Saturday, July 20, 2013

Jury finds that Zimmerman was sent from the future to prevent us from making Watchmen real

Jury finds that Zimmerman was sent from the future to prevent us from making Watchmen real

By Barbara Holm

Tensions were running high when the Florida neighborhood watchman George Zimmerman made his first court appearance. Zimmerman is on trial for murdering a seventeen year old boy named Trayvon Martin.

Reportedly, Zimmerman was a self appointed neighborhood vigilante, and followed the young boy on his way home and then shot him for seemingly no reason. It’s a very sensitive case with a lot of emotions at stake, but after much deliberation and listening to both the prosecution and the defense, the jury came to the clear conclusion that Zimmerman was sent from the future to prevent us from making the graphic novel Watchmen real.

“You can’t just appoint yourself a neighborhood crime fighter,” said handsome scientist Peter Parker. “Because what if you’re a fucking racist psychopath? That’s no good.”

Reportedly, according to a lot of science, George Zimmerman was sent from a not too distant future to warn us what could happen if society encouraged human beings to assume the identities of crime fighting vigilantes, and remind us that some human beings are intrinsically horrible.

This future of somewhat corrupt wannabe superheroes mirrors the gruesome plot of Alan Moore’s award winning graphic novel Watchmen.

“Aghlepspheblagh!” yells Alan Moore who lives in a hut on the foot of a mountainside.

Unsure of how to send Zimmerman back to his current time, scientists are working on the mechanics of interdimensional time travel whilst social scientists are working on how to not let racist assholes who live in the suburbs of Florida pretend that they’re some sort of crime fighters.

“You can’t just be a policeman,” says anyone who’s ever paid attention to anything. “You have  to take some sort of test, oh, and um, promise not to shoot to death innocent children, yeah, that’d help.”

Ultimately as tragic and intense as this whole ordeal has been, the Martin trial has done its job in warning us not to turn into a society that could pin a badge on the neighborhood gun hungry watch dog and furthermore inspired science fiction nerds to pay attention to the news.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Weekend Update Jokes I like

"In his State of the Union Address, President Bush announced a new initiative to keep young people out of gangs, a new program called Do Right And Follow Through (D.R.A.F.T.)." --Tina Fey

"Condoleezza Rice made a surprise trip to Iraq on Sunday. Also surprised to be in Iraq on Sunday: thousands of U.S. troops who were supposed to be home by Christmas." --Amy Poehler

"Tom DeLay's mug shot was released on Thursday. Even creepier, it was taken while he watched someone drown a bag of kittens." --Amy Poehler

"While trying to defend his nomination of Harriet Miers, President Bush admitted he and Miers had never discussed abortion. Said Bush, 'Luckily it turned out to be a false alarm.'" --Amy Poehler

"Last week, the city of Boston sparked controversy when it renamed the giant spruce tree in Boston Common a holiday tree instead of a Christmas tree. Also, the city's nativity scene will now be referred to as the Holiday Homeless Family." --Tina Fey

"A new poll reveals that 56% of Americans believe that Wal-Mart is bad for the country, while the other 44% work there." --Amy Poehler

"To show that his energy bill is about more than drilling for oil in Alaska. This week President Bush visited a plant in Virginia that turned soy beans into a clean burning diesel fuel. Which the president hopes one day will be used to fuel oil drilling machines in Alaska " --Tina Fey

"California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger's popularity has been slipping in recent months as residents slowly begin to realize they elected Arnold Schwarzenegger to be their governor." --Tina Fey

"It was reported that House Majority Leader Tom DeLay took several ethically questionable golf trips paid for by foreign lobbyists and that his wife and daughter were paid $500,000 from his own political action committee. DeLay referred to the allegations as 'just another seedy attempt by the liberal media to embarrass me with my own actions words and illegal doings.'" --Tina Fey

"It's been reported that in the event of an emergency situation with North Korea the U.S. is prepared to send 70% of the Marine Corps to the region. According to President Bush this will still allow us to send another 70% to Iran and keep our other 70% in Iraq." --Tina Fey

"A leading Republican said Sunday that President Bush is so worried about Social Security that he is only able to sleep ten hours a night." --Tina Fey

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

I don't want to quit stand up

I think I want to quit stand up, but I am probably wrong.

Since starting stand up I have had men scream at me that I deserve to get raped, I have had men call me a bitch, cunt, and slut and I have had men clumsily kiss me against my will and then I threw up on them. Since starting stand up I am in a constant state of guilt and anxiety about being around human people socially and in big groups. Since starting stand up, I have been emotionally, physically, and psychologically exhausted. And in that constant state of unhealthy mental attitude, my self esteem is hovering around negative a bzillion. The stress of constantly failing at something I love so much has made my bulimia worse.

The problem isn't that I don't like stand up. It's that if anything I love it TOO much. Stand up saved/saves my life over and over again. I think it is the most beautiful and pure art form. I have never felt like I fit in before I started doing it. Ever since the first time I did stand up I felt like I was at home. And my heart is broken because I don't think I'm good enough to deserve it.

Every time I get heckled, lose a competition, fail an audition, it's just another message that I'm not built for this. I can write and work all day long, but at the end of the day I'm not naturally funny. My greatest fear is that comedy is an ingrained gift, an inherrent ability, not a just an aquired skillset, and that I just simply don't have it. I feel like I'm offending an art form whenever I go on stage. I feel like it's inexcusable for me to respect the beauty of stand up so much and then constantly go on stage and blasphemize the art.

I feel like being a comedian is like being a unicorn, something magical you're born. And I'm just a dumb horse with a cone taped to my head.

It's so heart breaking to even consider quitting. And I know that I can't be the kind of comic that fades out gradually because I would feel too guilty if I took a break or took time off and then went up and dissappointed an audience by being rusty. I try to think of the one audience member in the crowd who is having a horrible day, maybe got her heart broken, maybe needs to laugh. I can't let her down.

I don't think I can be a comedy club comic. I can't inspire confidence and boom with authority, bravado and charisma. I get heckled a lot. I worry that I'm just intrinsically unlikeable. Like it's not my jokes, it's me the audience detests. I don't think I can act. I'm already 26, not a size 0, short, and not pretty or loveable. I don't know if I'm smart enough to be a writer. So where do I belong? Where do I fit in as an artist?

But I don't think I can give up.

Recently I got an email from someone telling me how much my comedy meant to them. I keep trying to remind myself that if I bomb or get heckled or slut shamed or cyber bullied or if I get rejected for one show or job, even if 40 people in the crowd hate me and want me to kill myself, maybe one person loves me. And I love that one person back. And I should keep doing stand up for her, right?

I probably can't live without stand up. I think I need to do it.

