Most people think that finding a long lost twin would be really cool. But then again most people are complete fucking idiots. Case in point, Mormons.
Me: [opens door] Oh my God! You…you look just like me! I can’t believe it!
Him: I’m your long lost twin!
Me: [in awe] Wow…we have the exact same hair and eyes! Quick, what’s your favorite movie?
Him: City of God.
Me: Mine too!
Him: Wow! Amazing! And your high school GPA?
Me: 3.88.
Him: [nodding emphatically] Mine also!
Me: I can’t believe this! We are exactly ali–
Him: And I have a fourteen inch cock!
Me: …
Him: [waving hand] Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three.
Me: Rock! Him: Rock!
Together: Damn it!
Me: Okay, okay, the current score is 0-0-2,567. Next one wins. One, two, three!
Together: Rock!
Him: How about this…let’s be able to choose any object in the world. Any object. We’ll decide who wins afterward. Deal?
Me: Deal. One…two…three.
Him: Roc- Me: Rock! Fuck!
Me: So you see, I have a lot of filing experience.
Interviewer: And what makes you think that I would suddenly give you the job if you came back later in the day with a different name?
Me: What? Oh…but that’s my identical twin you see, he must have circled the same job opening as me.
Interviewer: Then why are you wearing a fake mustache?
Me: [walks into room] Oh my God! You’re not fucking me, that’s my twin brother!
My Girlfriend: uhh [groaning]…yeah [groaning]…I know [groaning]…
Me: [sobbing] some anniversary this is.
Father: I fear I may not be here for much longer…
Me: Oh dad, you can’t leave me now!
Father: It’s okay Eric; you’ll inherit all of my wealth soon.
[Cue in organ music, man with eye patch enters]
Him: We’ll see about that…father.
Me: My evil twin brother and arch-nemesis, Brian! But I thought you died in an off-screen car crash!
Him: Ohh but I did. I did. Muwhahaha!
[More organ music]
Him: …Muwhahaha!
Observations. Day 10, Friday
From my outpost in the treehouse above Sandbox 4
The Swing Incident
Timmy claimed that he had counted to thirty, but Bobby knew otherwise. Timmy hadn’t separated his numbers according to the schoolyard’s established precedent. So it was that Timmy yelled “my turn!” while Bobby was only at ten bananas, and Bobby was sure as hell not ready to give up the swing with twenty bananas to go. “No!” yelled Bobby, “it’s still my turn.” Timmy, thinking quickly on his toes rebutted with “pig fucker!” sending the playground into silence.
There was some history between the boys. The two were close friends until an unfortunate accident during a game of TV tag left Timmy’s younger sister drowned in a pool of her own blood and legos. Bobby thought they were even after Timmy accepted his generous “two Kudos bars and a Lunchable for baggie of celery” deal, but Timmy wasn’t satisfied.
Now, with Bobby refusing to give up the swing, Timmy saw his opportunity for revenge and leveled the worst insult he could think of on the spot, “pig fucker.” This in itself would not have been that offensive, however only a week earlier Bobby had indeed fucked a pig.
Bobby, with his reputation hanging in the air above a gathering crowd, was in need of a comeback. Down, and not willing to take any risks, Bobby resorted to the tried and true “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”
Bobby was confident; never before had this defense been cracked. He remembered many times when he claimed to be rubber and his attacker glue, but that inevitably ended up with him being unable to receive the wealth of compliments bestowed upon him by the attacker’s quick change of heart.
He also knew that the formerly classic “I know you are, but what am I” response hadn’t worked since two years earlier when Jamie Vesterbule and Craig Saunders became deadlocked in loops of this technique for 85 hours straight before both finally succumbed to dehydration. Plus, Bobby really had fucked a pig.
“Words can never hurt me” seemed like the safest way to go…but Timmy had anticipated such a response. Without a second’s hesitation Timmy threw a dictionary squarely into Bobby’s face, sending the unsuspecting boy sprawling off of the swing-set and into a growing puddle of sand, blood and tears.
A hero was born.
Observations. Day 11, Saturday
Still can’t get out of this treehouse.
Everyone who’s taken a humanities class knows That Douche. He’s the budding Rousseau in the front row who raises his hand in lecture to spout delightfully insipid pseudo-intellectual drivel. He’s so vociferous with his impromptu philosophizing that we all recognize him in class, but what does That Douche do with the REST of his life??
Douche: Excuse me, but the way you’re shaking your posterior to Lil’ Jon is reminiscent of the disjointed, yet beautifully freeflowing style of James Joyce’s prose.
Girl: What!?!
