You just made my list!

Let’s play a game! It’s called “See if you can spot the new Gap logo.” Don’t get cocky and think it’s going to be easy, the team that did the redesign used a computer. Yeah, a computer to make a logo, can you even believe that? I did some research on AOL and I’m pretty sure they used a program called “Excel” by a computer software company called “Microsoft.” Whatever they used, the results are incredible!!!

Ready? Set? FIND THE NEW GAP LOGO!

Understand something from the git go, I LOVE old people. If I’ve waited in line at the post office for 20 minutes and just as it’s my turn an old lady hobbles past everyone and walks right up to the counter I’m overjoyed. I’m being serious, I love it.

Good for you old people! You’ve been through enough shit and don’t need to be wasting your last few precious moments waiting in some bullshit line with a bunch of assholes checking their email on their cell phones. You don’t even know what email is and you could not care less that I currently have a score of 40,572 in “Cat Physics” on my iPhone. Although, to be fair, I worked really hard on that score, old people, and you should at least acknowledge it, especially if I’m letting you cut in line at the post office and drive 6 MPH in front of me on the road. Would it kill you to just say “Good job sonny” and take an interest in something I like for a change?

Having said that, old people should not be guarding the bank. I’m guessing the security guard at my bank was born around 1835 but he doesn’t look a day over 130! When I walked in the bank today I was trying to figure out why a guard’s uniform was sitting on top of a pile of dusty meat in the corner and then I realized it was just the guard.

God bless the guy, but forget about him running across the room to karate kick a pistol out of the hands of a robber. At best, this guy might be able to muster up a cranky glare or a disapproving “Hmmmpfff.”

So, I think I’ve made myself clear… old people acting selfish = awesome. Old people with guns = my vast fortune getting robbed.

Bullshit.

What’s worse than taking a nap? Not taking a nap! At least that’s how it feels at the time. And therein lies the dilemma, the catch-22, the reason I KNOW there is no God!

I hate naps. I HATE NAPS! I hate naps and yet I can’t stop myself from falling under their spell. It’s like naps are a super hot naked girl with every possible STD coursing through her perfect body and I’m the guy who says, “Well, I don’t have a condom but… maybe just a little oral, anal and vaginal sex. Possibly some needle sharing. What the heck, I’ll go ahead and drink some blood while I’m at it.”

I’m powerless when faced with the cozy, couchy siren song of naps. I think to myself, “This time it will be better. This time I won’t wake up wanting to murder my own family.” But no, I have never woken from a nap feeling anything other than miserable… miserable, confused, hot, cranky, angry, bewildered, sweaty, demoralized and filled with regret. I wake with my heart pounding and dullness that can only be described as abhorrent.

Oh, and look out world when I start my nap in daylight and awake to total darkness.

I would rather spend an entire day with Guy Fieri listening to Zoot Suit Riot than take a nap.

Take a nice long look at our future. We are fucking doomed.

Haven’t bought your copy of “Flirtexting,” the exciting new guide to flirting via text messages yet? Oh man are you dumb! No wonder you aren’t married yet you stupid piece of shit, you are texting all wrong!

For example, when a guy texts you at 3 am saying “hhey gurl wha yo u doingf wanna blowjon me” how would you know to respond with “I guess so, might as well.” Guess what? You just FLIRTEXTED! You are on your way to a rich and fulfilling life.

These two geniuses actually found a secret formula to make men do what they want… via text. I know, can you believe women finally know the secret? Up until now, getting a man to do what you want was virtually impossible.

And such a noble pursuit, controlling men with your cell phone. Their parents must be so proud.

Doomed.

Speaking of Lost…
ARE-YOU-FUCKING-KIDDING-ME-WITH-THIS-BULLSHIT?

What the fuck is wrong with me? Let me count the ways… I hated the show Lost, watched it for 7 years, was so angry at the show’s finale I almost killed myself for wasting countless hours watching time-traveling douchebags get chased in the jungle by smoke, and yet SOMEHOW I decided I should give NBC’s “The Event” a try because it was supposed to be the next Lost. I am the biggest asshole that has ever lived. I honestly hate myself.