But, lately I've been going up in characters, still doing my own material talking about anxieties and feeling like an outsider and depression and feminism... but from the perspective of a character because I hate being Barbara so much. I think I'm so unlikeable, unloveable, so offensively cruel that I ruin people's nights with my personality.

A long time ago I read an article by Charlyne Yi where she said, "If you never perform again no one cares but you." (SIC, I can't find the original essay.)

I know that if I quit, no one will care but me. Well, that's not true, a lot of people will be happier if I quit. (All the misogynists) But overall, me doing or not doing stand up will not affect the landscape of the art form whatsoever. However, it'll kill me not to do it. I'll diminish in power like Galadriel. And if I can never quit, then I can't take breaks, can I? That's not fair to the audience.

Why do I love stand up? Because it's fun for me to do? No. It is fun for me to kill, but I hate bombing. I love the writing aspect. I love laughing. I love performing. I love the feeling I get when I can make someone laugh really hard, like they can't control it. I love working and growing and developing my comedy voice like it's a magic power I'm strengthening. I love being able to take something horrible and sad and take the power away from it by writing a funny weird whimsical punchline. I love the jokes I've written. I love the voice I'm growing into. I love stand up.

I keep waiting for someone to tell me I belong in this art form. But that'll never happen. No one will ever tell me that. I have to want to belong in it. AND I DO WANT TO BELONG IN IT. But I don't know if I deserve to.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

What I used to do

"Do you want a coffee?" I asked softly, looking up at his face, watching his sparkling blue yes glow with energy.
"Yeah, I'll go get one."
"I'll get it for you," I offered, half standing up.

He used to let me buy his coffee for him. He didn't this time. He stood up and walked to the counter, taking his messenger bag with him. I'm not sure why he took it with him. I would have watched it. Maybe he thought I would look through it. I wouldn't have. I guess it wasn't important. While he was at the counter I practiced counting, forgot to breathe, became conscious of the fact that I wasn't breathing, started to freak out, and then he returned. I don't know if I started breathing then or forgot about it.

"D-d-did you just get a drip coffee?" I asked.
"Yeah." He sat down.
"I thought you used to drink lattes."
"I used to."

We used to do alot of things. I used to do a lot of things. I tried to remember them. When I was little I used to pick up rocks, take a picture of them, and collect those pictures, because I didn't want to collect the rocks. I liked rocks. I liked parts of the earth that never seemed to die. One time I did a huge easter egg hunt and I picked up eggs. There were hundreds of other children. It was for some big community party. It was supposed to be a competition, who could collect the most eggs. I had cried when I lost. My parents don't remember this.

"So, what is new?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just, you know, trying to not kill myself," he said. He pushed his glasses up his impossibly handsome nose. He wouldn't make eye contact. I thirsted for his smile.
"No, don't say that...." I spoke so softly I barely made noise. I cleared my throat but no more noise came out.
"Fine. I won't talk."
"No, that's not what I'm saying! Please talk to me! I-I'm so lonely and I need someone to talk to me."
"Well what do you want me to say?"

I remember the easter egg hunt had been at a golf course. My parents dressed me up in a pretty pink fluffy dress for Easter. When I was running through the trees I pretended I was a fairy or an elf or a nymph picking up magickal stones for a spell I needed. Maybe they were crystals. I still like those things but I have to pretend like it's ironic or quirky and not like at 26 I still genuinely really want to be a wood nymph.

"So, how is um... Allysa?" I asked.
"We're not talking about my girlfriend," he said. "Leave her alone."
"I wasn't... I didn't..."

I had been six. I had picked up a small stone that was a pale peach color. I thought it was an egg. I put it in my baskett. I wasn't smart enough to notice the weight difference. I thought it was from a chicken, or a duck, or anything. Rock didn't cross my mind. Yay, another egg! I ran towards the finish line.

"I don't have to deal with this," he said.
"I'm sorry! No! Please stay and talk to me!"
"I have nothing to say to you." He picked up his messenger bag, left his coffee, still full but cold now, and got up.

When I got to the finish line the adult man in a suit with bunny ears was counting the eggs. He took them one by one out of the basketts and wrote the numbers down on a piece of paper. When he got to me he picked up the rock.

"Young lady, this is a rock," he said.
I said nothing back.
"You were trying to cheat."
I shook my head no. I started crying.
"You're officially disqualified."

He walked out the door without a word, faster than he normal walked, faster than he normally used to walk anyway. I don't know if anyone else in the coffee shop was watching or cared.

The adult man in a suit and bunny ears dropped my baskett of eggs to the earth at my six year old feet. I picked up my peachy pink rock. I thought about throwing it into his head. I imagined hurling it with all of my might. I envisioned it going deep into his skull and blood and brains oozing out onto his crisp white shirt, splattering his salt and pepper hair and pink bunny ears with deep maroon. I imagined a gush of squirting red blood everywhere. I let the rock fall to the ground. I smoothed my pink easter dress and ran off into the woods.

I watched him go out the door into the sunlight, take his phone out of his pocket and start texting. He didn't look back at me. I cried silently in the brightly lit room.

I used to do a lot of things.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Bike ride

The grey light flooded the busy street as cars raced by Jenny. The sun was setting and she knew legally soon she would have to turn her lights on. She kept her focus in front of her, trying to maintain alertness, but wobbling nervously. It had been years since she had ridden a bike. People kept telling her, "Don't worry, you'll remember, it's just like riding a bi-" and she interrupted "because no one ever taught me and I'm scared of it? Nope that's love. Love is like riding a bike. And riding a bike is like riding a bike. That's the problem."

When her friend Sarah had given her her old bike, Jenny took it mostly because she was so happy that she had a friend at all, someone who felt close enough with her to do that. The bike was a symbol, and she was gonna ride the fuck outta that metaphor. Jenny loved having girlfriends and she seemed to have a hard time keeping them, because most of them were musicians or artists and after a few years of friendship they moved to New York or LA and she only saw them a few times a year. Jenny wondered if something was wrong with her that her friendships seemed short lived. She felt guilty that she worried she was hurting the people she loved so dearly, pushing them away. She never wanted to do that to Sarah. But the truth was was that she just happened to be friends with very driven ambitious artists. And maybe one day she too could fall into that category, but not anytime in the near future, not with her fears, not with the anxiety that haunted her life, not with her sickness.

A car honked at her, for seemingly no reason, her green sundress flew up over her jeans as she pedaled her pink bike. the street was really busy today with some quirky nudist parade, and she motioned to turn down a less crowded street. She had had to look up the turn signals for the bike. It turned out they were pretty self explanatory, left hand, right hand, crying and shaking, etcetera.

