I always like to start these off talking about something that gives me great satisfaction. This time is no different. In fact, it is amplified because, as I write this, I am listening to Bob Seger radio, which gives me tons of satisfaction. There is something about his crooning that makes me want to go be the lonely figure at bar somewhere; chain-smoking and speaking cryptically to strangers. That isn’t the subject of my affection this week, that trophy belongs to the practice of spending the night at my parents’ house. Anyone who makes periodic trips to their parents’ house can attest that it fucking awesome. For a fleeting moment, your childhood dwelling is transformed into the most amazing bed and breakfast. The staff is so attentive, it is like they unconditionally love you. Lavished with attention and gorged with food, I have never left a stay at my personal, quaint B&B unsatisfied. I LUV IT. But, the night is dark, and full of terrors, so here are some of them:
Gel Deodorant: Up the road from Washington, in Frederick, MD, is Fort Detrick. The fort is infamous for being the hub of biological weapons in the United States. It houses the worst of the worst: Ebola, smallpox, the “We Buy Any Car” commercial, and Gel deodorant; the latter being the most terrifying and sinister. Have any of you actually been exposed to gel deodorant? You twist the little knob at the bottom, and this clear, semi-solid wriggles through plastic holes like some sort of infectious pus. Then you have to apply it. So let’s say you’re wearing a shirt, maybe even one that you spent an extra second picking out. Chances are, if you’re trying to use gel under this shirt, the dosage that you measured out for your armpit will never reach its destination. Instead, the gel will most likely cake itself all over the inside of your shirt midway through the journey. This will most likely prompt friends to ask you the age old question: “Did you cum on yourself?”
~<>*$SIDENOTE ALERT$*<>~ Throughout human history, any sort of white stain, or gooey spill on clothing, has been mistaken for one thing, and one thing only: sperm. Like, “Oh yeah, actually I was getting ready this morning and I just figured ‘Hey I am running a little ahead of schedule, why don’t I just use this extra time to cake the essence of life all over this newly pressed dress shirt?’” If you pose the question to me in the future, I will just admit to it, break down in tears in front of everyone, and proclaim “I AM A MONSTER, I HAVE A PROBLEM, I CAN’T CONTROL MYSELF.” Nobody wants that.
Anyway, the gel deodorant, yes, yes back to that vile instrument. So let’s say you succesfully get the gel to your pits. Now you have this glop of of chemicals resting under your arm that will not dry, no matter the climate. I don’t care if you are in Death Valley, the Sahara, Marco Rubio’s mouth, not even the driest locale on this planet can dry gel deoderant. It just sits there, laughing at you, causing the same pit stains it was put there to prevent. God damn that product to hell.
People who slow down when a cop has pulled someone else over: I spend a lot of time driving on 95, which means I am frequently exposed to the deepest, darkest practices of driverdom. Of which, one of the most infuriating is that of slamming on the brakes when in the presence of a police officer ticketing someone else. You know what people, you are right. You are posing such a giant threat to the health of society going 12 over in your Yaris that the officer will be forced to A. Stop the legal process he is currently performing B. Jump back in his car C. Hunt you down like the fucking abhorrent dog you are. Just keep driving, think of it as immunity. We should all be so lucky.
Geno Smith: Now this really isn’t fair to Geno Smith, because I don’t hate him. Instead, I more hate the idea of Geno Smith. So average, so stereotyped, so much coverage. As John McCain battles for all of our cable viewing souls, I pray every night, to any God that will listen, for a sports news channel that strictly covers the outcomes of sporting contests. I would call it: Sports Center.
