Lane Splitters

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Here in California, lane-splitting is legal. For those of who don’t know, lane-splitting is when a motorcycle drives between cars. The law was made way back when motorcycles overheated in stopped traffic. Today, that’s not much of a problem, but the law stays on the books.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not just bitching because they can scoot through traffic while the rest of us suckers sit still with our thumbs up our asses. That part is awesome.

No, what I fucking hate are the guys that split lanes when traffic is moving. You’ll be going 60-70 miles an hour and some nut job on a crotch rocket will come out of nowhere and narrowly avoid your side mirror.

The real reason I hate lane-splitters is they stop traffic twice as much. First, when they crash and second for their funerals.

Heart 2 Heart Question

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My father-in-law had to have quadruple bypass surgery due to some massive blockage around his heart. For those of you who don’t know, bypass surgery is when they take the good veins from the legs and go around, or bypass the bad arteries or aorta.

After he recovered, he complained he still has to watch his diet otherwise, he’d back for another bypass. Apparently the veins in your legs don’t get clogged with cholesterol and plaque. So why don’t they just move your heart down to your leg instead?

Two Wheeling

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A few years back, my biking buddies and I were hanging at a Starbucks near a train station. A bunch of us were talking when we drowned out by the sirens of emergency vehicles. They were heading for the station. We found out later that a 95 year old man riding his bike had been hit by the train while crossing the tracks. Turns out the old guy committed suicide.

Don’t get me wrong, it was very sad. But that isn’t really the best way to go. With a train, there’s always the chance you’ll survive. Besides, if you’re 95 and still riding a bike, and you like taking chances, why not go for broke? If it were me, I’d go with some blow and a hooker and see what happens. There’s always a chance that won’t kill you either, but at least it’s fun trying.

What a Drag it is Getting Old

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When I was younger, for some reason, drag queens and older black women seemed to have a thing for me. I think it was my baby face. It took me years before I could grow a decent amount of facial hair, and the only celebrity I was ever mistaken for was Fred Savage.

I’ve aged and so have my fans. I used to get hit on by the likes of Anita Mann, and Ruby Falls. Today it’s more likely to be Urethra Franklin, Gyna Lotrimin, and Kathy Griffin.

Broken Records

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Last week, 4 people died trying to climb Mount Everest…again. Can we please shut that down? By now, literally nobody gives a shit if you can reach the summit. Anyone with an REI membership and $50,000 can pretty much do it.

Remember that Steve Fossett guy? He circled the globe in a hot air balloon back in 2007. But then they showed his balloon. It wasn’t like he was Phileas Fogg going around in a wicker basket wearing leather goggles. No, he looked like he was flying around in an Airstream camper. It had all kinds of crazy technology like a heat and GPS navigation.

That Fossett guy tried like ten time before he finally did it. At some point you have to think he’s just an idiot. When you see those regular hot air balloons, there’s really no way to control them other than going up and down. I’m more impressed that people DON’T end up half way around the world every time they go up. The real record should be for the guy who can go 3 blocks in one without hitting power lines.

Sadly, Fossett went down in his personal plane just out for a routine trip. When stuff like that happens, there’s always someone who says, “he died doing what he loved.” No. Not really. What he loved was flying. He died crashing.

That’s Irritainment

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I used to like going out drinking on Thursday nights. It feels like you’re getting a head start on your weekend. No so much in the suburbs. I feel like you can’t go into a decent bar now without having some dipshit playing their acoustic guitar in the corner. They’re always just loud enough that it’s hard to talk and for some reason they think everyone is there to see them.

I love when they stop to make small talk with the crowd. Everybody thinks they’re done. They tell you some stupid story about the song their about to play and with the first chord everybody lets out a pathetic sigh.

Bot or Not

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I’ve been fed up with Comcast for a while, and today I did something about it. But I wanted to at least try the other behemoth before I pulled the plug.

I go online to order, and of course, there are millions different options, and none I want. If you really fast Internet, you always have to get like 4000 HD channels and 12 landlines. I know they’re not stupid. They realize someone with a huge pipe will just download everything they want.

But if you’re like me, you just need some basic channels and something good enough to work from home, you’re shit out of luck.

And here, I thought ordering online would be lightyears ahead of calling on the phone. It was actually worse. Nothing like losing an hour of your life to an aggressive chatbot upsell.

As soon as I started clicking on stuff, up comes the little chat window.

“Good afternoon, my name is Alex, and what can I help you with?”

I never know if it’s a real person, so I always answer just in case.

“I’m good. I can handle it from here.”

