Tags
crazy bitch, crazy people, death by stroke, death by wolves, Goofus & Gallant, happiness, tests, we believe, why am I so unhappy?
By Tardsie
But Then, We Believe All Kinds Of Crazy Shit.
For more things we believe, click here!
On Happiness. Again.
If you’re not happy right this moment, but can think of something someone can give to you or do for you that would make you happy, then you’re doing it wrong.
We believe that nothing can make you happy.
We Didn’t Say You Couldn’t BE Happy, Just That Nothing Will MAKE You Happy. Jeez. See? This Is Why People Don’t Like You.
On Speaking Real Good
We believe that people with good vocabularies spend more time searching for definitions in the dictionary than do folks with lackluster vocabularies.
We Find This Question Sometimes Helps: “What Does That Word Mean?”
Life Is A Box Of Chocolates, And There Are Some Nutty Ones In There
If you’re dating a woman who, when you jokingly say “You’re crazy,” responds vehemently “DON’T CALL ME CRAZY!” we believe that you must wriggle out of this relationship with a quickness. She’s crazy.
And If You Haven’t Yet Had Sex With Her, For God’s Sake, DON’T! They Never Get Any Less Crazy After That Happens, Right?
On Test-Taking
I’m a pretty good test-taker. SATs, GREs, Driving Test, Employment Quizzes, etc.¹–my secret to keeping my head and doing well is the same for all of them. It’s not excessive studying or keeping myself up nights determined to do well. It’s not even my–admittedly magnificent–intellect. My test-taking secret is that I simply don’t care about doing well on the test. If I perform poorly, I’ll just take the fucker again. For this reason, I rarely test poorly.
However, throughout your life you will face some tests you can only take once and in which your answers will have a direct and significant effect upon your future, but these aren’t on paper. We believe these are the only tests that really matter.
More Along These Lines, But Perhaps Not So Childishly Simplistic.
If You’ve Gotta Go…
A few years ago I worked in an office with my coworkers Suzie and Dot. Suzie was explaining that she had to go to the funeral of a woman from her church who had recently died.
“How did she die?” I asked.
Suzie explained that her friend, who was 89 years old, had been swimming laps at the local community college pool when she died suddenly from a stroke.
“What an awful way to die!” said Dot.
We disagree. We believe that as far as these things go, that’s a pretty good way to die.
This Is A Bad Way.
Wolves: canis lupus lupus
Domestic dogs: canis lupus familiaris
Some wolves eat you, while others keep your bed warm and give strange people a good reason not to eff with you or rip off your stuff. Just a bit of irony there, from the crazy chick currently sharing the bed with three large dogs. I would not like to have several sets of 42 razor sharp teeth ripping the flesh from my bones. That would be a way shitty way to die.
The large dogs in your bed will no doubt protect you from the ravenous lupine packs which are so rampant throughout Ohio!
Central Ohio: Coyote (canis latrans latrans) capital of the Midwest. We also have plenty of White Castles. Maybe that’s what the coyotes are after, all those delicious onion-n-mystery meat crusted slyder boxes.
Yes, I suspect getting eaten by wolves trumps a pool stroke any day.
Agreed.
And although it’s apropos of nothing, the 89 year old stroke victim/”how terrible!” story reminds me of a political cartoon I saw when Steve Irwin “The Crocodile Hunter” died. The cartoon showed an image of a smiling, shiny Irwin on a television with the dates of his life xx-xx. The family watching TV is grossly obese and obviously American, stuffing their faces with junk food and sitting among filth.
One of them says, in response to the news that Irwin had died, “Well, what did he expect, living the way he did?”
Talk about irony. I still miss that guy. Loved his energy. Was a sad day around the world when he died.
Agreed (again). I have a secret weakness for enthusiastic people. Which is why I tend to end up joining so many cults.
Have you heard the Good News about the flying spaghetti monster? If you have a few hours, I think it’s something that will really benefit your life.
