Archive for the 'people are idiots' Category

Almost a Darwin Award winner. Almost.

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Anonymous Coworker
on June 17, 2008 @ 9:37 am
in Glen Burnie, awesome, driving, people are idiots, suhmuhmuh bitch and work
. 16 Comments

This morning I saw quite possibly the dumbest thing I have ever seen in all my years of driving. Spectacularly, amazingly, awesomely dumb. Dumb in a way that I don’t even think you can comprehend. You might be thinking, “Well, there was that one time I saw those fratboy douches in college give each other grain-alcohol enemas before seeing who could put their tongue into the electric socket the furthest,” and I’d say, “Wow, Jesus Christ, that is pretty fucking stupid. You win, your story about stupid people is way more full of stupid than mine is,” but the problem here is that none of you ever saw that. I just made it up. So, still, I win. Anyway, I’m pretty much a few sentences from jumping completely off the rails here, so let’s rein it in and get back to the original story.

I was at an intersection near the airport where the Light Rail crosses my commuting path, and sometimes blocks my path if the train is coming past. The MTA, in all their wisdom, saw fit to paint a giant “Don’t fucking stop your car here or you’ll get hit by a fucking train you slop-faced pickle-fucker” box in front of the tracks so you wouldn’t get too close to the train. Within that box descend two railway gates that have blinking red lights on top of them so that even if you miss all the giant blinking red traffic lights, maybe you won’t miss the ones that are at eye level on a giant red and white arm in front of you. The one thing they didn’t think of, though, was that some idiot would drive all the way up to the edge of the tracks and park under where the gates are supposed to come down.

Here, let me show you. Feel free to click around until you get a solid understanding of what happened here. I’ll wait.

Shawty say I lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-look like a lollipop
She say I lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-look like a lollipop
Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-look like a lollipop
She say I ….. like a lollipop

Shawty wanna thug
Bottles in the club
Shawty wanna hump
And ooo I like to touch ya lovely lady lumps

You’re back? Great. What a terrible, horrible, stupid song.

So this idiot is parked directly under the place where the traffic gate needs to come down. And guess what happens when, much to my schaudenfruede-laden glee, a train needs to come by? The gate just comes right down on top of this fuckers car.

Yes. Yes. It was awesome.

The guy was flipping out. The arm was just kind of resting on his car all the way up by the windshield, so he starts backing up and there’s this horrible grating sound as the arm slids down the contour of his hood, a huge “thump” as it bounces onto his bumper, and then free of his car, bobs delicately in the air for a few seconds. So this cock-smock decides that now, as a train is about to drive by and as he stands in the middle of the danger zone, would be the perfect time to check out the damage. So he gets out of his car, and he’s got one hand on his head, and another hand on his hip, and he’s kind of looking around like he can’t believe what just happened, and that’s when the train went by.

Normally the train conductors will give a half-hearted “blaatt” of the horn before the get to the intersection, but I must admit I’ve been startled in the past to hear a triumphant “BWAT” from the horn. Today we were all in for a special treat as the conductor must have seen what happened from around the bend. Just before he reached the intersection he leaned on that fucking horn like he’d just found out that pressing it gave him money.

BRAAAAWAAAAAAATTTT

The guy nearly jumped out of his skin. He must have totally sprayed the inside of his pants with the partially digested remains of his breakfast, because I was kind of expecting it and it made me jump. He dove back into his car and resumed waiting for the train to pass like the rest of us. When the gates went up and the light turned to green, he proceeded on his way, and I went mine. I can only hope he was going someplace to sterilize himself, but I can’t be sure since he turned left and I went straight.

Every day shaking hands becomes something I fear more and more

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Anonymous Coworker
on June 13, 2008 @ 9:52 am
in ocd, people are idiots, potty humor, suhmuhmuh bitch and work
. 12 Comments

If there’s one thing I’m going to miss about this website, it’s how far you all will run with a joke in the comments. Cracks my shit up, for reals.

Anyway, bravely onward to paramount mediocrity!

I am not a doctor. Or, if you’re into the whole brevity thing, IANOD. Ee-an-odd? Eye-an-odd? Ay-nod? Nevermind. Let’s just say I have as much doctoring experience as a monkey with a stethoscope, which is to say, lots. Despite that, I’m am not licensed to practice medicine, design pharmaceuticals, or, thanks to a court order, get within 500 feet of Christopher Walken.