As Jenny turned, her bike got caught in the track grooves where the light rail was supposed to travel. The bike, which was probably going thirty miles per hour tipped over, and Jenny fell on her right side, twisting her foot underneath her, against the angle foots are supposed to go. She fell hard onto the street, amongst the busy cars, which just drove around her, honking.

Embarrassed, Jenny quicky jumped up, grabbed her bike, and wheeled it to the side of the street. She snapped her ankle back into place, and climbed back on her bike, tightened her helmet, and continued riding. That hadn't been that scary. She had been so afraid of falling down and as it turned out, it wasn't that bad at all. She could survive it. She was okay.

But why was she okay?

She pulled her bike over and felt her ankle. She had just snapped it back into place instinctually. It wasn't hurt or swelling or broken. She ran her hands over her muscles. Nothing felt like it would be bruised later... She was fine, too fine. She had healed immediately. Her body felt strong, athletic, capable, and almost hungry.

Jenny looked up at the sky and squinted through the dark rain clouds. The sun was setting now. She looked at her phone and scrolled through the calender. She stopped short when she realized her mistake. She had forgotten to factor in the extra day in February this year. Tonight was the night, not tomorrow. She hopped back on her little pink bike with it's wobbly basket and turned backwards. There was no time to call or text her friends and tell them the miscalculation. And if there had been, she couldn't have devised a ruse or cover fast enough.

She biked back towards her house as fast as she could, which in her current state, was faster than cars. Her pony tail flapped against her back shoulders, feeling longer, more luscious than it had been this morning, a mane of dark thick health, blowing behind her. Her muscles rippled with a violent animistic strength. That was good. If only she could get back home in time to where the chains and handcuffs were. The last thing she wanted was to hurt anyone, to claw their soft skin, to expose their juicy, spicy hot blood- no, she pushed these thoughts from her head.

Jenny wasn't far from home now. She had almost made it before the darkness took her over.

Just then the cop lights and siren flooded her awareness. It couldn't be happening. She was being pulled over. Jenny slowed down, stopped, and put her shoulda been broken ankled foot down. The cop came up to her. He was young, kind looking. He had a beard. He had a wedding ring. No.

"Sorry, miss, to have to do this, but do you have bike lights?"
"Maybe in your bag? You forgot to..."
"Run," Jenny choked out.
"'Scuse me?"

If Jenny had been her normal self she would have sobbed with guilt, but instead the frustrated feeling of shame only burned inside her like a fire. Her nails were growing. Her teeth felt strong. Her eyesight sharpened. She looked up and squinted through the clouds.

The moon rose over the mountains, thick, full, laughing at her, cackling at her pain, her violent anger and painful crippling guilt that she would have to live with, her inability to ever have a life, friends, family, love, or hope. This would be her burden, her curse, for the rest of her life, to be so isolated by her own darkness, so completely alone in her miserable monstrous fate. She loved so deeply, and that was the worst part of her existence.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. The change had began.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Woman Confounded By Reality After Weeks of Reading Children's Fantasy Books

Woman Confounded By Reality After Weeks of Reading Children's Fantasy Books

By Barbara Holm

Minnesota book club leader Beatrice Johnson was apprehended by authorities yesterday. Reportedly, she dashed into the midst of traffic, stared at a SUV for a moment, and then placed her palm up towards the oncoming vehicle. She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brow. Thirty year old Johnson stood in the way of a collision with her hand out and was saved at the last second by a passing pedestrian. Beatrice claimed that she had been disoriented and had thought she could slow the car with her mind.
The woman had spent the last three weeks reading The Hunger Games, Twilight, and concluded the showerless trek of time with the Harry Potter series. She had ingested so much fantasy into her mind that she now thought it real.
“It’s quite common,” said Dr. Polowski, a specialist in fantasy literature’s effect on the psyche of lonely people. “These kids, or adults in increasing cases, read the books for over ten hours a day, and then they think that they exist in the rules set up in that fictional universe.”
For example, in Georgia earlier this week a woman thought she was the girl with the dragon tattoo, so it could have been worse.
“I just....” stuttered poor Beatrice. “I was reading fantasy for about five hours and I just was so absorbed into the storyline that when I came out of it, I thought I had powers for a little while. It’s not a big deal. Calm down.”
“This is getting out of control,” said therapist Steven Tyler. “Fans of fantasy everywhere are losing their grip on reality. A man in Oregon thinks we have a half black president.”
Reportedly, the lonelier a reader is, the easier it is to lose themselves in children’s fantasy literature. The results of this study are sponsored by a party display store that specializes in Edward Cullen costumes.
Fans of fantasy novels everywhere are beginning to lose themselves into escapism and forgetting how the rules of reality works. It’s charming when it’s a ten year old who thinks she’s going to find love someday, but it’s almost dangerous when it’s a thirty year old who believes in telekinesis.

Scientists Discover an Alternative to Fossil Fuels: Unbridled Loathing

Scientists Discover an Alternative to Fossil Fuels: Unbridled Loathing

In the epoch of giant trucks and hummers, we enter a science fiction esque frenzy over the depletion of natural resources, the effects of carbon emissions on the atmosphere, and the greenhouse effect. Gas prices are skyrocketing due to the dwindling supply of fossil fuels and gas guzzlers are desperate. Scientists all over the planet are searching for an alternative to fossil fuels and one Swedish scientist thinks she may have discovered a never ending, renewable supply of energy: unbridled loathing.

“It was quite simple once I thought about it,” said Dr. Serena Grendle. “We needed something dark and disgustingly sludgy to put in our vehicles, something society could dependently rely on, and humanity has an endless supply of unconditional hatred.”

“It’s really a genius idea,” said Grendle’s colleague, the not at all bitter and jealous Dr. Sven. “She is extracting the energy people spend hating others, and converting that into power we can use to fuel basically anything.”

Using a mechanism like a breast pump, Grendle is now frequenting the DMV, corporate offices, and family reunions to suck the loathing out of others. Reportedly hatred will be very cheap to produce, manufacture and market due to its already obvious popularity. This technology will be available in the next ten years, according to scientific estimates.

Some academics raise concern, however, that while this will help with dwindling supplies and shortages, it will do nothing to reduce carbon emissions and reverse greenhouse effects. Reportedly, unbridled loathing creates almost worst emissions for the atmosphere than gasoline and will speed up global warming quite a lot. Human beings are not sure yet if this is a benefit or a drawback.






Sports Still Happening

Sports Still Happening


By Barbara Holm


The green grass of the basketball court glistens with sweat and the dew of the morning. The crowd roars with noises as they cram enough people in one arena to induce a demophobia attack. Reportedly, across the world, sports are still being played.

