Misanthropaea

May We Have The Next Contestant Please…?

‘Your total is $19.25.’

‘That almost sounds like a year or something.’

‘And indeed it was.’

[Confused] ‘It was?’

‘Erm, yeah… Between 1924 and 1926. Or something.’

[After a pause to contemplate] ‘Huh…’

 

***

‘Now this World Wine Tasting that you guys are having; is that all gonna be just local wines?’

‘Yes. Local wines from around the world.’

***

 

[Handing me the pen I just handed her] ‘This one doesn’t write. Do you got another one?’

[Clicking the top of the pen to extract the point and handing the pen back again] ‘Sure. Try this one.’

 

***

‘Can you tell me what this is?’

‘Sure.’ [Sliding my finger along the word as I sounded it out] ‘Buud – weiii – seerrr.’

 

***

‘Hey! How are you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

[Looking up from his cell phone] ‘What?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘How much?’

‘How much am I fine?’

‘What?’ [Into his cell phone] ‘No I was talking to the—’

‘I’m pretty fine.’

[Looking up from his cell phone] ‘What?’ [Into the cell phone] ‘No, not you—’

‘Dick.’

[Looking up from his cell phone] ‘What?’

‘I said, “Is that it?”’

‘Yeah.’ [Into his cell phone] ‘What?’

Proofreadng 101

Shortly after Valentine's Day, when I was still in exile in the 'hood, we got a stack of these nice glossy 5x8 cards for an upcoming local event. They were dropped off by a business-woman who was one of the primary co-ordinators. She was very excited about the project and spoke proudly of her efforts and of the involved men, who 'be all hot and shit,' and of the unfailingly good time promised for all. I had no idea what it was about me that made her think I was even remotely interested in how 'all hot and shit' these men 'be,' but I accepted the cards and her jubilant commentary with a tactful nod and said 'Huh. Well. Okay.'  And I told her that I would set them out for customers to take.

After that I didn't give them another thought, other than to continue to nod tactfully when female customers would begin ogling them and ask if they could take one. Or two. You know, for a friend.  Otherwise I would glance at them periodically and laugh at the pretentious Village People-esque nature of the presumably flatulent 'Quiet Storm' and the oddly no-named Cowboy dude.

Several days before the big event, the proud business-woman returned, enquiring if we needed more cards to hand out (I told her 'Yes' only to facilitate her rapid departure) and then she asked if she could leave free tickets to the show. Again, hoping to speed her exit, I agreed and went about my work.

As one might expect of anything labelled 'free,' the tickets disappeared rather quickly -- often times by the handful -- as interested customers, some of them even women,  grabbed them in hurried anticipation, though anticipation of 'scalping' them at the show or of simply handing them out to needy friends I cannot say.

It wasn't until almost a week later, as I was throwing away all the left-overs scattered throughout the lobby area, that I did a double-take at the free ticket.  I suppose it hardly mattered by then but I kind of felt bad for the person who not only flaunted their stupidity for all to see but then copied and handed it out by the hundreds...

What Can Brown Do For You, Apart From Completely Bloody Annoy You?

The UPS driver, clad in his short pants and clunky boots, marched in: 'Hey, can you tell me where Checkerz is at?' he asked round the lump of tobacco bulging in his lower lip.

'I have no idea,' I told him with a shrug. 'I thought Checkerz was on the other end of town.'

'The address is sixty-two-something West Jefferson.'

'I really don't know.'

'Would it be across the road, here, you think?'

'I have no idea.'

'I mean the address here is fifty-nine-something...'

'Yeah...'

'So it would have to be just down thataway.'

'Okay. I guess so.'

'You think it's over where they're doing that construction by the tanning place?'

'I have no idea. I don't know what tanning place you're talking about.'

'Over there by where they're doing that construction across the way.'

'Whatever. I don't know.'

'Would it be over there, you think?'

'I don't know. I don't even know what Checkerz is.'

'They're like a bar or something, aren't they?'

'I don't know, man!'

'So, you think they'd be just down the road here?'

'I guess so.'

'The address on the box is something like sixty-two-hundred something.'

'Okay.'

'But I don't see them over there.'

'Sorry.'

