Comedy has been making me staying in a lot of hotels lately. Out of town, of course. Not like in hotels next to my apartment, like I’m doing a weird hospitality Venn diagram.
Hotels are weird because they have very strict check-in times. Check-in is usually at 2pm, and if you show up a few minutes early expecting a room , they glare at you and kick your luggage. Are you saying no maid finishes a room at 1:58? Are there no go-getters at this Holiday Inn?
Why do I feel like every morning the cops are kicking in my door when actually it’s just one maid? What’s the point of putting “do not disturb” if you’re going to come into the room regardless? Maybe we have a different definition of disturbance. I think mine is rapping on my door at 8am, and theirs is if a pack of wolves bring individual boom boxes and break the complimentary coffee maker.
I’m also certain the hotel conditioner is just hotel lotion and the hotel lotion is just mayonnaise.
I hate how closely “massage” looks like “message”. One is something you give your girlfriend when she’s feeling stressed. And the other is a massage.
There’s two kinds of massages I guess? There’s the regular massage which is where a lady rubs your back and hands and feet. And then there’s the Thai massage where a lady beats the crap out of you. I think the Thai massage is more for the masseuse, because I imagine it’s really relaxing getting to punch someone with your feet. Best $50 dollars I ever spent.
When people can’t pay at restaurants because they forgot their wallet, the manager makes them work; does that also apply to massage clinics? Like, “You cannot pay for your massage? Grab some oil and start rubbing that guy.”
I never know where to look when getting a massage. Do I just stare into her eyes like this is a mutually sexual thing? If it is, would I still have to pay? Or do I close my eyes and just pray she won’t stab me? I’m very vulnerable, so it makes sense to shank me in a back room where I’m naked and slippery.
I went to a couples massage the other day: And I actually had a great time massaging this couple. They were good dudes. And this blog had a happy ending.
There are a lot of things I accepted about Pokemon as a kid that as an adult now make me reevaluate my childhood judgement.
For example, Pokemon communicate with other Pokemon by saying their own name over and over. How pretentious is that? Pikachu is like, “Pikachu pika pi pikachu pikaa!” and Charmander is like, “Char! Charmander char!” and then they just understand each other? If I was at a bar and the bartender was like, “Anything to drink?” and I was just like, “Drew drew drewy drew drew!” He would think I was already drunk and a d-bag.
Team Rocket: do you really have to say that speech EVERY SINGLE TIME? “To protect the world from devastation… To unite all peoples within our nation…” Et cetera et cetera! If I calculated all the time I’ve lost from them doing that stupid speech each episode, I would still be in my teens enjoying sweet, sweet youth. Also I’ve never understood how they blast off? The action that takes place would never realistically result in flying out of the world or “blasting off”. It would be like Pikachu would hit them with his tail and they’d go “LOOKS LIKE TEAM ROCKET IS BLASTING OFF AGAAAAIIN!” Really? A mouse’s tail made you become a ball of gaseous twinkle somewhere off this planet? You’d think they would say something else as their blasting off. Like, “LOOKS LIKE TEAM ROCKET DOESN’T GET THE HIIIIIINT!”
How come Meowth can speak English? Did he go to school for that, or where his parents from various different backgrounds? Does he know other languages like can he talk to Digimon or Yu-Gi-Oh monsters or the cast of Full House? I need to know these things.
The Poke-rap didn’t even rhyme! I just accepted that as a kid? “Oh yeah, Clafairy DOES rhyme with Articuno if you say it in a craaaazy rapper voice.” Why is Pokemon’s theme gotta catch ‘em all? You really want every single one? Because there are some Pokemon I would look at like… “Nahh I’m good. You can stay where you are.”
Some blogs aren’t funny guys. Some just ask a lot of questions like this one. I’m just trying to get better at blogging you know? I wanna be the very best that no one ever was…
(duhn duhn DUN DUN)
Doesn’t it sound like Thin Mints are the most pretentious cookie?
Thin Mints sound like they gave that name to themselves. “We’re the skinniest most minty fresh biotches around so you can refer to us as such.”
Thin Mints sound like they also named all the other cookies:
“Okayyy you’re the pipsqueak so we’ll call you Shortbread. And you’re the third wheel that everyone orders last minute so you’re basically a Tagalong. And you… just look at you… you look like an ashy professional sumo-wrestler… you Samoa.”
I think that’s enough wordplay for one blog. You’ll get it if you think outside the BOX… Okay now that’s enough.
You ever notice that every parking enforcement officer looks exactly the same? Big, burly, mustache, sweat stains, female… They’re a very specific breed…
I feel like for this blog I should be talking in an Australian accent looking at one through some shrubbery like, “LOOK! THIS ONE ‘ERE IS DOIN’ EETS MAIGHTING CAWL BY DROPPIN’ TICKETS ON BLOKES’ WINDSHIELDS”
Why do we call them officers? Did they really earn that? I mean “officer” seems pretty official for someone who just drives around in a Prius with lights. I think they should be called parking enforcement minions. Because only can you call someone a minion when they have Cheeto stains on their face.
