Sunday, April 22, 2012

Inkle While You Tinkle

There are many things I don't understand, even when I try and understand them. For instance: why I have the urge to step on leaves on the ground that look crispy (and why I try to fight that urge even when I know I'll end up turning around to run back to the leaf and crunch it), why The Hulk's entire wardrobe rips to shreds when he mutates except for his shorts (does every area of Bruce Banner's body enlarge except for his groin? because that's just unfortunate for Ol' Brucey), and why milk only comes in chocolate and strawberry and the occasional banana-flavored (what about blueberry? or mango? or kiwi? who decided that strawberry was the ONLY fruit that mixed well with milk?).

Then there are things that I don't understand and never try to understand. For instance: when people say "knock on wood" and then knock on whatever the fuck happens to be nearby, even if it's not wood (and does that count figuratively, as well? if I were a man, could I "knock on my wood?"), why people push their lips out when they want to look sexy in a photo (do they do this in person, too? if they are talking to someone they want to impress, do they pause every now and then to push their lips out? something tells me noooooo...), and why people think that when you're walking with them, and the both of you walk past a store window, and they look over, you won't know that we were just checking themselves out in the reflection (was that blue shawl REALLY that interesting? did it REALLY catch your eye and hold your gaze for that long? no. you were just looking at yourself. you had plenty of opportunities to do that before we met up).

I'm going to take one of these things that I don't understand, and I'm going to dissect it. For your sake, for my sake, and for the sake of those guilty of it. Here we go.

Understanding Those Who Write On Bathroom Stalls
(a Q&A with Natasha Ferrier)

Question: Why do people write on bathroom stalls?

Answer: Ask me something else.

Q: Do these people just happen to have a writing utensil with them when they enter the stall, or is it all planned out before they enter the restroom? When they realize they have to urinate, do they think "I better grab my pen first!" or is it when they're sitting on the toilet that they realize, "Hey! I have a marker in my pocket! What a perfect way to pass the time!" ?

A: Fuck if I know.

Q: Since it is technically vandalizing, do you consider these people criminals?

A: Did the townspeople ever arrest the village idiot?

Q: Do these people realize that by committing this act, they are subjecting their views onto everyone else? That they are forcing us all to read their thoughts? That we innocent urinators have but no choice than to read their writing? Since it lays directly in our line of vision? Is their any way to avoid reading the writing on bathroom stalls?

A: That was 5 questions, not one. This is a Q&A, not a Qs&A; remember your Ps&Qs.

Q: What would you call these people? These people who write on bathroom stalls?

A: Multi-taskers.

Q: Do you think these people need help? A support group, perhaps? "Inkle While We Tinkle United," or maybe "Pens and Pee-Pee Anonymous," or even, "The Uturdsils Society?"

A: Uturdsils?

Q: Like Writing Utensils and Turds Combined.

A: Uturdsils?

Q: Aren't I the one who is supposed to be asking the questions?

A: I don't know, are you?

Q: Hey, stop that!

A: Was that a question?

Q: Yes?

A: Ask me if I feel like I get dumber every time I use a public restroom.

Q: Do you feel like you get dumber every time you use a public restroom?

A: Absolutely.

Q: What are some of the things you have seen written on bathroom stalls recently?

A: Oh, wow....let's see...

"Eat A Bag O' Dicks"

Q: Did you? Where would one acquire such a bag?

"God Is Watching You Shit"

Q: Did you look up when you read that? Did you see him watching?

"Call me if you're a girl or a boy, I go both ways"

Q: Why would a boy be in the ladies' restroom?

"The Notebook Was A Terrible Movie"
"No it wasn't"
"Everybody has a opinion"
"An, not a"
"English freak"

Q: Are entire conversations common?

A: Oh yes.

Q: Why do these people only write mindless things? Why don't they write words of wisdom? Or something useful? Or some good advice?

A: Maybe that's what they're trying to do. Maybe there is someone out there who truly thinks that "Eat A Bag O' Dicks" is really great advice to give to someone.

Q: Do you have any last thoughts regarding stall-scribblers?

A: Just because people wrote on giant tablets in the olden days does not make it acceptable now. Though a door make look like a giant tablet, it's not. It's a door. It's also not a shrink. We don't need to be telling it all our thoughts. It's a door. A door is also not a book, we don't need to be reading it. And yet somehow, we forget this. And we read the door. I, personally, have better things to read than doors. But at the same time, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Q: Do you think this conversation has helped us all better understand the act of writing on bathroom stalls?

A: Absolutely not. But at least we tried.

Friday, April 20, 2012

A Penis For Your Thoughts

"Hello sir, how are you?"

" that you're here."


I tend to loudly project my words when I don't know what to say. It's the opposite of what I should do, I realize this. In most situations where people feel speechless, they ARE speechless. When I feel speechless, I tend to exercise my speech at 11 notches higher than its normal volume. Why, I don't know. All I know is, this one goes to 11.

"What kind of sandwich can I make you?"

