Tag Archives: humor

Honey, I Shrunk The Cats

10 Apr

Now before you go freaking out and gathering up the cats and moving to your mom’s for a week, let’s sit down and talk about this. Remember the vacation we wanted? Remember the better apartment? The nicer food? The fancy rice cooker that also steams the vegetables?

We can have all that now with these tiny pygmy cats. Want to know how? Viral videos.

Imagine it honey, the internet at our fingertips. Or, better yet, the tiny little claws of not kittens, but miniature, full-grown cats, which I’ve managed to shrink through a wild series of movements including genetic mutations and gamma radiation. So, also, safety note – don’t go in the kitchen. For, like, ever.

But that’s OK because we can just get a new one without deathly levels of radiation! Just think of the number of views we’ll get with our videos. The advertising dollars and the subscribers. The talk show appearances and the merchandise. No more stopping at 225 views once all of our Twitter followers have seen them. No more twelve or less likes on Facebook. Millions. Tens and tens of millions resulting in thousands of dollars, hopefully. Maybe. Potentially. But look, you see him? He’s the same, just tiny. Like insanely small but he looks like an adult cat. How cute is this?

Imagine this cat trying to walk up stairs. Imagine it trying to chase after a laser pointer, just darting throughout the house like a cat-shaped mouse. Imagine this cat sitting in a cup instead of a cardboard box, my shirt pocket while we’re out on the town. And us filming this, all of this. These tiny cats, you see this one, too? These tiny cats are going to be the foundation of our media empire and the solution to all of our problems.

That boss you hate because he always massages your shoulders at 3pm? Gone. Forget that job. No parking spot? We’ll buy a parking lot and use it to park our cars and play with our shrunken, little, micro-cats. They act, look, and behave like normal adult cats, but by god are they tiny.

Also, imagine how many more cats we can have now that we only need to give them a quarter of the space they initially needed! We can have 75 percent more cats than before. That’s another, like, two and a half miniature cats, which exponentially increases our chances of going viral.

Listen, honey, I know this is a big change, but we can do this. We can make all this happen. Here, let me show you a chart I made.

Oh God. Oh no. Ooooh no.

I just stepped on both the cats. 

Advertisements

Are Kale Chips Good? And Other Questions You’ll Ask Yourself While High at Trader Joe’s

27 Mar

Image

1. Why do Hawaiian shirts look so busy?

2. Is flax seed good for me? Do I need more flax seed? What is flax seed?

3. WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING HURRY BURKA-LADY?

4. Nice calf tat? Maybe? I don’t know anymore.

5. Can I eat nine of these samples?

6. How do you measure a handful of nuts? What if I have large hands? What if I I’m a midget? Should these handfuls be like rubber gloves in different sizes? I don’t even like nuts.

7. What is speculous and why is it so good?

8. Can I put speculous on this frozen pizza?

9.  Why is chocolate in this beer?

10. How does non-dairy butter exist and who would buy this?

11. Why is everyone running?

12. Why are my feet wet?

13. Is someone giving birth?

14.  How do you drop that much pasta sauce?

Beavers! What Are They Good For? A TEDTalk

19 Mar

Image

Hi! Thanks for coming out to TEDxJackson Hole. How about those ski slopes? Pretty exciting. Well I’ll just get right into it.

Beavers! Man, those critters are something, aren’t they? They got giant teeth and they chew up all of one natural resource just to dam up another one like nature is some Ponzi scheme and hiking trails are their own version of Wall Street, am I right? That’s OK, just spitballin’ here.

And their fur, by God, have you worn a better hat than a beaver skin hat? My great-great-grandfather was a trapper in the Old West and when he wasn’t swilling whisky and punching women he wore a mighty beaver skin hat. I have it in my backpack. It smells like grass and bacteria.

But, all in all, what are beaver’s good for? What do they do for the human race? Many science-folk seem to think that beavers are a key part to our ecosystems, helping irrigation and creating stick piles to let us know when they’re around so we don’t get too scared like when you see a raccoon in the middle of the night and think it’s a gigantic cat or a small, fat, dog but then realize that it’s a creepy hybrid of both that has actually evolved thumbs. That shit’s terrifying.

