Last Friday, a website called Said the Gramophone showcased a place called Ask For Cents. Ask For Cents is essentially an e-mail address you send any question you can think up and they provide an answer. Any question at all and they will answer. For a limited time it is free. Eventually, you will have to pay.
Like Said the Gramophone mentioned, their answers aren’t always accurate (in fact, rarely) but you’ll typically get one or two responses, sources included. Some are hilarious, others merely informative. You can probably tell where this is going. I had a couple questions of my own; here are the highlights from my week long love affair with this e-mail address. I’m just relieved to know God might still love me.
Q: Why are Gold Fish tasty snacks such wonderfully delicious treats?
Answer 2:
That’s a matter of opinion.
Source: me
Q: Is there a right or wrong way to dispose of a dead hooker?
Answer 1:
Certainly, you dont want it to be found.
http://media.spikedhumor.com/160/tetka.swf
Source: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0316891/
Answer 2:
There is a right way and a wrong way. First you must consider if the dead hooker is dead by your hands. If not, just call the cops and let them handle it.
Source: Law & Order
Q: Why do big music corporations find it necessary to have 13 year old girls sing to me about love on MTV when they can’t even legally operate a vehicle?
Answer 2:
Because most corporations find love and the ability to operate a motor vehicle to be mutually exclusive, much like the government’s opinion that an 18 year old can be handed a weapon of death, fly across the world and kill people in the name of his country but can’t buy a beer at home until he’s 21.
C’est la vie.
Q: How does Giada De Laurentiis manage to be such a phenomenal chef and knock-out beauty at the same time?
Answer 1:
She’s Italian. Was there ever a question?
Source: me
Giada de Laurentiis, looking stunning as ever.Q: Was crack cocaine developed by the government as a means to hold the black man down?
Answer 2:
no way
Source: me
Q: Who would win in a battle between Thor and Captain Planet?
Answer 1:
thor since he is a god
Source: me
Answer 2:
thor
Source: my opinion
Thor, dominating that pussy Captain Planet.
Q: How come every time I order a pizza from Round Table some fat 30 year old virgin delivers it late and fucks up my order?
Answer 2:
This can be seen as a variation on the “Why do I hit every single red light when I drive to work?” question. Simply stated, the most unlikely events are the most memorable, hence over a period of time, it will seem that certain unlikely events happen with an unnatural frequency – you simply remember the times you were unlucky more than the times things are “normal.”
Alternatively, this particular Round Table Pizza distribution might have limited staff, and there may be only one driver serving your area.
Answer 7: Same reason the only people who work at McDonalds are failed athletes: no skills in anything else :/
Source: me
Q: Why are feminists so angry?
Answer 1:
Because they feel (regardless of their accomplishments) that they are getting no where near to penetrating the heads of men with their points and goals and stuff.
Source: me
What do you mean you ran out of tampons?!?Q: How come more bands don’t use the xylophone?
Answer 1:
It would be to large to carry around
Source: http://www.dsokids.com/2001/dso.asp?PageID=170
Answer 8:
It is because few people take the time to learn to appreciate it as an instrument for listening to.
Source: Personal opinion
Answer 9:
Probably because it isn’t loud enough to be heard over the electric guitar.
Source: personal opinion
Q: Is Tom Cruise really gay? If not, why do so many people think he is?
Answer 1:
yes
Source: Me
Answer 2:
yes
Source: Me
Answer 3:
There are rumors, but nobody knows for sure. His appearance in homoerotically-charged movies like Top Gun may have something to do with it.
Source: http://www.dazereader.com/tomcruisegayrumors.htm
Q: My Grandmother said God gave up on me, is that true?
Answer 1:
Nobody else can tell you the status of your relationship with God. Look into your own heart and soul and see what YOU feel. Do you feel that God has given up on you?
For what it’s worth, in my understanding of God, He does not give up on anyone. So, the answer is probably no, it is absolutely not true.
Source: The Bible (King James) and my opinion.
If you could see his hands he’d be giving two thumbs up.
Q: Is there any question you won’t answer?
Answer 1:
Nope. Unless it’s really confusing or I can’t find it on Google/Wikipedia XD
Answer 2:
Yes, I didn’t answer the Salmon Rushdee question.
Source: myself
Posted: February 22nd, 2006 | Author: Chris Walker | Filed under: Blogs | No Comments »
I don’t think comedian Greg Behrendt gets the credit he deserves. His stand-up special, Greg Behrendt is Uncool, is great; he was a consultant for Sex in the City and, most importantly, he co-wrote the two million-plus best-seller He’s Just Not That into You: the No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys.
