Wonder What This Rando Thinks

Unpopular opinions are the spice of life. And who doesn’t like spice? Besides people living with irritable bowel syndrome, of course. And the English.

But let’s ignore those contingencies for now. If everyone feels the exact same way about something, it fades out of our active attention. No one spends much time talking about how awesome “blue” is or how much they just love oxygen, for example.

Now, if someone piped up with a hot take on the uselessness of O2, they’d stand out against the backdrop. When a talking plant has an opinion, after all, we instinctively listen. (Source: Little Shop of Horrors).

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Be Kind, Rewind

I have a weird confession to make.

It’s going to come as a shock, so I hope you’re sitting down. You probably are, as it’s hard to walk and read at the same time.

Okay, here goes: I haven’t seen that movie.

I know, right?! Crazy. You know the one, the one with that one guy? The one where they go places and do stuff? Yeah, never seen it.

And I’m constantly, irrationally embarrassed by this fact.

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We’re Trying To Have A Society Here

The act of “canceling” people is as old as civilization itself.

Sometimes we canceled people via exile. Sometimes it was through removing their heads from their bodies. But the reasoning was always the same:

You did something that badly compromises our community’s shared values, so you gotta go.

Before humans started divvying up the hunting versus the gathering, we already had the basics of a limited social contract. It went something like this:

“What’s up, fellow hominid? Here’s my offer: in honor of the fact that you look vaguely similar to me, I won’t kill you when you turn your back. In consideration thereof, kindly don’t kill me when I’m not looking, either. Sound good? Kthxbye.”

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If You’ll Excuse Me, I Gotta See A Man About A Dog

There is a problem with the bathroom-to-human ratio in my area.

Well, the problems run much deeper than that, but the lack of accessible restrooms is the outcome that most directly impacts me.

This issue wouldn’t exist if it were socially acceptable for people to piss on the ground like 99.99% of the rest of the mammals. Who’s the 0.01% left over, you ask?

Sea mammals. Orcas only piss on the land in the rarest, most dire circumstances.

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Deliver Us From Upheaval

In a few hours, I’ll be in my car.

It’s a nine-year-old Toyota Prius that bears nine years worth of scars. Rear-ended three times. Sideswiped by a crafty pole that jumped out of nowhere. One headlight is perpetually brighter than the other like it’s a nine-season NFL veteran. Still going strong. And one headlight is brighter than the other, did I mention that?

I’ve slept in that car, sometimes while parked. Gotten tickets. Sung countless songs. Done “other things” in that car which, if I someday become a world-renowned writer, will dramatically increase its Kelley Blue Book value when accompanied by this essay. I’ll sign a copy for you, just ask.

But today, I’ll be doing what I’ve been doing in the Prius for the last several months, ever since I closed my business. I’ll be delivering GrubHub orders to people’s homes.

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I Did It My Way (And Failed)

This is the post I’ve avoided writing for seven months.

I lost my restaurant.

No, I didn’t misplace it. It’s stationary. If it were a food truck, that might make sense, like I parked it somewhere and now I can’t find it. I’m a known drunkard, so it’s not that far-fetched. Plus, I make stupid jokes to keep from crying.

But no, I lost my restaurant in that I had to make the decision to shut it down permanently. It’s not all that funny. I had seen other people lose their businesses before, and that was fucking hilarious. But this time, it happened to ME, which was significantly less funny.

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Beating Our Heads Against The Wall

Are you better off than you were four years ago?

A famous actor once asked that question in a debate with a former peanut farmer. Of course, I’m referring to the classic intellectual joust between Sir Anthony Hopkins and George Washington Carver. It was really tough to organize the event, given the fact that the two participants lived in different eras. A lot of people don’t know that.

The line was repeated with devastating effect in 1980 when former Governor Ronald Reagan (R-California) debated incumbent President Jimmy Carter (D) in a bid to deprive Carter of a second term.

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The Bell Tolls For Thee (When Your Head Smacks It)

Because we’re human, we’re capable of transmitting and receiving communicable diseases from one another. That means we’re only as safe as the most vulnerable among our population.

Because we’re humane, we understand that ideas like removing vulnerable people from the gene pool, putting afflicted* people in leper colonies, shunning immigrants out of fear they’ll bring disease, and purposely infecting everyone around you, are all incompatible with living in a “developed” society.

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Are You a Problem Announcer?

My dog, Lemmy, isn’t much of a problem solver. He’s a world-class problem announcer, though.

Lemmy’s definition of “problem” ranges from “someone rang a doorbell on TV” to “someone rang the actual doorbell.” In other words, my dog is a redundant doorbell. And unlike my actual doorbell, Lem Lem shits a lot. My actual doorbell hardly ever shits.

I’m just kidding. I don’t have a doorbell. This blogging thing doesn’t pay doorbell-having money. If you want to see me in person, you’ll have to knock on my door. I won’t answer it, but to be fair, I also won’t answer it if you push the spot where the doorbell button is supposed to be. Lemmy will flip the fuck out either way, though. Your move, Knocky.

“Problem announcing” has much less value to society than problem solving. That’s why Lemmy still lives with his mom and dad at 28-dog-years-old: his complete lack of marketable skills.

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Hello, 911? Can You Send A Sociopath?

Imagine you’re a reporter. After a long day of work, you start having excruciating chest pains. You think this may be the end.

You call 911, and barely squeak out, “My chest is tight, I can’t breathe.” The minutes blur as you lie on the floor, bargaining and pleading with your maker to survive until the ambulance arrives.

At last, the EMT rushes in. He comes to your side and immediately kneels down to whisper something to you:

“I see you need my help. I can help you. But first, I want you to do us a favor, though. I want you to get on the news and say you’ve discovered incriminating details about my ex-wife. She’s done a lot of bad things, and it would really help everyone.”

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