Inanely Ruminating  

The chest bump has an unfortunately low rate of use in the traditional office setting. Should I ever own a business whose employees are more than hastily-crafted sock puppets, I plan on doing something to remedy this.

Is it just me, or in real life do the bad guys never seem to die suddenly or "before their time?"

On the bus this week I sat across from a set of twins; two guys who appeared to be in their early thirties. One had on a brown shirt with blue pants, the other with a blue shirt and brown pants. Not taking a picture of that may ultimately be one of my life's greatest regrets.

Snapple is like prison food.

Why is it that those whose vernacular is anchored by phrases like "what the shit" and "motherfucker" are the same people who look aghast when I say "sweet zombie Jesus on ice skates?"

Watching someone discipline their errant children in public is a lot like watching Japanese tentacle porn; you'd rather not be seeing it, yet somehow it remains awkwardly satisfying.

I find it interesting how so often the best thing about something can also be the worst, such as coffee, promiscuous women, and deaf people who talk.

Someone actually had the nerve to tell me that Tabasco was for pussies. I must admit, however, he did scream an awful lot like a girl when I splashed it into his eyes.

Now that OJ is going to prison, I suspect his nickname "The Juice" is going to take on a new, wonderfully ironic meaning. Better still he could just change it to "The Juicer."

I was purging some archived files at work last week and happened across a bundle of 3.5" floppies. The girl from the mailroom - who's probably 19 or 20 - was in there, and picking up one excitedly she said "Oooh what are these called? I just love new gadgets," thus making it official; my advancing age has lapped technology several times over.

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