Soccer, baseball, cricket, football, American football, swimming, and more are currently being practiced and perfected. At this very moment, a child is being driven to a little league practice somewhere, sobbing in the backseat, despite the fact that dad already told him/her to buck up.

“Yeah, it’s still going on,” grumbled grizzled Coach Johnson from under his handlebar mustache. “We got a match next week against Liberty. It could determine whether we go to state or not this year.”

Surprising to some, sports also continue on a professional level. Athletes make millions of dozens of dollars while an audience of people watches. Invested emotionally in the game, the crowd paints their faces, dresses, and even dances in humiliating ways to show their support.

“A sport,” explained professional basketball player David Steve, “is a competitive activity based on sweating that usually involves rules such as ‘out of bounds.’ Often a sport relies on a point system.”

In addition to the livelihood of the athletes, sports have also spawned a vast industry of employment for out of work cheerleaders, peanut salesmen, and foam finger factory workers.

 “It’s great,” said professional cheerleader Stephanie. “Before this I was cheering on the street for change. And these uniform skirts are pretty much dry clean only.”

Despite the delight of the fans and the benefit to the economy, the continuation of sports has been met with some criticism. “One time a jock knocked the books out of my hands!” said a grown up adult who never got over the teasing of Bobby Hanson in eighth grade.






Lindsay Lohan Switches Back into her Body After Being Trapped in that of her Childhood Doll for Ten Years

Lindsay Lohan Switches Back into her Body After Being Trapped in that of her Childhood Doll for Ten Years

Lindsay Lohan’s eyes fluttered open yesterday morning. Upon gaining consciousness of wakefulness, the twenty five year old actress immediately was screaming in terror. Her boyfriend (who sleeps in a cot in the closet) rushed into her bedroom to check on her. She shrank away from his comforting arms and shook her head in panicked confusion, knocking pictures off the wall as she shook her ten pounds of yellow hair.
“How did I get here?” She gasped before fainting.
Experts and scientists deduced that after ten years of being trapped inside her childhood doll’s, the body swap must have run its course and the real Lindsay had returned to her body.
“It’s like nothing we’ve seen before,” said Dr. Willard, body swap scientist who was in fact inspired to take up the career by Lohan’s performance on Freaky Friday. “Usually when someone swaps bodies, to switch back they have to learn an important lesson about empathy or love, or get almost killed to death by lightning. In this case, it seems that the universe simply gave up and returned Lohan to her original body.”
Clutching her newfound woman breasts, Lohan recounted, “It was so weird. I was just a living in my parents house, and pursuing my childhoold dream of acting. And then one day I wake up and I’m sitting on a shelf where I put my doll Cassandra, watching everything through her glass marble eyes.”
Scientists deduce that while Lohan was trapped in a porcelain body, the doll was in her own fifteen year old flesh, walking around, going to auditions, enjoying parties, and tanning the freckles away. The doll in Lohan’s body moved out of her parent’s home, leaving its old vessel behind. Lohan’s parents left her room the way it was, but didn’t venture in often, so she was stuck staring into space, trapped in the doll’s body, and screaming silently in her head for almost half her life.
Now that she is back in her original body, no one knows what lies in store for the once adorable star of the Parent Trap, but one thing’s for sure, she’s going to destroy that fricking doll with a hammer.

Originally Written for HAHAJK

Economy Improving in Wish Granting and Curses Industries

Economy Improving in Wish Granting and Curses Industries

For years the economy has suffered worldwide, but finally reports show that we’re turning a corner. Some of the cobwebs and dust is being gradually brushed off the shop countertops. A few interested customers and some uninterested ones are lingering in front of window displays. According to recent studies, the economy is definitely showing improvement in the industry of wish granting and curses.

After a drastic drop in spending, stocks and data numbers have finally taken a marked upward trend in the dark arts. In the last month there has been a 14% increase in consumer spending, according to local gypsies and shamans.

“For years there would only be the occasional weekly customer,” said local amateur wizard Jennifer Smith. “Like someone who really needed to curse their office administrator. You know: an emergency. But now it’s like every day there’s a new client coming into the shack and begging to have a wish granted. People are desperate again. It’s wonderful!”

Reportedly there is an increase in new clients searching for magical antidotes and also a rise in the frequency with which regular customers are utilizing these services.

Experts speculate that the rise in interest in wish granting and curses may be correlated to the extreme terror and misery that is sweeping the planet. Wishes and curses scientist Brady Joe said that it is a common trend. “The public realizes that everything is meaningless and we’re all spiraling downward into an inevitable doom and then suddenly they want to wish to go on a date with Alex from marketing.”

Witch doctors and magical retailers everywhere are happy with the apparent influx of demand. Subsequently this has a positive effect creating more positions in the factories for elves on the production level. The economy has apparently taken a turn for the better, but some industry professionals wonder how long this will last.

“We don’t really know where we’ll be in a year,” said Jennifer Smith from under her starry pointed wizard hat, hugging her small son to her robed waist. “But for now, I can afford to get little Timmy shoes without holes in them.”

Originally for HAHAJK


Originally written for HAHAJK.

Debate Recap Mad Libs

There were mixed emotions Thursday, when it became clear that (insert your preferred candidate here) had won the debate by a wipeout landslide. Audiences from (insert your political party) were elated when (insert your preferred candidate here) discussed (insert the political issue that affects you most here).

 With the election so tightly focused on the economy, health care, and women’s reproductive rights, it’s pretty obvious that (insert preferred candidate) is the right choice for the white house. When those issues came up in the debate, everyone scoffed that (Insert opposing party’s candidate) seemed to have no idea what he was talking about. He was totally out of his element.

 One crowd member from (insert either a democratic or conservative state here) said, “I expected the debate to be heated, but I couldn’t have imagined this much tension. I was really impressed with (insert preferred candidate)’s confidence and poise in front of the crowd. When (insert opposing candidate) discussed (insert least favorite viewpoint) he really put his foot in his mouth. What a huge gaffe! He definitely offended potential voters.”

 At that moment, (insert preferred candidate) just smiled and looked at the camera to say, “I’ve got him now! The debate is mine!” And audiences of (insert your political party) rejoiced at the victory.

 If there had been anyone on the fence, the clear victory in the debate will have definitely without a doubt pushed any swing voters to (insert preferred candidate)’s side. (Insert your party)’s politicians were very proud of (insert your candidate)’s win in the debate.

 I had been planning on voting for him from the beginning so I may be biased, but the debate really proved to me that I am making the right decision choosing (insert preferred candidate.) After watching that heated showdown, no one in their right mind could believe that (insert opposing party’s candidate) won.

