things that make me laugh
I was cleaning out my closet and I found 47 pairs of BRIGHT NEON MC Hammer pants. I was going to burn them and dance around the flames to try to make it rain or something, but I thought that maybe somebody would want these. They are absolutely the worst pants of all time. I can't remember being stupid enough to buy these, but I must have been. Either that or MC Hammer owes me a bunch of rent money. I have them all in a huge garbage sack sitting on the sidewalk. If you want them you must just come pick up the bag and drive away. If anybody comes up and tears the bag and spills those hideous things into the street where my neighbors can see, I will be very unhappy. Garbage collection is on Monday so if they aren't gone Mr. BFI gets them.
If you want this garbage, email me and I will give you instructions.
To My Ex Girlfriends Cat:
I don't miss her, but I miss you. You are the only cat I ever liked...and I think you liked me as I'm the only person you let pick up and walk around with. Sure, you were crabby, sounded like a rusty can when you were meowing, would ignore the laser pointer and got pissed at me when I needed to work and not pet you. Oh sure, you'd complain and make me feel bad for feeding you the same thing and at the same time as her other 2 cats, but did you notice I'd always slip you a piece of meat from my dinner plate? I know you were old and stairs were not as easy as they used to be, so I was always secretly glad and flattered to hear your voice by the bedroom door when I'd stay over. I know her kids liked the other animals in the house more then you, and I'm sorry, but I liked you better then her kids anyway. And yes, I know you watched me walk away that last time I left; I knew I wouldn't be coming back so I hope you found that catnip mouse I left in your secret hiding spot...you deserved 1 last rush in your old age.
I'm not sure if you are even still alive as I haven't been by the house since March of 05, but I hope that you are happy, warm and still catching the beam of sunlight in your favorite spot.
Anyway, just wanted you to know that you were the only cool cat I've ever known and that I miss you.
Do you like a challenge? Then take our cat. Please.
I first heard about our cat about 6 months ago, when I had not yet moved to Philadelphia post-graduation as per my long-standing plans with my best friend from high school. My first impression of the cat was my best friend calling me on my cell phone and asking me how you could tell if a kitten was rabid.
My friend had been walking through Clark Park late at night with a friend of hers when a thugged-out man who they took to be a mugger emerged from the bushes. He walked toward them, thrust out his hand and just as they were starting to freak out said with a kind of embarrassed air, "Can you do something with this? I found it sitting in the street and I didn't want to see it get run over but I can't take it with me."
The guy had a tiny little two-week-old kitten in one hand, and my housemate took it home and fed it with a bottle and all that good samaritan stuff.
She called me up a week later asking if I thought it was rabid because, in her words, "It chews on my fingers and falls over sometimes." I told her that in my experience that's how kittens basically spend most of their waking hours and thought she was overreacting.
Well, the kitten wasn't rabid, but neither is he normal. Because he was separated from his mother so early, he's emotionally stunted and doesn't like getting petted and will tolerate it for a bit but then start biting and scratching. The only times I ever hear him purr are when he pretend-nurses on something soft; there's a scarf of mine he particularly enjoys making out with.
Because my housemate didn't knock him around like a mother cat would have when she was nursing him in August he never really learned how to play nice, so when I got there in September, he was this tiny little bouncing ball of teeth and claws and aggression who would only react to attempted discipline with the cat equivalent of "Oh yeah? Oh YEAH?? **** YOUUUUUUUU!!" He is just not cowable, as ridiculously outsized as he was and still is. Now he is larger (about 8 pounds, I'd say) and less aggressively hyper but still kind of destructive when he gets bored.
The cat also had a really horrible case of fleas for a while, which took us hundreds of dollars and a lot of sleepless, stare-at-the-ceiling-while-intermittently-slapping-your-arm-in-a-panic nights. He no longer has the fleas, through great effort on our part.
I was not present the first time we took the cat to the vet, but my housemate warned him about the cat's temperament. The vet laughed it off, said he'd seen everything. When we picked the cat up, the same vet brought out the cat all sedated in his kitty carrier, and he looked pretty harried.
"Well," he said, "He's certainly RAMBUNCTIOUS."
Another story: when my friends first came over to meet the kitten, they were so amazed at how "rambunctious" he was that they suggested that he had to be the the result of some sort of bizarre and possibly depraved feral street cat/ocelot sex.
So here's the deal:
My best friend, the one who originally got the cat in the park, just moved out a couple of weeks ago, leaving the cat with my two housemates, who hate the cat with a passion, and me. She can't take him with her where she is now, so we're essentially stuck with this cat. However...
