stranded on chilligan’s island

– The true definition of “peace of mind” is when you are able to fart next to a trashcan.

– At Starbucks this morning, I got into a conversation with the Barista taking my order. She tried to guess my name considering that I am somewhat of a, “regular”. She said, “MMMMMaaaaaaattttt????” I was like, “Close, but it’s actually Mike.” She snapped her fingers and regretted the error. Flash forward to me waiting for my drink. The guy calls, “I’ve got a grande Iced Coffee for Matt.” First off, I ordered a Venti. Second, she knew my name was Mike when she wrote it on the cup. So why, at a crowded rush hour Starbucks in New York, would you put the wrong name on a cup when the whole reason for doing so is to quickly and efficiently alert the customer? I looked around, there were no Matts. I then had to explain to the coffee maker that this wasn’t my order or my name. The Barista that wrote it said, “Oh, I was just having a little fun.” No. You actually just made the whole process that you foster about 10x more complicated than it had to be. Also, have “fun” with the correct order.

–  Whenever I see a fat person on a CitiBike I think to myself, “aww, they’re trying.”

– The inherint problem with vehicle alarm systems is that they all sound the same. Car alarms should be like ringtones. Each person has their own unique noise to help quickly alert them in the event of a break-in. I know what mine would be!!!!

I’d be at dinner, hear this blast, wipe my mouth with my napkin, and be like, “…..excuse me.”

– Mirror decorum at the barbershop always throws me for a loop. Do I look at my hair? My own face and eyes? The Barber? Around the room? At the floor? I think, from now on, I’m going to make it a point to just stare in the mirror at the barber the entire time and make him really uncomfortable.

– Stuntin’ Like My Daddy was written about Evel Knieval’s son.

– If I was on jury duty, my FB status would simply say Injury.

– I was out drinking recently in Brooklyn and, I swear to God, a dude dressed up in full Amish clothing and facial hair walks into the bar and sits down.  My friends and I look at each other and share a look of, “…hipsters these days.”

“PBR please.”

– There is a recent trend on many company websites to display their “office dog” as one of the employees in the variously named, “Who We Are” section.  There will be a long list of names, photos and bios then, at the bottom, “Chippers” is listed. How tacky can you possibly get? I wanna call these companies and angrily protest, “You mean to tell me you have a DOG working there? I’ll take my business elsewhere thank you very much!”

How “Atlas” feels on Mondays.

– This is a direct quote from someone’s LinkedIn news feed: “If you aren’t exactly sure why Syria is fighting a civil war…or where Syria is located, then this link is for you.” God help us.

– I’m just gonna say it: if you take the elevator up/down a single floor, shame on you.

– How has Ray Ban not come out with an ad mocking the “That’s So Raven” theme song? Think about it: “Thaaaat’s soooooo Ray Bannnnnnn. Ultra Violet I can’t seee!”

– In the song “Pimp Juice” Nelly boasts, “One-touch sunroof BUT leave it alone – Hoes see it can’t believe it – “It’s goin back on it’s own’ Oooooooooooooooh, shit, that’s how we do it baby  “Every day like this?” Seven dayy-ayyys.” I suppose, at the time, a one-touch window was the height of vehicular technology. Let’s pretend for a second that it wasn’t and Nelly just had very simple tastes. The next lyric could have been, “Anti lock brakes come standard tonighhht, so when I slam my leg down we avoid a power slide.”

“I have a keychain that can also open my trunk”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s