Survival of the Fittest? More like survival of the fat...dumb...ugliness!

Okay I'm bad at puns. And will never try them ever, ever again.

Today I want to warn you about the dangers of being a stupid little kid. I'm feeling especially generous today, so I'm adding in a free side dish of "The History of Stupid Little Kids" if you call now! That's right, you'll get a Sandwichman was a Stupid Kid PLUS the History of Stupid Little Kids, all for the low price of having read my blog! Are you interested? You should be! Act now!

Survival of the Fittest: What it is and Where it's at now
"Wow, kids aren't the bastion of intelligence I thought they were? How enlightening, Mr. Sandwichman. I never would have been able to figure that out without your guidance." Why the hell are you still reading? What is the matter with you, imaginary reader? Do you enjoy--ah, wait. Internet. People do this all the time. Ugh.

Way way back when mankind was just discovering that they were slightly more intelligent than the monstrous animals surrounding them, there existed a thing called "Survival of the Fittest." This is the thing that Charles Darwin proposed allowed for evolution to bring us the world we have today. Certain traits developed that allowed creatures to survive longer than others. Those creatures then passed those traits on and on and on. As populations spread, they were put in different situations and had to develop certain traits. And that is why we have all the species we have.

There's just one key issue to be aware of here. Only the strongest survived. Stupid ones (for instance, kids that might throw rocks at a hornet's nest with the idea that their super soaker and an ounce of bug spray would be enough of a defense) would get eaten pretty quickly. Most of the time, this happened because such idiot individuals would wander into a predator's mouth thinking, "Hey this cave is so much warmer than Ug's cave. But oh no! It's not a cave! Now I'm dinosaur food. :("

Over time, mankind developed better technology that allowed everybody to survive longer, breed more and breed faster. Everybody. Everyone that was human, anyway.

We don't serve your kind here.

With humans kicking Evolution in the jaw, the whole concept of "Survival of the Fittest" has started to decline. It's no longer "The strongest survive!" but rather "Who can hide from humans the best?" Throw in some "Who can be the most frightening?" and you're a spider.

Teehee! I hide in your shoes!

Some might argue that being able to hide really well is part of being among the Fittest.
That is a reasonable argument and you should be aware that reasonable things don't exist on this blog.

I am now legally required by the State of Kansas to provide an alternate hypothesis to Evolution.

God made the world and humans. Humans did stupid things all the time. God became angry.

Years and years and years later, God had this prophet. Elisha was the protege of Elijah, but Elijah had been taken up into heaven. Shortly afterwards, a group of stupid kids made fun of him for being bald

AND GOD SENT BEARS TO MANGLE THEM. (2 Kings 2:23-25)

Moral of the story? No matter what you believe, the stupid should not survive.

Okay, so you're the great-great-great-great-grandson of Ug. Ug's friend Ungabunga is the one who found that really cool "cave" years back. Through a weird twist of events involving an ostrich farm and a hideous amount of necrophilia, your family moves to Europe. Due to the fact that thy mother provides sexual favors of questionable and unsavory varieties, your family quickly becomes a bunch of nobles. Well, you're digging your French noble-house and your French noble-food pretty well when you decide to enjoy the French noble-passtime of laughing at the peasants. You approach one group because you're a stupid kid and shout, "Your mother is so thin, if this were a 20th century cartoon, I could play her ribs like a musical instrument involving specialized sticks!"

Well, those French peasants don't really like your fatass or your mom's fatass (which when they say "goes around town" they mean "goes around town") so they have a revolution and kill you all.

Stupidity in progress.

By some miracle, you are now living in America. Your grandfather of x years back is celebrated for having started the French Revolution by being the straw that broke the camel's back. You're working in a cloth-making factory when you notice a bit of hair caught in the gears. You, being a stupid kid, reach in without thinking, get dragged into the machine and are crushed to death.

Defying logic, your genes have been passed down. It's now the 20th century and things are a lot better. Technology has come a far way. People are living long and life is good. It's roughly 1998 and you're a 7-year-old kid that is possibly allergic to hornet venom. You've seen "My Girl" once or twice and saw Maculay Culkin's character get stung to death by bees. You fear anything that flies and stings, now. As you should. That's the "Survive!" part of your brain working.

