Is it wrong of me to get so much pleasure out of peeling the skin off of grapes with my two front teeth? And if it is, I don't want to be right.
Why does wearing glasses make you appear smarter but wearing 5 pairs all at the same time one on top of the other, make you look crazy? It's not my fault I gave in to the incredible sale the glasses store was having where if I bought four pairs I got the fifth one for free. A pretty weird and totally impractical promo now that I think about it -I mean who, aside from the incredibly forgetful, ever need 5 pairs of glasses, and yet somehow it worked on me. I guess I'm their target audience and to think I just thought I was a target.
I have been asked all my life if I'd rather be the tortoise or the hare and I've always wondered why I am constantly surrounding myself with people who ask that question - is it random or maybe I seem like the sort of person who needs to be asked that question in order to find my purpose in life or just to be preoccupied so others can enjoy some quiet time or people can tell that I have such a magnificent brain and will give a timeless, articulate answer to this age-old question. Well, after much thought, and understanding that slow and steady wins the race and not being too over-confident like that hare and all of that crap, if I had to choose and was able to choose, I'd opt to be a rare tortoise-hare hybrid; the result of a number of generations of cross-breeding initiated by an overly amorous tortoise and an adventurous and partially blind hare. It would be the best of both worlds and bully to you if you call my answer evading the question.
If a newborn baby smells so fresh and clean and everyone enjoys it, is there a reason they've banned me from the hospital for lurking around the pediatric area sniffing like a dog?
What is more important - to look good, to smell good, to hear well or failing those, to at least be comfortable for others to sit on and/or tasty in case others get hungry and desperate?
If I had to choose between being really, abundantly, disgustingly, brush-defying, is-he-an-animal-or-just-a-wild-man-who-accidentally-left-the-jungle hairy or having zero hair, sort of like scorched earth after a fire where someone who was quite OCD carefully removed all of the dead grass, cue ball-esque, a freaky cross between an alien species who have evolved beyond the need for hair and an alien species who really understand the intricacies of closely shaving hair, which would I choose? On the one hand if I had tons of hair, I could save a lot of money on clothes, invent a number of new braiding techniques that could gain me notoriety in hip hop circles, and always have a good buffer of personal space, but on the other hand, I would be super sweaty most of the time, windy days would always leave me at risk of getting arrested for exposing myself, there would almost definitely be a minimum of one hair in all of my meals and the sheer amount of shampoo and conditioner required would probably lead me to have to take a second job. And who would hire me? If I was completely hairless I'd enjoy covering myself in wax and just sliding everywhere, increasing my chances of getting the part of the misunderstood weirdo in locally-filmed TV shows, and experiencing life as aerodynamically and as drag-free as possible. However, I'm not sure if anyone I know is ready for someone to have zero eye lashes, eye brows and only the occasional nose or ear hair; being referred to, even with a complimentary tone as "The Mannequin" would grow old fairly quickly and I'd miss running my fingers through my hair in moments of boredom or exhaustion. I guess, after considering the options, I'd like to ask to continue having some hair with the option of either increasing or decreasing the amount incrementally depending on the season.
Why does it seem like every time I genuinely say that I'm sorry there is no one around? And why does it seem like every time I'm a total jerk I'm standing in front of a massive audience dressed like a penguin?
Why do we think so highly of those that volunteer to go first? Isn't it possible that they should think things through a bit more carefully especially when the noises behind that door sound like those of a crazed and ravenous beast.
What happens if I am not only part of the problem but also part of the solution? I know, I am confused as you are! I specifically requested to be a "solution-only" sort of person and I did tip big. But instead, I am stuck both creating the problem and giving lots of helpful hints towards solving it. I enter the room and unsolvable questions and dilemmas appear almost out of the woodwork and as I exit, the codes are beginning to be cracked and what was once though of as overly complex and complicated seem a lot easier. In an ideal world, I would choose to be able to first be all problem all the time, just creating these situations that added stress and strife to everyone and then nip out of the room almost a la Clark Kent and then whisk back in just at the moment where everyone has given up all hope and have headaches, like a beam of sunlight breaking through the seemingly impenetrable clouds with solutions aplenty and have praised showered down upon me. But, alas, I am stuck in this middle ground of just not amounting to very much at all.
