One of the downsides of being special is that you feel out of place wherever you go. I don’t understand half the stuff people like and I suspect they don’t, either. Take cigars, for example:
You don’t like cigars, you like the idea of cigars. You like standing on the balcony with the other men after the dinner party and doing something a woman would never do in a million years, but you don’t actually enjoy that cigar hanging out of your mouth. If you did, you’d smoke them when you were alone in the woods, which you never do.
2. FANCY SCOTCH
Having a “Mc” in your last name means every birthday someone buys you a bottle of expensive whiskey. The problem is, whiskey tastes like gasoline. It’s especially bad when they take the extra time to let burnt peat moss smoke through it—then it tastes like gasoline that’s been sitting in an ashtray. I like bourbon because it’s sweet and tastes like cotton candy when you ice it. However, 99% of the reason we enjoy booze is because it gets us drunk. Let’s stop pretending we actually enjoy the taste. If we did, we’d drink nonalcoholic Maker’s Mark at breakfast.
I’m told these games are much more complex than they seem. “It’s like chess,” sports fans always tell me. But all I see is a bunch of transient millionaires playing a game outside. What’s so fun about watching someone else play? What are we—gimps? I guess I understand that watching sports all Sunday is a way to bond with a dad who isn’t great at talking with his kids, but that seems to be the only redeeming thing about it. I didn’t grow up with sports so I see them for what they are: boring. I once spent a day researching the rules to football and learning about the teams involved in a Super Bowl game, and after trying to enjoy the 11 minutes of action a three-hour game provides I stood up and said, “That’s it. I gave it a chance and I can now say, unequivocally, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this sucks.” Besides, don’t you feel kind of queer talking about all these men and their injuries? Oooh, Rodney Jackson sprained his ankle. Let’s read an article about his legs. Sports aren’t chess, they’re gossip for men.
4. LIVE MUSIC
Going to punk shows was fun when I was a kid because we’d jump off the stage and get all our aggression out in the pit. Now it’s just loud. Going to a huge stadium to see your favorite band means watching tiny ants play their hits far worse than you’re used to hearing them at home. That goes double for a small venue. Why did you five dumb guys climb onstage and turn my bar into a practice space? Nobody wants you here. We came here to have a conversation and now we’re just waiting for you to stop so we can go back to it. Oh, thank God, you’re taking off your guitar. Oh, Jesus no, he just said, “We’ll be right back.” They oughta call it “leave” music.
5. THE ROOMBA
My wife convinced me to buy this $400 robotic vacuum cleaner and it’s been sitting in its charger dock ever since. I hate this thing for at least three reasons beyond the insane retail price: 1. It’s so loud, you can’t be at home when it’s doing its thing, which means you have to set it up when you leave and hope it doesn’t get stuck. 2. It always gets stuck, so you end up putting chairs on tables to keep them out of its way, which is about 90% of the job of sweeping. 3. Sweeping hardwood floors takes about five minutes no matter the size of your house. Vacuuming a carpet takes the same amount of time. A Roomba can do it automatically if you clear a space and leave it unfettered for an entire day. Thanks. Let’s invent a robot that can put your socks on for you in under three hours and an automatic lawn mower that takes all summer.
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