'They'd have to be in the next block, though, if this here is the fifty-nine-hundred block, though.'

'I guess so. Yeah.'

'But I don't see them over there.'

'Sorry.'

'Maybe they're over by the book store, y'think?'

'Jesus! Man, I hate to be rude but you've asked me this like ten times and I'm still going to tell you the same thing - I. Don't. Know.'

'You gotta phone book?'

'Sure.' I pulled the book out from under the counter.

'Maybe they're in the phone book, if you've got one.'

'Right there.'

Flipping through the yellow pages: 'It's just that they should be right around here somewhere...'

'Mm-hm...'

'You think they'd be under restaurants or something?'

'Look, I have absolutely no clue what Checkerz is, so I can't even begin to answer that question.'

'Maybe they're under like "Pizza" or something...'

I grabbed the second copy of the phone book and went to the white pages: 'Maybe...'

'I mean they sell pizza, I think. Is there a section in here for bars?'

I found the listing, grabbed the phone and dialled: 'Probably...'

'Would they call them "bars," y'think?'

'Hi,' I said to the woman from Checkerz who answered the phone. 'Would you happen to have a second location on West Jefferson? Okay, great. That's all I needed to know. Thanks!' Turning back to the UPS driver: 'Checkerz has one location on Till Road - nowhere near here.'

'Really?'

'That's what the lady told me. I don't think she had any reason to lie.''

'Well I wonder if they got the wrong address on the package?'

'It's very possible.'

'Maybe they didn't mean Checkerz, y'think?'

Walking away from him: 'Maybe you should look at the package again...'

'Cause they've got to be here somewhere...'

'Bill,' I hailed one of my co-workers; 'I'll be right back.'

Behind me I heard the UPS driver approach Bill: 'Hey, buddy, d'you know where Checkerz is out here...?'

More Stupid Shit I Heard Today - Illustrated

Nodding in the general direction of the shelf:  'Yeah, man, gimme that tequila.'

'Okay.  Which one?'

'The tequila.'

'Which kind of tequila?

'The third one.'

***

 

'Gimme that pack of Merit Menthol right there.¹'

***

Pointing to a line (illustrated here by the Ubiquitous Hand of Indication) on a product and price list, the back of which is blank: 'Lemme get two of these.'

[Long pause. Staring.] 'Uh huh.'

'How much would that be?'

'How much would what be?'

'Two of these?'

'Two of what, man?'

'These two! '



***

 'How much are these dollar shots of Smirnoff?'

 {oh gods...}  'One-oh-nine, plus tax.'

 'Go ahead and give me one of them.'

 'Which kind?'

 'The clear one.'

 '...They're all clear.'

 'And a cigarillo.'

 'All of the vodka is clear. Which flavour do you want?'

 'The vodka.'

 'You want vodka flavoured vodka?'

 'You got that in Apple?'

 'No apple, no.'

 'You got the clear one?'

 'They're all clear.'

 'And a cigarillo.'

***

'Hey, dude! That's my card I lost!'

'Let me see your ID.'

'I can tell you the number of it by heart: 1850-4110-6825-1955.'

'Wow! That's absolutely every number exactly wrong!'

'Naw, man, that's my card!'

'Uh-huh. What's your name?'

'Tyrone Black.'

'And the name on the card is Lamarr C Tolbert. Sorry. Thanks for playing though.'

'Seriously, dude, that's my card!'

***
'I want that vodka right there.'

'Which one?'

'The one I can't pronounce. Right there on that shelf there.'









***
Sign next to the microwave in the back room...

1.Think of all the fun of playing Where's Waldo only without the rich reward of an actual Waldo to be found.

Stupid Shit I Heard Today - Illustrated

'Yeah, man, gimme that mango.'
'Mango what?'
'Vokka.'
'We don't carry any mango vodka.'
'Yeah, man, it's right there.'
[Following the pointed finger] 'There's no mango vodka over there.'
'Yeah it is. Right there!'
[Walking to the shelf and pointing myself] 'Right here?'
'Right there, man, in the orange bottle!'

***

'Do I got enough to get me one of them and a single cigarillo?'