Let’s take look at what a beaver does. Beaver’s build dams out of chewed up sticks that stop water from flowing. Why do they do that? No one really knows. Some scientists believe it’s because they have the mind of a child, constantly wanting to create the opposite of what’s happening so they can feel as though they have an effect on the world around them. Others believe it’s a reaction to the polar magnetic force and the alignment of the stars. If you look at a map of beaver dams, and a map of the stars, at some point there will be enough beaver dams and enough stars that at least one will line up. Coincidence? I think not.

Beavers also eat and mate, just like us humans. We already have enough problems to worry about our own natural resources and population issues, now we have beavers who are literally controlling our water, wood, and populating their species like they’re in an Irish-Catholic porno. They may not be able to speak human (English) but they definitely know how to speak Beaver (dialect of Canada). It’s easy to connect this to a worldwide conspiracy about how beavers are slowly controlling our natural resources to take over the world and drown us out, using genetic modification to enhance their paddle-tales to be used as both beaver-shield and beaver-weapon, but we don’t have to go there. I still have to pitch that idea to Hollywood.

All in all, beavers aren’t much good for anything and instituting an international beaver holocaust may be the best thing mankind could invent, next to the wheel and Pop Tarts. By doing so we’ll not only get back our plentiful natural resources, but also pre-emptively kill off a species that could become dominant within the next fifty years if my calculations are correct, and they always are.

So, in conclusion, beavers! What are they good for?

Nothing.

Your Post-Grad Depression Is Real And Other Things Your Teachers Never Taught You

12 Mar
  1. Remember how you used to make fun of the kid who would have anxiety attacks in fifth grade? That’ll happen to you, alone, in your apartment, while eating Greek yogurt.
  2. You will finally understand the difference between “being alone” and “being lonely” and regard it as horseshit.
  3. You will realize that you probably eat more hair than you would imagine.
  4. It will amaze you just how angry you can become at the idea of lines.
  5. You will continue to have a love/hate relationship with sharing, using it mostly just for when it benefits you.
  6. Traffic will make you grind your teeth and your dentist will be unsympathetic.
  7. Grocery stores will induce headaches, anxiety, and potentially panic attacks.
  8. Sympathy will make you feel nostalgic.
  9. Sex will be like Christmas – only once in a while, with great effort, and little reward.
  10. The idea of “being OK with yourself” will become a goal set by you and your therapist, who’s time you spend with each other will mean more than your closest friends.
  11. You will test your liver, time and time again; more than you ever thought you would have in college.
  12. Drugs? Yes. And by drugs I mean caffeine and whatever hormone gets released when you’re five glasses of wine deep, binging on Netlfix, and cuddling with your Maine Coon cat named Persephone because that Greek mythology class has to be good for something.
  13. Much like an orgasm, you’ll know what a panic attack is when you have one and be able to recount each individual one with clarity. Both orgasm and panic attack. 

My Induction Speech To The Web Content Hall of Fame

10 Feb

Thank you! Thank you so much! To be honest, I didn’t write anything because, firstly this isn’t the internet and secondly, I thought I would lose to Craig over at Horizons Marketing for their excellent series of client profiles. Really beautiful work, Craig. Very powerful.

But, I suppose I can pull myself together. I would like to thank my editors, Brendan and Chad, for doing everything they can to hold me to the level of standards that all us content writers – nay, writers – should hold ourselves to. Without them, all my keywords would be misplaced and SEO poorly optimized.

I also want to thank my many co-writers, without whom this would be impossible. Simply speaking, if it weren’t for you guys, I would literally be too burdened with work to do anything worthwhile. So, thank you, for spreading out the workload and making those 3,000 words per day much more doable. Like a pack of typing jackasses slowly but surely making our way down the Grand Canyon of Google Search Monopoly.

I would also like to thank the sales force behind us at SEO And Beyond, without you relentlessly targeting the vast corners of the internet, shooting blindly into the pits of Web 1.0, the bottom ranks of the Better Business Bureau, and general Craigslist advertisements, we wouldn’t get the half-witted, backwards, clients we have now. Without our clients’ utter ignorance of the modern World Wide Web, your barrage of Google search engine metrics, keywords, and juiced up statistics would be useless. But, instead, you bring us the ATM resellers, court reporter firms, industrial-size sign fabricators, and label printing technology manufacturers day in and day out. You’ve forced me to expand my mind and challenge my skills to create custom content, every day, to suit the needs of industries that no person with free will would ever choose to work in. And for that, we thank you.

