The Caring Jackass

The problem with being a caring jackass is that sometimes you care too much to make fun, yet you do it anyway. It’s sort of a self-effacing jackassiness.

Sorry everyone. I don’t mean to do it, I just see opportunities for jokes (especially jokes people are unlikely to catch at first glance) and have to stick them in. It’s a disorder, it is (“I had thought that I could ‘enlighten’ someone, but obviously, I failed miserably.” was originally only supposed to be “I’d thought I could finally convince someone, but apparently, I wasn’t persuasive enough.” And oh, how I hope people don’t read this before they read the actual post. That would ruin everything).

Oh, and I’m back from my mysterious journey, but you already figured that out.

Things I’ve learned:

• The best rollercoaster in the world is a Mexican Taxi where you tell the driver that if he gets you across town in five minutes you’ll triple his pay… and he makes it…….. they always make it.
• People that haven’t seen me in a while tend to like me much more than people who hear from me regularly.
• I know less than one billionth of my family, but they all know me.
• Work piles up over the weekend. 16+16+7+1 e-mails = 40 e-mails, a full half of which bring work and chastising for not responding.
• People’s opinions of a person can change in absentis.. and How!

Update: I’ve always wanted to pick a person at random and delete his or her comments immediately after they were posted. I figured that eventually the person would try to confront me and ask me what the problem was and I’d passive-aggressively shrug it off. I never actually did this, but I thought that the thought was amusing. *sigh* If only I had enough fans and loyal readers to pick on one relentlessly for my own amusement. Soon, Pixel, soon…

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Gabe, the Know-It-All

Dear Readers,
Boy is life ever difficult for your learned best beaver friend Gabie. I’ve been reading the encyclopedia for about a month now and boy, are humans ever dull! Nothing but sex, violence, and immorality. I feel like I’m staring at cement, or worse yet, like the first third of Survivor: Pearl Islands.

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Dear Gabe,
Should I go see Elektra?
—Joe Benn

Dear Joe,
Thank you for giving me a chance to rant. I couldn’t have asked for a better question if I’d made it up. Jennifer Garner is the new Christina Ricci (though no one’s yet told the old Christina Ricci). In Elektra, I went expecting to see a blind, martial-arts-knowing lawyer. There were none of those here. Blind martial artists, yes, lawyers, no. And just who were the bad guys? A guy that doesn’t get hurt by metal? A girl that kills everything she touches? A guy with crazy tattoos? Seriously… I hope someone got fired for that… or at least some bad cream in his coffee… yeah, I’m a vicious bitch sometimes, but then again, I have some fox in me and I just can’t get it out. It’s partly why I’m a wooditarian.

Dear Gabe,
My cousin has a nose picking disorder, and recently it has become chronic. He told me that he had a mission to find his brain. I’m concerned for his disorder, and was wondering what could aide my cousin in his mission?
-Derry Aire

Dear Derry Aire,

And you should be concerned for your cousin’s disorder. He’s going about it all wrong. By constantly picking his nose, he’s just giving his fingers a work-out, which makes them thicker. What he should do is get someone else— someone close to him— to pick his nose for him. This, Derry, is your job– nay, your duty, nay nay, your responsibility and privilege to do for him. Let me know how it goes.

Dear Gabe,
What are female beavers called? — Joe Entendre

Dear Joe,
Not chicks, apparently. I don’t know, Joe, and frankly, I don’t care, though I’m guessing ‘Beaverettes.’ I just call them ‘Ex-wives.’

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