I don't understand people

Sometimes, I question people's judgment.

And by "people" I don't just mean those that I know personally (though, when Gerard thinks eating a hotdog at 10:00 at night after having had a stomachache all day, I do question him because, really, hotdog = opposite of TUMS); I mean "all people, everywhere - particularly strangers and groups of strangers who don't really care what I think."

Just the other day, I spent many minutes of my precious, personal zone-out time on the subway wondering why anyone would choose to carry a messenger bag with the naked silhouette of a woman prominently displayed on its front. More specifically, I wondered why a person who was not 14 years old (the age where your desire to be in proximity to a naked woman and the likelihood of that actually happening are totally opposite) would even own such a thing, and why that person would carry it IN PUBLIC - in front of the children and the nuns and the actual ladies who are sometimes naked but probably don't look like that.

Hint, dude: having a naked lady on your bag does not act as some sort of homing signal for other naked ladies. It's not like a peer pressure thing, wherein I see your naked bag lady and think, "Man, that lady looks comfortable and awesome, perhaps I should get naked, too." No. No.

Poor misguided man. You are not physically repulsive (though, even without the naked lady bag, you do have questionable facial hair). Surely you can find an actual, flesh-and-blood, sometimes-naked lady to keep you company. You can't carry her naked through the streets, as you do with your current ladyfriend, but I think everyone - you, me...and no one else really matters here - will be much happier if you leave your ridiculous carryall choices at home.

WALMART understands

Hey! Know what's really hard? Harder than putting your pants on one leg at a time? Harder than crushing a beer can on your head? Way harder than Loving America, even when the Lib'rals are in charge?

Buying stuff. That is HARD. And buying stuff for someone you know? On, like, a special day or something? Goldang that's hard!

Sometimes, even when I don't have to think about other people or what they might like, I just spend hours wandering around the WalMart NOT BUYING ANYTHING. They have so much stuff there! How is a simple guy like me supposed to decide whether I need a new rifle or a big-screen TV? And that's just for ME. For funsies, like, on a Tuesday morning when I'm calling in sick to work.

For my wife? For a reason? I don't even know when the VALENTIMES Day is. I don't know what it is, and I don't know why we have it. But I know I have to buy my wife something for it if I want her to let me watch my NASCAR in peace.

And look, I don't pretend to know much about women, either. In fact, I might know less about them than I do about SANTO VALENTINO or whoever. But I do know that they like PINK and they like BOWS and luckily for me, those seem to be what VALENCIA DAY is all about.

Now, I know WALMART has that pink and bows stuff somewhere, but if I have to walk around the whole store looking, I might just black out and end up buying an 80 gallon aquarium and a lawnmower! I can't be trusted to search the whole darn place for something a lady might like!

If only shopping at WALMART could be simplified. If only they could make a giant room full of things that are pink and covered in hearts and with big signs that say VALENTINE! HERE! Then I could just run in and grab something without having to think about it at all.

A night of flabbergastation

A few days ago, I saw a commercial for this stuff: http://tinyurl.com/yj9yypm

Yes, it IS a paint roller for your FACE.

How bad do you have to feel about yourself to get to the point where you're just like, "F it. I'm spackling the heck out of this!" ? Is this what we've come to, ladies? Just because we cannot ever, possibly, in a million bajillion years look as flawless as Miz Beyonce does in the commercial for these things doesn't mean we have to resort to construction-site levels of facial maintenance. She has make-up ARTISTS, after all, and it's obvious that, were one to paint one's face (or newly remodeled kitchen), one would choose an artist over one's untrained self any day.

This commercial came early in the exciting whirlwind that was "Watching the Golden Globes Alone While Eating Frosting." Apparently, I do not watch enough live television because "face spackling apparati" were among the least shocking things I saw that night.

For instance, I was also inordinately confused by the McDonald's commercial wherein a man woos his hot neighbor lady by asking her if she's heard about McDonald's breakfast. First of all, ew. Second of all, are you implying something about my weight, neighbor dude? Second, no, wait, third, a conversation about fast-food breakfast is not going ANYWHERE, no matter what delicious, greasy lies the McD's ad guys are feeding you.

What were you thinking, laundry-room guy? You NEVER just go up to a cute girl and say, "Hey, have you heard about McDonald's breakfast?" Because yes - she lives in America - of course she has heard of McDonald's breakfast! And once she tells you that, where do you go? "Oh, okay, so you know about sausage biscuits?" Yes. "And coffee? They have coffee now!" Yes. I read that in the Times last year - when it was actually new. "Oh, so, you know there's.." Eggs? Hashbrowns? Everything else that's served at fast food breakfast places around this great nation, with the notable exception of Chik-fil-A Chicken Biscuit, which is a genuine loss?!?!?! Yes! Yes, I know what breakfast is you dolt, now stop staring while I fold my underpants.