Which of you took my beloved purple fluffy ear muffs? I mean, who took one of my pairs of said ear muffs? A man's gotta have backup if you know what I'm sayin'. Do you know what I'm sayin' or is it just me...I have a sneaking suspicion that it is just me.
Why is it cruel to take candy from a baby? I was going to give her something in return! Aren't I allowed to teach my baby advanced bartering skills to prepare them for the harsh realities of the world? Plus, what kind of father am I if I allow my baby to have candy in the first place? A father who does not care about dental hygiene that's who and I refuse to be that kind of dad. So excuse me if I make my baby cry all-the-while placing their lack of future tooth decay on the top of my list of priorities. Great candy by the way.
Does anyone want to join me lying on the couch watching movies, ordering take out, eating chips and relaxing instead of going to work? I tried that last week and now I have time to do it every day!
Disclaimer: I love cheese. And I live in a society where my cheese-loving is both applauded and seen as normal behaviour, aside from those who are either lactose intolerant or just intolerant as it wouldn't matter at all what I did in those people's eyes. Anyways, it got me thinking what if I was a cow who loved cheese? I can only imagine how difficult that would be for me, the cow, who enjoyed eating a product made from my milk, although it would be hard to ensure it was actually my own milk - there are just so many cows. I think you humans would probably see it as an oddity that may draw a scattering of tourists from time to time to my barn on the farm, but it wouldn't be front-page news or even retweet-worthy. Now, among the cow community, I could see it being a bigger deal and I would probably have to consume the cheese when no other cow was watching as eating the cheese would be seen as silent approval of the whole cheese industry which some cows may not be big fans of. I'm not sure what they would want to have happen to all of that milk - don't get me wrong, we love being milked - it feels awesome, let me tell you, but to see the humans benefitting both financially and enjoying the fruits, or cheeses as it may be, of our labour is really hard to handle. So, I'd be living with other cows who would be fairly unhappy about the stealing of the milk and the money - the turning milk into cheese isn't the big crime, I mean once the milk has been taken, do what you want - knock yourself out. And then you have me, the cow who loved cheese, set against this backdrop of unhappiness. I'm sure my cheese eating would be seen, first and foremost, as disgusting - I mean can you humans imagine doing the equivalent from your own milk? I know, right? And second, if it is so good, and the cows can get over the potentially disgusting nature of it, then I may be looked down upon for not sharing. As you can see, life would be full of challenges if I were a cow who loved cheese. Good thing I'm not...yet.
I have always been told don't run into a burning building, so then why did I get chastised for standing outside playing games on my phone while the building was burning?
What is going down and what is up and, more importantly, where are these things happening and do they allow people like me to come in and participate in all that is going down and up and if so, can I either get directions or a ride or borrow some cab fare? I can't wait to be part of what is happening - I am usually the last to find out and, by the time I do, it is old news.
If I had to steal to feed my family knowing that I may be at real risk of being caught and that if caught I would immediately fold and cop to everything and when on trial I would whimper like a baby pleading for mercy and embarrass not only myself but my immediate and extended families and then once in prison I would be seen as the weakest, nerdiest and potential-snitchiest of all and everyone would leave me alone which would be both good for safety reasons but bad as I'd be missing human interaction and have no one who could help me get stuff and then once I was released for good behaviour my once-starving family would have moved on almost immediately upon my sentencing and found a new provider who had access to the finest breads, cheeses and meats and I'd have to settle on washing dishes or taking out the trash or cleaning the latrines and after years of doing this and being hardened by I would probably have lost all sense of humour and faith in human kind and society and I would stow away on a ship and travel the world in search of some meaning only to settle down as a human lab rat finally realizing that stealing is wrong. Would it be worth taking the chance stealing some food for my family or would I have just been better off taking the job that runs counter to everything I believe in that my father-in-law offered me at his bank where I would only rise up through the ranks slowly and steadily from a job in the mailroom up until I was a president who was so preoccupied with my own wealth and status that I never paid attention to my son to even notice that he had fallen in love, got married and had two children of his own only to realise that I had been a neglectful dad just in the midst of time when it appeared that their family was crossing over to the wrong side of the poverty line and he may have to consider stealing to help his family survive and I would offer him a job at the bank like the magnanimous man that I used to be before I took that spirit-sapping job at the bank? It is true what they say - it is important to think of all of the consequences. Only thing, is now I am having a hard time thinking of anything but consequences.
