If I Die, Tell a Friend

I realized the other day, that if I die, there are lots of people who won't find out. I mean, I have friends in all different circles who don't overlap. So, if I die, tell a friend. Odds are good that we are within 7 degrees of Kevin Bacon of each other.

Then I was talking to a friend about this and she had to make me wonder who tells the last person on earth that someone died? She wonders how they know they died. And I totally had the answer for that. You know you were the last to die when you get up to Heaven and realize that every freaking person in the world is in line in front of you. It's like being at Disney World, but with no bathrooms. Although, really, in Heaven shouldn't you not have to pee? I mean, that would be awesome.

That's what Heaven will be like. Long lines, but not having to pee.

I Might Need to Cut Back on My CSI Watching

So, I have this fear that no one else has. I have this fear that everytime I really really really really really have to pee, and I finally break down and stop at a gas station, that there is going to be a dead body in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, in my way. And this would cause me problems. I mean, yeah, there would be the initial trauma of the dead person or whatever. But also, those gas station bathrooms only have one toilet.

So, I would have to go use the men's room. Which is gross. Like grosser than peeing where a dead person just was gross.

Or I could just hold it. But of course in this horrible scenario, I really really really really really have to pee. So I would have to move the body to get to the toilet. But then, I'd transfer some of my DNA to the body, and they'd hunt me down and find me. And I would end up going to prison. Because no jury would ever believe that someone was stupid enough to move a dead body, pee, wash their hands, move the dead body back and THEN call the cops. Nope, just wouldn't happen.

Smurf vs. Snork Cage Fight

So, I've been thinking. If the Smurfs and the Snorks were ever to get into a cage match, who would win? After much (too much) thought, discussion with friends, and a little research, I have decided that the Smurfs would totally smurf the Snorks' collective ass.

See, here's the logic. The Smurfs are blue, right? So even underwater with the Snorks having the homefield advantage, the Smurfs totally have the camo thing down. So, even if the Snorks could breathe and the Smurfs had to use equipment, the Smurfs would be invisible.

Next, the Snorks were nice and all. But really, they were a one trick pony. Allstar was the only one who could do anything. He was smart, athletic, and always got the girl. But the Smurfs had teamwork. They had Brainy, Papa, Smurfette, and the others. Each had their own skill. Kind of like an assembly line for kicking Snork ass. Henry Ford would be proud.

Lastly, Smurfs had their own verbs. Like they would "Smurf you". Or go to "Smurf river" and "Smurf". So, it's like football playcalls. The Snorks would be speaking English all normally but the Smurfs would be undercover. Thereby totally giving them the advantage of surprise.

So basically what I'm saying is, if you ever are in the 80's and turn into a cartoon, go for Smurf.

There's a Special Place in Hell, Right Next to the People who Forget to Sand Popsicle Sticks

This is an open letter to all those who sit at a red light and plan to go straight in the right lane. When there is a lane just to the left that is strictly for those people going straight through the light. Yeah, you know who you are, Soccer Mom with the 47 kids in the back who doesn't notice when the light turns green.

You drive slowly up to the light and change lanes into the right lane. Giving me hope that you are actually going to turn. And yet, as I pull up to the light, and anticipate throwing on my blinker and feeling that joy as I realize I don't have to stop, that I will get home marginally faster, that I might actually make it home in under 30 minutes... you stop. Full braking. Red lights, reflecting my rage. Taunting me. And you sit. And sit. And never turn.

I roll up closer and closer hoping that seeing my smiling (screaming, whatever) face in your rearview mirror might encourage you to freaking turn. But you don't. When the light FINALLY turns green, you continue sitting. Opening juice packets, wiping noses, and dunking chicken nuggets. And subliminally teaching the next generation that this is how to handle a red light.

Once you finally get your written invitation to go through the light (and by written invitation, I mean you hear me honking my horn at you in the jaunty melody of "Jingle Bells"), you look up, slowly raise your foot from the brake and reintroduce it to something I like to call the GAS PEDAL! And go. And I scrape by, cursing you and condemning you to an eternal life full of Bankruptcy codes, splintery tongues, and DMV lines. Because that's what Hell is like.

We're like Batman minus the cool car and the suit with nipples on the outside

Okay, so the authors of this post are anonymous. Why? Because it's more fun that way. I mean, would Batman have been nearly as hot if everyone knew he was really just Bruce Wayne? I mean, Bruce was rich and all, but no amount of money makes up for the fact that Batman was a superhero with bat ears on his hat. So, that's the logic. We're cooler by lack of association.

Our first post

So, this isn't a real post. Because we have nothing to say yet. But, one day soon we will. And it will be awesome. Until then, woo hoo to you!