As the opening credits rolled on the pilot episode last week, I thought to myself, “Listy (I now call myself “Listy” in my thoughts) what are you doing to yourself?” But then I was like, “Shut up Listy, this time it will be different!” Then I put myself in a headlock and gave myself playful noogies until I cried out “UNCLE” and peed my pants.

Little did I know how bad it was about to get. To make a long story short, The Event is about… drum roll… wait for it… OMG… A DISAPPEARING COMMERCIAL AIRPLANE!

Ha ha ha NBC and ABC, I’m slow clapping because I now realize you have joined forces with the sole purpose of making me so crazy that I jump off the roof of the nearest Taco Bell. I mean how else do you explain the fact that the show that is supposed to be the next Lost, a show about a disappearing commercial airplane, just happens to be about a disappearing airplane?!? Fuck me.

I’ll jump, I’ll do it!

First of all, fight the urge to tell me this hairdo is actually called “skunk hair” because I call it “panda hair” and I run the internet.

These black and white dye jobs can usually be found at the mall or Eastern European nightclubs and are most likely accompanied by orange skin, fake designer sunglasses and a yeast infection.

Owners of this hair would defend themselves by saying something like…

FUK U
MA HAIR IZ DA SHIT
AN U R
JUS JELUS BITCH
<3 MUAH <3

While this a valid argument I’m going to go ahead and respectfully disagree.

Unless you make a living shooting 80s porn in your home or hope to one day rent your house out to Chris Hansen’s cock-block-a-thon “To Catch A Predator” series, I would suggest avoiding vertical blinds. They only lead to bad things.

Sure, passing through vertical blinds is like walking inside a giant tickley mustache, and who doesn’t love that? And yes, it’s really awesome the way they gently knock everything off your plate as you attempt to navigate your way through them at your family reunion, but is that enough? IS IT?

Vertical blinds are like elderly security guards, they sort of get the job done but ultimately just end up making everyone sad who has to be in their presence.

Yeah, I masturbated to this novelty, disappearing clothes pen. Jealous?

I’m not proud of it (maybe a little) but it happened and I think we should all just acknowledge it and move on.

How was it that I found myself straining my eyes to masturbate to a tiny naked lady on an ink pen? That is a great question, thanks for asking. You see, the year was 1998, the Barenaked Ladies (ironically) topped the charts with their brilliant Canadian-comedy-pop-rap, Robin Williams turned the world of pediatrics on its red rubber balls with his touching portrayal of Patch Adams and thanks to pre-9/11 American bliss we were still innocent enough to masturbate to pens at work.

I was an optimistic young man working at a mid-sized company and occasionally I had a little extra time on my hands (ironically). Don’t get me wrong, I worked very hard (ironically) for this company but when I was between projects I had to literally stare at my desk. All you whippersnappers out there don’t know what it’s like to kill time at a job WITHOUT THE INTERNET but it was brutal!

Sure, I perfected the 20 minute walk around the office looking busy and the taking a nap sitting upright at my desk with my hand on the mouse (ironically) but that wasn’t always enough. Now, the following formula may seem foreign to you ladies but do your best to follow along…

Boredom + Time + Penis = Masturbation

The only unknowns in that equation are how and where. And in my case, which pen to bring along.

It was pretty simple really. I would bring my date, either the tall blonde in heels or the cute brunette with the big 70s bush, into the bathroom stall and quickly do my business. It had to be quick because the receptionist’s desk faced the entrance to the bathrooms and I’m sure she knew the time it took the average person to pee and/or poop. Any deviation from those two options would not go unnoticed so I really had to emulate the duration of a normal poo session. If someone walked into the bathroom while I was romancing myself I immediately ceased operations and switched to simulated pooping. It was the perfect plan.

Keep in mind, this only happened a couple times because usually I was too busy and the sadness of jerking off to a pen was not lost on me.

Deal with it.