I love how “help” is really just another word for getting you to spend more money.

“I noticed you ordered the basic package. Did you know you can get the super bundle for just $4 dollars a month more?”

Never mind that it’ll $200 more two months after I sign up.

“Yes, but I don’t need all those channels.”

I love how they can’t fathom not being totally into TV.

“There are a lot of great kid channels. Disney, Noggin, Nickelodeon, Sprout?”

Now I’m sucked in and I can’t believe I’m answering him instead of just placing my order.

“My kids watch YouTube”.

Then this tired old saw…

“But the educational channels? TLC, NatGeo, Discovery, The History Channel?”

It’s okay, I already know everything I need to know about sharks and nazis.

At this point, I’m ready to kill the deal. My God, if you said “yes” to even half the options you’d be paying like $1200 a month for cable.

“Do you like sports? There’s the NFL package, the MLB package. ESPN 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. No that’s okay. I’ll catch the games on network TV.”

I finally figured I need to give Alex an answer he isn’t programmed, or trained, to answer…

“I’m a blind amputee. I can’t change the channels.”

Just finish this god damn order!

“Okay. If there’s anything else I can help you with, have a great day!”

So now, it’s time for the next stage, waiting for the installer to show up tomorrow between the equinox and summer solstice.

Hand Dryers

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God love the inventor who finally came up with a hand dryer that actually works. I’m not talking about those lame Dyson Airblades that still take five or six passes. I mean the XLERATOR De-lux. It’s like they stuck a Pratt Whitney jet engine inside the metal case.

They’re so powerful, I don’t know how they stay mounted to the walls. You can literally see the contour of the bones in your hand when you stick them under the blower. My hands go numb as all the blood is forced back up my arms, then my watch and wedding ring falls off.


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I love how women, and by women, I mean wives, think they can read your mind. Whenever I ask mine a question, she answers the one she thinks is coming next – instead of the one I asked.

Last night we were out to dinner, and I noticed she hadn’t been eating her meal.

So I asked, “How is it?”

She replied, “No! You can’t finish it!”

Another time, I asked if we had anymore coffee, and she immediately shot back, “I’m not going to the store!”

Whoa Weed

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In the past year I have yet to see a show where at least one comic doesn’t say, “So, I uh, like weed”. They literally say that. Note, I didn’t say, people make a lot of pot jokes. People literally utter that phrase at least once at every show I’ve been to.

I do not, I repeat, do not have a problem with people getting high. I just hate the way people have made it really, really uncool. Now that it’s relatively legal to smoke dope, there’s no real risk in talking about it. Besides didn’t we already cover this ground to death in the 70s with Cheech & Chongs? Like them and their act, it is kind of old and tired.

Dope and raunchy sex jokes baffle me. I can’t help but think, just how repressed some people must have been brought up to still think this stuff is shocking. I’m not young, but I heard way worse stuff when I was 12.

Dope jokes are like dick jokes. They can be funny, but only if there’s a new twist. When you tell a bad one, you do make the audience uncomfortable. It’s not because they’re prude. It’s because they pity the comic.

The way people talk about dope these days is like listening to 16 year olds just discovering alcohol. Dude, I can’t remember anything last night. I was so waaaaaasted. Dude. We used to have a saying that, “drinkers weren’t counters.” I think we need something for the dubage.

Dad Bands

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Want to know how to ruin a perfectly good evening of drinking? Go to a bar on Dad Band night. What’s a dad band you ask? Dad bands are like that insipid 90s band Sister Hazel, only without the hard edge.

Every suburb has at least 1 dad band that dominates the local brewpub scene. Their biggest fans are the other guys in the band, and at least someone’s wife who isn’t.

These guys have known about this gig for months, and they still show up needing to do a 45 minute sound check.

[clickToTweet tweet=”I wold rather listen to a Christian contemporary group than stand around listening to a dad band.” quote=”I wold rather listen to a Christian contemporary group than stand around listening to a dad band.” theme=”style4″]

The setlist would crack any prisoner at Gitmo faster than anything the CIA could come up with.

Every gig sees the addition of yet another member. It’s usually another guitar, but they’ll take anyone. Within 2-3 weeks they look like a white version of Earth Wind and Fire.

The worst thing about dad bands is they play at just the right level to drown out conversations, but not loud enough to actually rock.

Finally, no one dresses like they’ve ever heard rock and roll. Instead, they look like they just finished mowing the lawn or coaching girl’s soccer. Cargo shorts, Keens, and the god damned backwards baseball cap.