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Random Thoughts 21

Saturday, August 22nd, 2009
  • I was riding the Metra a few weeks ago when a scruffy looking guy got on the train and sat directly behind me. Then this dude started clearing his throat, only he was trying to do it quietly. However, this was counterproductive as he was unable to get his throat clear, thus requiring him to continue to clear his throat for the next several stops. After a few minutes of this crap, I was just about to turn around to him and say, “My man, just clear your throat loudly and get it over with already because you are annoying the living crap out of me.” Just then, as if he had a freaky ability to read my mind, he mumbled under his breath, “Son of bitch, motherfucker, son of bitch, you suck, you suck, you fucking suck.” This, as you might gather, took me by surprise. Then he “cleared” his throat softly again, and repeated, “You suck you son of bitch motherfucker. You suck, you suck, motherfucker.” Woah! That’s when I realized this dude has turrets! Awesome! I couldn’t stop laughing. Not at him, well, not entirely at him, but also because I thought this dude had read my mind and was replying to me.

  • The above situation got me thinking. How effective/hilarious would it be to fake tureets at a store, Target for instance, to return merchandise that you know is not returnable. Like a CD or DVD for example. Can you just imagine going up to Customer Service (oxymoron) and having some 17 year old chick that just got a promotion to Seasonal Department Supervisor asking you, “How can I help you today sir?” “Well, I’d like to return my copy of Gigli because THIS MOVIE IS A FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT AND I FEEL LIKE I WAS MOTHERFUCKING ROBBED AND I WANT MY GODDAMN MONEY BACK!” “Excuse me sir, we don’t tolerate that behavior in Target.” “Oh no, I’m sorry you see, I suffer from A BULLSHIT DISEASE THAT YOU PROBABLY SAW OVERLY FUCKING EXAGGERATING IN ANOTHER MOVIE AS SHITTY AT GIGLI, DEUCE FUCKING BIGALOW, AND NO I JUST NEED TO RETURN THIS COCKSUCKING MOVIE AND GET MY FUCKING MONEY BACK!”

  • Speaking of cashiers, I hate when cashiers at stores feel the need to connect with you. I worked at Express for like two-and-half years and they were always pushing us to make a connection with each and every customer. Make the experience personal for them. Now that I don’t work there, I can truthfully say that was the gayest policy ever. Look, when I’m on the other end of the transaction as a customer, I appreciate a little non-specific small talk, i.e. the weather or “Any big plans for the holiday weekend.” That’s fine, it makes the whole process of watching a stranger fondle the underwear you will be wearing later less awkward. SIDENOTE: How crazy would it be to have a female cashier at Victoria’s Secret sniff you panties while she rang you up? Moving on, it’s particularly aggravating when you follow the typical ettiquite rules, such as when somebody asks you, “How are you today?” and you reply, “Fine, thanks. And yourself?” This is not an open invitation to tell me your problems or solicit free relationship advice. I don’t know you, I don’t care about you. You’re not my family, and there’s a pretty good chance that if you were, I’d still rather not hear it. You are minimum wage cashier at the mall! Just giving me a bland, “I’m good” or “Pretty good,” ring up my purchase and I’ll be on my way.

  • They should make Red Rover an Olympic sport. I’m 100% certain that Mexico will win the gold medal every year.

  • I saw the Jonas Brothers on TV a couple of days ago and it got me thinking. I hate these ungrateful little pricks. That Chastity Vow and the accompanying Purity Rings are a slap in the face of all that is holy and scared about achieving rock star status. Even if it is in a contrived Disney Channel gimmick, reaching that level of fame comes with certain perks and an unlimited supply of pussy is one of those perks. Don’t ever believe anybody that tells you it’s “all about the music” because that is a fucking lie. Well, maybe it’s a half-truth, but still, the reason any man wants to be famous is to make a lot of money, get into fancy clubs and parties, never have to wait for a table at a restaurant and FUCK EVERY GORGEOUS WOMAN THAT WOULD NEVER LOOK AT HIM TWICE OTHERWISE! The Jonas Brothers publicly taking a Chastity Vow when there is a smorgasbord of ready and willing women is like a starving African kid passing up on McDonald’s food because of the transfat. So FUCK YOU Joe Jonas. FUCK YOU Kevin! And FUCK YOU in particular Nick because you could have been banging Miley Cyrus, then ruined her career by telling us about it and we’d be nearly rid of her. Just like Justin did to Britney.