And, before I leave this podium in the back of the Logan Airport Hilton’s Ballroom C, I want to thank our social media crew, who so endlessly automate all our client’s blogs with their social media so that most of their day is spent watching as everything updates itself. There’s a certain amount of ambition one needs to accomplish something so lazy. I admire your laisez-faire approach to this abyss of opportunity, failure, defeat, and success we call the internet. You simply throw our hard work into the ether and wait for the anonymous masses to respond – with malice or love – and inform us that we “have no idea what we’re talking about.” 

It’s a brave, bold, and exciting time in the days of multimedia. A time when even the most unqualified individual can gain critical attention with just a few keenly placed keywords and a high-rate backlink. A time where all content writers, not just me, can shine like the artisans we are.

Thank you and good night!

Don’t Mind Me As I Slowly Steal This Ballpoint Pen Piece By Piece

10 Feb

penPlease don’t mind me as I slowly steal this ballpoint pen, piece by piece, over the next half hour. You may believe that you and I are having a normal conversation at this inconspicuous coffee shop when, in fact, something devious is happening right under your nose: I am stealing your pen.

That’s right, I’ve had my eye on this beautiful piece of Bic machinery since you casually swiped it out to write something in your Moleskine notebook while you were still talking.

By this point, as you tither on about some article you saw online, your pen has been completely disassembled with the components lying neatly in front of me. Do you notice? No. Why? Because you’re too engrossed in your own conversation, that’s why.

If you were to stop and ask me, “Hey, Matt, why is my pen taken apart on the table in front of you?” I could easily respond with, “Oh, it’s just something I do while I’m focusing on things. I take ballpoint pens apart. It’s a tick. Please don’t mind me.”

But it’s not a tick, nor a tack.

No, my intentions are based in greed and boredom, but mostly boredom. And, as I slowly slip the spring into my jacket pocket, I divert your attention by sipping from my coffee, despite it still being too hot. You see, I too have read an article online. One about pickpockets. And I’ve stolen some of their tricks.

Sleight of hand. Diversions. General creepiness. The ability to sip extremely hot coffee without wincing in pain.

I feel all the parts in my pocket. Smooth and plastic-y. Probably made in a factory off a large industrial road in central Florida. I feel all the pen parts but one – the ink shaft.

I don’t know if that’s what it’s called. That’s just my assumption considering it’s a skinny, cylindrical shaft full of ink and that the engineers at Bic probably aren’t as creative as the Imagineers at Disney, or the Genii at Apple. Therefore, the names of their product’s parts probably aren’t too far away from such inventions like “shoelace” and “meat paddle.” Although the iShaft would probably be an interesting sword/pen combo.

Regardless, the ink shaft is critical because, without it, I would only have a set of peculiarly well-fitting, plastic pieces that don’t actually do anything. The ink shaft is what makes a pen a pen.  All my endeavors are lost if I leave here shaft-less, having only accrued worthless parts that any infant could easily choke on. Unless, of course, it’s the iShaft, in which case all the parts would be seamlessly integrated into one – most likely.

“What happened to my pen?” you say, searching for your instrument of expression. This Bic may be mightier than a sword, but today it is no match for my stealthy fingertips.

“I don’t know,” I tell you.

When, in reality, I do. I know because I’ve been stealing your ballpoint pen, piece by piece, for the past half hour.

But, I’ve been expecting this moment. Your question is not met without preparation.

I quickly reach into my other pocket and pull out a similar Bic ballpoint pen and toss it on the ground and I say coyly, “Is that your pen?

When you look to the ground I grab the ink-shaft, my Ark of the Covenant, and shove it into my pocket.

“Oh, there it is,” you say.

And although you are the fool here, it is I who play the fool as I congratulate you on finding your “pen” knowing that the real treasure lies three inches in my cozy jacket pocket – all the parts to your plastic, Bic, ballpoint, pen.

I pretend to listen as you continue to ramble on about whatever you were talking about, but instead I’m slowly feeling each and every plastic part, rewarding myself for this small victory. And then, when I finally become more present to our conversation, you reach into your coat pocket and find, to both our chagrins, another Bic ballpoint pen…

Imagined Dialogue: The Harbaugh Family Dinner

31 Jan
The family that eats together and competes together, hates each other - together.

The family that eats together and competes together, hates each other – together.

