For our next invention, the Cupcake Bowl.

All this finger-pointing about who “stole” the cookie from the cookie jar—this song makes me so mad. Guys, it’s a cookie jar. Putting cookies in a cookie jar is a way of telling people, “Hey, guys, I just made a batch of cookies and put the extras in the cookie jar. You’re more than welcome to have some.” That’s why it’s a jar—so that people can reach in from the top and select a cookie at their convenience. But now all of a sudden this is “stealing.” That’s like saying, “Alright, who took some of my goddamned mints from my mint bowl! I placed this bowl of mints in an easily-accessible spot right on the table next to the couch, hoping to snack on them from time to time, yet you jackasses keep eating them!” I’ll stop stealing your precious cookies the minute you stop putting them in a fucking jar and giving them away.

This could be fun, just bear with me for a moment.

I have developed a new technique for when you’re trying to attract a person’s attention at the bar. Most people order their prospective mate a drink, which is fine—if you want to play that tired little game of cat and mouse. If however you actually want to leave an impression, consider having your waitress send them over something to snack on. From across the bar you will be treated to the following scene: there will be a confused conversation between the waitress and the girl you fancy, followed by the waitress gesturing toward your table. Signal with your index finger or a thumbs up that the food is indeed for her to enjoy.

For the rest of the night the girl will be eyeing you—with a look of trepidation, maybe, but at least now she knows you’re not just kidding around. Not every food item works equally well, so if it’s available on the menu, play it safe and order her chili cheese fries. Regular cheese fries will do in a pinch, but you’re really not going to get anywhere without the chili. There is something special about the way people eat chili cheese fries when they are bewildered out of their mind. The best food to order them is a large bowl of soup, especially when there’s an entire group of girls. Instruct your waitress to place the soup in the center of their table with a single spoon. This doubles as a fun gambling game to play with your friends: Who will take the spoon and begin eating the soup? Will they ask the waitress for more spoons? Whatever they decide to do, I’m pretty sure that this is considered checkmate. You may now approach the girl of your choice and receive your make out session.

Screw you, Anti-Aging Fascists, I'm going out with style.

When I become elderly, I’m going to be one of the top elderly people around. That’s because I’ve carefully plotted out which hobbies and behaviors I’m going to adopt, what clothes I’m going to wear, and even what crazy unintelligible things I’m going to mutter. When most people become elderly, they don’t have any kind of game plan. They’ve spent decades preparing for retirement financially, but they’re incapable of assuming a proper elderly disposition. I’m going to avoid this trap by adhering to a very specific chronology:

Age 66: It’s time to start bird watching. If I so much as think I hear a tweet, I’m going to drop what I’m doing and find the corresponding bird, and then I’m going to stand around watching him until dark. I’ll even have a little notebook to keep track of the birds I’ve seen, a list which is going to become gradually more improbable as I descend into senility. I will claim to have spotted extremely rare birds, then birds which are extinct, then fictional species from my favorite movies, then some dinosaurs, and then finally varieties of birds which exist only in my imagination.

Age 70: On my 70th birthday, I’m going to take up bridge in a big way. It’s a complex game, but what the other elderly people around me won’t realize is that I’ll have been secretly reading up on bridge since I was like 40. I’m going to waltz over to the card table and me and my partner are going to absolutely demolish everyone while employing an insane amount of trash talk.

Age 78: You won’t believe how ornate my cane is going to be. It’ll be bejeweled, obviously, and shaped like a dragon’s head at the handle. But where my cane will really stand out will be its rosewood body, which is going to be carved with amazing battle scenes and secret messages and other cryptic flourishes. There’s also going to be a switchblade that flips out from the bottom which I’ll use to stab my detractors.

Age 82: Now it’s time to begin openly cheating at bridge. Actually, I’m going to begin cheating at everything, including board games, bocce ball, dominos, and even jigsaw puzzles. The best elderly people have elements of connivery in their personalties, because to the elderly, everything is a matter of life and death. Young people don’t understand that society’s unspoken rules don’t apply to elderly people, and neither do traffic ordinances or public intoxication laws.