Your mom has a friend in this neighborhood, right? Of course! Well, one fine summer that friend goes on vacation. Hornets inhabit her mailbox. You think, "Well, this simply will now do. I must valiantly drive these fiends away for the sake of Boobs! TALLY-HO!" This is the 20th century part of your brain thinking. All sense of survival has been driven away because technology has come so far. You can now be incredibly dumb and still manage to survive. Consequences be damned.

Mr. Sandwichman was a Stupid Kid
"I must valiantly drive these fiends away for the sake of Boobs! TALLY-HO!" Now, I didn't fully understand why I was doing what I was doing. I just knew that when I was around Boobs, I felt quite content. Must be the Misogynist Chauvinistic Penis, am I right feminists? Ho ho!

I don't remember who came up with the idea. In the end, it doesn't really matter who the mastermind was. We still threw rocks into a hornet's nest. Literally. That saying didn't exist until after what my brother, my friend and I did. [citation needed]

Our plan was pretty simple.
Step 1: Throw rocks into mailbox, disturb hornets.
Step 2: When hornets fly out, spray their wings with water gun so they can no longer fly
Step 3: Walk up to downed hornets with bugspray. Kill them.
Step 4: ?????
Step 5: SUCCESS!

We made it to Step 1. Step 1 went without a hitch. It went flawlessly. If the rest of our plan could have gone as smoothly as Step 1 did, we would be gods! Strangely, though, hitting about 15 targets that were no bigger than 2 inches long is a lot harder than pissing those 15 targets off. Who would have thought?

My brother, my friend and I quickly found ourselves in over our heads. We had an idea of how things would go, and then shit went down. It didn't exactly go the same way as planned. It took all of 2 seconds to realize, "Oh, hey. Hornets have stingers. These hornets aren't happy. RUN!" Keep in mind, having been as young as we were, we didn't have a Plan B. We didn't account for "In case this goes wrong..." If somebody ended up getting stung repeatedly by the entire hive, we probably would have just abandoned the poor guy.

Good ol' wikipedia tells me that an entire nest of non-European hornets can sting you to death even if you aren't allergic. So here we are, two 7-year-olds and a 10-year-old realizing what we had just done and were now running. Chances were high that the slowest person would have to take one for the team and distract our pursuers while the others called for backup, re: my mom. So, who would the slowest person be? Well. My brother had a bike. My friend had a bike. I did not have a bike. Uh-oh. Looks like I would have to man up and 

Run faster than either of those two bastards could ride. I was the first one back inside my house where the hornets couldn't get me. The Flying Insect killer had been used up, our water guns abandoned and our plan compromised. None of that mattered, though, because the hornets couldn't get me. I decided the best way to relax after my battle was to play with my giant tub of LEGOs.

I went into my room, poured out more bricks than I would ever need and went to work building something or other. Then I felt a tickling on my leg. I scratched at it but didn't really think too much about it. The tickling returned. I scratched back. It kept getting tickled. I finally moved my leg to find out what was tickling me.

OSHI--!

I belive upon discovering what had been tickling me, my thought process went something along the lines of "SUNAVABITCHFOLLOWEDMESHITSHITWHATSHOULDIDOOHGODHELP!"

I darted out of my room and down into the garage where my brother and I had originally found the Flying Insect Killer. I remembered putting it back in the cabinet, thinking that my parents wouldn't notice us using it all up. If I was nearly as intelligent as the school said I was, I probably would have been able to figure something else out. I am not that intelligent, apparently. Or maybe I just lack common sense. But, I grabbed the first thing I saw that might kill that mother fucking hornet. A can of KILZ.

I thought to myself, "Self. This says 'Kilz' which means it can probably Kill. It's also in a cannister similar to the one we used outside. It must be another kind of insect killer!" So. Armed with my spray paint, I ran upstairs and sprayed that little devilish fucker to death. On carpet. I noticed that the area turned white, but I figured that would go away as it dried. It didn't. "That's all right, though," I thought. "I won!"

And that's how I almost got stung to death.

"The opinions of people that"

Oh, hey, I'm supposed to update aren't I? Well, uh. Here's something quick since I've kind of been kicked in the nuts re: inspiration. I started this blog 3 weeks ago. In that time, I've had 100 hits. That's kind of exciting for me because I didn't expect that much. But maybe I'm just being retarded and that's actually really awful for a new blog. I dunno. Either way, 100 people have read what I've written, and that means there's at least one person (Hi, Stephanie!) that likes my stuff enough to keep reading.