Douche: I mean only to suggest that, like Locke’s Treatise on the Rights of Man, your ass could stand unmarred by centuries of criticism.
Girl: You’re a loser.
Douche: I have cocaine…
[they leave together]
Director: So what do you say?
Douche: Well, this reinforces many traditional gender roles, and it must also be noted that Mr. Hungwell’s portrayal of the cable repairman was sub-convincing at best. It’s reminiscent of Hegel’s theory of the super man to suggest, even symbolically, as you did, that it is the protagonist’s right and obligation to blow his load on the faces of all other actors.
Director: [Handing Douche a role of paper towels] Listen asshole, I didn’t hire you for your sociology degree. Go de-jizz Leshonda.
Douche: Doc, I have a dull pain in my knee that lingers subtly, yet undeniably, after any physical activity, not unlike the way Martin Van Buren’s economic policy lingered in its ramifications long after the 1840s.
Doctor: I’ll prescribe you some Vicodin.
Douche: But will this solve the problem? I mean, there are systemic issues here that won’t be solved; drastic overhaul is necessary in a broader sense.
Doctor: Dude, I’m not a real doctor, and the script says you should be sucking my dick by now.
Douche: Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for something in a stupid hat.
Robber: This is a robbery! Everyone put your fucking hands up or I’ll blow your fucking heads off! Now! NOW!
TD: Excuse me, my hand is already up. In fact it’s been up for quite some time.
Robber: Wait, what?
TD: [cough] Ehem [That Douche shakes his upraised hand]
Robber: Yes?
TD: It’s clear from the black and red coloring of your mask that you represent the fall of the Latino as America’s minority of choice, heralding in a new psycho-imperialist adoption of the continental Asian as the idealized working minority in the eyes of bourgeoisie neo-fascist America. Furthermore–
[Robber shoots That Douche 7 times in the face. He still manages to show up to every linguistics class for the next week.]
We’ve all heard the old Bible verse: “Women are about as useful as a sixteenth-century map.” Let’s use science to figure out which one is better.
Map: When used with a sextet, could roughly predict direction for ships to sail during oceanic voyages (assuming polestar is visible)
Female: Uses sextet to plot days of inexplicable crying
Winner: MAP
Map: When rolled up, can be used for passable intercourse
Female: Intercourse is for transmuting fun into angry babies
Winner: MAP
Map: Early cartographic methods underestimated size of temperate latitude land masses
Female: Always gaining more weight, even when they think we don’t realize it. We do.
Winner: MAP
Map: Will give you directions to where you’re going
Female: Cries when she catches you trying to have sex with Map
Winner: MAP
Map: Were carefully preserved and never folded due to cost of creation
Female: Improperly folds my shirts
Winner: MAP
Map: Can be rolled up and placed into a tube
Female: Can be placed in a tube, messily
Winner: MAP
Map: Can’t cook or clean
Female: Can’t cook or clean either, but still more emotionally available than Map.
Someday, Map. Someday.
Winner: TIE
Hot4Tuna69: hi 😉
UndrTheSea: Hi! a/s/l?
Hot4Tuna69: 18/f/metropolis 😉 u?
UndrTheSea: Um, kind of complicated, but I’m a young guy in Metropolis too! Have a pic?
Hot4Tuna69: sure here u go 🙂
UndrTheSea: Holy moly! You’re a knockout!
Hot4Tuna69: oh thanks 😉 but i am all by myself tonight. 🙁
UndrTheSea: Really? So am I! Which is, uh, really rare for me. Wayyyy rare.
Hot4Tuna69:o no! well maybe u could come over
UndrTheSea: Seriously?? I mean, yeah, I could do that. Chicks ask me to all the time.
Hot4Tuna69: u could come over and make me a woman, how does that sound
UndrTheSea: Oh wow! Yeah! I’ll be right there!
Hot4Tuna69:: make me a hot mermaid woman
UndrTheSea: …mermaid?
Hot4Tuna69: my fin is so hot 4 u
UndrTheSea: …
Hot4Tuna69: i am covering myself in tartar sauce
UndrTheSea: …This is Superman, isn’t it?
Hot4Tuna69: HAHAHAHA! OWNED!!! KRYPTON RULZ!!!