Why is it that every morning when I wake up I have sneaking suspicion that someone has rearranged the books on my bookshelf? It could have to do with this series of detailed, suspenseful, half nightmare/half welcome-relief-from-reality dreams I am having these days involving a species of highly-intelligent, sentient books who travel many light years across the galaxy to Earth and initially befriend the humans and just have a really great time, or as good a time as my limited imagination can summon up for talking, walking, razor-smart books and an average group of humans. My favourite part is a particularly poignant walk in the park with a young, at-risk teenage human and an old, wise book. Everything is going well, until one day while rushing to a restaurant for a brunch engagement, the books happen upon a bookstore and see their brethren sitting nae trapped on these wooden boards almost as if on public display for all to see the titles of these shamed books that can no longer roam free and assemble as they please for purposes of socialization or overthrowing the government. "But, they never could roam free, assemble and socialize" the average humans in the dream say to the alien book species before the war to end all wars begins. The dream goes on and on with hyper-real gore and violence only to end with the humans setting a huge fire and burning all of the books. After the fire is doused, and the book spaceship is investigated, it is realized that they were here to help us avoid our catastrophic, impending doom and it was only our lack of foresight to see beyond our antiquated view of books and shelves that led to their and our demise. The dream always ends with one kneeling human holding a bit of the binding of one of the burned books and weeping uncontrollably. I guess I am lucky that the only symptom of these recurring dreams is the feeling that my bookshelf has been played with.
I have been told that you are only as old as you feel, but what happens if I am completely out of touch with how old I feel? I have no idea how old I feel despite all of those long afternoons touching my arms and the part of my back I can reach, and consequently, have no idea how old I am.
Can seeing the glass as half-full as well as half-empty at the same time be a problem? I also went through a time in my life where I saw the glass as either totally full and totally empty -I'm not sure if my current state is progress or not. Also, in my youth, I had a hard time seeing glasses at all which alternated with days where I saw thousands upon thousands of glasses everywhere. My goal in life is for the people of the Earth to always have plenty of glasses and for them to not have to concern themselves with whether it is half-full, half-empty or mostly full or in the progress of being emptied.
If I had to choose between being really, abundantly, disgustingly, brush-defying, is-he-an-animal-or-just-a-wild-man-who-accidentally-left-the-jungle hairy or having zero hair, sort of like scorched earth after a fire where someone who was quite OCD carefully removed all of the dead grass, cue ball-esque, a freaky cross between an alien species who have evolved beyond the need for hair and an alien species who really understand the intricacies of closely shaving hair, which would I choose? On the one hand if I had tons of hair, I could save a lot of money on clothes, invent a number of new braiding techniques that could gain me notoriety in hip hop circles, and always have a good buffer of personal space, but on the other hand, I would be super sweaty most of the time, windy days would always leave me at risk of getting arrested for exposing myself, there would almost definitely be a minimum of one hair in all of my meals and the sheer amount of shampoo and conditioner required would probably lead me to have to take a second job. And who would hire me? If I was completely hairless I'd enjoy covering myself in wax and just sliding everywhere, increasing my chances of getting the part of the misunderstood weirdo in locally-filmed TV shows, and experiencing life as aerodynamically and as drag-free as possible. However, I'm not sure if anyone I know is ready for someone to have zero eye lashes, eye brows and only the occasional nose or ear hair; being referred to, even with a complimentary tone as "The Mannequin" would grow old fairly quickly and I'd miss running my fingers through my hair in moments of boredom or exhaustion. I guess, after considering the options, I'd like to ask to continue having some hair with the option of either increasing or decreasing the amount incrementally depending on the season.
