juvenile rendition and I'm some form of Toys R Us kid)?
Did you notice she (Naomi Cambell by the way) started this silliness when the lizard caught a drop that splashed out when she "set" the drink down? Slammed it down more like. Who the hell puts their drink down like that?
This is delicious. ::BANG!!!::
Nevermind that she has to weigh like 105 pounds (or 1.5 Debbies for those of you keeping track at home)... I'm sorry but I just don't see her having the physical strength to slam a drink down hard enough to eject liquid into the air for a lizard to catch. |
| Now... if they showed her throwing the bottle at a latin housekeeper... MAYBE. Oh and as always I have to ask my two-part moron question: who's idea was this, and who is the idiot that approved it? |
|
|
|