Friday, March 15, 2013

Brazilian Whack Job is a dumb title


One time, I went to see a vocational guidance counselor.

He was from Brazil and spoke with a strong accent; his skin was the color of swarth.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

I began to rattle off a brief personal history, starting with my birth, but he made a shushy noise to interrupt me.

"No, man, no. What are your passions?"

"Passions. I don't know. I used to like to write...."

"You mean like a diary?"

"No, I guess I mean like stories and poetry and stuff. Poems about my sadness."

Without waiting for him to invite me to, I began intoning:


Dr.Hugo groaned.

"Okay, okay, let's start over." He pushed some papers at me that were covered in those little circles you are to fill in completely with a number 2 pencil. You usually have thirty minutes.

"I will give you a battery of tests, each one designed to isolate specific skill sets you might possess."

Some of the questions on the test:

"Do you prefer to solve problems open-endedly or cross purposely?"

"Are you pro-active in the face of logistical obstructions, or the opposite of pro-active, which is a word no one knows?"

"What do you think was the main idea of the story? If you were Jamal, would you have accepted the shoes from Pastor Morgan? Why or why not?"

"Would you rather make out with your dead Dad for one minute, or have diarrhea on your prom date's dress?"

When I was finished, he scanned the results, his tongue clucking away like a rich, Brazilian chicken.

"Hmmm..."

"Is it bad, Doc?" I asked.

He took his glasses off and buried his face into his knuckles.

"I am going to say a word, one word, and I just want you to hold back all of your snap judgements, all your instincts, and just let that word wash over your mind."

My seat creaked as I shifted forward in nervous anticipation.

"Plumber," he said, pronouncing it like 'plome-er'.

"Plumber."

"Yes. The tests tell me 'plumber'."

I frowned.

"What? You don wanna be a plom-er? They make lots of money. Lots of it. You can be your own boss, your own hours..."

Dr.Hugo leaned across the desk, his forehead close to mine.

"Plome-er", he said again, almost in a whisper, like he was a magical wind of destiny and I was standing in a grove of ancient trees, straining to hear him.

"But I don't want to be a plumber." I hated how whiny my voice sounded. Truthfully, I was not even sure what being a plumber would entail. Something with pipes. Water. Frantic homeowners calling you on weekends. 

I hate the phone; I could never be a plumber.

"I'm not very good with tools," I told him.

Dr.Hugo scoffed.

"What chu mean, you are not very good with tools? Everyone can use tools. Men, women, little babies. Chimponzees."

He reached under his desk and brought out a small wooden box with a single screw in the top of it.

"Here's a little test. Inside this box is something meant just for you, man. Show me you can opeeen it."

The counselor placed a screwdriver into my hand. It smelled like torque and secret knowledge. The handle was knotted, weathered; the wooden skin of a fur trapper just setting foot upon the distant edge of the Continental Divide.

I pulled the box closer to me.










"I'm sorry," I told him, breathing heavily, "I just couldn't do it."

Dr.Hugo said nothing. His face was a tight mask of tightness, and the tightness called to mind anger.

Amidst the rubble of the box, I saw a scrap of paper lying on the ground.

"Is this my prize? Is it a coupon?" I enjoy a good coupon, but I could tell already that it was something else.


That whole appointment had changed my life, and I told him so, but I made air quotes around the word 'changed' and I rolled my eyes really high up there.

He said to please leave, and later I got a bill from him which I never paid.

One thing that is fun about not paying bills is that you get to keep the money instead.

That is a thrifty tip from me to you, my friends.

Monday, March 4, 2013

The immense burden of having a hot wife

I don't want to brag or anything, but I have a pretty hot wife.

She is really easy to draw, too, because she has only two teeth and her hairline can always be accurately represented by the letter 'V'.

I met my hot wife when I was drunk at a party.

If you are in the market for a hot wife, try being drunk at a party.

Here are some other places I have seen hot wives:

-At a coffee shop

-One time at the grocery store

-At  the library there was sort of one

-In one of my Japanese comic books that are called manga

-I drew one in my notebook. She looked like this:


If you were drunk at a party, you might have a chance with her, but I don't know. She has high standards, and she is also not a real person; it could get complicated.

Here are some problems I have run into because of having a hot wife:

-When she talks to me, I cannot pay attention to her words because I am only thinking about how hot she is

-I have trouble sleeping because I just want to lay and stare at her all night. Then I have to wake her up and ask her to change her facial expression because I am bored of looking at the current one.

-In pictures of us together, it looks like an angel standing next to a bowel movement. She is the angel in this example.

If I ever discovered my hot wife cheating on me, I would not even be mad.

It would just validate for me all the terrible things I have ever thought about myself, and I really enjoy being right.

However, as hot as my wife is, she has some secret drawbacks.

She likes a television program called "The Bachelor". I think it is a game show where prostitutes try to win the sexual attraction of a cardboard cut-out named "Brad".

Sometimes she wants to discuss with me what happened on "The Bachelor", even though I myself did not watch it.

I feel sad when this happens.

Another one of my hot wife's drawbacks is that men always stare at her and completely ignore me, which hurts my feelings because I have a hard time making friends, and I thought having a hot wife would be a good ice breaker but it hasn't worked out that way.

One time at the bus station, I asked a man if he would like to come home with me and sit and watch my hot wife talk and make dinner.

He called me an erotic name and attempted to kick me in my buttocks.

When I was drunk and met my wife for the first time at that party I mentioned, I gave her a bendy figure of Chewbacca as a token of my affection.

That is only one of many ways to get a hot wife.


I also let a few dollar bills "accidentally" fall out of my pocket. I then intimated that there was more where they had come from. I said I thought there might be seven or eight more anyways, and would that be enough to replace the rug I had urinated on when I could not get my pants down in time.

Then I tried to suggestively rub her hot hair with one leg of my wet trousers. She said yuck and stop it, which is what hot women say when they want to marry you.

Because old people are ugly, I know that one day, my hot wife will join them. All our troubles will be over, and we will finish out our lives as two hideous people sitting around in big diapers and holding hands.