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    Random Thoughts 20

    Thursday, August 6th, 2009
  • I’m no longer down with tipping waiters and waitresses. Seriously, why do we even tip these people anymore, they don’t do anything. There are some places that have wait staff that still does a lot of their own work, but most places don’t. I went to Friday’s for a burger and gave my name to some 17-year-old high school girl so I can get a table, and she hands me a vibrator. I’m not really sure why this is necessary if she has my name. She can’t just yell, “Salty, party of 2?” Why take my name if you’re just giving me a lousy buzzing device to let me know I’m ready. I thought it was weird that a family restaurant would be handing out something like this to pass the time as I waited, but whatever, I had fun with it. Just a word of advice, ask for device #17 at Friday’s, it’s the strongest one. Anyway, so some chick seats me and then the “waitress” comes and gets my drink order. Only this bitch doesn’t talk like a normal human, she has to come over in a sing song way, screaming at the top of her lungs, asking me how I’m doing today. “Just fine until I realized that the put me in the section with waitress that forgot to take her Ritalin.” So she takes the order, inputting into a fucking Blackberry or Palm Pre or some shit, because the pen and pad is evidently no good anymore. Then some half retarded kid that couldn’t get a job bagging groceries at the grocery store comes out with my drinks, half of them spilled on the fucking tray. What the fuck was the role of the waitress if she didn’t bring my drinks. Can’t they have a digital screen at the counter where I can input my drinks myself? (Actually, that’s not a half-bad idea and I could make a fortune selling this to Lettuce Entertain You.) So then Bubbles the crack-fiend is back after having done a few lines and takes our order. Only she has to show us how impressive her memory is by not writing anything down and just standing there casually while we tell her what we want. Great trick, only it would be a lot cooler if my 6-year-old didn’t have a better memory than her. Which is all well and good until she comes back to the table 20 times to “verify” our order. FUCK! Then when the food is ready, she isn’t even the one that brings it to us. Some other kid, who is only slightly more functional than the drink runner brings it out do you. And several minutes go by when Bubbles McBubblestern comes back and asks, “Is everything ok?” Why do you care? What are you going to do about it if it’s not ok? Go find some autistic kid to troubleshoot the problem? So this entire time, she didn’t take my name, she didn’t seat me, she didn’t bring me drinks, let alone pour them, she didn’t bring my food and when I’m done eating, she doesn’t even take away my plate. The illegal alien Jose comes by with asking in broken English “All done sir. Take away now, yes? No?” And she expects me to give her and additional 15-20% of the bill. For what? For all I know she didn’t really have to input the order into the Blackberry, that’s just her cover and she was really texting her mom, letting her know she’s going to be late for her shift at the strip club.

  • As a male, one of the coolest things as you get older and enter manhood is getting to know a new side of your father. When you’re growing up you look at your dad as boring old dad that is either always mad or “resting his eyes” in front of the TV watching some overplayed Clint Eastwood movie when the MTV VMAs are on. But once you start hitting your late teens/early twenties and dad sees that you aren’t going to turn out to be a complete douche bag, he starts opening up to you and relating to you like you’re a man. This is really cool. At first it starts out with Dad admitting to you that he sometimes ditched school when he was a teen. So you think it’s ok to share with him, so you tell him about the time you snuck out of the house to go to a party. Then he tells you about the time he got drunk and high and had to sneak back into your grandparents’ house. So then you tell him about how to spent an entire semester in college drunk.
    “Which semester was this?” he asks.
    “The one where I got put on academic probation.”
    “Figures,” he scoffs. And then you guys just keep sharing stuff, and you become friends with your dad and it’s a beautiful thing. Until the day that dad goes a little too far.
    “Yeah I remember when I was 25 years old, there was this fine ass bitch that could suck dick like nobody else.”
    “Dad, gross that’s too much information. WAIT! 25?!?! Weren’t you married to mom then.?” “Yeah. That’s who I’m talking about?” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

  • Has anybody seen the infomercial for this hearing device, Listen Up, which is supposed to be for every day use?