We can't live with this cat anymore. My housemates hate him and always have, and are in fact in favor of just dropping him off at a farm somewhere and letting him live off the land. I have scratches all up and down my forearms all the time from his "playing" and people look at me funny. He appears to give off an extremely potent dander which particularly seems to affect men. I just went to the doctor and she says that I do not in fact have a persistent cold, and that I, along with every man my housemates and I have brought to the house in the past six months, am allergic to the cat. I have never been allergic to a cat in my life, which makes this particularly weird.
So if you like a challenge, or healing troubled cat psyches, then take my cat. In the spirit of full disclosure:
Things which may be off-putting about the cat:
He plays rough to the point that my hands and forearms are constantly covered with scratches
He doesn't really appreciate being petted other than occasionally being scratched under the chin when he's sleepy
He never really learned how to do the mutton-leg form of licking his own butt/genitalia (one leg straight up in the air), and so devised his own method, which is: sit back on his ass like a fat man, spread his legs and wash his junk directly AT you
When he wants attention or is bored, he will stare deliberately at you while knocking over things like glasses of water and ashtrays
If you have small pets suchas rodetns or fish, he will probably find a way to kill them.
He will stare at you intently while you're making out with someone on the couch
Gives off enough dander to kill a man (and occasionally a woman)
Things in the cat's favor:
He is fixed, fully vaccinated and healthy
He never pees or poops outside his box
If you have any sort of pests, he will ruthlessly kill them
He seems to get on well with the female cat that lives upstairs when they occasionally meet in the foyer
He is absolutely fearless, which I find endearing (you can vacuum him and he just sits there and looks at you quizzically)
He is really, really cute - to demonstrate this, I have attached three pictures in decreasing order of age-of-cat and these two videos.
I realize that this description of the cat might not be the best way to get someone to adopt him. But I just wanted to have a policy of complete and total transparency about this cat, because... I genuinely think that he could learn how to be a good cat in a house where he's not left alone quite as much as he is in an apartment with two college students who are only home two or three days a week and one 23-year-old with two jobs that keep me out of the house most of the time and exhausted the rest of the time.
I won't take him to a shelter, because he wouldn't ever be adopted with his behavior problems and I know they'd probably just end up putting him down.
So take our cat... please. He comes with litterbox, litter, food bowls, food, a kitty carrier and our eternal gratitude.
TO my Bathroom Buddy
I apologize if I came across as a bit unnerved or snappy, and that I didn't exchange any social niceties - I didn't even catch your name. I generally make every effort to be sociable and pleasant, and I am embarrassed that in this case, we did not even get to "hello."
I have to admit, I was slightly taken aback by your confusion regarding the basic tenets of men's bathroom etiquette. I don't mean to be rude, but urinal time is "me" time - I have a very busy schedule, and I prefer not to share those brief moments with others. I found it unusual, to say the least, that in an empty bathroom with well over ten urinals (with no barriers, mind you), you would choose to engage in your business in the adjacent urinal.
I love meeting new people, don't get me wrong, but in an empty restroom early in the morning (pre-coffee), having a swordfight is not high on my list of things to do. I'm kind of flattered that you enjoyed my presence to such an extent that you couldn't help but look over at me (subtlety is not your thing, I'm afraid) and stare, muttering things to yourself that I could not understand. Have you ever seen Ace Ventura: Pet Detective? You should give it a watch sometime.
As I washed my hands and departed, our brief engagement coming to a close, I was awed by the sight of your pale buttocks, reflecting the faint glow of the fluorescent bathroom lights about the room like a star, your pants and underwear resting down around your ankles as you relieved yourself - for a moment, I thought I had somehow been relocated to my old elementary school. Much like the serve-and-volley approach to tennis, this was a style I thought had gone the way of the buffalo. How wrong I was.
With all that said, my newfound friend, I hope you're having a pleasant day. Next time, though... Maybe you could give me a few urinals' worth of a buffer zone? Wonderful.
I was the guy in the tree outside your apartment last night around 1:30 AM.
I knew you would be coming back from the pub, as I saw you go out with your friends. I just wanted to see you again, but closer and more personal than my binoculars will let me. You are absolutely stunning and seem like a wonderful person. Oh, don't let anyone tell you different, picking up your underwear with your toes and putting them in your hamper IS a skill. And I think it is cowgirl cute the way you wave your bra around like a lasso when you dance.