Now, going over all my stats and everything, I've found that a phrase has popped up under "Search Terms"
It's quite obviously not the full phrase. I wish I could figure out what the full phrase was because this is more than just a bit of a mystery to me. Today, at some point, somebody found my blog using "The opinions of people that" and that's all I know.

I have no idea what the rest of the sentence is supposed to be, so I've come up with a few ideas. Person that found my blog using that: Please tell me what you typed because this is killing me.

Possible Ideas:
1) The opinions of people that suck at writing [Fuck you.]
2) The opinions of people that think they're funny but really aren't [Seriously, what did I do to you? Why are you so mean? What do you mean it's karma?]
3) The opinions of people that got all their pageviews from hitting reload constantly [Uh...what. No, I have that option turned off so that can't possibly be th
4) The opinions of people that are so incredibly lonely and desperate for attention that they jump at any sign of attention [...um.]
5) The opinions of people that desire physical companionship so much they masturbate constantly [That's getting really personal, isn't it?]
6) The opinions of people that have a really guilty conscious and let it come through in what they write when they should probably try a lot harder to disguise that sort of stuff because seriously that's really depressing and all sorts of sad. [




















yeah? Well. That was a massive run-on sentence you asshole. Yeah. Take that.]




There's that. Then there's also this: National Novel Writing Month is coming up in 12 days. I'm joining in and will probably be posting excerpts from that novel on here occasionally (assuming that's not against NaNoWriMo's rules). I am all sorts of excited for that, so bear with me during November.

My dream's to get paid to write. Can you tell? Probably not because you don't exist, Imaginary Reader Created to Fill the Void of Attention Left by My Most Recent Break-up and General Lack of Luck with Members of the Opposite Sex.

Eh, that's all for now. Image uploads have been disabled and I don't have anything funny to say at the moment, so. Thursday. Be here. I've got even more proof that Darwin's system is broken.

Wherein I realize I have standards: A horror story of single life

My particular walk of life has left me in a situation where I don't get many chances to meet girls. As such, I take what I get and use whatever resources I have available to me. For every intent and purpose, my standards aren't exactly high. I also don't get too many opportunities to meet girls that I can actually ask out. My life revolves around work and  being an anti-social shut-in that spends too much time writing for a blog that has a whole one follower. My problem, as mentioned before, is that I don't really know how to ask a girl out even if I met one I liked.

So, there was a period of time when I resorted to a certain, unnamed dating website that I have decided to devote this random poem to.

Only for the desperate

Kind of makes you want to die

Causes a deep-seated hatred for humanity

Um.

Phuck, I didn't plan this out very well.

I don't care though. I'm making a point.

Don't judge me, dammit!

Ahem.

You meet interesting people on-line. However, there are multiple kinds of "interesting" and they're not all good.

In fact, the overlap between "interesting and from the internet" and "interesting in a manner that I like" looks something like, I dunno, this:

And so I fall into predictable graph jokes

So, where does a girl on a dating website fall? If I'm talking to them on a dating website, then that would suggest she's in the blue, right? But she's from the internet, so she'd technically be in the red. Red and blue don't mix.

As I have learned, you probably shouldn't meet people from the internet. The exceptions happen once in 500,000 users and those usually end only in regrets anyway.

Today's story is about one of those that don't fall under "Exception." Unfortunately, this is just one of many.

I had just gotten out of a relationship (re: broken up with) and wasn't, um. Stable is a good word, I suppose. I'm not the type to get "unstable" as in "Hoho, I'm coming for you!" as much as I get unstable in the "Hoho, I'm going to meet a stranger from the internet!" sort of way. Which is exactly what I did. There's really no covering this up and making me look good. It's not going to happen. So, here's what went down.

Never trust a big butt and a smile

Okay, a lot more went into the conversation than that. She also challenged my manliness. Also, she said I looked like a This instead of a That. Homey don't play that. Having been challenged and being charged up just enough by Testosterone, I went and met up with the girl.

"But, Mr. Sandwichman!" nobody protests, "What if she turned out to be crazy? Please tell me you met her in a public place so that if she turned out to be a serial-rapist-castratist-murderer you would at least have some witnesses!"

Right, of course I did. I'm not that foolish. I met her at a library and we proceeded to drive around town in my car. Alone. While I realized she may not be a serial-rapist-castratist-murderer, but she was indeed crazy. From the very start, I knew something was slightly off about her. For one, she looked nothing like her profile picture.