    It isn’t being targeted at just old people or people with hearing problems. It’s being marketed so you can hear your neighbors across the street talking about how great you are. Or if you are hunting in the woods, no you can have the hearing of a wolf. Riiiiiight. If you watch the commercial, they’re listening in on all these people randomly giving you praise. Dude, I have never, ever wished I could know what people are saying because I suspect they are talking great about me. If people are whispering about you from “up to a 100 feet away!” it’s because they are talking shit. And that old due watching TV with his wife sleeping; he’s watching porn. What they don’t show you is that she wakes up and starts yelling in his ear to make him deaf for watching that shit in bed. “Hey, Listen Up fucker. You’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week.”

  • Wednesday morning on my way to work, I took a small detour to stop by Mickey D’s for some breakfast. As I took the back streets to get to work, I was driving down a road that is currently under construction when I see flashing lights, and I’m not talking about a Kanye West song either. Fuck! I think, this is what I get for laughing at the guy that got pulled over the night before as I was walking home from the gym. I look down at my speedometer, and I was going 41 in a 30, but again, it’s a construction zone. I had just happened to have seen Gabriel Iglesias’ stand-up on Friday. In it he says that if you get pulled over, make the officer laugh and you’ll have a shot of getting away without a ticket. I figure Fuck it, it’s worth a shot. I roll down the window and the officer comes up.


    • “Do you know why I pulled you over today?” asked Officer Bonilla.
    “Because I’m wanted in 50 states for being so cool,” I said. Lame I know, but it was all I could think of when the rest of my brain is occupied with how I’m going to avoid getting murdered by my wife for speeding in a construction zone. Those tickets aren’t cheap. The officer’s lips moved into a small smile, but he quickly composed himself and looked at me puzzled for a as I looked at him with remorseful and pathetic eyes. Then, I kid you not, he says to me,
    “You watched Gabriel Iglesias on Friday didn’t you?”
    Oh my God, yes! This guy is a stand-up fan and he know what I’m trying to do. I might have a chance!
    “Yeah sir, I did.”
    “Can I see you license and insurance please.”
    “Absolutely.”
    “What are you doing out so late Peter?” he asked me.
    “Actually sir, it’s early, I’m heading to work. I start at 4:30 and I work in Carol Stream,” I replied while I looked for my insurance. I couldn’t find it because I have so much crap jammed in my glove compartment.
    “Well, tell you what. I’m going to run your license while you look for the insurance. How’s your driving record.”
    “It’s good, sir, I haven’t had anything in over four years.”
    “Alright, sit tight and find that insurance, I’ll be right back so you can get to work on time.” As I continued to empty out the glove compartment I found something that I had been looking for since August of 2008. I found my DVD of Transformers! Score, I had torn my house apart like three weeks ago looking for it and now I find it. I was smiling ear to ear when Officer Bonilla came back to my window.
    “What are you so happy about?”
    “Officer, I have been looking for this movie since at least August! I had no idea it was in my glove compartment. My fantasy girl is in this movie and I haven’t been able to watch her on my HDTV because I didn’t know where this movie was!”
    “Megan Fox?” he asked, as if he didn’t dream about her too.
    “Yep! I’d sell my parents into slavery for one night with her. Metaphorically speaking of course.”
    “Did you find anything else in there?”
    “Oh yeah, here is my insurance and registration.”
    “Ok, great. Well, I’m going to let you off with a written warning. Just be careful, because I’m in a good mood. Anybody else would have given you a ticket, $375 minimum in a construction zone.”

    I couldn’t believe I had gotten away from that unscathed! No ticket, not even a $75 ticket. Just a warning. Women get away with things because they have tits. I get away with it because I have wits (and no filter between my brain and mouth.)

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    Random Thoughts 19

    Thursday, July 30th, 2009

    I’m back baby! Random Thoughts, after being on hiatus for a few weeks because of my first stand-up performance is making a triumphant return. I have another gig on August 16th, 2009, but I promise you I won’t leave you with out Random Thoughts for another 3 weeks. And here it is baby; Random Thoughts 19!

