What do you do when someone says hi to you on the street and you don’t know them?
Think to self: You are such a douchebag. Don’t every talk to me you homeless piece of donkey shit.
Say: “Hi.”
Do: Punch that fucking asshat in the face and kick him while he’s down.
He was only 28. Most of us around here at Midwestern Gothic are approaching our 28th birthdays. This makes this even more real for us. Even though there are no females on the staff of MG (gee, could you tell?) we still had a special place in our heart for Mr. Ledger.
Watching him as the Joker this summer in the Dark Knight just won’t be the same.
Why, god! Why did he have to take all those drugs and die naked face down in his overpriced Manhattan apartment?
There is this dude around my office today that is wearing headphones like the ones pictured here. Now I don’t have a problem listening to music or doing whatever else keeps them going through the day; I know how hard it is to stay focused and interested in your job.
My beef is with the fact that this dude is wearing BIG headphones. I mean you know he doesn’t have an old school cd player in his pocket. I mean you know he has an iPod so why the big headphones. The way I see it there is only one reason: they are noise cancelling and therefore he doesn’t have to hear his fellow employees at all. What kind of message does this send? I mean I work in a fairly quiet environment. I mean if you have to throw the “big ones” on when it gets loud and you are sitting at your desk, then fine. But to walk around all day with these things on and not respond when people say hi is just rude. I mean you aren’t Charlie Fineman.
Remember when you were at that friend’s house (well friend is a little bit liberal use of the term; she was actually a friend of your friends girlfriend’s boyfriend) for that party in her basement in early high school? This was before you start drinking heavily and doing drugs. Yeah, now you remember. You were dancing with this Asian girl who was all the rage at the time even though she had super hairy arms.
Remember grabbing her butt right when you heard the lines:
I don’t care who you are (who you are)
Where you’re from (where you’re from)
What you did
God that was awesome. Remember making out with her when making out meant light kissing and just a slip of the tongue?
Shit, now I have an erection at work…
Interesting Individuals are those that any normal person will see on the street and think quietly to themselves “That damn freak”, unless you have Turrets Syndrome and then you yell it at them. Unlike some of my peers I seem to spend inordinate amount of time focusing my thoughts on what makes these people the way they are today. These folks have touched my life like no other.
Please take the time to share your own experiences with the Interesting Individual focused on in this article by using the comments section below.
Interesting Individual: The 5 minute Piss Pal or 5MPP from here on out.
The Scenario
You have been at work for about 3 hours so far and the day is dragging. We all know the feeling and what better way to combat it then to step away from that ball and chain (read: desk and computer) and waste time by going to the bathroom, while of course engaging in some conversations along the way (to waste extra time). Just as you arrive at the threshold of the bathroom, Mike from accounting steps up behind you. Pleasantries are exchanged as you enter the bathroom, for once you are completely in talking is not allowed.
Mike starts going to the bathroom and he has a full stream going. You start a weak stream in the urinal next to him. Your embarrassment only slows your stream to a drip drip drip. However, being a man of courage you stand next to Mike and continue to drip it out. About 35 seconds in and you are all dripped out while Mike still has a full powerful stream. As you start to zip up he looks over you and delivers a smug smile.
You start to wash your hands and because you want to see how long Mike’s powerstream can keep up you wash them good, not like your usual turn on the faucet, turn it off, and grab some paper towels only to throw them away dry. 55 seconds have passed. Finally, you finish washing your hands and at this point you are ready for surgery you scrubbed them so good. Mike is still pissing and while his stream has lessened a bit it is still resonates louder against the back of the porcelain than anything you have ever done. 1 min 45 seconds.
As you start to leave the bathroom you look between Mike’s legs and the stream is awesome. Overcome, with jealous you stop walking for just a second. 2 minutes. Mike notices the change in movement behind him and just as he looks back you start to slowly shuffle towards the door. He waves and mutters “Sayonara.”
You wait outside the bathroom to see if he comes out. At this point he has been in there 2 minutes and 15 seconds. So you wait while staring at your watch. It feels eerily similar to waiting for your girlfriend at the mall while she uses the restroom only you know she isn’t going to the bathroom the entire time.
Finally, Mike strolls out and as you try to look like you are reading a posting about your employment rights that is posted on the wall near the bathroom you look down at your watch and nearly 5 minutes has passed. That’s when you realize Mike is a 5MPP.
Reasons to strive to be a 5MPP
1. Being a voluntarily fireman with your own water house and water supply. Think about how the chicks will dig you as you walk up to a burning building and put out the blaze with your powerstream.
2. The respect of other men once they find out you are a 5MPP. I mean who doesn’t wish they could do that on a regular basis?
3. The ability to drown small children (your own or others) with your own bodily fluids if they don’t behave. No more crying children while you try to enjoy a nice dinner with that hot lady at the restaurant where stupid parents think they can bring their kids.
4. Helping the environment by filling small stream and lakes in times of a drought.
(Myself, Ted, Tim, and an obscured Bob enjoying a rejuvenating go at one of America’s most favorite pastimes, “getting your fucking boy scout medals”.)
Let me start this report out by kind of admitting that there were indeed biases aplenty before we crossed the border to the land of those wily “Maple Leafs”. What’s with that syrup, after all? But, for the sake of bloggers everywhere, Ted, Bob, Tim, and I had to discover firsthand what the metropolis affectionately known as the “Big Fire” was all about.
We left on Thursday morning after getting our final boy scout medals. Shit that was sweet. See the picture above. We were drinking juice all night and by the end we couldn’t stop giggling. All the ladies are going to love us in O-titty with our sweet medals and all that donkey ass shit.
We drove all day long, but since we are so young and usually only drive pinewood derby cars it took us 15 hours to get to the about Traverse City. Which from Grand Rapids usually would only take about 4 hours. So we got a hotel and got ready for a pillow fight.
Next thing we noticed? We were buff as shit and we were going on a gay cruise across the great lake of Lake Superior. Oh shit I love gay guys.
Lastly, the nightlife. We stayed in our hotel in Oliver Paipoonge most of the evenings (7 out of that we were there. We ate twinkys and drank mountain dew. We were playing World of Warcraft the whole time. Tim kept eating twinkees well into the night. I told his now fatass to slow down, but he wouldn’t.
Anyway, that’s about it. One last picture of us before we left. Got any tales of Oliver Paipoonge or Canada you’d like to share? I’d love to hear about it.
Auf Wiederhoren.