What I Expected:

What I Got:

My MSpaint skills never cease to amaze

Next thing I noticed is that she smelled bad. I won't deny the fact that I'm not always the best smelling person. I spend a lot of time in a state of social anxiety about whether or not I'm offensive to the olfactory sense. I don't expect girls to smell like daisies, cinnamon rolls and unicorn farts all the time. However, having B.O. that is worse than a men's locker room after a rousing round of forcing each other into awkward positions is just a bit of a problem.

Oh, yeah, and then there was the fact that she told me about her abortion. On the first day we met in person.

"Wait, what?!" Yeah. That's pretty much what my reaction was too. I didn't even ask for that information. That's not the kind of thing I want to know right away. If I had asked or said anything that even possibly related to the topic of abortion, then I could maybe see her coming forth with this information. That is somewhat reasonable. But, if you've read the previous two posts on this blog, then you'll probably figure that nothing in my life is ever fucking reasonable.

I believe the best way to convey this story is with interpretive dance. However, I don't have a camera to film that with. Nor do I have the patience to draw the entire thing on MSpaint. Just go ahead and feel slightly more sophisticated if not slightly more uncomfortable for having watched a magnificent dance about abortion. It's okay to feel awkward, though, because that's how normal people feel abortion is taken so lightly.

So, instead of a terrible dance that would make people feel terrible, have a dramatic, slightly exaggerated script of what went down instead.

(Mr. Sandwichman and Abortion Girl [A.G.] sit down in a chicken-eating establishment, neither feeling terribly comfortable about the greasy food or each other)

A.G.: So. What do you like to do in your free time?

MS: Well. I, uh. I like to read and write a lot. I haven't been doing much writing lately, though. No inspiration.

(AG gets a look on her face of "I could be your inspiration if you know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge saynomoar saynomoar)

MS: I'm a huge movie buff. Uh. I play video games if I'm really bored.

AG: Ooooh, I play video games too! What's your favorite one?

MS: ...uh. Th-the one... with the magic.. and.. stuff?

AG: Kingdom Hearts?

MS: Sure.

(Allow AG to improvise at this point, going on a massive spiel about how certain characters in the game are probably having sex even though nothing in the damn game even hints toward that)

MS: ....

(Other patrons in the eating establishment start looking at the two oddly. MS feels all sorts of shame and decides to get back into the privacy of his car. AG hasn't stopped about various assortments of pixels "mashing buttons" if y'know what I mean)

MS: Right, so uh. Have you met any other guys on that site?

AG: Oh, yeah! You know when you have an abortion or a miscarriage you're supposed to be on bedrest for two weeks? Well, the last guy I met from {name removed} wanted kids and when I didn't have his he broke up with me.

Okay. Pause. I thought "Shake it but don't Break it" was bad. I thought that was something you simply couldn't recover from. How do you respond to "Shake it but don't Break it?" You can't! BUT! That's not nearly, nearly as bad as being told that your previous boyfriend left you because you had an abortion. On the first "date" and I really struggle to call it a "date" because it lasted the entirety of an hour and a half, most of which was me driving to meet her and then driving to drop her off. Seriously, WHAT

THE

FUCK

Moving right along.

This actually happened before my DON'T BREAK YOUR DICK 

incident, so I really had no idea what to do in that situation. Fortunately enough, at that very moment when things couldn't possibly get any worse (Well, y'know. Short of being post-partum aborted.) a friend called! His car had broken down and he needed a ride to the shop! Salvation! And it was the truth, not something insane like me texting that very friend earlier when I realized things were going down the toilet telling him to call me immediately and bail me out! Because that would be a douchebag thing to do.

And that's why I'm still single.

A Story wherein I escape death and/or a savage beating

On the road, there is one particular type of vehicle that stands out above the rest. Whenever people see it, they immediately recognize the danger and go out of their way to avoid it. Anyone that might drive one of these vehicles is considered legally insane. Purchasing one instantly lands you on the Government's Watch List. What is that vehicle? It is, of course... THE MINIVAN!

 Now, in case you live under a rock and therefore cannot actually be reading this right now because rocks have such terrible internet connections, take a look at this:

Frightening. Terrifying, even.

Today, as I drove home from work, I saw a kid trying to race. In a van. Smoke poured out of his exhaust; his tires left streaks on the pavement. He got up to 30 by the time I was half a mile passed him. I had to put forth all my efforts to get away from someone so frightening and obviously tough. His toughness radiated from every aspect of his van. The bulkiness. The sliding door with Child Lock on. The little decal on the back window telling the world that he's the proud mother of a [small town] Soccer Player.