  • I fucking love Facebook notifications. Every time I see the little red talk bubble after logging in, my heart goes all pitter patter. “Somebody likes my status!” or “So and so commented on your note.” I fucking love it. But I hate it when I comment on other’s statuses and Facebook notifies me that like 10 other people commented on it as well. Why, Facebook, why do you do that to me? Don’t you realize it’s all about me? Why else would I have this fucking profile it not to make me feel important? I don’t care the Average Bob commented on somebody else’s status after me. Not unless they are commenting about how funny my comment is.

  • I want to have twin boys so I can lord it over everybody else about how great my sperm is. Few things are better than knowing that the genetic material you are passing on is so awesome, it couldn’t be contained in one embryo, so it created another one. Knowing your sperm is so kick ass, that if it had stayed in one embryo, the sheer awesomeness would have been more than the fetus could handle. Priceless.

  • Everybody talks about how cougars are hot this, and cougars are sexy that. Then they have nicknames for girls like “sexy little minx” and “pussy cat.” Well, you know whom you never hear about. The alley cat. This can’t stand and I’m here to give the alley cats the recognition they deserve. Sure they might have scars and bullet wounds and an occasional occurrence of lice, but nobody will work harder for you pleasure and approval than a starving alley cat.

  • You ever notice how people in a car act like they are invisible. It’s like they get in the fucking car and all of sudden think they are Wonder Woman in her invisible jet. Just becaue you are are in a care doesn’t mean we can’t see you! Stop picking your nose or forgetting how to eat like a human being. People eating in car just start shoveling food into their mouths with no regard for societal conventions. In a restaurant, you’ll see people taking regular bites of their burger, but you get in a car, you just shove the whole burger in your mouth like you’re practicing your deep throat technique or something. And when people pick their nose, they pull it out and then they look at it. The always look at it, just to make sure the got it. “Oh yeah baby, you dry ass booger. You’ve been buggin me all day and I just couldn’t wait to get into my car with it’s invisible deflector shield and nobody could see me make half my finger disappear while I scratch my brain.”

  • Watching somebody get drunk for the first time is like watching Bambi trying to learn to walk on ice.

  • I just heard that the Jonas Brothers took off their purity rings. Yeah, it turns out now that Michael Jackson’s dead, they won’t be using those for protection anymore.

  • Whoever said “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop” probably had short arms and were bitter they couldn’t reach down far enough to masturbate.

  • If we have another Katrina-like scenario and Obama happens to react slowly, will Kanye West say that Barack hates half of black people.

  • My mother is crazy. Isn’t everybody’s mother? Well of course we all think about mom is crazy, so this isn’t anything new. My mom isn’t exactly a special kind of crazy, like bipolar or multiple personality, or anything like that. She is crazy in the “Immigrant mother” sense of crazy. This makes for some awesome experiences growing up. Every time there is a new illness going around the globe, like Ebola, SARS, or Swine Flu, my mom is absolutely certain that she’s got it. No matter how improbable it was for her to have actually contracted this deadly disease, she was hell bent on that fact that she got it and was going to die in a few days. Like I said “Mexican immigrant crazy.” So one time, just to see what would happen, my sister and I made up a new illness. We called it hypochondrosis. And the time, my mom actually did have a mild case of the common cold, so this may have been really cruel now that I think about it. But we had it with the doomsday scenarios that my mother blindly believed, so we took action. We listed all the symptoms, sore throat, fever, runny nose, and swollen glands and said that it started out like a regular cold, but if untreated for 72 hours, it could be deadly. As luck would have it, she had been sick for 48 hours. Time for a quick visit to the urgent care center down the street. Once at the doctor, mom was hysterically telling the doctor about this new disease that her children had read about on the internet called hypochondrosis and that she needed medication quickly. I’m not sure exactly what the doctor finally said to calm her down, because she didn’t speak to us for a couple of days afterwards. Whatever, it worked. Now, my mom took fours days instead of two to become convinced that the Swine Flu was out to get her. Mission Accomplished.