However, I still know that rinsing your hands, rather than washing them, does as much to remove germs as blowing on them. So why is it, in this day and age, that I can walk into the bathroom and see someone walk away from a urinal, or exit a stall, rinse their hands under some water, dry their hands, and leave?

I bring this up only because I saw one of the most egregious violations of social/health rules in our bathroom at work. As I was walking in a guy was walking up to the sink. Let’s assume that he was just in for a short visit, and not a long one. He approached the sink and thrust one hand under the automatic faucet, letting his hand linger long enough to be touched by the water, and then pulled his hand out again. The entire process lasted for less than two seconds. He used his other hand to get some paper towels, and then he dried off his hand and left.

I was, of course, flabbergasted. Was he so self-satisfied with the hygiene he applies to his own genitalia that he thinks that germs couldn’t POSSIBLY be transmitted from his dangly parts to his hand? Or does he think that if there are germs on his junk, they couldn’t possibly be that dangerous? And if that’s the case, why “wash” his hands at all?

One thing is certain: I’m now treating any and all communal objects in the office as if they’d actually had his balls resting on them, and I’m treating all communal food like candy dishes and bowls of popcorn, as if they were just big bowls of other people’s scabs. Because for serious, that is some nasty shit.

Sample question: Why should I not punch you right now?

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Anonymous Coworker
on June 11, 2008 @ 11:27 am
in people are idiots, suhmuhmuh bitch and work
. 10 Comments

Sweet magical Jesus with pockets full of fudge. I have been redonkulously busy. I didn’t even have time to use the INTERNET on Monday OR Tuesday. How effed up is that? I mean, I know kids are starving in Africa and shit, but I couldn’t get my fix of bad Flash-based games and narcissistic blog posts. For reals. But you don’t want to hear about all that stuff anyway, so I’ll move on. I just need to generate a transitional sentence to move me to the next paragraph.

Shazaam!

Hmm, not so much a sentence as an ejaculation, but it’ll have to do.

We’ve recently been having interviews for an available position in our office, a process in which I find no end of personal amusement. For example, we were halfway through a conference call with one potential candidate (who we ruled out after five minutes of the worst interviewing I’ve ever heard) but she wouldn’t shut up. She just kept talking and talking, so I decided to mess with her.

Because she wouldn’t admit to having any flaws or having ever done anything wrong incorrectly ever, I decided to ask her what stresses her out.

“Nothing. I don’t really get stressed. I guess if I had to pick one thing though, it would be blah blah blah blame other people for my shortcomings blah blah I’m clearly a harpy you’d hate to work with blah blah blah”. It was truly awful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone interview so poorly for anything, and that includes tryouts for American Idol.

Another interviewee was actually pretty good, but she was all nerves. Her voice was shaking and cracking, and more hilariously, she was breaking out in hives throughout the entire interview. It started at the base of her neck and slowly spread up to her chin, and then another bit started at her ear and spread down toward her chin. I had a little celebration in my head when the two hive-waves collided on her jawline.

As the interview went on I watched the hives take over everywhere from the neck up, except for a small part at the center of her neck. No matter how flustered she got, or how red the rest of her face became, that one spot on her neck remained-hive free. It was slowly, slowly closing in as the interview went on, and part of me wanted to drag out the interview just to see if we could complete the hive-scarf on her neck, but my boss closed the interview and it didn’t happen.

So yeah, hope you never have to interview with me, because the sociopathic tendencies start to rear their ugly, uncaring heads.

I couldn’t really find any funny videos

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on May 29, 2008 @ 10:14 am
in bitches, devil cat, food, house, meta blogging, people are idiots and school
. 18 Comments

1) I hate my garbage men. Each week they decide not to take some piece of the trash or recycling for reasons that are completely beyond me. This week they decided not to take the plastic container that the kitty litter came in. The kitty litter containers have been a constant source of trouble for as long as we’ve lived in our house.

After they hadn’t been collected for a few weeks, I put them into a magical bag that disguised them as regular old trash. The magical bag somehow tricked the garbage men into disposing the kitty litter containers. If you’re interested in purchasing one of these magic bags, you can buy them almost anywhere. They come in rolls of 200 or so, and are available in delightful shades of green, white, and clear. They are sold by the name of “trash bags”.

