|So if a shark chases you through a doorway, at least when you forget, he'll tweet you about it.
||[Jan. 22nd, 2014|03:20 pm]
Can someone explain to me how Jesus could possibly give a rat’s patoot about a football game? I’ve studied the Bible, my friend, and I’m pretty sure that if Jesus was going to take an active role in our lives, he’d probably save all those starving children before he lifted a finger to get your ball over the goalpost. Plus, also, he’d probably nuke Wall Street. Or at least flip it upside down. Look, in order for Jesus to help your team WIN, he’s choosing to make the other side LOSE. To paraphrase George Carlin “We totally would have won if Jesus hadn’t made me fumble.” Why the hell would he do THAT? Satan, now Satan would do that in a heartbeat. Seriously, if there’s going to be a deity/supernatural being that’s going to get involved in sports game determination, ignoring all the suffering and tragedy in the world, and would then award the game to the team that prayed/worshipped hardest, I’m pretty much certain we’re talking horns and pitchfork here. Seriously.
Yesterday, I pulled up a website and it showed me an ad for a dating website. For people over the age of 50. For SENIORS. A senior dating website. That’s me, apparently. A senior. Noooooooooooo. Pfphsftssst! I immediately logged onto OKCupid, updated my profile and finally sent a reply to that 24 year old that’s been stalking me. You know, because that's how mature I am.
Aha! See, I’ve always thought that a doorway should be called a mind eraser. I’d love to see some research on stairs, because a flight of stairs will do the same thing, sans actual doorways: http://www.salon.com/2014/01/22/why_walking_through_a_doorway_makes_you_forget_partner/
And finally, I see a use for Twitter:
Dear cats, the point of having those throws and blankets over every single piece of furniture in the house is so that I don't have to spend hours combing fur off of all of the upholstery before company arrives. Instead, voila, run around like a lunatic, snatching them all off, and bundling them into a closet so that for those brief shining hours while company's over, I can appear to have normal person furniture. When you burrow underneath said blankets and throws and sleep there? Yah, ruining the point. Don't think I don't know you're doing it. I mean, sitting down on top of a lump that turned out to be Pushkin was one hint. But also, that circle of cat hair that remains on the furniture after I take the cover off....
And finally, I totally drink across party lines. http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/wp/2013/12/31/what-your-favorite-drink-says-about-your-politics-in-one-chart/