  • I like to think of all the world’s religions as cellphone companies. So Catholicism is like Verizon, one of the first and most expensive, but you get your monies worth. US Cellular is like the Mormons, they’ll hook you up with as many people you want as long as it’s an incoming call. And Jehovah’s Witnesses are like CricKet Wireless. They are just looking for a little bit of respeKt.

  • What’s Mardi Gras like in the middle east? For that matter, what do you think they’re “Girls Gone Wild” videos are like. Do the guys chant at girls on balconies, “Show your lips! Show your lips!” And instead of beads, to they throw stones at them? And another thing; do they have clubs where girls are acting crazy and participating in a Wet-Burqa Contest?

  • Do you think that Mrs. Michael J. Fox thinks of her husband as a human vibrator?

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    Random Thoughts 18

    Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
  • Africa is the worst place to be a cannibal.

  • There is this article on MSN.com with doctors debating if women should take hormone treatments for period suppression . While both doctors seem to put forth valid arguments, they failed to mention one thing. Even with period suppressing hormone treatments, it does nothing to stop women from yapping away incessantly at any point in the month. So it’s really a wasted treatment from a man’s point of view.

  • TV shows you don’t want to recognize your friends: To Catch A Predator, Cops, Cheaters, As the person that doesn’t provide any help on “What would you do?” On the “Born man or woman?” episodes of Maury Povich. Actually, make that any episode of Maury Povich, America’s Most Wanted, On a Girls Gone Wild commercial. (Unless it’s a friend that you always wanted to sleep with. Now you get to finally see her naked.)

  • When I tell people that I’m Mexican, they always get a surprised look on their face. I love just pulling that little fact about myself when it’s least expected. I always get the same shocked reaction from white people too. The always try and play it off like they are cool with it, but I mean, I know it comes out of left field and catches them off guard. “This shouldn’t be allowed. How did he get past the system? This is the worst thing that could have happened. They are making stealth Mexicans now. What kind of technology do they have down there?” That’s right, I’m the scariest kind of Mexican because I’m stealth baby, under the radar. But I’m not the only stealth Mexican. It occurred to me that Superman is also Mexican. Think about it. He’s an illegal alien. He worked long hours on a farm for little more than food and shelter, he has no qualifications to be a journalist, so he’s taking away American jobs right there. And when he found out he knocked up Lois Lane he took off to Krypton for 5 years. Of course he’s Mexican!

  • In the city of Chicago we have a rule that allows cab drivers to charge more, a surcharge, depending on the cost of gas. Well, apparently pizza delivery drivers are pissed that cab drivers are the only ones that get this “benefit.” While they have a point, as I was watching ABC 7 news, a pizza delivery driver called himself an independent contractor. You heard right, this motherfucker had the nerve to refer to his job delivering pizzas as an independent contractor. Yeah, he’s right up there with engineering consultants and construction company presidents.

  • Inappropriate times to talk like a porn star: When you are cooking. “Yeah, that’s right. Stir that sauce! Stir that sauce!” or when you are a bank teller. “You like it when I give you cash back? Yeah, you like that thick wad of cash, don’t you?” Actually, why do porn stars always refer to their genitals as though they are disconnected from their body? Why is it always, “Fuck that pussy” or “Is that pussy good for you baby” or “Choke on that cock?” Does this make them, on some level, feel like what they are doing for a living is happening to somebody else’s genitals? Does it make it less personal in some way?

  • Every man has had a time when the *eh hem* equipment doesn’t do what it’s told to do. This is when a man finds out if the woman he is with is a good woman. If she says, “It’s ok honey, it happens to lots of guys,” run. Because one, she’s patronizing you and two, how many fucking guys has she been with to be able to say ‘lots of guys.’ But if she’s a good woman, I mean a really, really good woman; if she is worth it, she will provide her own stimulus package and say, “Honey, how can this be? You’re like AIG, you’re to big to fail.”