He's obviously the tuffest of the tuff. Definitely not some annoying suburban kid that didn't get his license on time so he had to be escorted on every date in the same vehicle he now drives.

"Wow, you are a really shitty artist."

Yes. Yes, I am.

Moving on. Um... One time, I almost got killed by a roadragin' minivan driver.

It's been a couple of years now. I still had a girlfriend and was right in the middle of my "I CAN GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING" stage that all teenage boys go through. It didn't help that the car I drove at the time had brakes that pretty much required such over-confidence. If I didn't have it, I would spend all my time driving going "ShitshitshitshitshitshitIdontwannadieshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

The brakes, you see, were so reliable that they prompted (read: forced) you to brake the way you're supposed to. That is, you started breaking about a mile before you need to stop.

That is, more or less, how my brakes worked. Parking lots were absolute hell in this car. Especially busy parking lots such as those of a movie theater on Saturday night. Keep that in mind as you read this story.

My girlfriend and I were going to see Land of the Lost on a busy Saturday night. I think it was the week after it came out. Anyway, I couldn't find a single parking space. Not even out in the boondocks. So, I drove around slowly with the idea that going slow would allow the brakes to work better or something. Less momentum = less danger, I suppose. I reached a three way. A minivan was coming from the left, the right was clear and I putted along from the center of the T.

Big deal, right? Except, where I live, there is an abnormal proportion of rednecks driving large trucks, so I didn't see the minivan coming at all. Upon seeing the van, I had about three seconds to make a decision. A normal, rational, y'know... adult. probably would have slammed on the brakes hard enough to force the car to stop. And again, I was going slow enough that I probably could have stopped if I tried. But no. 17-year-old dipshit, "I am the fucking Superman" me decided to speed up. My logic went something along the lines of: The Brakes don't work quite as well as they should, therefore I should go faster than the minivan so that I prevent a crash! FOR SAFETY! TALLY-HO!"

Proof Darwin was probably wrong.

Surprisingly, it worked. Ish. 

Unsurprisingly, Minivan Guy wasn't too happy about being cut off. Like a rational, completely reasonable and totally mature adult, he then started following me. Soon after, we both parked right next to each other and had a solid discussion about road etiquette, both leaving a bit wiser than before.

Nah, just kidding. I ran because I feared for my life that I might have to bust out my mad karate skills and slap a ho.

Picture Unrelated

I had to get away and lose the guy. A plan formed in my mind. "Genius!" I thought. "I'll drive behind the theater and take the exit that leads back around to the front so I'll be back to the public. That way, if he gets out and attacks me, there will be witnesses to say the guy went berserk and randomly attacked me. Hoho, I'm so smart it hurts."

Guess which path I continued on from there

Keep in mind, the entire time this is happening, my antagonist is a guy in a van. While I was panicking at the idea of being pursued and possibly beaten, my raging hormones were laughing at the idea because come on guys he's in a minivan! Bahahaha! Don't you get it? He can't possibly do any real harm to anybody because he's driving a minivan. Hoho. What a chump.

Oddest thing. As soon as one is cornered and the big guy is getting out of his minivan, one's hormones decide that it's time to evacuate. Logic returns! Right?

Yes!

Normally!

If you're not a retarded 17-year-old that gets jumped on adrenaline when he reaches that one level in Super Mario World.

                                     

FUCK YEAH! COME ON, SUPER MARIO WORLD! BRING IT!

All right! It's Game Time! From here on out, pick out every single one of the bad decisions I made this night. The winner gets to have my babies. Ladies.

Or a high five. Guys.

I sped up to avoid a wreck because I'd heard that might actually work sometimes. It worked. When I realized I was being followed, I chose to try and get back in front of the building where there would be witnesses. I ended up in a dead end because I'm directionally challenged. I get blocked in at the dead end seen above. Guy flips me off. As a side note, I'm a sarcastic asshole. Whenever someone does something immature, I'll usually give them a thumbs up and obnoxiously say, "Way to be mature!" Back on topic and completely unrelated to that last statement (ahem.) I give the guy a thumbs up and my pretentious smile.

