Whirligigs and Shurikens

Let’s face it, my last blog was a bit of a downer. It’s okay, you can admit it, and more importantly, so can I. It was a downer because yesterday was a downer of a day and I will punch your lips through the back of your head if you disagree with me.

I say that because today is more of a rager. I don’t care that “rager” isn’t technically a word. I will keep using it anyway because that’s what I do. Whereas yesterday I was blah and bummed out and whatever, today I am actively seeking fights with people just because I want to see how far I can push people. I almost made an idiot wreck his car today trying to get in front of me because I wanted to see how much of an asshole he would be in an effort to get one car length ahead of me.

Turns out his bootie sphincter has an enormous capacity for growth. It would probably have even more capacity if he would just relax. At least that’s what Frankie Goes To Hollywood says. It turns out that if I push the right person’s buttons, they will actually drive 60 MPH through a school zone in an effort to get ahead of me. Don’t worry, I went 15 through that school zone because I know how the lights are timed on that road and I ended up right next to the guy anyway. And then I stared at him until the light changed. He loved that. He may have peed on himself. Perhaps he was wearing Depends and was going to do that anyway. I like to think I helped the process though.

The funny thing about people driving like assholes is that most of them know they are doing it so when they get called on it, they realize how shitty they are as members of a modern society and they sit in their cockpits and pee themselves a bit when a guy much bigger and angrier than them stares down at them while they pray for the light to change.

One of these days I will probably get shot doing something like that. And I will deserve it, but just know that if I turn up dead in some kind of road rage incident, whoever shot me was being a complete dick and all I was doing was making sure his day was as shitty as possible by making him stay in his own lane. Turns out my day probably ended up shittier if I got shot, but at least I’m not a dick.

Man, that’s weird talking about your death in the future/past tense. I think there are probably some grammar rules that I broke because of that, but they are rules that I made up anyway just for that scenario so if they are broken it is only because I said they are. Plus, I was living in the future and the past at the same time, so what did you expect?

But I digress, because what I really wanted to talk about today was how women put men through the most horrific torture known to modern man: shopping with women.

Seriously, it might be the worst thing ever invented with a couple of special exceptions, including, but not limited to, Texas and Rosie O’Donnell. I’ve never been stuck in a whirligig or put in stocks in the town square, but I have been shoe shopping at Charlotte Russe and I swear it is the same thing. Maybe watching an episode of Rosie’s show taped in Texas while sitting in the stocks inside of a whirligig could be worse, but just barely.

I don’t want to turn this into a big war of the sexes or anything, but women shop like animals. ANIMALS! Don’t believe me? Just go to any department store on a weekend and look at the return rack for the fitting rooms. Women have crap everywhere. Everywhere! There are ill-fitting pants hanging from ceiling fans, a ball of hangers the size of Donald Trump’s ego on the floor, and piles of loose thread and yarn that used to be garments of clothing stacked up on the back of the register. If you stick around the selling floor long enough, you will actually see women throw things that don’t fit them like they are cloth shurikens, creating airborne clothing designs that look like the girl from Ally McBeal is doing flying cartwheels through the dressing rooms.

A shuriken is a Chinese throwing star, for those of you who are not hip to Bruce Lee and everything else that is cool in the world. And the Ally McBeal chick is the really skinny girl who looks like an alien and was the inspiration for the 4th Indiana Jones movie, for those of you not hip to stuff I just made up.

Do you know what men throw? They throw out their back at the thought of having to go shopping with a woman and be subjected to the horror. A man would rather fake an injury than be forced to spend an afternoon with his best girl at the mall.

Yeah, I said best girl. What else do you want? I definitely wouldn’t hit up the mall with my worst girl either, unless she just wanted to go to Best Buy and perhaps The Sports Authority and NOWHERE ELSE. If that were the case, I would instantly turn her into my best girl and STILL avoid the mall with her because all of that, “Let’s go to Best Buy” is just a way of buttonhooking you into ending up at Charlotte Russe with her and wishing your heart would explode so you would have a legitimate excuse to leave the building without pissing her off.

Ah, who am I kidding, she’d still be pissed off. But at least she’d come out of there with 7 pairs of shoes for $100 so she’d have something to model for me while I was laid up in the hospital waiting for the doctors to work some “Six Million Dollar Man” magic on my ticker to get me back in the game stronger, faster, smarter and genetically engineered to withstand the rigors of watching a woman try to decide if blue or black shoes would match a piece of clothing they haven’t even bought yet.

Nothing like a captive audience to show your shoes to, right ladies?

B!