FADE IN:

INT. HARBAUGH FAMILY HOUSE – DINING ROOM – NIGHT

Knives and forks CLATTER as the Harbaugh family silently sits at the dinner table, eating a very American meal.

At the table is JACK, the dominating and white-haired father, with JOHN and JIM, each wearing their respective NFL team’s hats and branded clothing as if they’re about to go coach or just came from coaching.

Also seated is the other brother, JACOB, who is wearing a white lab coat and scrubs. The name JACOB HARBAUGH, DDS is inscribed over the coat’s breast pocket.

 

JACK: So, boys, how are the preparations going?

JIM: Fine.

JOHN: Fine.

JACK: Come on. You know I want more than that. What defenses are you running? What do you have planned for offense?

JIM: Dad! We can’t talk about that in the same room! You know this.

JOHN: Yeah, dad. Come on.

JACK: You’re right. I’m sorry. I just miss coaching so damn much, you know? And I want to make sure my boys are doing everything they can to be the best because that’s how Harbaugh’s do, right?

JOHN AND JIM: RIGHT!

JACOB [timidly]: Yeah, sure.

 

Beat.

 

JACK: Jacob. How was your day?

JACOB: Oh, you know, it was fine. Just cleaned some teeth. Injected some novocaine. Had people drool on me.

JOHN: Sounds like a real shit job, am I right Jim?

JIM: Yeah, you’re right!

JOHN: Oh yeah!

 

High five!

 

JACK: Hey! Boys! What did I say about making fun of your brother’s job in front of him?

JOHN AND JIM: Sorry, dad.

JACOB: Dad, it’s fine. You don’t need to defend me anymore. I’m forty-three years old. I’m more than used to this by now.

JOHN: Hey Jacob, you ever accidentally feel up a hot chick’s boob? Give them a mamo-whatever?

 

John and Jim SNICKER.

 

JACOB: It’s called a mammogram and no, I’m a dentist, not a doctor.

JIM: Sucks for you, dude!

JACOB: I’m just thankful that I don’t have to compensate for my insecure sexuality by being an overly aggressive coach of a testosterone-fueled sport.

JACK: Jacob!

JIM: Hey!

JOHN: What did you just say? I don’t know what those words mean!

JACK: Jacob, what did I tell you about using big words at the dinner table?

JACOB: Ah, yes. I forgot, “Don’t speak down your nose at your family.”

JACK: That’s right.

 

Beat. KNIVES AND FORKS CLANK.

 

JOHN: Hey, Jacob, you ever use that high-powered tooth brush in the sack with your wife?

JIM: OH SNAP!

JACK: BOYS!

JIM AND JOHN: Sorry, dad.

 

Beat.

 

JACK: Sorry, Jacob.

JACOB: It’s fine. And, no, I haven’t. But I’m sure some of your tight ends have turned into wide receivers through a much similar processes.

 

John and Jim get up in anger, nearly flipping the table. Jack gets up with them, holding them back. Jacob calmly eats with a smug grin.

 

JOHN: NOT COOL, MAN!

JIM: SO NOT COOL!

JACK: HEY! BOYS! Calm down! You got a big game coming up! Stay focused. We don’t need any domestic violence reports right before the Super Bowl. We’re not actual players.

 

The three sit back down.

 

JIM: You’re so lucky Dad’s here.

JOHN: Totally. I would have whooped your ass for that.

JACOB: Would you? Or would you have had Ray Lewis kill me with deer antlers?

JOHN: Oh, come on! Dad?!

JACK: Jacob! That was uncalled for.

JACOB [laughing]: You’re right. I’m sorry. I really am. I couldn’t help it.

JIM: I thought it was kind of funny.

JACOB: I wouldn’t be talking if I were you. Rumor has it an unofficial 49ers team calendar has been circulating the town featuring a Mr. Colin Kaepernick baring all his tattoos, so to speak with a glistening Vernon Davis.

JIM: WHAT?!

JOHN: Ha! Your best players are gays!

JIM: At least I don’t have any murderers!

JOHN: Hey, just because my team is from a hard-knock city doesn’t mean you have to be jealous of our street-cred.

JIM: Good luck getting rid of all the crack in your locker room at the end of the game.

JOHN: We’ve done it every game already!

 

John and Jim jump up, BICKERING.

Jack jumps up with them, trying to calm them down.

Jacob cleans off his plate, gets up and leaves the three of them YELLING at each other.

FADE OUT.