Lock Your Doors... and Your Esophaguses, I Suppose
After months upon months of tireless research, I have come to one conclusion: All humans are allergic to peanuts. And if all humans are allergic to something, does it not become classified as poison? Ponder that one on the john for a while.
I suppose the genesis of my research project traces back to when I noticed a small warning on a jar of peanut butter:
Product may contain peanuts
Well I fucking hope so. Just the presence of this warning suggests that there was actually someone, somewhere, who reasoned, that
"There's probably no peanuts in this. After all, it's peanut butter, not peanuts." Then they sued Peter Pan for not properly labeling their product, and in doing so, catering to the dumbest beasts of the human species.
Buyer beware! May contain peanuts! The only conceivable humans that might need this type of disclaimer are drug-addled Ecstasy junkies who might be surprised to discover that a package of steaks
May contain some steak. "What?! There's steaks in here?! Well I'm glad that was pointed out! No thank you!"(On a side note, why did Planters do away with Mr. Peanut's mustache? Was he being perceived by the public as some kind of cartel-proprieting peanut-baron? If so, why do away with the mustache, but keep the monocle? I doubt he even has an eye problem because, unless this picture is of a distant relative, the monocle was originally on his left eye. And why did Planters feel it necessary for Mr. Peanut to wear his name on his top hat at all times? Who was the public mistaking him for? Count Cashew? Because almost anyone will tell you that Count Cashew is considerably more of a dandy, almost to a laughable degree, whereas Mr. Peanut is much more streetwise.)
Qualms about Mr. Peanut aside, I figured that if a warning was warranted on peanut butter, why not stick one on everything just to be on the safe side?
- Lincoln Logs (May not actually contain logs used by or made from the bones of President Lincoln)
- Ice Cream (May contain temporary relief from your self-esteem problem)
- Drain Cleaner (May contain permanent relief from your self-esteem problem)
In addition to peanut butter, now companies are putting peanut warnings on shit that shouldn't ever be near peanuts, just to avoid any sort of peanut-related lawsuits that may arise.
- Three Musketeers Bar (May contain peanuts)
- Daily Newspaper (Contains mid-80's Peanuts)
- Extra Strength Tylenol Cold & Allergy (Mostly peanuts; do not take for peanut-related allergy symptoms)
George Washington Carver must be rolling in his grave. Or at least formulating peanut-related methods of coming back to life and escaping his grave. That guy was resourceful.
Old Rage
Profound Truth #845: Old ladies are weird.
Instance: Last week I was driving through a small town, following a truck, when we both passed an old lady walking along the side of the highway. I saw what looked like the beginnings of a friendly wave being directed at me, so I returned the favor. She did appear to have a scowl on her face, but I just figured that's how your face looks when you're 85 years old. Only after I had amicably greeted her with a wave and a "Hi" (she couldn't hear it, but I mouthed it pretty convincingly), did I realize that she wasn't waving. She was shaking her fist at the truck in front of me, and then at my car. There wasn't a two-second gap between the truck and my Toyota, but in this brief period of time this old lady managed to shake her fist and yell "Slow Down!" at each of us separately. I immediately regretted my misdirected gesture of civility, and quickly put my hand down, but I knew she had seen it, and I got embarrassed. I tried to salvage the situation. "Fuck you!" I yelled at her, but my windows were only partially open, and I was already 25 yards down the road, so I doubt she got the message.
How could I have been so naive as to assume an old lady was simply out for a walk on a nice day? I wasn't even speeding, but I imagine that in her mind, anything that clips along faster than her '52 Packard is a death-machine that will inevitably mow down all the neighborhood schoolchildren if she doesn't talk some sense into the maniacal driver from the side of the road. I hope I never reach a point in my life where I wake up in the morning with nothing more on my agenda than that of a dog:
1) Sit on the porch.
2) Yell at cars.
Are the kind old ladies on television simply that, strictly on television? Where are the old ladies that greet anyone under 45 with the timeless combo of "Hello there young man" followed by an offering of hard candy with no wrapper? Nobody in their right mind is going to eat it, but you wouldn't dare throw it away in front of them, lest they see you and proceed to hand down a stern lecture about war rationing. They must all be dead, or just terrified of the current regime of elders that aren't going to stand for that pleasant, agreeable shit, so get hard or get out!
A 4th Estate Oddity
First-person pet-adoption classifieds. I'm not sure that I've stumbled across anything as odd in recent months as this curious method used by the humane society to try and move its animals.
The standard approach used by most of the public still dominates the pet section (brown cat, 4 mo. old, 555-6767), but every so often a large picture of the animal will accompany the ad, and the ad itself will be styled in the form of a kind of animal personal:
Hi! I'm a very loving Persian named Nancy who loves to play and has been neutered. I would love a loving home filled with tender salmon and love. If you are interested in me, call 555-8231Why would the humane society, or anyone for that matter, go to such great lengths to describe a stray? People who place personal ads for themselves don't even go into the detail that some of these pet ads do. With human personal ads, one's entire life and future goals can be condensed into a handful of initials: SWNSNDF skg SWNSNDBM for SM. But a cat deserves a paragraph to describe what kind of demeanor it has, or whether it looks into its owner's eyes when it's shitting? I guess so.