It disturbs me quite a bit that by simply covering something with a trash bag, the garbage man will dispose of it without hesitation. “Old car battery? No we can’t take that! Oh, what’s this car-battery-shaped object in this trash bag? I should throw that away post haste!” or “No, I couldn’t possibly take that bucket of used motor oil. Oh, what’s this oily sack of oil doing just laying there like it’s oil? I guess I should throw it away because anything not in a trash bag is not trash, and by extension, everything in a trash bag is trash.” or “Why would someone leave a dead hooker by the curb? I am calling the police. Wait, here’s a trash bag full of what feels like the dismembered remains of a dead hooker. It’s in a trash bag though, and I’m a mindless douchebag, so I’ll throw it away. But not that kitty litter container over there.”

2) Wookie is especially irritating whenever we’re eating. She gets all up in our grills as if we’re somehow going to accidentally put the food we’re eating into her mouth instead of our own mouths. Cereal at breakfast used to be especially bad because she’d headbutt my arm while the spoon was traveling from bowl to mouth, and cereal would go everywhere.

After a couple of weeks of picking her up and throwing her off the couch whenever I was eating, she finally got the idea and started leaving me alone. But recently she’s developed a new habit that is as infuriating as it is ingenious.

I eat my cereal while Wookie sits quietly, pretending not to notice what I’m doing. “What?” she seems to ask, “Were you looking at me? I was just sitting here quietly looking at the floor and or possibly cleaning myself. I didn’t even notice you were eating whatever it is you are eating.” I keep my eye on her anyway, because there’s not a damn thing innocent about her.

I finish my cereal and lift the bowl up to my face to drink the milk, when suddenly, from out of nowhere, Wookie is on the table head-butting the bottom of the bowl so milk spills all over me and the floor.

The first time she did it I thought it was kind of funny, but this morning it was starting to piss me off. I can’t even imagine one of my neighbors looking into my dining room to see me holding a bowl up to my face with one hand while holding Wookie’s face at arm’s length with my other hand.

Stupid fuckin’ cat. This is what I get for not kicking them more frequently. Or ever.

3) My summer class started Tuesday and I was already behind on my homework before the class began. Expect light posting in June.

Hmm, that’s kind of a downer way to end a post, isn’t it? How about this then:

(remember to put an hilarious youtube video here)

If you don’t know what you’re doing, get the fuck out of the way

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Anonymous Coworker
on May 23, 2008 @ 5:01 pm
in Glen Burnie, bitches, money, people are idiots, suhmuhmuh bitch and work
. 7 Comments

Two posts while I’m out of the office?! You should be honored bonered honored.

The other day I had to head into Baltimore for a quick all-day meeting, so I figured I’d just take the Light Rail near my house rather than messing around with parking and driving home during rush hour.

I needed to be in Baltimore by 11, so I showed up at the train station at 10, planning on catching the 10:30 train into the city. Lucky for me the Maryland Department of Transportation had no interest in taking my money efficiently, unless it was for a wallet-fucking sum of money.

All I needed was a $3.20 round-trip ticket, but only 1 of the 5 ticket machines available was selling round-trip or single-fare tickets. 3 of the machines were only selling weekday passes for $16.50 or something like that, and one of the machines was broken. So I got in line at the only machine that was working, along with everyone else, and waited. And waited. And then waited some more.

The ancient douchebag at the front of the line, who was probably so old that he retired so he could spend more time yelling at dinosaurs to get off his lawn, was apparently buying 34 single fare tickets, and was paying for them completely with nickels. And rather than select “multiple tickets” from the menu screen, the old dust-fucker insisted on buying them one at a time. I was tearing my eyeballs out with frustration. By the time he was done it was 10:20 and the train had pulled into the station.

Then the next douchebag in line, or, I should say, family of douchebags, approached this quizzical machine and pondered at it for a good minute before pressing a single button. Finally, while I was trying to figure out how I could push douchedad’s baseball hat through the bottom of his jaw, he finally presses a button, only to be harangued by his shrewish wife.

“You can’t buy a student pass! You’re not a student.”

“She is!” he said, jerking his thumb over his should to indicate his daughter. “I’m not paying an extra 30 cents for a regular pass for her. It’s a waste of money!” So they continued to fight as the minutes crept on, and the guy in front of me and I slowly lost our minds. Putting it much more succintly than I ever could, the guy in front of me said, “God damn motherfuckers… this is some bullshit.”

The douchedad bought his other two tickets and the machine spit them out just in time for him and his entire douchey family to get on the train as the doors were closing, the next train not scheduled to depart for another 30 minutes.