CapdCrusdr: hey there
GothamUGrrl: o hi 🙂
CapdCrusdr: you go to the university huh
GothamUGrrl: yeah! i love it here, but i wish i was meeting more guys 🙁
CapdCrusdr: maybe sometime you and i could “meet” maybe in my cave. er, bedroom
GothamUGrrl: oooh rly? what would we do? 😀
CapdCrusdr: i’d start off by massaging your feet
GothamUGrrl: that’s hot, i luv that, what else
CapdCrusdr: then i’d slowly peel off your pretty green tights
GothamUGrrl: my what
CapdCrusdr: and stroke your long boyish legs with my fingertips
GothamUGrrl: wait go back a second
CapdCrusdr: i’d take off your utility belt, slowly, and try it on for you
GothamUGrrl: i don’t have a utility belt
CapdCrusdr: then i’d tear off your red shirt and lick all over your hairless chest
GothamUGrrl: ok this is more like it, sort of
CapdCrusdr: and then i’d flip you onto your stomach and spank your firm ass with your own utility belt
GothamUGrrl: ooh kinky!
CapdCrusdr: and shout “you’ve been a BAD sidekick, haven’t you?”
GothamUGrrl: um
CapdCrusdr: take off my cowl, i want you to look into my eyes when i batspunk on your handsome features
GothamUGrrl: god why is everyone in this town such a fucking weirdo
CapdCrusdr: nnnnngh oh fuck i’m cumming I AM THE NIGHT
FastrThanLight212 (7:07:32 PM): hey sexy
MetroChik4675 (7:07:47 PM): hi 🙂
FastrThanLight212 (7:07:48 PM): looking for some cyber?
MetroChik4675 (7:08:03 PM): oooh ok 😀 but i should tell you something first
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:04 PM): shhhh tell me later
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:05 PM): i’m slowly taking off your blouse
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:06 PM): mmm yeah nice tits
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:07 PM): yeah you want this cock don’t you
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:08 PM): ohhhfuckkk cummmming
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:09 PM): shit want some more huh, you’re a dirty girl
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:10 PM): yeah you like that don’t you, you slut
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:11 PM): OHHHhfucklksdf;lsj
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:12 PM): god damn that was nice, i came so hard
MetroChik4675 (7:08:13 PM): wait
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:14 PM): no time for that i’m hard again you want this dick
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:15 PM): mmmm yeah so tight
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:16 PM): fuckfuckfuckfckhgccummmmmming
FastrThanLight212 (7:08:17 PM): shit, so good, ok baby i’ll see you l8r
Your mother’s dead. Sorry, I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. Regardless, here are some tips for giving bad news so that next time her death won’t be such a buzz-kill.
Make it into a game._
Father: I hope you been having a good birthday son, I know you always wanted to be an actor, so I have a great surprise for you.
Timmy: Really? What is it?
Father: Our whole family is going to be in a film!
Timmy: We are!! Oh boy!
Father: The plot is as follows: your mother and I are going to get a divorce because you are a selfish little brat that has ruined our love life. The movie should take about twenty years to film or until you kill yourself, which ever comes first. It starts…now!
Timmy: [wide-eyed] Bu-but I don’t see any cameras.
Father: ACTION!
Talk about a related topic._
Fred: So I get to meet Magic Johnson after the game right?
Father: Oh yeah, for sure. I called Magic last night. It’s all worked out.
Fred: Yippy!! I’m going to shake his hand and get his autograph and…
Father: Your mother and I have AIDS.
Deliver the news when they feel sorry for you._
Jimmy: Dad…this bone marrow transplant procedure…I’m really nervous. You know I heard that it is kind of dangerous.
Father: You know son, you don’t have to do the transplant procedure for me anymore.
Jimmy: I don’t! [face brightens] You mean they found another donor?
Father: No son, you’re adopted.
Tell them they won something._
Dr. Stern: Congratulations Sarah, you have won 120,000 dollars to be paid over a period of four years.
Sarah: What?? Who is this? 120,000 dollars! How did I get that?
Dr. Stern: By not getting into Harvard Medical School.
Sarah: But wait, that means–
[Dr. Stern hangs up]
Give them hints of the bad news in the form of presents._
Father: Happy Birthday Lisa! Eight years old…wow! Come on and open your presents.
Lisa: Yippy!! [Tears open first present] Cool! It’s a ball of superman’s hair!
Father: No Lisa, that’s a wig. Open this one.
Lisa: [tears open next present] Wow, cool! A bunch of dishes filled with paint. I’m going to draw a dino-doggy!
Father: Actually, that’s some of your father’s platelets. You might want to put that somewhere cold.
Lisa: Oh…well, I’m going to open this one. [Tears open last present] A t-shirt! What does it say?
Father: Well…it says, “Leukemia: it will really grow on you.”
Lisa: What does that mean?
Father: It means you better grab a jacket because we’re going to go see Dr. Bernstein. He’s going to be injecting you with more birthday presents.