I recently saw one flash it’s lights and pull up behind a car that was parked at an expired meter. Were the lights really necessary? Did you feel like you caught the perp? IT WAS A PARKED CAR. You acted like this was a high-speed pursuit.
Also, what do the lights mean? Do they come with any real privilege or are you just feigning the look of authority? I have a theory that the lights are used to blind you as you’re walking to your car so they have enough time to ticket you.
Complaints aside, I hear that off the job they’re wonderful people in great company. And they offer more Cheetos than one could imagine.
Yesterday was Stella’s first birthday!
*throws dogfetti everywhere*
I decided to indulge the ridiculousness of celebrating a dog’s birthday by getting Stella a cake. They have a whole bakery designed for this very purpose called Woof (clever right?, ’cause that’s what dogs say generally). I called ahead and had them bake it especially for her, where I can give details like the shape of the cake and the icing I want. As I go to pay for this pile of fabulousness that she was so desperately depraved, I realize WHAT AM I DOING? How embarrassing is this, I don’t even do this for MY birthday.
Does she even know what’s going on? Does she know that she’s 1 today? Like is she telling all the girls at work they better take her out for happy hour because puppy shots are free on your birthday? (to be clear, I mean alcoholic shots not rabies or anything of the like)
All she can see is that I have something delicious in my hand and I’m smiling like an idiot while I sing “happy birthday” in a dog bakery. I can see that she’s excited but the dad in me is wondering if it’s even enough. Should I have gotten the bounce house too? Maybe bought a car?
I settled on letting her cousin Lucy, the dog on the left, come over for a sleepover/pastry party. Part of me feels very fulfilled that I gave my puppy a great birthday, and the other part of me knows why people hate our country.
Now ROLLOVER to my other blogs please… get it?… because… nevermind
Do magicians have open mics? Do they, like comedians, have a place where they workout new tricks that don’t go so well?
Like, “I will now pull a bunny out of a hat- ugh- another OSTRICH… well this is embarrassing.”
“Was this your card? Nope, nope, that’s a bunny…sorry…”
“I will now escape from this straightjacket in this glass box of water!”
*magician cannot escape and drowns*
The emcee comes back on, “… welp… that was The Amazing Lucas everybody…”
END OF BLOG
You ever notice when you hear someone whistling it’s to a song you’ve never heard before? Where are all these people hearing these? Are you all just award-winning composers and you whistle originals?
My theory is we think we’re whistling a song that we heard on the radio, but we’re not good at whistling, so it comes out completely different. So basically when someone is whistling they’re saying they don’t know the melody or the lyrics.
Whistling is also a happy thing. You never hear someone whistling and think, “Man that guy’s having a rough week. I can hear from his whistling his cat died from that dreadful bird flu. He’s probably headed to a wake”. It’s always like, “That guy got the promotion! He’s probably gonna go buy a cat!”
Today I saw a window cleaner on the top floor of a skyscraper. He was on the outside of the building, by the way. I wasn’t just having a business meeting and happened to run into one in the hallway. He was cleaning the windows on the top floor of a skyscraper. Do we really need that? I mean putting your life in danger to squeegee a finger print? I’ve never been looking at a tall building and been like, “Wow look at that beautiful skyscraper- wait- is that dust on the 308th floor?? Well this just became my least favorite building.” Who can see that far up? Like, “I don’t bank with Wells Fargo anymore, their windows have MOISTURE RESIDUE.” What specifically are you cleaning on a skyscraper? Finger prints? Who’s doing this? Spider-man’s at least courteous enough to wear gloves, we know it’s not him. If a dude’s hand-prints make it to above the 3rd floor, let him have it. He earned it. He’s obviously trying to set some kind of record.
Not sure why my grocery store is becoming an amateur high school party where I have to B.Y.O.B… I don’t mean I get drunk when I shop, I mean I hate that I have to bring my own bags. What more do you want from me? I already brought money AND my club card so a receipt can tell me I saved $.49 on cantaloupe. You’re telling me I have to buy the groceries… and then buy the bags to put them in?? Why don’t I just buy the store? That’s kind of where this is headed. Is that how Vons became Ralph’s? Some guy just got tired of B.Y.O.B. so he just bought Vons and named it after himself? Pretty soon it’s just gonna be B.Y.O.G… Yup, you just bring your own groceries and then pay for them, and then put them in bags that you also bought from them awhile ago.
I also hate when they ask me paper or plastic. It’s like, “Would you enjoy killing a tree today or a baby seal?” Obviously I’m gonna say plastic not because I don’t like baby seals, though. Baby seals are the cutest things since baby carrots. I’m saying plastic because you can 100% percent guarantee that a paper bag is gonna rip. What are paper bags meant for carrying? The receipt? There aren’t any handles on them, and if there were, those would also rip. You’re basically paying $.10 cents for a more organized way of hugging your groceries.