  • I know we are making progress as a society, no matter how painfully slow this progress is. Ten years ago, most men would be appalled and disgusted at the very thought of having a gay son. But today, we have moved from, “If I have a gay son I will kick him out of the house and never talk to him again” to “If I get stuck with a gay son, I at least want him to be the one calling the shots.” The implication there is that he be the pitcher and not the catcher. But I’m not so sure about this. This is a really typical way of thinking for men and the initial gut reaction. “As long as he’s still a man and not a sissy little bitch, he’ll be the one making the decisions in the relationship.” One small problem. Ask yourself, “As a straight man when was the last time I got to make a decision about anything?” The first date? Maybe the second date. We hate to admit it, but pussy talks. Shit, if I get stuck with a gay son, he better be the “woman” in the relationship. He’ll be the one with the real power then.

  • I read and article about a woman, Tammy Sexton, who was shot in the head. Her husband, Donald Ray Sexton, tried to kill her, shot her in the head then shot himself in the head. She survived, though clearly disoriented by the ordeal, because when the officer showed up to the house she offered to make him tea. I’m glad she’s ok, but the person that I’m thinking about in all this is Donald Ray. How did his soul react afterwards? I could just see his eternal soul leaving, floating up to Heaven to be judged looking around when he realized, “Where the fuck is that no good Tammy. Even in death that bitch has to be difficult.” Then he reaches the pearly gates, and St. Peter is smirking at him. “You know what Donald Ray, God was bored today, and he needed somebody to be Punk’d. It just so happens to be you!”

  • I work retail, so I inevitably run up against some of the most asinine, aggravating and all-around shitty people to have ever graced this world. However, every once in a while there is that one person that does something so surreal, it makes all the others pale in comparison. Joyce the Blinker is one such person. She is an unassuming 4’10” Asian woman that wears a size 2, even though she should be wearing a size 6. And she has the annoying habit of speaking to you within three inches of your face; all the while constantly blinking. And not a regular blink, but like she trying to close her eyes as hard as she can. I half expect to say in her broken English, “There no playsss lie’ home.” One day, I was stuck working when Joyce came in, and as usual, she needed to return half the clearance clothing she purchased four days ago and wanted to exchange it for different clearance clothing. For those that don’t know, to reduce the number of returns, many retail locations have now started running a person’s license through a verifone to keep track of the number of returns. Well, as I’m doing this for Joyce’s exchange she asks me if she can try a shirt on to make sure it fits right. “Sure,” I say with my back to her, “Let me finish running your ID through first.” Well, no sooner do I turn around and I see The Blinker taking off her shirt right there at the counter, in the middle of a store, revealing her sports bra and the worst muffin top in the history of mankind. In 2 ½ year working at this store, I nothing like this has ever happened. Ever! All I have to say is thank God that it was a shirt, because I sure as hell had not desire to see her varicose veins outlining her cratery thighs, that’s for sure.

  • So evidently people are concerned about the amount of rape that is going on in prison. Don’t wait for the punch line; this is real people. The National Prison Rape Elimination Commission issued an extensive report citing that 4.5% of prisoners surveyed reported being sexually abused in the past 12 months. And yes, that is a real agency, presumably funded by our tax dollars. So the NPREC has no problem “raping” us of our tax dollars, but they don’t want a bunch of convicted criminals getting their leather stretched against their will. “The commission recommended that jails and prisons take steps to reduced rapes behind bars, including adoption of zero tolerance policies…and improved screening to identify prisoners vulnerable to abuse.” REALLY? First of all, a zero tolerance policy? Usually a zero tolerance policy is followed by a harsh punishment. If you are already in jail for life or death row, what good is a zero tolerance policy going to do? And you do you really need improved screening to identify prisoners vulnerable to abuse? I think the homeboys and vatos locos are doing a pretty good job of screening them already. The only time I’ve gone to jail I “do not pass go and do not collect $200” so I’m no expert, but even so, I think the screening process is pretty easy.

    • I'm pretty sure this guy will have no problem avoiding prison rape

    I'm pretty sure this guy will have no problem avoiding prison rape

    The same can't be said for any of these guys

    The same can't be said for any of these guys















  • LOL has become the “like” of the Internet. In everyday speech I hear the word “like” approximately 50,000 times a day. I’ll save my rant about the degeneration of speech later. LOL on the other hand is just getting on my nerves. LOL means laugh out loud, but people just use it now for shit that barely merits a nervous laughs. People will write stupid shit on their Facebook saying, “I hope the kids don’t act like animals today lol.” What?!?! Hey, if your kid is acting like a little fucking brat, slap him/her across the face. That way they learn. Don’t look for sympathy on Facebook. And sure as hell don’t write lol after a piece of shit statement like that. For that matter, why the hell are you writing lol after your own statements? Do you realize how much of a loser you come off as that you are “laughing out loud” at your own jokes?