That book, much like pepper-spray, is penis kryptonite. I absolutely hated that book when it came out because everything in it was so true. The girl I was leading on at the time started reading it; we’d be at my house and she’d confront me with something like this:
Girl I’m Leading On: “The book says if he calls you for sex when he’s drunk but goes back to the garage to play beer pong afterward, instead of cuddling, that means he’s just not that into you. Is that true?”
Me: “What? No! That book is nonsense!”
Afterward I’d be in the garage, playing beer pong, thinking, “That book is too smart.” Luckily, she was too dumb to realize what she’d read was correct and I really wasn’t that into her, which leads me to my today’s lesson:
You can’t tell women shit.
If I wrote a self-help book I’d call it You Can’t Tell Women Shit: So Stop Trying and the book would be full of blank pages. Women believe what they want. Take, for instance, this girl I met at a party; the only reason she was at the party was because she lied to “her guy” (apparently not even her “official” boyfriend) about where she was going. All night she was like, “Look at me, my problems are important, look at me!” I was drunk and had nothing else to do so I actually listened to her incessant rambling about her stupid maybe-boyfriend. When she finished talking, I compiled the facts and laid it out for her: 01.) He doesn’t have a job; 02.) He has physically abused you on various occasions (and I’m certain he emotionally abused her as well); 03.) He’s cheated on you in the past; 04.) He pulls down your pants and spanks you in public; 05.) He makes you pay for everything; 06.) He controls where you go and who you hang out with. Hmmm, sounds like a real winner. Isn’t it obvious you should dump him? Her response, “I know he’s an asshole sometimes but I really love him and I really think he’s going to change.” What an idiot. (And yes, I made up Number Four.)
Then there’s the girl who cuts my hair. Every time I go in for a haircut she starts talking about her boyfriend: asshole this and asshole that. I tell her, “If you’re so sick of him, why don’t you break up with him?” Then she gets all gung-ho about breaking it off. The next time I go in she tells me how being with him is like having unicorns and ballerinas frolicking through her living room everyday. Three weeks after that I’m listening to how big of a jerk he is all over again.
I learned my lesson. Every time she talks about him now I go into mime mode. No matter what I say she’s going to do whatever she wants. Why waste my breath? You can’t tell women shit. The best was when she told me, “You never really liked him anyway.” I’ve never even met the guy. Women, they believe whatever they want.
Recently, I forgot my lesson. I tried giving relationship advice to a different girl friend totally overlooking that fact I keep repeating (i.e. you can’t tell women shit). As expected, it backfired. I gave my honest opinion (just like I had the last time, and the time before that, and a play-by-play of how the situation would pan out and cycle again, and I was, of course, right) but, as I should’ve expected, I became the bad guy. I just didn’t get their dynamic; I was jealous or something. Go figure. Women will come up with anything to convince themselves they’re making the right decision.
Honestly, what do I really care? If I succeed in convincing a girl friend to get out of her horrible relationship do I get a gold star, a midget in a Superman costume, a stolen van full of confetti and balloons? No; I get nothing. The only thing I do is keep a guy from getting laid. So, I’m officially done giving relationship advice to women because they don’t listen, they do what they want. From now on if a girl asks me for advice or input on their relationship I’m going to say, “Hold that thought,” drive to Barnes and Noble, buy a copy of Greg Behrendt’s He’s Just Not That Into You and throw it at them. Maybe that’ll make an impression.
On second thought, I will listen to your problems and offer up good relationship advice you won’t take under one condition: you give me free alcohol. That way you get to waste my time and do whatever you want but I don’t care because I get to drink for free. Sounds like a hell of a trade; we can all stay friends.
Posted: February 18th, 2006 | Author: Chris Walker | Filed under: Idiots, Women | No Comments »
A couple months ago I went to San Diego to visit The Mrs. and her friend Sarah. The Mrs. had work so Sarah and I went out by ourselves. We ended up in the lower level of a bar called Malloney’s in San Diego’s Gas Lamp District. Nestled up to the bar, Sarah forwarned me, “I can’t drink a lot tonight so I can only have a couple and then I have to drink Red Bull.” Yeah right, I thought. Whenever someone says that, all it means is they’ve purchased a round-trip ticket to Blackout City.
After a drink or two Sarah decided she was “on the prowl” and it became my sworn duty to assist her. We started pointing out potential guys; Sarah finally saw a guy she thought was “really cute” and pointed him out to me. I approved. Sarah was still too inhibited so we pumped a couple more drinks into ourselves, then I gave her some cheesy line to use. It ended up working. Not that it would have mattered what she said; Sarah’s cute enough to walk up to a guy and say, “Ham Sandwich, you like?” and the guy would end up talking to her.