Hmm, just googled it. I may need some time to absorb that. I believe a beer would help, too.
So you’re at least open to the existence of the blessed Spaghetti Monster. In church parlance, we call this state of semi-belief ‘Pasta Al Dente.’
And I Was Planning To Be Eaten By Wolves This Weekend!!!
DAMMIT!!!
Now I’m Not Gonna Enjoy It As Much. 😦
Bastards.
Gotta Make Things All Bad n’Shit. :*(
Brad, Brad, Brad–you’re in Chicago this weekend. There are SO MANY great and historic ways to die there. Why a person would let himself get eaten by wolves when he can just as easily hurl himself down the historic staircase of Union Station (featured in Untouchables!) is beyond me.
Seriously, bro–be safe and have fun. Watch out for wolves AND stairwells and bring back stories.
I love that kid on the ground with the thorns on his head eating a chocolate pie. 89 years old huh, her time was up, like four years ago, right?
89 years old huh, her time was up, like four years ago, right?
Oh, at least. I think the average lifespan for women right now is somewhere around 82 years (don’t take that as gospel; that’s off the top of my head), but since that’s an average, I figure the lifespan for people born during WWI (the woman in this story died probably seven years ago) was much shorter.
If Goya had dropped acid, I’m pretty sure the result would have been something like the Easter Bunny vs. Santa pictured at the top. What will future civilizations make of that, and of us?
It might paint a pretty accurate picture of at least one (pretty significant) aspect of our culture. It might be more helpful to future anthropologists than say, the Mona Lisa.
Thanks, as always, Bill!
Good way to go, I will second that.
But… but… nothing can make me happy? that’s depression right there 😦
But… but… nothing can make me happy?
Perhaps I should have said “No thing can make you happy.” Or is that just semantics?
And if I used emoticons, I would put a smiley face at the end of that. However, I do not use them, as they are the DEVIL’S ALPHABET!
And again, THAT would be a good place for one, but alas I cannot (see previous comment about the malefic component of emoticons).
There’s just so much good stuff here I can barely sit still. I love the test thing — so true. I bet you speak real good because your writing is more better every day. Who is the lady with the crazy eyes? Someone you know? All women are crazy, didn’t you know that, Smak?
All women are crazy, didn’t you know that, Smak?
Oh hell yeah, I’ve lived long enough to pick THAT up. But there’s “normal chick crazy” (which is actually sort of endearing) and “batshit crazy.” I’ve never been attracted to that kind of drama, although I have friends who seem to like “broken” women.
And in fairness, guys get the crazy, too. I don’t the propensity for crazy is as common in our gender, but when it strikes, people die. So in that respect, crazy chicks aren’t so bad–just not for me.
I bet you speak real good because your writing is more better every day.
Thank you! I am ambitionous of someday being the goodest speaker in all the land!
And thinking about it, ‘ambitionous’ really should be a word. Desirous is a word. A word I first learned from “Three’s Company,” I hasten to add.
Yeah, guys have their version of batshit crazy too, like the time Jerry drank a fifth of Wild Turkey and in his drunken stupidity proceeded to attempt to light a fire in the fireplace with a log, a piece of toilet paper and a lighter.
When that method of achieving ignition failed, he added gasoline to the mix. He is lucky that it was only a small flashpoint boom and he only lost the hair on the top of his head, 3/4 of his eyebrows, and he looked like he had a wicked sunburn on his face for a few days. That’s batshit crazy. I know. I married him, so I’m not far behind.
That’s awesome! Glad he survived. And I’m really in no position to lecture anyone on fire safety.
“Speaking Real Good”, it’s overrated.
Candy corn makes me happy.
Well, I can certainly understand that. Sadly, in my advancing age, I find I don’t have the tolerance for some sweets that I used to. Candy corn goes from scrumptious to ewww in 3-5 pieces.