“God damn cracker motherfuckers!” my new best friend yelled from the ticket machine at the departing train, “You motherfuckers are some bitches!”

And indeed they were, motherfucking bitches, each and every one.

Somewhat exhaustive

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Anonymous Coworker
on May 20, 2008 @ 10:59 am
in necrophilia, nerd stuff, nog, people are idiots, potty humor, sex and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 12 Comments

I just now realized that I can look up ALL the search terms ever used to find my blog. Here are the top ten:

anonymous coworker 1,349 (der)
john popper 567 (not sure why)
penis jokes 352 (this blog is lousy with penis jokes)
fake paystub 219 (get a job you lazy fuckers! or stop trying to get mortgages you can’t afford!)
wet crotch 205 (it continually shocks me how much people are into being pissed upon)
good incest 128 (yes, please don’t show us any of the “bad” kind. that’s just too gross.)
paystub maker 123 (sigh)
geode 118 (science?)
how to make a good powerpoint 118 (keep it short, don’t read your slides, you dumb fucker)
irish porn 115 (blarney… blarney… WHISKEY… BLARNEY… POTATOES……… TOP O’ THE MORNIN’ TO YAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa!)

There’s lots more inside, but if this isn’t your thing, you can just move on now.

Continue reading ‘Somewhat exhaustive’

Now you can decide if you want to ever watch a movie with me

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Anonymous Coworker
on May 5, 2008 @ 10:34 am
in bitches, movies, ocd and people are idiots
. 25 Comments

This past weekend I went to see Iron Man with some friends and despite every intention I had to have a good time, it was not meant to be so.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed the movie. It’s not going to win any awards or change the way movies are made, but it was an enjoyable comic book movie that didn’t take itself to seriously (I’m looking at you Superman Returns) or play things too stupidly (I’m looking at you Fantastic Four, specifically the vapid performance by Jessica Alba). It was just fun. One of us commented that it could have used more punching and explosions, and while that certainly wouldn’t have hurt things, I feel it is important to say I enjoyed it the way it was.

What really bothered me was the coterie of douchebags seated behind us.

Throughout the entire movie they were ridiculously irritating. They’d talk and make stupid jokes just until the point where I was ready to stand up and tell them to shut the fuck up when they’d clam up for a while. They’d throw popcorn at each other (or us. I’m not sure, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt) and I’d get hit a few times and wait for the next piece to hit me before getting up to tell them to stop throwing shit, but that piece would never come. The entire movie went that way. Five minutes of irritation every 15 minutes for 126 minutes. It was absolutely maddening.

It also didn’t help that the idiot man-child in front of me kept saying “boom” right before anything would explode, but his daughters were elbowing him in the ribs for that, so it was kept to a minimum.

(I’ve mentioned before about how OCD I am about movies, and you can read this if you want an extremely long digression.)

On the way out of the movie two members of our group went to the bathroom while my brother and I waited in the lobby. Outside I could see the dozen or so 14-year-olds, all with shit eating grins, carrying on and generally being awkward pubescent assfaces.

I wasn’t sure if they were the ones who had been such amazing dicks during the movie, but I didn’t see any other teenage groups in the theater with us, so I was pretty sure it was them. Despite that I was again willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and allow bygones to be bygones.

That is, until we were outside and one of the shrivel-dicks leaned toward me and said, “Yeah! Iron Man rocked, right guys?” at which point I lost it.

I was a ball of pure unbridled OCD rage and I was focusing my hate on the prick that had been unlucky enough to speak up. I’m not sure what I exactly said, but I’m told I called them all “cockbags” before getting in the face of the loudmouth. He kept backing away as I kept walking toward him, and I remember saying something along the lines of, “You little fuckers think you’re fucking funny? You like to throw shit and ruin the movie for everyone else you little piece of shit?”

Then one of the other kids told me to calm down so I got up in his face and started asking him the most ridiculous question I could think of:

“What’s your name you little shit?”
“What?”
“Tell me your name.”
“Nothing.”
“What’s your fucking name?”
“Uh… Joe.”
“Fuck you.”

Then I stepped towards him, he flinched, and I knew I had done enough. Or possibly too much. I’m still not sure. I never touched any of them, and I never would have, but I was still really fucking pissed. Then I remembered I had a bag of M&Ms in my pocket.

