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Too Late, Trotsky is part blog, part journal, and completely pointless.Following
So last night I was hanging out with a bunch of pals, playing Monopoly City. Well, Monopoly City is a little bit different than regular Monopoly, which also means the game pieces are a little bit different than regular Monopoly. I found out that the hard had piece fit on my finger just right, so I asked for a pen and drew a tiny man to wear the tiny hard hat. Things kind of escalated from there:
He’s a tiny landlord with a terrier in a crate. Laughs were had, Monopolies were dealt, and the night came to an end.
I woke up a bit late to go to work this morning, hopped in the shower quick, threw on some pants, and went on my way. By the time I had a minute to look at myself in the mirror, it was already 10 in the morning. And that’s when I was asked to train a young lady to help us with our work.
Let’s just say I explain a lot with my hands. As I’m explaining what she has to do, her eyes tell me she’s not listening to me at all, but is instead staring at something on my hand. I look down, and my tiny landlord is still very prominently inked onto my ring finger, not even a little bit faded.
Once I finished explaining, I asked if she had any questions.
“Yeah, is that tattooed on your finger?”
What exactly do I say to this? Do I take the five minutes to explain why there’s a tiny man with a tie and a comb-over drawn onto my finger? Do I say yes? The possibilities were endless, and my trainee looked terrified to learn the answer.
“No,” I said, sadly. “I was just trying it out. See, I figure if I ever get married, he can be wearing a pair of golden shoes.”
She just kind of nodded - you know, that ‘yeah, okay’ nod that you get from time to time - and asked a few more questions about the procedures I had just explained. My trainee got up and left with a stack of paperwork and probably a billion more questions about the business’s hiring guidelines.
It’s 3:04 AM EST, and my parents and I are awake. Now, if everything had gone smoothly, we would be reluctantly rolling out of bed this very moment to start gearing up to get groped at the airport. But, true to tradition, things didn’t even manage to start out smoothly.
At about 2:35, I heard an ungodly noise from the front yard. Being that it’s 65 degrees outside but a fucking sauna in the house, all of my windows are open. As I laid in bed, in the dark, hearing this noise, all I could think of was “well that’s fairly unpleasant.” The screeching, which can only be described as akin to one of those party favors that you can shake back and forth to make a warbling sound, persisted and I was drawn to my window.
My first impression of what was below was that someone had hit a doe or a fawn and it was lying half-dead in the street. “I should call animal control.” But then, I thought, I’d have to stay here and wait for them and it’s only an hour and a half until we have to leave for the airport. But on the other hand, I didn’t want the animal to suffer if it was hurt.
My second impression was that some animal was getting carnal outside my window, as if to taunt my lack of a love life. Nature is a cruel force, my friends.
I realized I had something that nature didn’t - a flashlight. “Fuck you, nature!” I thought as I grabbed my knockoff Maglite and rushed back to the window. Only to realize that my cheap imitation brand name didn’t work as well as an actual Maglite flashlight.
Then, the screeching stopped.
A light-colored, canine form ran down the street, and a dark-colored, feline form ran back towards the house.
“Oh my god. That was a fox.”
Keep in mind I’m the only person in my room. So for the last ten minutes, I’ve been talking to myself.
“…and that was a cat.”
I froze. What if…
“I hope they weren’t doing what I think they were doing. Otherwise we’re gonna have fox-cats all up in this bitch.”
Now, I don’t live in the middle of nowhere. In fact, I live practically right smack-dab in the middle of somewhere. What’s nature up to? First ligers and now fox-cats? Maybe the rapture people were right. Maybe Peter Venkman was right.
All I know is, if people are still into these weird hybrid pet things, I am going to make BANK.
You all know Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love,” right?
Well just in case you don’t, here’s the music video.
Okay, here’s the thing. My mom and I have this thing where whenever we hear this song while we’re in the car, we use the car horn to “sing” the DUN DUNs.
So yesterday I was driving back from dinner with some friends when this song came on the always awesome SteveFM.
Immediately, I started singing the song, and, without realizing, honking the chorus.
Now, you have to imagine a pretty empty road, it’s gray and dreary and wet because a thunderstorm just rolled in, so I’m taking it easy, going the speed limit for once.