Monday, February 25, 2013

I don't know. Gross.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who was really an adult by any other culture's standards with a bad "Rachel" haircut and a bunch of band t-shirts with sweat stains on the pits. She thought she was beautiful in a secret kind of way because she was a fucking idiot and had yet to be crushed by the bloody gummy jaws of reality in the grown up world.

That little girl was me once.

It was late at night or early in the morning when I snuck into Brock's lab with the key I had stolen while he slept. The lab was dark and unfamiliar. I had only been there a couple times before, to visit him, to gain his trust, to bring him lunch or a coffee, to pick him up after work and bring him back to my place so he could boss me around in bed while I pretended I was somewhere else.

That little girl went to class every day and studied in all of her free time. She loved her boyfriend and her friends with all of her heart. She wore her hair in pigtails when she danced at the gym. She cried in the movie Garden State and in any movie where a short brunette girl cries. She really liked scrabble and didn't drink or smoke. She wanted to marry her boyfriend, my boyfriend, and live happily ever after.

I got to Brock's corner of the lab and crawled into the machine. There weren't any instructions or anything but I figured he wouldn't have made it dangerous and then strapped those poor little chimpanzees in. I taped the electrodes to my temples, closed my eyes, and let go of 2013, and disappeared from existence, or rather flooded everywhere into existence, falling backward, falling away.

I saw me longboarding through the quad in baggy capris and a Velvet Underground t-shirt. Halfway through the quad I jumped off my longboard and ran to hug a tall, handsome, half Asian man carrying a pile of books. He leaned down but didn't hug me back because his hands were full. 19 year old Barbara danced and laughed and tried to jump up to kiss him on the cheek. Not being tall enough, and not getting any sort of help on his end, she ended up kissing his shoulder. Then she longboarded away.

Mike continued walking in the opposite direction without looking back at 19 year old me.

I jogged into the quad and ran right up to him. He frowned at me from far away and stared at me hard as I got closer. I stopped in front of him. His brow furrowed and he hugged his books to his chest. His lips dropped open. He took a step back.

"Mike, it's me Barbara, well from the future."
"What is this?" he said. "Is this a joke?"
"No I swear. I'm Babs from year 2013."
"I go  by Babs now."
"Kid, can we talk?"
"Don't call me kid, I'm older than-"
"Are you?"
"I don't know how this works."

We went quickly to the art building and entered an empty classroom. The classrooms were mostly on the basement level and the galleries were on the above ground level. This one had a bunch of long wooden paint splattered tables and smelled like old clay. I turned to face Mike as he adjusted his hoodie strings.

"I really came to warn 19 year old Barbara about you," I said.
"Why? Wait I don't believe any of this." Mike put his head in his hands. I gazed at his dark wavy falling over thick eyebrows. Under his eyes on his cheekbones were a sprinkle of freckles that I had missed. I paced hurriedly around the art room.
"You're going to break her heart into a million pieces. You're not that into her, but she's in love with you."
"I love her too."
"You what?" I stopped short, pivotted and looked back.
"I love her." Mike was staring at me intently with dark chocolate eyes.
"You never told In three years you never said..." I breathed heavily.
"I never told her... you... that I did because I was so scared of losing her..."
"Well you push her away to the point that she has a nervous breakdown and doesn't eat for a week," I said pointedly.
"Hot." He walked toward me seriously.

I laughed in spite of myself. I didn't know what to do with this newfound information. I gazed at my college boyfriend. He was looking at me with sweetness and care in his eyes. How could I have never realized how much he liked me? I guess my low self esteem was getting in the way.

"Barbara..." He said, choking a little on the words. "I love you. I think you're wonderful and a genius writer and super weird and special and I do want to spend the rest of my life-"

I reached for his hand gently to comfort him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his chest. With his other hand he grabbed my cheek and kissed me deeply. My heart fluttered like it hadn't in five years. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He sat me down on the wooden table, kissing me, and began undoing his belt. I maintained eye contact while I awkwardly yanked my pants off. Within seconds we were one, together again, in love, and feeling every emotion and tactile vibration in our bodies and minds. He kept kissing me while I came hard in a room where I had once done a presentation about pictures of goldfish, or maybe that hadn't happened yet. He kissed me really hard and passionately and I felt more wanted than I had ever felt in my life. I could feel myself losing grip on reality and I could feel the time space continuum getting really annoyed at me. I looked up into his eyes and ached to tell him something, to beg him to do something, I struggled to cry out to him, but nothing happened and I just kissed him.

I slowly dissolved from the past, fading from Mike's arms, and reappeared in the future, crying in Brock's basement.

Mike gasped and fell forward, losing his balance on the empty table. There was nothing but air in his hands. He coughed and put himself back together.

Outside the art room door, a little girl sat listening through the wall, with her knees pulled up to her chest. Next to her sat a longboard and a backpack. She wiped her tears with her Velvet Underground t-shirt, got up, and ran away.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

the perfect everything

The second bar we went to had red lights and portraits of angry dogs, which on some level puts people in the mood. I wasn't drunk, but it's not like I needed to be drunk to be okay in this social context. It was so loud that I couldn't have really spoken anyway. The band played another poorly derivative sad song replete with too many guitars and slightly ahead of the beat drums.

"Want to dance?" I squeaked. I pushed my glasses up my nose. Then I fidgeted, taking them off, rubbing my scarf with them, and then placed them on top of my head so he could see my eyes. I don't know if my eyes are my best feature but I think they convey the most vulnerability, which is probably my only attribute.
"No. I don't dance," he said.

I just smiled at him. Whether or not he was dancing with me, my heart was clearly dancing in my chest. He gave me a quick dimple heavy grin and looked above my head. He smiled and nodded at a friend across the bar. I reached for him, aching to be held. He rubbed my lower back with one strong confident hand absentmindedly and took a sip from his beer. I leaned into him, fitting the top of my head under his chin, and looked up. 

"Do you want to get out of here?" I asked. My voice was so high and annoying. I coughed. Think about Scarlett Johanson! I told myself. Deep and sultry. Think cleavage but for your voice.
"Joe just got here. You really want to leave?" He said.
"Um, sorry,  I meant, like no, but maybe later maybe go back to your place together..."
"Nevermind," I said. "I'm uh easy going."
"Because that's what easy going people say."
"Yeah. No. Sorry."

He left me at the bar for awhile and talked to a couple of his friends. I replayed different scenes from Pride and Prejudice in my head and fiddled with my hair, or in other words, was awesome. After a while, he slung his messenger bag over his shoulders and stood up. He looked at me over his shoulder and beckoned his head. His black hair slid over his eyebrows with the confident toss. He smiled a little bit with just his lips, raising one eyebrow.