“You little fuckers think it’s funny to throw candy? Huh? You think that’s funny? Yeah, it’s real fucking funny. Let’s see how you like it.”

And I threw a huge handful of candy at them that I had been gathering into my hands as I was talking to them. I only hit 3 or 4 of them with the candy, but that was enough. I was done with them at that point.

I walked over to my friends and we started walking to the car. Once we were far enough away they started to laugh, and I could tell it was false bravado, but at that point I didn’t care what they were doing.

In retrospect I’m still not sure it’s something I would have done again in the same situation, but at the very least I hope the little shitfucks learn that if you irritate the wrong person at the movies, it could come back to bite you in the ass. Or throw candy in your face, in this case.

In retrospect it really wasn’t all that bad

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 18, 2008 @ 7:54 am
in atheism!, bitches, driving, jesus is fo' shizzle, people are idiots, travel and work
. 16 Comments

Hey did you see the head Italian child-raper was in DC yesterday? Yeah, it was totally awesome how all of his douchebag followers filled the city with their idiocy on the same day I had to drive to a meeting in Alexandria.

Actually, it was partially my fault. I should have given a wide berth to all the cars I saw that had bumper stickers that said, “God is my copilot” or “God is my pilot” or “Apparently God is a fucking douchebag of a driver and I’m a lobotomized asshole who will do anything a highly edited and poorly translated book of fairy tales tells me to do because I clearly have no idea how to fucking operate an automobile and neither does my pie-in-the-sky deity-of-choice”.

I really should have avoided every one of those goddamned be-Jesus-fished hate-moblies because the little magnetic fish pretty much acted as a warning sign for “watch out because I’m merging without signaling or checking my rear view” or “Der, what’s a steering wheel? Why isn’t Jeebus driving for me? I’m hungry. I need a new diaper. I wish I was watching Steve Wilkos right now.” or “I’m driving 5 miles per hour on the highway because I’m a fucking douchebag cocksmoker child-rapist-forgiving shitfuck dick-spinning turd-swallower and traffic scares me”.

So yeah, if you couldn’t tell by my tone, it was pretty much 40 miles of concentrated awesomeness on the way to DC. I finally got to my meeting, 30 minutes late because of those holy-roller nipple-twisters, and then later on the day looked like it might even be salvageable as the temperature increased to mild summer temperature ranges.

And when we jumped on 395 to head home we weren’t faced with nearly the volume of purified idiotic assholery that we had to steer through on our way down…

because they were all waiting for us on 295 north.

I swear, my next car is going to be a tank with a giant drill on the front so I can bore my way over or through those malevolent fuckwads who think it’s just fucking SUPER to get on the road during rush hour so they can see their high-grand-eagle do a cross burning at the local stadium, and my fucking death car of Righteous Fucking Justice Dispatched DailyTM will have an articulated arm with a branding iron on the end of it so I can stamp all the cheese-dicks in the middle of their fucking foreheads with the words “I’m a shitty fucking douchebag numbnuts dumbfuck of a driver and you should punch me in the nuts or ovaries right fucking now because I deserve it for being a fucking asshole and you should sterilize me too,” and I’ll have a quadraphonic sound system mounted on the roof constantly repeating “You are a shitty driver. Kill yourself” and I’ll be able to focus that shit at those fucks and turn the fucker all the way to 11 and watch the blood trickle out of their ears as for ONCE I am able to make my way down the road unimpeded.

For a title, see May 26, 2005. Yes, this is the second time I’ve done this.

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 15, 2008 @ 9:02 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, food, movies, people are idiots, potty humor, school and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 21 Comments

Let’s see, what else did I do this weekend? Oh yeah, I threw out some of my clothes. Sounds boring, right? Not the way I tell it.

Mrs. ACW and I live the life many people dream about. We get home at about 5pm on Friday, cook turkey burgers and asparagus, eat them, and then do homework. Yes, many people are out, spending heaps of disposable income on drinks, food, drugs, and whatever genitalia makes their upper lip sweat and quiver (hey, I’m not here to judge; whatever tickles your pickle or frosts your cookie is fine by me), but none of them have the wrist-slitting joy of staying home and doing homework for four hours at the start of the weekend while not drinking or seeing any genitalia or putting any coke up our noses.