Why does it seem like every time I genuinely say that I'm sorry there is no one around? And why does it seem like every time I'm a total jerk I'm standing in front of a massive audience dressed like a penguin?
Why do we think so highly of those that volunteer to go first? Isn't it possible that they should think things through a bit more carefully especially when the noises behind that door sound like those of a crazed and ravenous beast.
What happens if I am not only part of the problem but also part of the solution? I know, I am confused as you are! I specifically requested to be a "solution-only" sort of person and I did tip big. But instead, I am stuck both creating the problem and giving lots of helpful hints towards solving it. I enter the room and unsolvable questions and dilemmas appear almost out of the woodwork and as I exit, the codes are beginning to be cracked and what was once though of as overly complex and complicated seem a lot easier. In an ideal world, I would choose to be able to first be all problem all the time, just creating these situations that added stress and strife to everyone and then nip out of the room almost a la Clark Kent and then whisk back in just at the moment where everyone has given up all hope and have headaches, like a beam of sunlight breaking through the seemingly impenetrable clouds with solutions aplenty and have praised showered down upon me. But, alas, I am stuck in this middle ground of just not amounting to very much at all.
Why is it cruel to take candy from a baby? I was going to give her something in return! Aren't I allowed to teach my baby advanced bartering skills to prepare them for the harsh realities of the world? Plus, what kind of father am I if I allow my baby to have candy in the first place? A father who does not care about dental hygiene that's who and I refuse to be that kind of dad. So excuse me if I make my baby cry all-the-while placing their lack of future tooth decay on the top of my list of priorities. Great candy by the way.
Does anyone want to join me lying on the couch watching movies, ordering take out, eating chips and relaxing instead of going to work? I tried that last week and now I have time to do it every day!
Disclaimer: I love cheese. And I live in a society where my cheese-loving is both applauded and seen as normal behaviour, aside from those who are either lactose intolerant or just intolerant as it wouldn't matter at all what I did in those people's eyes. Anyways, it got me thinking what if I was a cow who loved cheese? I can only imagine how difficult that would be for me, the cow, who enjoyed eating a product made from my milk, although it would be hard to ensure it was actually my own milk - there are just so many cows. I think you humans would probably see it as an oddity that may draw a scattering of tourists from time to time to my barn on the farm, but it wouldn't be front-page news or even retweet-worthy. Now, among the cow community, I could see it being a bigger deal and I would probably have to consume the cheese when no other cow was watching as eating the cheese would be seen as silent approval of the whole cheese industry which some cows may not be big fans of. I'm not sure what they would want to have happen to all of that milk - don't get me wrong, we love being milked - it feels awesome, let me tell you, but to see the humans benefitting both financially and enjoying the fruits, or cheeses as it may be, of our labour is really hard to handle. So, I'd be living with other cows who would be fairly unhappy about the stealing of the milk and the money - the turning milk into cheese isn't the big crime, I mean once the milk has been taken, do what you want - knock yourself out. And then you have me, the cow who loved cheese, set against this backdrop of unhappiness. I'm sure my cheese eating would be seen, first and foremost, as disgusting - I mean can you humans imagine doing the equivalent from your own milk? I know, right? And second, if it is so good, and the cows can get over the potentially disgusting nature of it, then I may be looked down upon for not sharing. As you can see, life would be full of challenges if I were a cow who loved cheese. Good thing I'm not...yet.
I have always been told don't run into a burning building, so then why did I get chastised for standing outside playing games on my phone while the building was burning?