  • I know the presidency is really stressful, but President Obama’s hair is turning really gray really fast. You know, I’ll bet it’s not even the burdens of the office. I’ll bet it’s the pressure of having to plan a fucking date night every other weekend.

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    Random Thoughts 17

    Friday, June 19th, 2009
  • Elderly drivers really need to be taken off the road. Just like there is a minimum age (16) for people to get their license, a maximum ages needs to be enacted. I was driving the other day, and there is a van filled with people, the “youngest” probably 67 years old, and the van is pulling out of the driveway. Let me just say, the street that I’m driving on is straight; there are no curves or bends, so there are no blind spots at all. And this van is backing out of the driveway, and I see it and it sees me, at least the passengers see me and we are making eye contact, and then out of nowhere, the van accelerates as if it’s trying to make it out of the driveway before I pass by. What the fuck is that about? Stuff like this happens all the time. I’ll be cruising on the expressway and some old lady is barely moving along at 45 mph on the expressway. In Chicago, of all a places. If you can’t keep up or are scared, fine I get it, but get off the expressway. Mark my words, when I get old, I plan on having enough money to hire a driver. Even if that driver is just my next door neighbor and I pay him to take me grocery shopping and running errands 1 day a week, and to drop me and Mrs. Salty Peters off at the mall to see a movie or do our early morning mall walking. At the age of 65, if I cannot drive they way that I drive now, you know, like I’m a NASCAR God, then I’m doing the world a favor and getting off the road. Elderly drivers making me a supporter of euthanasia.

  • Is there an older man in Hollywood more frighteningly cool that Christopher Walken? He’s got that look in his eye where you don’t know if he’ll embrace you in a great big hug or have you shot in 0.65 seconds without hesitation. The man is flat out intimidating, in a cool sort of a way. When my daughter bring a boyfriend home, I’m hiring Christopher Walken to play her father just to scare the bejesus out of the pencil dick, pubeless assholes that try and date my daughter. I’m not taking any chances; I want to make sure these little pricks don’t get any bright ideas. Of course Mr. Walken might be dead by that point. I’m sure I’ll be able to get Dennis Leary or Ray Liotta to do it? Wait is Ray Liotta still alive? He is alive, right?

  • I don’t get why women bitch about the way men watch TV. When I’m watching a show, and commercials come on, I change the channel, just to see what else is on, because I don’t enjoy watching commercials. But the reasons why men do this go deeper. By nature, men are creatures of many. We can never just have one slice of pizza, one beer, or order just six wings. We need to finish the whole pizza if we can, drink the whole case of beer and order 50 wings. We know we can’t finish all 50, but then we can leftovers. This is why men get fat after we get married, because we know that we can’t have more than one pussy anymore, so we compensate by eating too much, renting 3 movies every time we go to Blockbuster and drinking too much beer. Stop bitching about it and just be happy your man isn’t nailing everything that moves.

  • What’s up with the “security” system when you sign up for e-mails and such? You know the ones with the squiggly words and you need to spell the word that you see in the box. They always have it the free services; are they actively trying to prevent you from signing up? It’s hardly reassuring that this the foolproof method they developed? Can you imagine if this was the method they used to keep people from sneaking into government buildings? Although I do have to say it would be great to get my license plate look like that. That will really screw with the cops as they are chasing me. “I need a scan on license plate, wait hold on I can’t read it. Fucker has one of those crazy squiggly words type plates…Yeah the kind they use on Google. You know what, forget it. This isn’t worth it, I never get these right.”

  • Why does Will Smith always feel the need to save the world? He’s always saving the world from end of the world scenarios in his movies. And people think Obama has a Messiah complex. Since 1996, he’s been in Independence Day, Men in Black, I-Robot, Men In Black II, I Am Legend, Hancock and Seven Pounds. Always, the fate of the world is on the line. Will, we get it. If apocalyptic shit ever goes down, we’ll call you. I’m sure after Obama took office, the first thing he did was hook up the red phone in the White House to Will Smith’s direct line incase we need him in the event of an alien attack or a killer virus turns us all into zombies.