And the cherry on top of all of it? Mrs. ACW is on a diet, so she’s not eating any sugar, and since we don’t have any sugar free candy in the house, we had to go out the grocery store to insert ourselves amongst the other social superstars that can be found wandering the grocery aisles at 9pm on a Friday; frozen pizza in one hand, pint of ice cream in the other, bunny slippers on the feet and a loosely tied robe that leaves so little to the imagination that I may as well have his lumpy, asymmetrical baby-maker tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

Less than thirty minutes later we’re home, have given up on homework, and are each a few pieces of sugar free candy deep into Hot Fuzz. An amusing hour and thirty minutes passes with nary to mar the occasion except a sudden onset of gas on my part that’s so violently offensive that I think I can feel hairs being singed off of my dangerous but exquisite backside.

After one particularly boisterous expulsion Mrs. ACW remarked that it sounded “hearty” or something along those lines. I had to agree. It was if I’d been grabbed around the torso and squeezed by the hand of a giant. It was as if I was completely out of control of my own body and it was venting pressure of its own accord. I learned a few seconds later what little control I actually had.

After a mad dash to the bathroom to learn that yes, I had in fact shat myself, I realized I was a twenty-seven year old man with no apparent control of his bowels. I immediately threw away my underwear and shorts, much to the bewilderment of everyone who has already heard this story.

“Why didn’t you just wash the clothes?” they ask, puzzlement clouding their faces.

Look, if I ever become so cavalier and casual with shit that I can look upon a beshatted object and think, “Hey, it’s just poop I guess,” please kill me, because I don’t want to live a life so well acquainted with the substance that our bodies forcibly eject on a daily basis.

I also jumped in the shower and gave the entire lower half of my body a complete surgical scrub down, because, once again, shit is gross.

Then I spent the rest of the weekend completely gun-shy because I didn’t want to fart and have to check and make sure my socks were still dry, so every time I felt a little pressure I had to get up, go to the bathroom, and make sure that the “football” didn’t make it into the “end zone” on a “quarterback sneak”, if you may allow me a football metaphor.

Lesson learned: not only does beef wreck me, but so does sugar free candy.

I’m certainly not fucking him, but I am his biggest fan

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 14, 2008 @ 10:27 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, movies, music, people are idiots, potty humor and school
. 9 Comments

1) This Sunday morning Mrs. ACW and I woke up not quite hung-over, but not quite able to fully function with the rest of society. Though actually, now that I think about it, we were still superior mentally to the majority of the unwashed masses in our area. That’s funny, I never realized that for me to live as a normal, layabout, fast-food-eating, Norbit-watching, lottery-ticket-buying, Thomas-Kinkade-loving, Creed-listening mental-midget, I have to get completely shit-tanked out of my gourd to the point where my functional mental abilities are less than 50%. Jesus that’s depressing.

Anyway, yeah, because we were feeling a little bit stupid and completely lazy, we decided to meet our bodies halfway and give them exactly what they needed. For Mrs. ACW that was a double-cheeseburger from McDonalds (or as I like to call it, the master key to my personal flume ride of feces), and for me that was a McFlurry from McDonalds… coupled with two brainless movies from the old Redbox.

I was really hoping to watch Transformers, because I couldn’t think of anything dumber that might also be entertaining, but for the first time ever, they didn’t have it. So I scrolled through the dreck to see what else was available, trying to figure out if I wanted to rot my brain with an action movie or with a comedy, and also trying to figure out if I wanted to pay a dollar to rent any of these movies. Further, I had to pick movies that I knew Mrs. ACW didn’t want to see, because there’s no way she would let me lay on the couch watching movies she also wanted to watch while she was upstairs doing a mountain of homework. That would have pretty much been an instant crotch-punching, and I was in no mood to sustain a trouser-bashing to the old beanbag, so I went through the movies again.

I finally settled on The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13, and those of you who are cleverer than I was that afternoon will figure out quickly how Mrs. ACW chose to make fun of me for the rest of the day.

Figure it out yet? No? Okay, let’s go to the conversation in the car a few moments after I got both movies.

“Yeah, I rented The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13.”
“Isn’t Matt Damon in both of those?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess he is.”
“And?”
“And I guess I’m gay for Matt Damon.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone while you’re watching those movies.”
“Why, because I apparently have a totally unconscious gay boner for Matt Damon’s chiseled features and sexy body?”
“Exactly.”

And so for the rest of the evening Mrs. ACW would wander downstairs to get something, check on me, and with a knowing look say, “Uh-huh. Just what I thought” and then walk away.

Semi-related video: I’m Fucking Matt Damon

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