I hurriedly pushed the two books I was reading into my purse, grabbed my wallet from where I had dropped it clumsily on the floor, like an adult, and hopped up to follow him. He was looking down at his phone and slowly walking out the door of the bar. I jogged to catch up at him and he didn't say anything. I reached for his hand. 

Stammering, I added, "Just-to-be-clear-I-was-inviting-myself-over-to-have-um-you-know-like-sexual-intercourse." 
"Gross! Dummy," he said. He kissed the top of my head. I loved how tall he was. He was like the perfect height, the perfect everything.

We got to the bus stop and waited in silence for a minute. I reveled in how much I liked this guy, maybe loved him. I reminded myself not to say anything like that in bed. When we got to his apartment he unlocked the door and let himself in first. I made a note that that was a thing guys who were into equality probably did. He was probably a super big feminist  I followed him in. Once inside, I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck and tried to kiss him.

"Wait here a sec. I need to go clean my room," he said.
"Buddy, I don't care if it's messy," I said, kissing his neck.
"I do. I just... I have to put some stuff away, okay? Stuff I don't need you to see..." 

He pried my arms away and went into a room, closing the door behind him. It shut hard and I jumped a little, even though I was expecting it. I walked around his living room. The shelves were filled with various stacks of books, videogames, and movies, haphazardly organized. The top shelves where I couldn't reach were lined action figures, little robots, and various toys. I pulled a book from the shelf. It was Eugene Mirman's book... not that this detail is important. I just don't want you to think I was trying to put on any airs here. Like I coulda grabbed that Dostoevsky book, but that'd be like an intellectual push up bra, right?

After about twenty minutes, the bedroom door opened. He came back out. I shut the book and hopped off the couch, twirling toward him with a giddy grin.

"Heeeeey-" I stopped short and immediately dropped the flute-like trill from my voice. "Wait what's wrong?"

He was looking over my shoulder, above me. He looked scared and confused. His eyes were wide, red rimmed, and twitching. Tiny droplets of tears streamed from the corner of his beautiful ocean blue eyes. He didn't say anything. He stared hard away from me.

I ran to him and threw my arms around him. "Oh my god what... are you okay?"
"I just... I don't know what I'm doing with ...anything..." he said, his voice high and shaky.

I stood on my tippy toes so I could try to caress his head. He stayed motionless like a really big tree. It was so hard to hold someone who was taller and didn't want to be held. "C'mere," I said. I tried to lead him to the couch and he reluctantly obliged.

"What's... what happened?" I said. I realized I was trembling. He wasn't. 
"I don't know... I can't do this." He wouldn't look at me. He started crying again.
I sat on his lap. "Can't do what?" I dragged his arms around my waist, linking his hands together.
"This... I'm sorry. I don't know. I think I just need to be alone tonight," he said.
"Wait what? I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?" I ran my fingers gently through his hair.
He wiped tears from his eyes. "Can you go?"
"Do you um not want to um have sex first?" I asked.
"Um, maybe a little bit of kissing?" I kissed his lips but he didn't kiss me back. I wiped a tear from his cheek. He brushed my hand away.
"Sorry. I'm sorry if I made you mad. I'm really... sorry."
"You did nothing. I just need to be alone."
"Can I do anything?" I was crying now too. "I want to help. I'm so sorry. I feel awful." I kissed his hand.
 "You know, buddy," I said softly. "We're friends. You can talk to me about whatever is... going on. If you want to... I mean. I'm here for you. You can tell me anything."
"I don't want to."
"I know."

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Reflections of a boyfriend of a manic pixie dream girl

Week One: Today I met the most amazing girl! She’s so quirky and weird. She has glasses and wears clashing hats. I want to marry her and sleep by her side forever! Wow, she has a high pitched stuttering nerd voice! She’s so accessibly vulnerably hot. I’m head over heels in love! And it’s all genuine; nothing about it is a character!

“Hi, my name is Steve, I couldn’t help but notice you rode a bicycle awkwardly and fell down getting off of it. Would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

Week Two: This has been the best week of my life, that I can conceivably remember! We sang karaoke! Outside we danced in the streets under a lamp! She’s always giggling, playing ukulele, and running around like a fairy. It’s so sweet when she kisses the back of my neck when I’m working. I really am falling in love with this girl.

Week Three: This week has been great! She made me a cute mixtape on a cassette. She does things like cook food in her underwear and leaves her shoes everywhere. I mean, it’s fine, but like, everywhere. It’s adorable. She talks a lot in her sleep, which is childlike and endearing, not too annoying. I really like this girl.

Week Four: It’s going good. Well. I don’t know. She still plays her ukulele and kisses the back of my neck when I’m really trying to get work done. It’s like she’s from another planet where she doesn’t understand that Earth money is made from work, not drawing pictures of cows with stars for eyes. It’s so eccentric and charming... But when I sort of snapped at her for not giving me space she cried sitting down in the shower for an hour. She is really sweet. I think I’m starting to like this girl.

Week Five: Honestly it’s been really hard. It’s difficult to sleep next to someone crying in their sleep like an out of tune Bjork song on loop. She is in her late 20s and still acts like a kid. I don’t wanna fuck a kid! She wanted to sing karaoke the other night. Who likes karaoke? Idiots who wear cat cardigans to job interviews, that’s who. We were walking down the street and some bar was playing a song and she tried to make me dance with her outside in the cold. I told her I just want to go home and watch Game of Thrones, like an adult, and she asked me if I loved her and when I said I don’t know she just got on a random bus, a random one, without looking at the number. What a dummy. How does she even get her shoes on the right feet? I guess sometimes she has mismatched shoes, but, oh god, is that on purpose or not? Ugggh. No, I mean, I do think she’s cute.

Week Six: What kind of fucking adult makes cassette mixtapes? Everything is on spotify now and this grown woman gave me a fucking cassette tape wrapped in flowers and weeds she stole from a neighbor’s garden. I hope she got poison ivy. Just kidding. I think.

Week Seven: Stop talking to birds!

Week Eight: Oh. Oh, god, I’m so tired.

Week Nine: Are you serious? Nothing about this is a character?

Love Letters I'm sure got lost in the mail

From the Comic Book Store Clerk:

Hey, you. Let's stop fighting this. We both know how we feel about each other. We both have glasses and awkward cardigans. Let's just sweep these magic the gathering cards off this sticker clad counter and see where the night takes us.

PS. I'll make sure you're facing the Marvel rack.

From My Literature TA in College:

Dear Barbara,

I am writing to inform you, I am so utterly, completely  and hopelessly in love with you. I know we haven't spoken in four years, but alas, your thoughtful prose and clever use of wordplay slayed me eternally. I shall never be able to forget you. You are an amazing writer.