What is going down and what is up and, more importantly, where are these things happening and do they allow people like me to come in and participate in all that is going down and up and if so, can I either get directions or a ride or borrow some cab fare? I can't wait to be part of what is happening - I am usually the last to find out and, by the time I do, it is old news.
If I had to steal to feed my family knowing that I may be at real risk of being caught and that if caught I would immediately fold and cop to everything and when on trial I would whimper like a baby pleading for mercy and embarrass not only myself but my immediate and extended families and then once in prison I would be seen as the weakest, nerdiest and potential-snitchiest of all and everyone would leave me alone which would be both good for safety reasons but bad as I'd be missing human interaction and have no one who could help me get stuff and then once I was released for good behaviour my once-starving family would have moved on almost immediately upon my sentencing and found a new provider who had access to the finest breads, cheeses and meats and I'd have to settle on washing dishes or taking out the trash or cleaning the latrines and after years of doing this and being hardened by I would probably have lost all sense of humour and faith in human kind and society and I would stow away on a ship and travel the world in search of some meaning only to settle down as a human lab rat finally realizing that stealing is wrong. Would it be worth taking the chance stealing some food for my family or would I have just been better off taking the job that runs counter to everything I believe in that my father-in-law offered me at his bank where I would only rise up through the ranks slowly and steadily from a job in the mailroom up until I was a president who was so preoccupied with my own wealth and status that I never paid attention to my son to even notice that he had fallen in love, got married and had two children of his own only to realise that I had been a neglectful dad just in the midst of time when it appeared that their family was crossing over to the wrong side of the poverty line and he may have to consider stealing to help his family survive and I would offer him a job at the bank like the magnanimous man that I used to be before I took that spirit-sapping job at the bank? It is true what they say - it is important to think of all of the consequences. Only thing, is now I am having a hard time thinking of anything but consequences.
Why is it that every morning when I wake up I have sneaking suspicion that someone has rearranged the books on my bookshelf? It could have to do with this series of detailed, suspenseful, half nightmare/half welcome-relief-from-reality dreams I am having these days involving a species of highly-intelligent, sentient books who travel many light years across the galaxy to Earth and initially befriend the humans and just have a really great time, or as good a time as my limited imagination can summon up for talking, walking, razor-smart books and an average group of humans. My favourite part is a particularly poignant walk in the park with a young, at-risk teenage human and an old, wise book. Everything is going well, until one day while rushing to a restaurant for a brunch engagement, the books happen upon a bookstore and see their brethren sitting nae trapped on these wooden boards almost as if on public display for all to see the titles of these shamed books that can no longer roam free and assemble as they please for purposes of socialization or overthrowing the government. "But, they never could roam free, assemble and socialize" the average humans in the dream say to the alien book species before the war to end all wars begins. The dream goes on and on with hyper-real gore and violence only to end with the humans setting a huge fire and burning all of the books. After the fire is doused, and the book spaceship is investigated, it is realized that they were here to help us avoid our catastrophic, impending doom and it was only our lack of foresight to see beyond our antiquated view of books and shelves that led to their and our demise. The dream always ends with one kneeling human holding a bit of the binding of one of the burned books and weeping uncontrollably. I guess I am lucky that the only symptom of these recurring dreams is the feeling that my bookshelf has been played with.
I have been told that you are only as old as you feel, but what happens if I am completely out of touch with how old I feel? I have no idea how old I feel despite all of those long afternoons touching my arms and the part of my back I can reach, and consequently, have no idea how old I am.
Can seeing the glass as half-full as well as half-empty at the same time be a problem? I also went through a time in my life where I saw the glass as either totally full and totally empty -I'm not sure if my current state is progress or not. Also, in my youth, I had a hard time seeing glasses at all which alternated with days where I saw thousands upon thousands of glasses everywhere. My goal in life is for the people of the Earth to always have plenty of glasses and for them to not have to concern themselves with whether it is half-full, half-empty or mostly full or in the progress of being emptied.
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