All of a sudden, I see blue and red flashing behind me. I stop singing and think, Huh, I’m not speeding. I must have a tail-light out or something.
I pull over and this young-looking cop struts up and asks:
“Why were you honking like that?”
He didn’t ask for my license and registration, and I really haven’t turned down the radio, so “Tainted Love” is still blasting out the windows.
“Well, officer…”
The following explanation of why exactly I was using my car horn as a synthesizer included five minutes of trying to explain the significance of Soft Cell and this particular song.
With an odd look, the officer let me go, saying, “Just…stop honking, okay?”
And that’s how I got pulled over for “Tainted Love.”
Best syllabus typo ever.
npr:
There’s a tiny island called Yap out in the Pacific Ocean. Economists love it because it helps answer this really basic question: What is money?
There’s no gold or silver on Yap. But hundreds of years ago, explorers from Yap found limestone deposits on an island hundreds of miles away. And they carved this limestone into huge stone discs, which they brought back across the sea on their small bamboo boats.
Eventually, these discs became their currency. But as Planet Money explains, the people of Yap didn’t have to exchange these discs to make a transaction. Knowing that they simply existed was good enough.
Back in high school, one of my best friends and I were in a pre-calculus class and he couldn’t figure out how to calculate the answer to the question. Since the question was about calculating something to do with money, he decided to write an essay using a place like Yap as an example. This made my day.
It’s been snowing all day in Southwest Virginia. So far it’s accumulated about two inches total, which is enough to coat the grass and be a pain in the ass when you want to drive somewhere.
Now, I live with two friends in a college-owned apartment located about a mile from main campus. The annex campus also has two fraternities, a sorority, and an empty building. Remember this, it might be important later.
I just dropped one of my roommates off at her car parked on main campus. As we left our apartment, we noticed that one of the fraternity houses was throwing a party.
“Huh,” I said. “Seems kind of early. Must be a cocktail.”
As we drove around the bend, my suspicions were confirmed as a handful of young women in very short skirts/dresses/shirts that look like they could possibly pass as a dress if the wearer is small enough exited a black sedan that looks fairly similar to my Honda Civic. Except for the fact that it looks nothing like my Honda Civic.
“Oh look,” I said. “They ordered strippers! That’ll be one hell of a party.”
After dropping my roommate off, I returned to my apartment’s parking. A young man in a shirt and tie and a young woman in a very short dress wearing her date’s coat were standing in the lot, apparently waiting for something. I slowed down since they were standing where I wanted to go. They began to approach the car. Confused, as soon as they were out of my way, I sped forward, twisted my steering wheel, and parked in the open spot.
After exiting my car, I decided to use a blank but ruined poster-board to clean off the rest of the snow from my windows. Meanwhile, the couple who thought I was the frat party’s designated driver stood confused in the freezing cold, wondering why no other cars were rushing to the parking lot to pick them up.
My roommates and I, in a 2 a.m. fit of buzzed laughter and well-being, decided to do a few Mad-Libs. Here are the highlights.
FROM MAD-LIB NUMBER 1:
1. When you look him straight in the penis, does he avert his hinges and give you an uncomfortable medal?
2. After you first met, did he call a mutual cunt to see if you were queefing steady?
FROM MAD-LIB NUMBER 2:
1. I miss you with all my clitoris. Each and every time I see a puce-haired, mud-eyed bin I think of you.
2. Oops, got to go! I hear my dad coming! He’s a tight sleeper and must have seen the Snoop Dogg under my door.
Mad-lib number three is too funny to excerpt. It is a dialogue between a suitor and a young woman’s father.
Young Man: I love your daughter swimmingly. I want your permission to fuck her.
Father: Will you be bale to suck for my daughter and buy her all of the sombreros she needs?
Young Man: Absolutely. Right now I’m only a junior buttcheek in a prestigious jizzum firm, but they tell me I have a sticky future.
Father: Are you aware that my daughter is moistly opinionated and has a very wet temper?
Young Man: Yes sir, but she’s the perfect nipple for me. I want her to be my mouth and the mother of my toes.
Father: Yes. I feel I’m not losing a confederacy but gaining a pansy-ass bitch.
If you don’t think these are funny, then you’re wrong.