Guy gets pissed off, jumps out of his van and starts stomping towards me. I lock all the doors because that's going to stop a hormonally imbalanced road raging monster. At the very last minute, I notice a gap between the Testosterone Abuser and the rear bumper of his van. With access to my cell phone, my girlfriend's cellphone and common sense I decide to call the po---no, I slammed into drive and drove between the two, narrowly avoiding hitting his bumper and getting my window punched in the process.

I managed to get out on a main road, lose the Gorilla and get off scot free! Yay me!

I even got to go get ice cream before my movie! And then I saw my movie!

All that trouble for this movie.

And that's how I almost got killed in a road-rage incident.

"Hello, Internet! I'm fascinating!" Part One

People are absolutely interesting. I love reading about the hobbies and interests of people as well as plenty of other things that they feel necessary to share. Never once has someone talking about themselves made me want to cause grievous bodily harm upon myself.

"Of course, Mr. Sandwichman. If that IS your real name!"

Ho ho ho, I'm glad you spelled out the sarcasm there, random picture generator. But, you're right. People on the internet are the worst at being interesting. There's an easy way to instantly become unlikable and boring. So easy, that even the thickest of skulls can do it.

STEP 1:

Whenever describing yourself on an internet profile, you need to make sure that you offend the least amount of internet strangers as possible. Because the opinions of people that you probably never talk to in real life (facebook), people that you will never speak to in real life (any dating site) and especially not the people that only know you as a Level 67 female Night Elf warrior cow are absolutely the most important things to worry about. SO! What do you do?

Describe your interests in the most generic, broad way possible

For Example:

You are absolutely right. Your eyes ARE the first thing I notice about you. Your eyes are so interesting and unique. I especially like how they look uniquely brown similar to every other pair of brown eyes I've ever seen. Isn't that absolutely fascinating? Who has ever had eyes as nice and large and noticeable as this girl? Nobody! That's why she's so interesting! And mysterious, because eyes are mysterious and strange.

Ignoring this...

STEP 2:

Now that you've successfully caught the attention of your reader with your amazing and totally unique eyes, because they are the only thing that stand out, all you need to do is tell your reader what is that you like. But remember, they can still judge you even after your beautiful, round, possibly-fake-but-hopefully-not eyes. 

"Oh no, Mr. Sandwichman! What can I do to keep my reader interested and not offended and not judging me? Also, please don't use MSpaint to illustrate your point here, as I feel that your pictures are shoddily drawn and insults my intelligence."

Very well, you asshole. Let's go through everything that your typical American likes. Now, what's something that every American likes? Food, of course!

Of course!

"Wait, how can food be offensive to anyone? That's sort of ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Okay, you're right. Carry on."

Now, food is a pretty easy thing. As long as you aren't doing something that offends the sensibilities of every other rational human being in existence, such as frying beer, then you should be okay. But! Be sure to point out that you really like hamburgers and hot dogs. Because this is America! We only like American food here in America! Because America! AMERICA!

If you're one of those 4 people reading from outside the United States, then you're pretty much on your own. I believe in you, though. But, if you really need some ideas, here are some:

To the Canadian, I would suggest liking "Maple Syrup"

To the U.K.er, you have 4 choices because you're the United Kingdom. You're either Scottish and really into sheep, English and really into scones, Irish and really into potatoes, or Welsh and nobody cares.

What is the next most important thing after food?

TV! Television! Telly! The Tube!

At this point, you are required to list a terrible reality show (Dancing with the Stars or American Idol)

An "adult" cartoon (Family Guy, Simpsons, South Park)

The (American) Office (No exceptions)

and either Glee or another comedy show of your choice as long as it's not MadTV.

CONGRATULATIONS! You are now halfway through your journey to being the most interesting person on the internet! Only a few more important topics to cover before you're finished. Go ahead and celebrate by taking a quick break. Get yourself a snack, Americans! Go have some tea, Brits! Go... watch some hockey, Cannucks!

We'll reconvene Saturday for the second part of your lesson in becoming the most interesting person on the internet. Be there! Because if you don't read this guide, you'll never find happiness and will always be alone because nobody will like you otherwise. Neeeeeeeeeeerd!

Mr. Sandwichman's Horror Stories of Single-life

Most people can talk about a bad dating experience. Unless you have a body odor problem and turn women off from you entirely. In that case, take a shower or become a hippie. You're probably halfway to becoming a hippie, but you'll run the risk of not being liked by anyone. Not that you'll be liked by anyone anyway, even if you take a couple of showers. It's because you're gross, is what I'm saying. But! That's neither here nor there. Today we have one of many tales of my awful single life.


