I think I was just propositioned by a 60 year old man.
A completely unsolicited “Why don’t you come with me and shower in my hotel room?” isn’t your usual bar room banter is it?
Well, sir, since you asked, my reasons are many and varied. Here they are in list form:
- Not really my scene.
- I still have money.
- That bar chick though…
- I don’t find you attractive.
- You look like you might kill me then burn me in your hotel room bathtub.
Quite a thought process to arrive at a simple “No thanks man, I’ll pass. Happy hunting.”
Sometimes I feel like I’m the one who could make Taylor Swift happy. Then I realise I probably couldn’t and it bums me out.
Whenever I attend a costume party I always find myself referring to the people I meet as the characters they’re dressed up as.
“No, your name isn’t Daniel. It’s Batman. Don’t share your secret identity man! That’s Batman 101. Isn’t that right Dr. Evil?“
This afternoon I found myself on a train. With other people. Which sucks. As previously established, I’m not very good at trains.
Sitting directly behind me was a mother, who I’m sure was a teenager in the 90’s, and her three children. The eldest, a girl that couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, kept singing a single line from Aqua’s Cartoon Heroes. Over and over again. Very loudly.
Continue reading “The One Where Travis Crushes A Little Girl’s Spirit.”
While discussing global politics and the current state of the world my friend just proposed the following:
“I guarantee that McDonald’s is already using the homeless and dispossessed as a source of meat. McHomeless man! Think about it. When was the last time you actually saw a cow?”
Can you be too woke?
Whenever I see someone on the street that looks like they belong in Game of Thrones it’s always (always) a despair ridden, downtrodden soul that looks like a choleretic medieval peasant.
I never (ever) walk past, or give change to, any determined blonde dragon Queens or fierce red-headed Wildling warriors.
I woke up this morning in my shower, with the water still running, and suffering from a Memento-esque memory haze. Apparently, after a night of significant revelry, I decided to have shower upon returning home. No big deal.
But the plot thickens. By inadvertently blocking the drain with my highly intoxicated self half an inch of water now covers the floor across the entirety of my apartment.
Despite having absolutely no idea how to deal with the copious amount of unwanted water I reflect on how thankful I am that my apartment didn’t come with a bathtub.
Sometimes I’ll look at one of my friends and think to myself “If you weren’t my friend I’d fucking hate you.“