Do You Know What It Sounds Like When Your Neighbor's Soda Can is Empty?

I do.

He's been fishing around for those last few droplets with a straw for five minutes. Now techincally speaking, he could ingest all the remaining moisture if the can were to be crammed down his throat. Just a suggestion, something I thought of this very second.

Someone's Got His Big Bag of Pretzels On Today

So it's time for a re-post! Enjoy.

Needn't It?

Here's a Little Ditty I Just Wrote Just Now

How Long is That Bag of Pretzels Gonna Be?

I'm so glad

You're enjoying your pretzels

Dear cubicle mate

During your lunch

They sound nice

The way they echo

In your piehole

The way they crunch

And bounce off your teeth

But I kind of want to kill you

So if you could wrap it up

You won't die

Thanks,

Bye.

-by Anne Altman

Some Couples Really Admire Things in One Another

And in this case, those things happen to be almost everything.

(No, they're not brother and sister, and yes, they're married. Click on the images for more WTF)

Downtown 6 Train, NYC ~ November 16, 2009

Hey, Um, I Think You Dropped Your Weave

Weavy grievy. Lexington Avenue near 35th Street, NYC ~ August 17, 2009

So You're an Extreme Breeder, Nagger, & Failure...

Tell me something I don't know, because I read the news because I like news. 

So, we get it. Are you gonna shut your piehole now, Kate?

You too, Jon?

Here's hopin'!

Read about how to nag effectively here.

Kate Gosselin on NBC's Today Show

My Dress Smells Like a Deep Fat Fryer Full of Vintage Grease

And it's still got the tags on it! Bought the cute turquoise cotton frock today at my favorite store on Nassau Street. When I pulled it out of the bag tonight and tried it on (I look CUTE!) I was hit in the face with the stench. Clearly the store must abut an exhaust fan from the restaurant next door and everything in the place is contaminated with the grease. It briefly occurred to me to take the dress back for a discount (hello, new economy, desperate measures) because it reeks but how would I prove it to the woman working there when she must smell exactly like the dress? "What are you talking about? I don't smell anything." 

There's a deli up the block that I only go to in extreme emergencies because it smells identically foully. In the 15 seconds it takes to purchase a Lotto ticket (Mega Millions is upwards of 200 million right now--one example of an emergency) you walk out of there stinkin' like a 14-year old mozzarella stick the rest of the goddamned day. Disgusting.

The point of this story: You can look cute in a new turquoise cotton frock even if it smells gross. Oh, and smells bother me. So if you're reading this, guy from the mailroom, please toss that uniform of yours in the laundry once a year. Your Pigpen cloud seriously makes me gag. It's so bad that I can tell when you've just re-stocked the pantry because it smells like a hamper. Then I've got to wait another fifteen minutes for the air to clear before I can pull myself together and return to make a cup of coffee. Thank you!

Swine Flu? Bed Bugs? Ain't Nothin' But Thangs

Especially if rats biting your face off while you sleep is your thang.

Do You Care About Tax Dollars When You're a City Employee Scraping Up Concrete?

NYC has the highest taxes anywhere in the nation. Ok, I'm not backing that up with real information or anything, because I don't really roll that way (I'm more intuitive), but I can tell you that my paycheck suffers bigtime. New York State takes a long savory taste, and then NYC takes a bite, and just like your boyfriend who says he doesn't like what you're eating and takes another bite just to make sure: "Yes, wow, gross, I knew I didn't like this." It's terrible, alright.

Sure, our tax dollars pay for important things like public school education, and for those dudes to go around with those guns and powerspray all those bubble gum wads off of the sidewalk, but is it necessary to pay the Snow Brigade to shovel up concrete? In a NYC "blizzard," the Mayor tells us that it costs a million dollars a day to salt and plow the streets of this fair city. But we didn't have a blizzard recently. At the very most, we got two inches of slush.

"NO MATTER!" cries the salt and plow brigade, following orders from the Mayor's office, which must simply fear law suits which may cost the city more? What else could justify the sound of bulldozer hitting pavement at 1 a.m.? Is it the mob? Someone's greasing the hands of city employees so they can pay for their houses in the Hamptons, because how else can I explain what I saw up close, live and in person (admittedly a little to late with the camera was I, perhaps too frozen with shock to whip it out in time) which is a snowplowing of the pavement on 35th Street last night. Here's what I have for you:

A picture of the "snow" just "plowed" by the bulldozer...ohhhhh, BLIZZARD!

~

And what do we have here?

The snowplow that just "plowed the snow" is on the right, having just passed me, and what is that on the left? But another snowplow? Jockeying for position? TWO SNOWPLOWS! Fighting for snow territory! "Hey, I was gonna plow that snowball. Get off of my turf, man!" DOES ANYONE SEE ANY SNOW IN THIS PICTURE? Granted, it's a crappy picture, but come on, unless you're blind and someone is reading you my blog, there ain't no snow to be seen here.

Perhaps it's my cold-blooded roots, having been raised in New England and endured the blizzard of '78, gone to college in the snowbelt of New York State, and loving a winter wonderland, but this stuff really pisses me off. How lame is it to send out the plows and spend money like this for no reason unless you're a plow driver making double time after 35 hours? And when it comes down to it, what really makes me angry is the lack of snow. The fact that they're wasting my tax dollars carving the curbs all in the "name of snow" just adds insult to injury. How about come up to my apartment with that bulldozer snowplow and get rid of some of that dust on my T.V.? Plow that crap I've been saving for no reason out to the curb. Do something productive for cryin' out loud.

Sigh.

Gross