"Tuna, to-go. It looks like I'm gonna have to take both you AND the sandwich home."


Again, the lack of control of my voice. I have a theory, actually, on why this happens. I think it's because when I feel caught off guard like this, my mind starts racing. So many things are going through my head at this point. So many things, that in order to speak, I have to talk over the noise of all my thoughts. Don't worry, I'm going to share these thoughts with you, not just my loud-blibber-blubber and theories native to my ass - but in order to convey them all, I'm going to have to make a list.

My Thoughts After Being Mistaken For a Hooker

1. I'm at work. This is my job. I chose this profession. If I wanted to hear lines such as these, I would have chosen to work for a pimp. Do you see me wearing fishnets? Am I itching my vag? No. So don't talk to me like I'm a prostitute.

2. You are 60 years old.

3. This is Perv #2 that I have encountered in the past couple of months. And both were at work. That's a perv a month.

4. Is someone fucking with me? Is someone stalking me, figuring out when I work, and then hiring old men to come make me feel uncomfortable? Is there a lesson I'm supposed to be learning here? Why am I a target? Is there a sign on my back that says, "SENIOR CITIZEN SEX WANTED?" What the hell is going on?

5. Why don't normal people ever approach me like this? Or people my age? Why do I only attract the weird ones? I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there who have nice, young, attractive males flirt with them. I am not one of these girls. I'm the other kind. The kind that attracts pruney pedophiles.

6. Why do old people always order tuna? Is it because it's easy to chew?


These are my thoughts, the last one being on repeat.

"You have a boyfriend, don't you? I'm jealous."


"I'm jealous."




Thoughts: Continued.

8. Just play dumb. Continue to play dumb. Act like you're missing your brain. This method will work. Men don't like stupid girls.

9. What the hell am I thinking. Men love stupid girls. Don't play dumb. Act smart. Act incredibly intelligent. Confuse him with your wide vocabulary. Start speaking Spanish. Recite the capitals of all the Southeast Asian countries. Begin with Indonesia.

10. That's retarded. Don't bring Asia into this mess.

"What's your name?"



More Thoughts

11. Please don't say my name over and over again like that. It's incredibly disturbing.

12. What if I just ran away? Can I do that? Just dash off? Then return to work in a few minutes? Is that immature? Or is that instinct? Would I really choose flight if I were an animal? I'm a fighter, right? Should I punch him instead?

13. He's too old to punch. Who coined the term "oldies but goodies?" If you ask me, a more useful phrase would be "oldies NOT goodies." Either way, I can't punch this man.

"What's your nationality?"

"I'm American."



"I'm a mutt."

"A mutt?"

"Yep, I'm up for adoption."


"I'd love for you to adopt me."


Just One Thought

14. What the FUCK kinda pick up line is THAT?

"Are you in high school?"

"No, no, I graduated."

"Oh, so you're 18?"

"I am 21, actually."

"Great, great...I went to MBA. I'm an MBA boy."


"I got all the pretty girls in high school."


"They always wanted me."


Thoughts thoughts thoughts

15. Don't think I didn't catch the fact that you were checking to see if I was of legal age or not, punk.

16. Oh, you had all the pretty girls in high school? Wow! In that case, let's do it! I have incredibly low standards! What I look for in a man is not a sense of humor and engaging conversation, but instead, if he's dated other pretty girls! And if that was 45 years ago! You dated someone in 1960? Then what the hell are you waitin' for? Take off your pants, baby!

17. Why is it that as soon as someone creepy picks me as a target, ALL witnesses disappear? Where the hell are all my fellow coworkers? I'm around them all day, and as soon as I need them, they're all gone. I NEED WITNESSES. SOMEONE APPROACH THE STAND NOW OR BEAR MY WRATH.

"Name's Gumbo."

"I'm sorry?"

"Name's Gumbo."


"GUM. BO."

"Ah, yes. Like the food. Not like the green claymation man."

"Excuse me?"


"Well, Natasha Natasha Natasha, here's my card. Call me for a fun time."

And Dumbo leaves.

The Last of My Thoughts

18. You should know you're too old to be giving girls your phone number when it's printed on a business card.

19. I want my own business cards. Why don't I have some? I don't need his, I need my own.

20. You're seriously going to walk away, after all that you just put me through, and not leave a tip? Really? You're really gonna do that. You think your words were enough to impress me? Fuck you, Gumby. I need to see some bills. I need you to make it rain in this mutha fucka. Not even a penny? Really? Instead, you're going to leave me with the thought of your penis? Seriously? NOT EVEN A PENNY? A penny for my thoughts? Because I can give you twenty.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Mission Vaniller

"It's replaced planking."

"Wait, what's replaced planking?"




"What's cone-ing?"

"You've never heard of cone-ing?"


"It's when ---"

"Wait, what's planking?"

"You've never heard of planking?"


"It was the fad before owling."


"Yes, owling."

"What's owling?"

"The fad that came before cone-ing."

"God damnit."

"So you've never heard of planking?"


"Well trust me, you don't want to know."

