When I was a kid, I believed that God made it impossible for us to roll our eyes all the way back into our heads because He didn’t want us gazing directly inward upon our bare naked souls. Now that I’m older and have more life experience, I realize what a stupid idea that was. The real reason God doesn’t let us roll our eyes all the way back in our head is so that it’s easier to tell normal people apart from zombies.
SITUATION: Changing the morning diaper of a child between 18 months and two years old.
ADULT SAYS: “Stop kicking while I’m changing your diaper.”
CHILD HEARS: “Kick me in the crotch as hard as you possibly can, like you’re Charlie Brown finally getting a shot at that football while Lucy isn’t paying attention because she’s staring at a pack of wolverines attacking a bunny, and laugh like a hyena full of nitrous oxide when I collapse on the floor praying to every diety throughout human history to end the pain and return to me the gift of sight.”
NOTE: Depending on age of child and angle of attack, you may fail to hear actual laughter due to your state of unconsciousness.
I bet more young Americans would pick up yodeling as a hobby if people in the Alps would meet them halfway and start yodeling about text messaging and crunk juice.
I imagine the best part about being bisexual is not that you enlarge your potential dating pool to include everyone over the age of consent in liberated societies, but that you qualify for a free hat and large soda whenever your local minor league baseball team has Bisexual Hat Night.
If the chemists of the world really want to become all-star sex symbols and have movies and books written about their glamorous lives, then I say it’s time to drop all this “ribulosebisphosphatecarboxylaseoxygenase” and “2,1,5,6-quadrichlorine-1,3-phenyldiacarbonitrile” nonsense when it comes to naming what you make. Why not call your next industrial solvent “The Sweaty Norwegian,” or let agricultural pests know they’ve got a fresh batch of “Powdered Windshield” coming at them? Without a slew of catchy names that women can still pronounce when drunk, there is no Cocktail.
Although, now that I think about it, there probably isn’t a Cocktail without a large group of studio executives snorting some 2,1,5,6-quadrichlorine-1,3-phenyldiacarbonitrile before greenlighting a project with lines like “Anything else is always something better.” So thanks a lot, chemists.