  • I heard that some kids tied a noose around a Mexican’s kid’s neck and dragged him around. WTF? I mean, come on, these kids need to get their racial hate crimes right! You don’t tie a noose around a Mexican; you just work him to death in the hot sun for little pay. DUH! The public schools are failing kids these days, I swear.

  • Fucking Jimmy Carter seriously is undermining President Obama. I’m not even going to get into the politics of it, because that’s not what Salty Peters does. What I will say is that Jimmy Carter better be fucking careful. Has anybody heard from Bill Richardson lately? No you haven’t, and you want to know why. Because after he embarrassed President Obama with the whole Commerce Secretary thing, Barack sent his ass back to Mexico. It didn’t matter that Richardson was born here, he had him deported to some drug cartel hot spot and they stuck him in a vat of acid and now he’s dead. And just to add insult to injury and show all Mexicans he’s not fucking around, he nominates a Puerto Rican to the Supreme Court vacancy. I can only imagine the atrocities that are happening to Jimmy Carter now.

  • On Wednesday, my wife says to me, “The medicine the doctor gave me says WARNING: MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS. ALCOHOL MAY INTENSIFY EFFECT. What do you think they mean by that?” To which I replied, “I’m not sure. I think they mean that alcohol will make you even drowsier. They could mean Rip Van Winkle drowsy, which is fine, but then again, they could mean Heath Ledger drowsy, which isn’t so good. That is, unless you want to win an Oscar.”

  • So during game 3 of the NBA finals last week, they did a feature on some kid, who was like 6 years old, that started learning to talk after watching the Orlando Magic. I missed the first couple of minutes of the feature because I was in the bathroom. So by the time I sat down on the couch we were into the heart and soul of it and I saw this cute little kid and a teary eyed father. I was under the impression that the kid was a mute, a real mute! And somehow watching Magic games on TV he started to unravel the ability to speak. So Dad gambled it all and skipped a house payment to get playoff tickets for his son. And by the power of the Holy Spirit and Dwight Howard the kid started talking up a storm. Now, I’m not ashamed to admit that these features tend to make me cry. Again, I don’t ball like a baby. I cry a strong silently manly cry, like Dr. Jack Shepard on LOST. Fucking ESPN and their touching sports stories. Well a couple of days later Chris from Maugeritaville leaves a comment on Random Thoughts 16 so I check out his blog and see what really happened. His post Silence of the Lame informed me that the little fucker was a selective mute! As in he has a choice whether he wants to talk or not. What the fuck is that! Seriously. I wasted perfectly good emotion on this little brat. I don’t cry a lot or often, but when I do, it better be damn worth it. And a fucking a selective mute. The next thing we are going to find out is that the kids in third world countries aren’t really starving, they’re just picky eaters.

  • So I’m browsing the Craigslist Ads looking for anything that might be funny when I come across an ad for “Brown bag ladies night party.” Holy shit, no way! This is great. There is really a group for this? For those that don’t know, Brown Bag is a synonym for Butterface, as it everything looks good But-Her-Face. So I’m thrilled by this prospect. I mean, as good looking as I am, I know I wouldn’t make a good-looking lady. I immediately start devising a plan to dress up as an ugly lady and attend this party. Oh man, the material this could provide. I’m so excited and I just can’t hide it! I click the link so I can e-mail the poster and get invited to this party. FUCK! As it turned out, brown bag is also a synonym for a sexy party. And not the kind that Stewie Griffin has, but the kind that girls show up to and purchase objects to emasculate their husbands/boyfriends.

  • I’m watching Lock-up on MSNBC the other day and they had a guy there that needed help with his mental health. Evidently, he was “suffering” from low self-esteem. I’m not psychology expert, but I think landing in jail had something to do with that. Isn’t that the point of jail; to make you think about what you did wrong. It’s basically a time-out for grown ups, only with forced oral, anal rapings and tossed-salads. The best you can hope for is that Caesar doesn’t add his dressing.

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