***

'How much are them dollar beers?'
[Pausing to tell myself it isn't worth the effort to point out the self-referential nature of the query] 'Ninety-nine cents, plus tax.'
'Here's a dollar...'
[Looking] 'Actually that's fifty-two cents¹.'
'What? Naw, man, count that again!'
'It's fifty-two cents.'
'How much is tax?'
'It's one dollar and six cents all together.'
'I done give you a dollar!'

***
'How much that is?'
'Twenty-six forty-two.'
'Go ahead and take it out of that.'
'I can't because it's not enough.'
'How much more you need?'
'I need twenty-six forty-two.'
'What you got there?'
'Twenty, some lint and what looks like a pubic hair.'
'How much more you need?'

---

1. And why was it only fifty-two cents...?

Ro-Man's Helpful Household Tips #9

Ah, hu-man, we meet again at last for the first time since the last time...

It saddens me that my mission here is not yet complete; that you have yet to relinquish your white-knuckled death-grip on the metaphorical umbilical which continues to hold you fast to the distended womb of drooling ignorance; that you cling so very tenaciously to the wizened teat of rusticity; that you persistently stroke the great black monolith of intellectual enlightenment only to quickly draw back your fingers and lick them in toothless, giggling vacuity.

If you ever intend to reach beyond the finite boundaries of your present civilisation and join the greater galactic community, you need to not only grasp but also retain the fundamentals which would elevate your species beyond the stage of giddily flinging faeces or getting unusually and disturbingly frenetic over super absorbent German-made chamois towels sold by Steve Buscemi. And though bipedal locomotion is all very wonderful, it is not-- contrary to what you may believe --the distinguishing hallmark of intelligence, as you will one day learn. 

Though we have discussed frequently in the past a myriad of fundamental issues which often stymie and perplex your species, it seems that you continue quite unabashed in your fumbling and wide-eyed astonishment at all things informational and educational, and none more so than at the elementary manipulation of the prevalent roundish metallic objects in which your various cultures place so much imagined worth and whose procedural exchange appears to be of such great concern.

Yet we venture once again into a numismatic dissertation in effort to clarify the most rudimentary of ideas.

In this remunerative example, you are asked to examine the three figures provided to your other right and determine which of these representative images best illustrates or, at the very least, approximates, a total of two of your dollars.

I shall wait...

Ready?

If you chose Figure 1, you would of course be completely incorrect.

How can this be?

The answer is quite deceptively simple: no matter how you position the constituent parts-- brown bits on one side, silvery bits on the other;  big roundy bits on the top and smaller roundy bits on the bottom, or any other devised combination thereof --the sum total of all roundish bits in the provided figures shall forever equal $1.76.

Sticking out your tongue slightly and positioning it to one corner of your mouth whilst furrowing your brow; scratching your head and/or rubbing your face and frequently shifting your visual position to better assess the arrangement; frantically waving your hands and saying 'Wait, wait!' or perhaps even angrily pushing the roundy bits at someone else and demanding that they have a go at it because you believe 'it is all there' will never alter the actual total value of the monetary elements.

Unlike many quantum theories which suggest the existence in parallel dimensions of alternate universes, there is no theoretical process by which the existence of additional coinage can be proved by the remitting party and, currently, no method by which any presumed ethereal or extra-dimensional monies may be collected, verified, and stored by the receiver in either a cash register or financial institution.

There is a reason for the term 'Mathematical Constant.'  It is, by nature, constant. It is why mathematics are considered the Language of the Universe. You are not asked to solve Fermat's last theorem, hu-man; you are asked to understand the rudiments of the Universal Language or be the laughing stock from Ambartsumian's Knot to Zwicky's Triplet.

Vapour Trails

'Gimme a Big City.'
'A what?'
'Big City.'
'We don't have anything called Big City.'
'Two by four.'
'We don't have Big City.'
'It's right there.'
'You mean the Dark Horse?'
'Whatever. It used to be Big City, then they changed it to Brew City. Now it's Dark Horse, I guess. I still call it Big City.''
'A rose by any other name, right?'
'Say what?'
'Never mind...'
'I don't want no Rose. Gimme the two by four.'
'...And that's how I win.'
'Say what?'
'Nothing.  Did you want anything else?'

Ask a Stupid Question...

Yeah. This isn't completely useless or anything...