From My Therapist:

I like your personality.

From the guy I liked in college:

Hey, I'm so sorry for all the things I did and said. I clearly was totes in the wrong. I'm sorry I called you thunder thighs and left you at your doctor's appointment, driving off because I thought it was funny. It was funny, but in a mean hurtful way. I miss you so much. You are the most beautiful girl in the world and I know I don't deserve a second chance, but if you were altruistic enough to give me one, I would do everything I could to make you happy for the rest of your life. Also, you still have my Pixies hoodie. You can keep it.

From the guy I like now:

I was such a fucking idiot not to notice how special you are immediately  Let's have a picnic and do kisses in the rain to a Belle and Sebastian song and be in love forever, K?

From the last guy I intercoursed:

Yes, I left that t-shirt in your bedroom because I WANT you to smell it.

From the guy on the bus who looked like a bespectacled Michael Cera:

Yeah, I did just touch your leg with my leg. It wasn't exactly an accident.

From the barista at my coffee shop:

Hey kiddo, every day when you come in here to write, I try to get up the courage to tell you that you're gorgeous and interesting. I want to read everything you write and support you in your art. Here's a free latte.

From anyone:

You're really hilarious.

From my roommate's dog:

Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Morning after

The sun barreled in and woke me up from my night of empty flirtation with sleep. I rolled over in the strange bed and looked at the human being laying next to me. His long black eyelashes laid down over cheekbones, vibrating as his eyes rapidly moved like a hummingbird's heart beat. A tiny droplet of eye water leaked from his tear ducts and I gently wiped it away without waking him up. I pulled the Star Wars sheets up to my chin, closed my eyes, and sighed. I couldn't believe we were finally here after so much wistful doodling his name in notebooks and making mix cds for him that I never gave.

We laid there together, not in each other's arms, but close enough. Outside, cars drove by, and a train yelled at us from the distance. Eventually, Evan's alarm went off. He groaned and shut it off. I took this verbal exclamation of discontent as my cue to curl up and wrap my arms around him. I kissed his warm neck and snuggled into his shoulder. Evan rubbed his hand through his thick black hair. I caught his hand as it was coming down and wrapped it around my waist and then pulled it down farther. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Hey!" I beamed.
"Hi," he said.
I inched forward, contracting my body like I was doing a sideways worm and kissed his warm full lips. He kissed me, and then rolled onto his back.
"I can't believe we finally... um... I'm just so so happy right now," I said.

Evan's cell phone rang and the Doctor Who theme song echoed through his tiny room. I giggled, even though nothing was funny, but just because I was so full of bliss I couldn't hold it in. He reached across me and grabbed it from the nightstand along with his thick black rimmed glasses. Shoving the retro frames over his nose, he looked at the phone and  then looked over at me. His eyes looked bigger behind the lenses, like a weird anime boy character. I involuntarily looked at the screen and saw the picture of a girl blowing a kiss over her shoulder.

"It's Joanie," Evan said.
Evan looked at me with big blue eyes. His lips curled into a grimmace.
"I didn't realize you guys were still, um... oh, nevermind," I said.

He sent the call to voicemail and put the phone down. I smiled, thinking, oh this is because he likes me more, because I was an idiot. I crawled on top of him and kissed his neck and ears. He let his hands reach up to my waist.

"You're so handsome and wonderful," I murmured.
"No. I'm not."
Do you want to...?" I whispered.

Evan pushed me gently off and sat up in bed. "I don't feel very well. Kind of hung over."
"Oh," I smiled. "Wanna go get breakfast? My treat!"
"I think I'm too hung over even for that."
"You don't regret anything crazy you did last night, do you?" I teased with a giggle. I kissed his shoulder.
"I don't know, Babs."

I looked up at him. He grabbed his phone and stared at the screen a while. Then he started texting. His face was strained and lined with worry. I liked forehead lines on guys. It made them seem like a little bit older and smarter and brooding like a hot Charlie Dickens. I'm not like attracted to bad boys, but a little bit of misery seems to make for a lot of passion.

"You, um, okay?" I asked.
"Want me to look up the bus for you?" He said.
"I.... um... I mean.... would you want to go somewhere and work together, like maybe sit on your couch and write or draw or something? You don't have to talk to me, um, it would just be uh...."
"No. I need to get some things done."

I hugged him tightly. I just wanted to be held. Why didn't he lean into me? He continued staring at his phone. His messy hair stuck up like a cockatoo.

"I... I've liked you for so long," I whispered.
He didn't say anything.

I climbed out off bed and grabbed my bra from the floor. I always felt self conscious hooking bras in front of people. I do it upside down and then flip the straps up. I don't know if that's normal. I don't watch a lot of girls put on bras. It's not on my youtube fave list yet. I pulled on my panties. It's weird how many men have told me they hate the word "panties." I think it sounds childish, not dirty. Maybe that's the problem.

"I'm falling in love with you," I said.
"Jesus, Babs." Evan pulled on a t-shirt.

I looked over at him. This was the part where the guy takes you into his arms and says it back, right? The part where he quotes Mr. Darcy and his pacman shirt gets gets drenched in your tears when he tells you you're amazing and that he's never met anyone like you? This is the part where the Wilco-esque music starts playing and it cuts to a montage of the two of you laughing on a beach and riding bicycles and kissing in a park? ....Right?

I got dressed and waited outside for the bus alone. The wind was cold and I tried to calculate if I could walk home faster than the bus would take to come and how many calories that would burn. The sun laughed at me while I checked my phone again for text messages. By the bus stop, lying against the curb was a dead wet mouse. I screeched a little when I saw it, you know, like a grown up. I started walking, my feet numb and damp from a sneaker penetrating puddle. It was kinda raining, just enough to moisten my hair and face, but not enough to make a sound. I pulled my i-pod from my purse, but it's charge was dead, as to be expected.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Like living in a house

Every day after school I'm allowed to walk the first five blocks from school by myself, because I'm old enough now, and smart enough. Jenny used to meet me at the school front steps, which was five blocks out of her way, but now it's more convenient, and I'm an adult. Now I walk the five blocks and I get to have my me time, where I can talk to myself or sing songs or just think about how long my hair is, you know, me time. Then I get to five blocks where I wait for Jenny, who is coming from high school, to come meet me. One time I waited for a very long time. Jenny never came. That was the bad day. But now it's all good.

Today I left school, excited for my five block me time, but Sam Reynolds was there in his dumb hat. I pretended not to see him and walked by him. Sam was leaning against the fence, eating an apple, even though it wasn't lunch time. I hated him.