Now, this story is completely true. It isn't exaggerated. It isn't in any way fictionalized because, quite honestly, I'm not creative enough to come up with something this... I don't even know how to describe it. Just... Just read and see for yourself.


I work for a bank. As such, I must look very professional. What's more professional than wearing a suit?

Professional!

Now, wearing a nice suit like that tends to make people who ordinarily look average and blend into the crowd (read: me) look much better than normal. So, at night I am an ordinary looking..Uh. I have no idea what the hell that is. Anyway, I'm an ordinary That who has a secret job of being an assassin because nobody can recognize me. But! During the day, I put on a suit and become a super attractive That!

Except that sort of attractive isn't the good kind of attractive. It doesn't attract the girls that I would like for it to attract. Girls like, say, I dunno... This:

Instead, I attract. Erm. This.

Professional Artist's Rendering

As you can see, there's a bit of a discrepancy. Today, I had the latter come into the bank I'm on loan to. And start hitting on me. In a very dirty, very inappropriate manner.

She looked at me with a gleam in her eyes that I didn't really notice. I am, after all, a halfway decent worker sometimes and was trying to keep myself somewhat busy. I was not the teller helping her. During her transaction, my coworker kept trying to talk to her as a good teller should. Rather than continue the conversation with my female coworker about girly things that I'm far too manly to bother with, she looked at me and gave a simple compliment. "Oh, and how's this handsome fella doing?"

Haha, those silly old grandmas and their trying to make everyone smile. I smiled at her and said, "I'm doing pretty well, thanks for asking."

My coworker steered the conversation back to woman things. Like marriage. And the floodgates opened. Once again, the elderly woman focused her attention on me and asked, "Surely a good looking man like you are married?"

"Um. No. Not yet." I replied, suddenly feeling kind of awkward. Everyone around me at this branch has a significant other and I'm there. Alone. By myself.

"A pretty girlfriend?"

"Ah. No." By now, my self confidence was taking a dive so I wasn't prepared for what came next.

"Hohoho, if only I was younger!" How does one respond to a statement like that? She is clearly interested in me. Y'know. Sexually. I'm saying she wanted to have sexual intercourse with me, evidence to be presented down the page a little. Now tell me, imaginary-reader-because-I'm-not-great-enough-yet, how can you possibly say anything to this without either coming off creepy-as-fuck to your coworkers or as a complete asshole to this lonely woman? I'll tell you!

"Hahaha, yeah!" And at that point, you turn back to your work and start hoping that she'll go away soon. Now, if you're sharp, but you're not because you're imaginary, you'll probably be able to tell that I did NOT use the correct answer. You see, by responding with "Hahaha, yeah" you are suggesting that maybe if she WAS younger you'd be interested. That, in turn, invites a comment something along the lines of this:

"Well, you need to find someone to shake it with. But, be careful not to break it!"

Read that a couple more times. Take it in. Think of every possible meaning lies in those two sentences. When you're done, keep reading.

You're done? Haha, no you're not because nobody's sanity can survive through that. In case you decided to not ponder that phrase like I ordered you to, let me sum up what this "kind" old lady just said to me. In public. With her voice. That other people could hear.

"Find someone to shake it with. But be careful not to break it"

Shake it but don't break it.

Shake it but don't break it.

SHAKE IT BUT DON'T BREAK IT.

In more blunt terms, "Go have lots of sex but try not to break your dick"

Now to make sure your imaginary boss sees what kind of smut you're reading, have this:

DON'T BREAK YOUR DICK

At that point, my coworker had finished the transaction and sat there staring in complete shock, bewilderment and embarrassment. I felt that to the HRRGGGLEBLRRRRRRth power. (That would be the sound of a That's soul crumpling in upon itself)

Our fair maid went about her merry way, allowing for me to be informed of her history with the men of this particular branch.

We had a manager far before my time that she seemed to have the hots for. She would kiss his hands and hug him, all that jazz. Really touch-feely-friendly-sexual harassment type, right? Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that might make someone want to go and hide, right?

Wrong. So, so wrong.

Well, one particular day, she hugged this manager and decided to show her affection in the best, non-creepiest way possible! How's that, you ask? By licking his ear, of course! That's completely sane and appropriate! That's how I attract all the people I want to date and slash or have genital mashing contests with!

And that is why I'm still single.