"Well, Honey, this one's a year old and he looks like he would fit right in. But this other cat placed his own ad! Hmm... Ya know I just don't know. From his ad he kinda sounds like a smug asshole. Everything's all about him all the time. I say we go for Henry, the tabby. I know, he didn't place his own ad, but that doesn't mean he's gonna be retarded or something, and end up shitting all over the place. He's probably just not as outgoing."
Is an animal more attractive to a prospective adopter if he or she believes that these personal descriptions are actually the animal's views of itself? The only information that is necessary for these pet adoption classifieds is as follows:
Cat: 555-5647
Cat: 555-4320
2 Cats: 555-7458
Cat: 555-0206
Beef Gravy & National Socialism (From Beyond the Graaaave!)
Two subjects that seem to contrast with one another, but let's just see if we can't somehow transition seamlessly between the two.
1While intently studying the label on a bottle of beef gravy t'other day, a brand new marketing slogan caught my eye. "Now closer to homemade!" trumpeted the slogan.
Now closer to homemade. Initially, all I could think was
what the fuck does that mean? What kind of alteration to the gravy-making process took place, as to move the gravy one step closer to home? Or maybe nothing in the process was changed. Maybe the change came in the ambiance of the facility.
Did the gravy factory put out a welcome mat and install a screen door? Did they rescue one of the doomed, stray dogs from the gravy blast furnace and name it "Lucky" or "Almost Gravy"? Is there a kid in the corner butchering Scott Joplin during his piano lesson because his whore of a mother slammed his fingers in the car door for dropping her and Steve's anniversary bottle of Jack on the driveway? That would certainly make the gravy closer to home for me. But I digress...
What kind of marketing team would green light this as an appropriate phrase to stick on their gravy jars anyway?
This gravy sure the fuck wasn't made in a kitchen, or even a building that resembles a home, but a few immigrants do live here, and we do have a spice rack. Closer to home or not, this consumer is satisfied.
2It used to be that killing zombies was just that. Killing hordes upon hordes of pixelated, radioactive mutants with no political affiliation whatsoever. Until recently, when I stumbled onto a game where, upon closer inspection, all the monsters seemed to be sporting swastikas on their chests and arms. I guess I didn't realize exactly what kind of evil I was dealing with, because these were definitely not your father's politically apathetic, blood-thirsty cannibals. These zombies apparently had ties to the Nazi party.
I, for one, was unaware of the radical political ideologies that many zombies evidently follow, but I suppose that in this era of political partisanship and youth disillusionment, these troubled young souls have found the acceptance and structure that they desperately need in their lives through National Socialism.
Either that, or the same marketing team behind the brilliant gravy slogan didn't think run-of-the-mill zombies would do the trick anymore. These damned souls have, in recent years, come to be seen more and more not as vicious forces to be reckoned with, but as aimless, wandering fools with little or no thought behind their rage. So, what is someone to do when a villain is pretty evil, but not quite Heinrich Himmler evil? Paint him in some Nazi garb and send him on his way.
"Zombies, huh? Nope, not scary enough. Make 'em Nazi zombies. That oughta do it. Radioactive cannibals? How 'bout nuclear-fallout Nazis! Now that's fucking scary! Good versus evil, eh? Is Satan involved? Is he gonna be Nazi Satan? Well he is now. Of course Satan is a Nazi! What the hell else would he be?!"If you want to take the evil-ness of something to exponential heights, all it takes is a few swastikas.
The Road Less Traveled
Too many depressed, unambitious citizens have committed suicide over the years without so much as a final whimper. It seems that nobody goes out in a blaze of glory anymore. I'm not suggesting that anyone go on a thoughtless murder-suicide spree. (These are for spoiled children who think society's only function is to beat them down. You're not that important, kiddies. Society doesn't give a fuck about the fact that popular Laura made fun of your acne. When you graduated from high school, you in turn graduated from the teen-angst killing spree.)
All I'm saying is for Christ sake, eight hundred other idiots have already hanged themselves with their bedsheets this month, so why don't you just be a little creative? Why be a limp, dangling footnote if you could be a bloodied, garish headline?
So what is the key to a successful demise? It's easy. I know that if I were to have a choice of death, I wouldn't hesitate to choose assassination. Suicide under the guise of politically-fueled murder. Achieving this may turn into a drawn-out process, but if anyone waited thirty years to come to the conclusion that they wanted to kill themselves, they should be able to stick it out for a few more months of politicking. Just drink some more. The end result will surely not disappoint.
Simply run for a minor county seat that nobody could give a shit about (like coroner, oft times unopposed), and then get yourself killed. Hire a willing participant to take you out while on the campaign trail (Russian mafia), and you will go down as the hero coroner who was cut down at the hands of an assassin while doing his civic duty.
Compare these two scenarios:
Scenario 1"Did you hear? Frank's dead.""How did he die?""Killed himself. Stuck his head in the oven.""What a douche.""Yeah, he probably just didn't want to get his ass kicked again in poker tonight.""Man, he's bad at cards.""Don't I know it. Hey, you want some Wendy's?""Sure, but I'm not getting that chili again. That shit was bad news."Scenario 2"Did you hear? Somebody killed Frank!""Are you serious?!""Yeah, he was about to give a speech at the tech school, and someone assassinated him!""Holy Christ. What a hero. What an American.""I can't believe it. We just played cards yesterday.""The whole town is pretty shaken up. Old man Bullock even put a $10,000 bounty on the killer's head.""You wanna hunt him down?""Let's gut that bastard. It's what Frank would've wanted"