From what I could tell the guy was normal enough. His name was Some Guy and he was in the Army, Marines, drove an ice cream truck, something, I don’t remember. One arm was completely covered in tattoos. Sarah explained I was her brother and we’re both scoping dudes for her to take home and then to the zoo to battle lions and giraffes. In retrospect: sounds kind of weird. But we were drunk and I was excited about going to the zoo.
Sarah and Some Guy were hitting it off when suddenly, mid conversation, the guy flipped out. It was incredible. It went like this, “Yeah, I like the San Diego area, we’re pushing off for port – YEAH! LET’S DO SOME SHOTS! WOO HOO! YEAH! C’MON, LET’S DO SHOTS!” Sarah looked at me; I looked at Sarah. What just happened? Nevertheless, Sarah and I like alcohol and we adore free alcohol so we played along. Here’s an abridged version of how the conversation went:
Sarah: “Okay, let’s all do a shot and then go smoke a cigarette.”
Some Guy: “Yeah! Let’s do some shots! Whoa!”
Sarah: “Okay? What kind of shot do you want to do?”
Some Guy: “Yeah! All three of us, let’s do a shot! Dude, I know the bartenders.”
Me: “Great, are we going to take a shot?”
Some Guy: “Yeah! Let’s totally take a shot! Yeah!”
That went on for ten minutes before Sarah and I decided free alcohol was not worth enduring a guy that should be wearing a helmet. We left him at the bar, and went outside to smoke.
The bar packed to the point where bouncers were monitoring who comes and goes from the basement level to the street level of the bar so Sarah and I move to the street level. That way we could smoke and drink at our leisure. That was also where we meet the man who made the now infamous Bon Jovi Night what it is today. Posted up against the bar, Sarah noticed another guy she thought was cute. Sarah smiled at him, worked her voodoo magic, juggled her tits, or did whatever a girl does to get a guy to approach them, and New Guy came over. We pulled the same routine: I’m her brother; we’re scoping guys for her; tomorrow we’re battling pandas at the zoo. Unlike Some Guy, New Guy was too drunk to realize we weren’t really brother and sister and the whole thing was a joke but, whatever.
New Guy, much like Some Guy, started off normal enough. He too was a marine or investment banker or whatever. While Sarah and New Guy were hitting it off, I was in my own world, text messaging The Mrs. who was getting off work soon. Then it happened:
“Shot through the heart and you’re to blame / You give love…a bad name.”
Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” came rushing through the bar’s soundsystem and, mid-conversation with Sarah, New Guy transformed into Johnny Denim Balls. He raised one hand into the air as if he was mimicking Jon Travola a la Saturday Night Fever and started pelvic thrusting toward Sarah. I caught the festivities out of the corner of my eye, chuckled, and went back to text messaging.
Meanwhile, Sarah was backed against the bar. Should she be scared; should she laugh? Johnny Denim Balls planted his fists against the bar, trapping Sarah in-between his arms, and started grinding his aroused denim cock into Sarah’s leg while singing Bon Jovi at full volume. I stopped text messaging to look over at Sarah. She was mortified. Then I noticed the most disturbing thing of all: Johnny Denim Balls was longingly gazing at me while performing his deed.
I gave him the, “Are you serious?” look and it didn’t even faze him. He just kept looking at me, grinding and singing. I don’t know if he had some fantasy about banging Sarah in front of her “brother” or what. It was strange. Hilarious to watch but still, strange.
Finally, I slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Newsflash buddy, I just heard she doesn’t like Bon Jovi,” but Fred Astaire couldn’t take a hint. His brain functions had stopped, he’d been transported to some alternate universe where Bon Jovi is God and women love it when you grind jean-trapped, erect penis into their legs after just meeting them. Sounds like a wonderful place, maybe I should go.
Sarah pried herself out of Johnny Denim Balls’ arm lock and, after quickly convincing him we’d be right back, we left the dude to his illusions of hair spray and butt-rock. We never saw him again. Nevertheless, we were both emotionally scared and Sarah ended up going home alone. At least I think she went home alone. We’d passed the 11:30 PM mark by that point and I was well on my way to time-traveling.
I’ve never been able to listen to Bon Jovi the same way. Forever, I’ll be haunted by the visual of Johnny Denim Balls pining after a brother and sister love combo, grinding his denim cock into unsuspecting legs. In retrospect, we found it so hilarious we’d wished we had taken a picture of the incident and that is where the re-enactment picture came from. That picture was taken at Longboard’s in Pacific Beach.
Posted: February 15th, 2006 | Author: Chris Walker | Filed under: Alcohol, Idiots | No Comments »
Giada de Laurentiis, looking stunning as ever.
What do you mean you ran out of tampons?!?
If you could see his hands he’d be giving two thumbs up.