More Thinker Than You Dumb

Sometimes when I watch television I often have to stop and ponder the frequently titanic ineptitude and unabashedly poor rudimentary skill set with which the common person is almost always portrayed...

   

...at how, without the invaluable assistance of a certain product, one will be forever cast into a downtrodden troglodytic existence of wretched mediocrity and foppish incompetence.

As evidenced in, for example, the brow-knitting nonsense behind someone's sudden inability to position themselves appropriately to use their laptop because-- without the aid of some cheap plastic stand --they are apparently unable to adequately perform the mundane task of sitting correctly in a chair, advertisers most often appear to view their target audience as faeces-flinging primates stroking the shimmering black monolith of their amazingly helpful products in wide-eyed and drooling wonder.

The simplest of actions are often illustrated as insurmountable, almost Herculean tasks of a scope and complexity far beyond the grasp of the ordinary person, despite the fact that they are generally the very same actions which have been performed with flawless-- and, one might argue, largely assistance free --ease for perhaps hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

And yet, with the portentous advent of a single specific implement-- such as a blue plastic pasta cooker --the troublesome and arduous everyday chores of one's otherwise clearly calamitous life can become a transcendent experience of god-like grace and functionality.   

In this particular portrayal, it is obvious that the closest this woman has ever been to spaghetti is Billy Joel's Scene's From An Italian Restaurant.

One would have to imagine-- as she seems to lack the necessary intellectual proclivity with which to master the indispensable technique of boiling water or to comprehend that tufts of scalding steam rising off something is an indication that the pasta has attained flesh-searing temperatures --that she may have recently been administered a significant dose of L-Dopa and roused from many years of bed-ridden catatonia.

Her awkward, forwards-lurching stance and insufficient mastery of the comically large serving spoon seem to point to an inherent unawareness and a startling unfamiliarity with the nature of her surroundings.   

On the other hand, due to the ominous lack of anything like actual steam in this illustration, perhaps we are to think that after inelegantly muscling a cumbersome four and a half pounds of weighty and mostly unnecessary materials from the unusually empty counter to the island of her strangely barren kitchen that she has apparently been attempting to cook pasta in rapidly room temperature water and thus the peculiar need to glance in stunned surprise at her fingertips is a strictly Pavlovian response.

Perhaps she is a test subject.

No doubt that, whatever the truth behind her hapless incompetence, we can rest assured that her-- and our --saviour from the agonising depths of dazzling fatuity rests in the form of an oblong dish with yellow cylindrical handles and a resealable top.

As though by magic, her bland purgatorial kitchen prison will be transformed into a fully stocked and tastefully decorated room rich in miracles and abundance; she will electrify and astound with an endless cornucopia of prepared foods and new-found culinary prowess-- all thanks to a little plastic tub and a psychotic-looking clone of Edna Garrett.

The gods be praised!

Yet More Stupid Shit I Heard Today

(As you might recall, I mentioned some time ago that the name of the coffee house had to be changed because people largely misunderstood what a 'cafe' was and thought that because we had a dragon in our original logo that we were somehow Satanic. It is now called Hill-O-Beans Coffee House, a bit of a nod to Casablanca, which seems easier for people to grasp. Or so one might think.)

Pointing to the 4'x5' brightly coloured sign in the shop window which announces to the world that we are now 'Hill-O-Beans Coffee House:' 'So are you guys advertising a different brand of coffee now or something?'

***
'What does it mean by The Hollow Bean?'

***
'Did the old store close down?'
Looking around at the obviously not closed store: 'No, this is the same place you were in yesterday, we just changed the name of the business. Obviously we're still open.'
'So did they change ownership, then?'
Stuggling: 'Noooo.... We changed the name of the business. That's all. We're just the same as we've always been, we just have a new name.'
'But it's still like a coffee store, right? I mean there's still the same things the other people sold...'
'There are no other people. I'm the same person who has always owned it. I just changed the name of the store so that people would understand that it is a coffee house and not something else.'
'So you still sell coffee?'
'...Yes...'
'So the new owners didn't change that.'
'There are no new owners. It's just a name change. It's exactly the same as before, we just have a new name.'
'Do you know where the old store went?'