To all the pretty girls out there: we get it. You’re really hot. How about posting a picture of a sunset or a field of daisies instead of shot after shot after shot of your annoyingly symmetrical face?
I want to start my own very special environmental group. It’ll basically consists of just me growing marijuana in my closet. And then when the cops come and arrest me I’ll just tell them that I was going “going green”. But that won’t work and they’ll just take me to prison where I’ll spend several years of my life.
Eventually celebrities and noted politicians will start a grass roots movement that will free me from prison.
Then, when I’m released I’ll write a book about my experiences and make lots of money, but there will always be this emptiness deep down inside of me because no matter how much money you make or have much fame you achieve nothing can take away the simple joy of illegally growing marijuana.
I’m going to start using the word “fierce”.
“This coffee is fierce…”
“This job is fierce…”
“This banana nut bread is absolutely fierce…”
Also, I’m going to start using “jazz hands” more. Like a game. See how many times I can do it during a shift.
“And in your room the air conditioning controls are located on the wall and not the unit.” **jazz hands**
I clearly need a more challenging job.
I want to start a really pretentious coffee shop.
“Well, what would this pretentious coffee shop look like exactly?”
Well, thank you for asking: allow me to clarify.
First of all, everyone would wear turtlenecks. Black, skin tight turtlenecks.
Also, the coffee shop would have promotionals like “French Fridays” where everyone would speak french and serve croissants all day.
Baristas would never make eye contact with you and every time you placed a coffee order they would say something like “it comes like the wind…” and then quickly peer off into space with a palpable sense of sadness and ennui that can only be fully appreciated by the overeducated and underemployed.
I don’t know. Something like that. I haven’t really given it much thought.
I was in the library and I saw a series of books called Notes and Queries. If I had a British podcast I’d call it “Notes & Queries”. I would have respected gentlemen on to dissect the issues of the day while enjoying high tea and scones. The first part of the podcast would be designated “Notes” while the later part would be designated “Queries”. The “Notes” section would deal with my thoughts for the week and the “Queries” part would be questions submitted to the panel from the audience.
I don’t really have a lot going on in my life right now. I really need you to get behind me on this whole podcast idea. I expect you all to be honing your accents.
Working in a menial, blue collar job has got to be terrible. Doing the same monotonous tasks over and over all day would be awful. Plus, when you live in a fish bowl you tend to only see the tank and I bet when you work in small jobs surrounded by small minded people that definitely rubs off on you–it has to. But you probably develop some nice weed connections there.
When I think about toilet seats I get nauseous, especially public ones. Just the thought of sitting where everyone else has sat is disgusting to me. Restrooms in general gross me out–the sink, the door knob, everything. I went to a small private school in high school and the only restroom the boys had was this really small, dark hole in the hall and the only reason anyone would ever use it was because they had to. It was lit by the light of a 40 watt bulb and for some reason it always smelled like Pine Sol and mothballs–it was weird. Anyway, I didn’t really have any friends in high school, so many times during the day I would just go in there and hang out for long periods of time waiting until the school day was over. One time one of the guys in my class got suspicious and pointed out that I was spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom, but I just pretended like I wasn’t feeling well and he let it go. After school every day I’d usually just go home and watch something on TV until bedtime. A couple of years later I graduated, went to college and that pretty much brings us all up to speed I think.
If I could I’d have my own private island and I’d call it “Marijuana Island,” but I wouldn’t have any marijuana on it and when the cops invaded and searched the place all they’d find was an orphanage for disadvantaged Haitian children. They wouldn’t find any marijuana on the entire island because I personally constructed Marijuana Island just for little Haitian orphans (the name of the island has no connection to what’s on the island because marijuana would be strictly forbidden on Marijuana Island). And as the cops left Marijuana Island in disgrace I’d be watching from my second, secret island called “Orphan Island”, where marijuana is always allowed.