"Hey...." he said. "Can I walk with you?"
"I guess."
We walked for about two blocks in silence. I sweat through my sweatervest flannel shirt combo I had picked out. Just my armpits were sweaty; my back stayed good. Suddenly Sam looked up abruptly.
"So you live in the house on the hill on Mulberry Ave?"
I shrugged. "Yeah." I said.
We walked a little bit more.
"What's that like?"
"Um. Like living in a house."

We got to the rendezvous. Jenny was waiting in her cheerleading uniform and hoodie that she seemed to wear every day now. There was a stain on the top, kinda a brownish copper color. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and her eyes looked tired. Her face was sickly white. I would have worried but I was used to it.

"Hi Brenda," sighed Jenny.
I smiled at her.
"Who's this?" she asked.
"Sam Reynolds," I said.
"What?" Sam asked.
"Your name."

Sam shook his head and frowned. After a beat he added bluntly,

"Brenda, let's go," said Jenny. She reached for my hand, but obviously didn't get it.
"Can Sam walk with us?" I stuttered through my teeth, trying to subtly let her know that she was embarrassing me.
"Who are you talking to?" asked Sam.
"Rude," said Jenny.
"Rude," I said.
"Okay I don't need this. I was just being nice to you because of what happened," said Sam.
"Um, whatever," I said.
"Let's go Brenda," said Jenny.
"You are really weird," Sam said.
"Don't listen to him, Brenda," Jenny said.
"I'm not. He doesn't get it."
"Who are you talking to?" Sam asked.

Jenny led me away. Sam stood at the rendezvous watching and then he left. We started walking up the hill. I could see our house peeking up over a fence, glancing down the gravelly road at us, like an angry old lady who really didn't want to buy girl scout cookies.

"So, how was school?" I asked.
"What are you, pretending to be mom?" Jenny said.
"You're not mom, okay!"
"I know, Brenda."

Jenny started crying really hard. It wasn't fake crying like you do when you want mom to think you're sick so you don't have to do the dishes. It was fat slug like tears squirming out of her eyes, and her shoulders shook forward.

"Don't cry, Jenny, it's okay." I said.
"I didn't want this for you," she said.
"It's not your fault."
"No, it is. It really is. I got... too mad. It's my fault."

I didn't know what to say; I never do. I looked up at the house. The yard was filled with trash and old furniture we had thrown out. It felt like clambering through a playground. The house was in need of a new painting. Some of the outside was peeling. The front porch was dented. All the windows were dark. I squinted at a blurry shape near a shutter, wondering if mom was home. She would make Jenny feel better. I opened the gate and let myself in. The gate swung shut behind me. Still crying, Jenny walked through the closed gate.

I reached up for Jenny's hand. She couldn't hold it, but she let hers hover through mine. An icy shiver shot through my body. Goosebumps erected all over my neck, legs, and arms, and I knew I was loved. Hand in almost hand, we walked up the rocky pathway together towards our house.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

My favorite Jokes ever

1. My mother says she wishes I’d never been born and I don’t think that’s true. Because then she’d have a 26 year old man living inside of her. –Dan Mintz

2. “I could never be in a porno because the director would have to keep yelling at me not to fall in love." -Mike Drucker

3. I discovered the cure for depression, here's what you do, you take a blue or black pen, draw a rabbit's face atop your own face. Make some rabbit ears out of paper plates or cotton balls, I don't know what you have. You make some fudge, which is pretty easy, from what I have read. You go out on your front porch and start yelling at people. Hey jackass! Want some fudge? Hey pretty lady! Oh a guy, sorry sorry, want some fudge? It gets you out and about in your community and shows everyone you need help. -Maria Bamford

4. “I’m a pretty shy person. My number one pet peeve is when my loud extroverted friends are like ‘No Aparna, don’t feel weird, I’m actually shy too, we all are a little bit.’ Don’t do that. Don’t take the one thing I have to cling to this world to in the fetal position preferably. If you say you’re shy you need the street cred to back it up. You need to earn it. Have you ever been kicked out of the library for being too quiet? ‘Sorry, miss, but you’ve been here for days.’ ‘But my friends live in the pages!’” –Aparna Nancherla

5. Travelling can be pretty lonely, wait, no not traveling, what's the word? Life can be pretty lonely. Have you told someone you're really lonely and they're like, oh we should hang out. That's not what I meant. -John Mulaney

6. It was so beautiful today I only watched four hours of law and order in my apartment. -John Mulaney

7. This woman wouldn't let me hold her baby the other day because she said I was too drunk. First of all, don't bring your baby into the bar. And second of all, if I'm drinking malt liquor on a playground, I call that a bar. -TJ Miller

8. She said, 'You're an unoriginal jerk. Everything you've said to me you've said to some other girl.' I felt awful but I was like, 'Yeah, of course.' There's only a limited amount of words in the English language that make sense to say to a female. If you can only use them once, you're going to run out and be like, 'Garbage truck banana boat.' -TJ Miller

9.  I was an altar boy when I was a kid, and the answer is 'no.' -Mike Birbiglia

10. “The easiest time to add insult to injury is when you’re signing somebody’s cast.” -Demetri Martin

11. "I don't know if Tyra Banks is a deep person. I bet she's never wondered, what would happen if I ate this piece of poop." -Rylee Newton

12. "I like sloppy seconds as much as the next guy." -Steven Wilber

13. "Everything is horrible. The world is a smoking ruin. Our dreams are but wispy tendrils upon the wind. And President Obama says what we should do to fix everything is to increase taxes upon the wealthy. I don't think we should do that. I think we should murder the wealthy in front of their children, so that their children become Batman." -Dan Telfer

14. "Being happy is like riding a bike. You're better at it if your dad didn't abandon you when you were two." -Morgan Murphy

15. "I read an article that said car accidents happen closest to home. Does that mean orphans are better drivers? If you think about it, it makes sense because they have more time to practice when they're not being loved by anyone." -Jon Dore

16. "I like drinking so much I can't tell if I love drinking or just hate myself." -Jon Dore

17. "If you visit Hiroshima, it's okay to be an optimist, just don't use the phrase every cloud has a silver lining" -Jon Dore

18. "My roommate said for a long time she thought you lost your virginity whenever your hymen broke and that's crazy. If that was true then I lost mine when I was like 12 at gymnastics camp when I slept with my coach." -Jamie Lee.

19. "I was looking for porn and I didn't know what to look for and I just started googling 'Hot dudes who care about me.'" -Heather Thompson

20. "When I finished high school I wanted to take all my graduation money and buy myself a motorcycle. Buy my mom said no. See, she had a brother who died in a horrible motorcycle accident when he was 18. And I could just have his motorcycle." -Anthony Jeselnik