This post inspires me to learn how to swim, Smak. And yeah, I am one of those nerds that immediately does a dictionary.com search when I encounter a word that I don’t know what it means, but I’m at that point in decline where growing my vocabulary is not going to happen since I suffer CRS (Can’t Remember Shit). For all I know I’ve been looking up the same word for the past three years.
I am one of those nerds that immediately does a dictionary.com
I hear you. I even paid for a subscription to Merriam-Webster online (although I don’t plan to renew, as there’s only been one or two occasions when MW provided something that Dictionary.com couldn’t, and even then it wasn’t terribly helpful). I hear words I don’t know all the time, and try to look them up immediately. Like you, I sometimes have to look up a word more than once. When I’m writing something, I’ll often consult the dictionary to see if I used a word correctly. I find that most often I have used it correctly, but I’ve been saved from embarrassment (at least the embarassment of a misused word) enough times that I won’t be discontinuing the practice any time soon.
Moreover, if I’m in a conversation with someone and they use a word with which I’m not familiar, I’ll ask them what it means if it’s not clear from context, as is so often the case. Sometimes it’s a word with which I’m familiar, but being used in a new way, and I’ll say that.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure that dying at 89 while swimming is infinitely better than being torn to shreds by vicious wolves. I love that photo of the crazy chick. She has textbook Crazy Eyes. Also, that kitten in that photo makes me happy.
Lolcats are a weakness of mine as well.
The crazy-eyed lass is a meme, which apparently started from this video.
After reading this post last night, I decided to try an experiment. In conversation with Mrs. Some Guy (actually, technically speaking, Dr. Some Guy [nee Some Gal], PharmD), I waited until she said something somewhat nutty and responded with “you’re crazy.” Her response: a good-natured “Shut up.”
Looks like I’m in the clear . . . but how can I tell if that’s just what she wants me to think?
As you said, you’re most likely in the clear.
but how can I tell if that’s just what she wants me to think?
Then it’s already too late, friend.
Yes, I will take the stroke in the pool at 89 any day over mauled by wolves or other animals with sharp teeth and claws.
I think it’s also a death that you could talk about without embarrassment in the afterlife. Can you imagine getting to the afterlife as a 50ish person and having to explain that you choked to death on a McRib Sandwhich and Mr. Pibb?
Or doing a jackass stunt? 😉
Ha! I’d never make it to the afterlife in that event–I’d be too busy rolling in my grave.
You referenced Highlights magazine. You are full of win.
Thanks, Jen. I find that challenging literature tends to stay with me long after I’ve read it.
Normally I’d be right there with you on the test thing; except it turns out my university do all exams orally by default – no boner jokes, please, I’m actually a little cut up about the lack of opportunity to use my photographic memory to churn out the obligatory A+ essay I normally breeze through exams via. Don’t the examiners know that I tend to formulate thoughts as I speak rather than thinking first then speaking? Maybe I’ll just bring them some doughnuts and coffee on the day. Start a nice chat about the weather.
I’ve never taken an oral exam of that nature (boner jokes are fine), so I don’t really know what they entail. I tend to do better with spoken stuff rather than written, because I think there’s a little more margin for error with speaking. However, that’s just supposition.
I know you’ll do well, though. I read somewhere that nobody’s better at oral than you! (You said no BONER jokes, and I honored that).
Hahahaha… cracking up!
Another thing on crazy girls, ask them what their favorite Buckcherry song is. If they say Crazy Bitch you know they’re not only crazy but they also have mediocre taste in music.
Culturally, I live in the cave formerly occupied by the Evil One, Osama bin Laden. “Buckcherry?” I thought, “They must be some new musical outfit.” After consulting Wikipedia, I see that band had its heyday during the Clinton Administration. If my children were old enough to be embarrassed by me, they most certainly would.
Awesome as always! And I’m definitely crazy…crazy can be fun.
I can still remember the time when I truly believed there was a Santa Claus. I don’t know at what age I stopped believing. I guess it was gradual.