"Well now I kind of do want to know."

"You want to know?"

"I didn't want to know."

"So you don't want to know?"

"Well I didn't want to know until you told me I didn't want to know. So yeah, now I kinda wanna know."


"It's when you lay down somewhere and have someone take a picture of you."


"That's it."

"That's it?"


"That's it."

"I told you, you didn't want to know."

"I'm just really confused right now."

"It was a huge fad."

"I'm just still really confused."

"It's pretty simple."

"And this is a popular thing?"



"It's not the thing to do anymore."

"So any pictures of me laying down are..."


"Are you fucking with me?"

"No, I'm serious. Planking is over. Don't go laying down on things and having people photograph it. It's not as amazing as people once thought it was."

"Alright. So after people figured out that it wasn't all that hilarious to change your posture on certain objects..."


"Then came owling."

"And owling is..."

"It's basically the same as planking."


"Except you try and look like an owl."

"Is this drug-related?"

"Not that I know of. It's just the cool thing to do."

"So it's planking meets fowl."


"And how does one try and resemble an owl?"

"You know, you can kinda squat, or put your hands over your eyes in the shapes of circles, stuff like that."


"Then you take a picture."


"And put it on facebook."


"Do you get it?"

"I'm just still really confused."


"Well it doesn't matter, because now it's all about coneing."

"Is that even a word?"

"It is now."

"How do you spell that? Coning? Or coneing?"

"I'm not really sure. I've seen people write it as "cone-ing." "

"Fuck the spelling, just tell me what it is."

"It's ---"

"Wait, let me guess. It's when you sit on something and try and look like a cone."

"Actually, no."



"Well shit."

"It's when you go to a drive-thru and order an ice cream cone, but when they reach out the window to hand it to you, you don't grab it by the cone. Instead, you grab it by the top of the ice cream."

"Holy shit."

"It's dumb, I kno---"


"It's kinda funny, I mea---"




"Right now?"


After several minutes of deep contemplation, the group came to the consensus that we would go coneing. Before embarking on our adventure, we watched several youtube videos on the subject matter, to make sure we knew exactly what we were doing. Videos on dudes in cars asking for "vaniller" cones and videotaping it. Educational films, I'm going to call them. Educational films on grabbing a cone by its ice cream.

In many of the education films, the employee at the window would react in confusion:

"Do you need some extra napkins..."

or shock:

"What the?"

or even anger:

"I ain't givin you another one of them!"

We knew what to expect, but at the same time, we did not know what to expect.

That...did not make much sense.

Moving on.

We're amped, we're pumped, I'm stuck in the backseat, away from all the action, but I'm still amped, I'm still pumped, I'm wishing I was the one doing the actual coneing, I decide that there will be plenty of more opportunities to grab ice cream, I tell myself I'll have two hands for another 100 years, yes I'm planning to live to be 121, ice cream will be around for inifinty, so it's okay, I can be a audience member instead of the performer, I'm not really okay with that, but this is going to be GREAT.

We approach the window. Me: the idea-suggester, Passenger Seat: the cameraman, and Driver: the Coner. We are immediately faced with a crucial problem.

"Should I say vaniller?"

"I don't know, do you have to?"

"The people in the videos were."

"Shit! I don't know! Is that protocol?"

"You tell me!"

"We can't fuck this up!"

"Welcome to Burger King, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, do you have ice cream cones?"

"Yes we do."

Ice-cream cone: check.

"Can I get a vaniller?"

Vanniller: check.

"Drive to the first window please."

Car: check.

The cone is paid for, and we creep on up to the second window. This is it. The moment we've all been waiting for. The experience we've prepared ourselves for for the last 5 minutes of our ENTIRE LIVES.

"Here you go, have a nic---"


In what seemed to be slow-motion, the arm reaches...reaches...reaches....and RAWWWWRRRRRRR...hits the top of the ice cream, fingers slowly digging themselves into the freezing cold deliciousness of the Vaniller, and the woman's jaw drops open, her eyes slowly narrowing in anger, saying all sorts of things without actual vocal projection. Things such as:

"What the hell?"




"This the tenth time today some fool has grabbed the cone by its fucking ice cream."

And that was it. Coneing. The act of severely confusing a drive-thru employee. The act of doing something completely opposite from the norm. The act of taking something so simple, and finding it to be the most hilarious thing in the world. Coneing.

Who thought of this? I wish I knew. Maybe the next person will come up with Strawing: ordering a drink and grabbing it by the straw, letting the whole beverage fall to the floor. Or maybe we'll all resort back to picture-taking positions, such as Picnic Anting: sitting on something and trying to look like an ant at a picnic. Yes, it's that simple. That's what so great about this day and age. You can get away with being a retard. In fact, being retarded may even bring you fame.

But honestly, I hope coneing sticks around for awhile. In the meantime, I'll try and kill as many brain cells as I can so I can fit in with everybody else. I'm sick of being an Abovetard. I'm ready to join the masses. Where's the vaniller? My hand is ready.