Age 87: I will officially make the switch from giving out candy on Halloween to giving out handfuls of pennies. Some elderly people make the mistake of giving out pennies when they’re 84 or 85, but I think that’s a bit early. At 87, it’s impossible for others to question this sort of bizarre, erratic behavior.

Age 93: As my mobility becomes limited, I’m going to begin collecting postage stamps—massive shitloads of stamps, probably the biggest collection of all time. What’s ironic is that although the stamp is a symbol of communication, I’m going to have begun secluding myself in the attic of my house (which will be filled to the ceiling with useless and broken appliances). The binoculars from my bird watching days are now going to be used to spy on my neighbors, who will have begun circulating mythical legends about my personal history—legends I’ve been secretly disseminating over the years. Gradually I will become a pariah, spoken of only in hushed tones, feared by children and adults alike—gradually I will become one of the greatest elderly people of all time.

Speaking of Computers...

There’re a lot of useless keys on a standard PC keyboard, but only the insert key has the power to fuck with your work. I would rather the insert key be replaced with a button that gives you a mild electrical shock. Prior to pointing devices, the insert key might have had some utility, but now it’s just a trick button. What it does is it transforms your keyboard into a living nightmare in which everything you type replaces the text in front of it, as if all that other text in your document was just hanging around for decoration.

The only scenario this would be useful is if you wanted to get rid of the proceeding text of your document, but only in a quantity of characters that was exactly equal to your newly-inserted text. What kind of asshole would make such an edit? “Man, I really need to delete the thirteen characters to the immediate right of my text cursor, and I also need to insert a word that’s exactly eleven characters long, leaving two extra characters for spaces. Time for my trusty insert key!” How about you insert a bullet into your head?

Meanwhile, the insert key is located right next to backspace, which is for people who edit text in an educated fashion. So I’m constantly hitting the insert key on accident, and there’s no way to tell that you’ve toggled on overtype mode until you notice that your new text is eating the shit out of your old text. Maybe there’s a way to disable this—maybe there is. Maybe there’s also a way to pry the button off with a carving knife. But I would like to know if any sort of person needs their insert key, because perhaps I speak out of ignorance. Do coders use overtype mode? Has anybody in the last twenty years hit this key on purpose? Or should I organize a protest?

Adventures in Awkwardland, Episode 15: Computer Pranks

I'm surprised I lasted so long working in the computer field with idiots like this.

During a college course, we were being shown how to plug all the components of a PC together properly. Getting a little bored, I glanced over at the student next to me fumbling with all his cords and bending all the way over the desk to see the rear of the PC (apparently it was too difficult for him to turn it around). While he was doing so, I turned the brightness knob on his monitor all the way over so that when he finally got the cables plugged in the correct order, nothing was on his screen. I leaned over to "help." I said, "Let me see if this works," and slapped the side of the monitor while inconspicuously turning the brightness knob back up with my other hand. The next time he turned around, I turned the brightness knob back down again and left the room. When I came back, the poor guy was beating that monitor senseless.

Don't forget to tune in to Shenanigans with Joey and Sam on WIXQ 91.7 the Ville on Wednesday. We have an Awkwardland segment around noon-thirty each week where I pick a great story and force the listeners to hear it. Those who listened in, namely Phil, Gerard, Charlie-O and Stephen, thank you! Makes us feel popular.

Don't forget to submit your own Awkward Adventures to MyAwkwardAdventure@gmail.com!

Spanish Etiquette

Philip the Third was gravely seated by the fireside: the fire-maker of the court had kindled so great a quantity of wood, that the monarch was nearly suffocated with heat, and his grandeur would not suffer him to rise from the chair; the domestics could not presume to enter the apartment, because it was against the etiquette. At length the Marquis de Potat appeared, and king ordered him to damp the fires; but he excused himself; alleging that he was forbidden by the etiquette to perform such a function, for which the Duke D’Usseda ought to be called upon, as it was his business. The duke was gone out; the fire burnt fiercer; and the king endured it, rather than derogate from his dignity. But his blood was heated to such a degree, that erysipelas of the head appeared the next day, which, succeeded by a violent fever, carried him off in 1625, in the twenty-fourth year of his age.

– Isaac Disraeli, Curiosities of Literature, 1824