I am sorry I couldn't stay longer, but there was that moment, it was ever so brief, when our eyes met, it means so much to me and I hope it does for you too. But it was the combination of your high pitched scream of joy and the siren about 5 minutes later that made me leave. I thought the siren was from a fire truck and I would hate to be stuck in a tree that gets caught on fire.
Now it seems that your blinds are always closed, what happened? Are you sad and just need some darkness in your apartment? Why not let the stars shine in, I sure would like to see you again.
To my naked hot tub party neighbors - follow up
Its going to be a sad sad summer! My neighbors have moved!!!!!!! So to the people of North Portland - they took their hot tub with them. ENJOY!
So I have no idea if it is on again this weekend, but if it is can I make some suggestions?
1) You guys are freaking hilarious, at the very least please record the audio from your night. Last weekends favorite quote “I want your boobies to kiss my boobies”
2) Please hand out a lyrics sheet to all members of the hot tub. I would love to help pick the songs, if I am going to have to listen to them. Although the sentiment was sweet your song (Islands in the stream) of choice last week, really blew. My requests: Down Under (Men at Work), She Goes Down (Motley Crue)
3) Lets make it an official rule, every time a guy stands up you ladies must yell at the top of your lungs “Cocktail” and then drink. Also for every time someone says boobies, the group drinks.
4) Plastic only – lesson learned
5) Just say, turn off your porch light rather then unscrewing it. I will hop right up and do it. I didn’t realize when you were having one of you unscrew a light it was mine.
6) In the event you are playing “guess who’s foot”, please be clear with your rules. There seemed to be some confusion in the past.
7) I didn’t quite catch all the shapes that had been shaved in the ladies whoonie nananas. Please redo that conversation and a little louder.
8) Bring back Willie, everyone loves Willie. Or even better just get Jack Black. My favorite part was hearing him talk about how much he loves being a soccer coach to these little kids while he was sitting buck ass naked in a hot tub. Somehow naked hot tubs and talks of children don’t seem to mix.
9) Start and finish times; 3:30 am to 5:30 throws my schedule completely off. Can we shoot for 1 – 3 am?
10) Thanks for describing the cup sizes, lets make that a habit. Really feel free to be as descriptive as possible. When I compared notes with the other neighbors we weren’t exactly sure who had what. Maybe repeat your name after the description.
11) After this weekend we will have two more neighbors. They will be living upstairs and I am guessing will have a pretty unobstructed view. I do not know if they will find you as funny as I do. Maybe an invite for them?
12) Bathroom use, kudos to all of you who got out of the hot tub! The couple of you who didn’t…….shame!
13) The ass smacking, although it sounded solid I think needs some work. Don’t be shy really get after it! After all, your drunk and you’ll need something to remember it by.
14) If you find yourself in a lull, feel free to just yell boobies or cocktail for no apparent reason.
15) Last rule, please only very attractive naked hot tub party attendees. Unless you follow strict rules of bringing them home after I have gone to bead. Which will allow me to imagine it is Halle Berry, Jessica Alba and Pam Anderson in your hot tub.
Last weekend rather then get mad and try and sleep, I thought screw it, I’ll just listen to the show. 20 feet away just isn’t far enough to stop sound. Thanks for the entertainment.
Your neighbor who knows better then to be a hypocrite
lol....I love craigslist....
7 Habits of Highly Annoying M4W Posters on CL
Post day after day with no response? Post but only get spammers and porn sites? Answer a post and never hear back? Frustrated, lonely, tired, married and wondering “how hard is it to get a friggin’ handjob ferchrissakes?”
If you can’t figure out what’s going on, you might be guilty of one of the 7 Habits of Highly Annoying People on CL M4W. (Ladies, many of these could apply to your ads as well, I just am not familiar with them).
Habit 1: Starting your post with a plaintive “Are there any normal women/men/humanoids left?”
The answer, my friend, is a resounding NO . Maybe it’s because of global warming, or 8 years of Republicans, but all the normal folks moved to Canada or some shithole like that. So shut the **** up and deal with the remaining dysfunctional misfits like the rest of us.
Habit 2: Starting your ad by saying that you’re heartbroken over an ex and go on to detail how she cheated on you lied to you broke your tender little loving heart etc and now you just want to find someone nice to replace THAT BITCH and to take your mind off her.
Um, do I look like your ****ing therapist? I didn’t think so. Go out with your mates, get piss drunk, text the ex that she was a shitty lay and had a fat ass, and get over it like a man. Otherwise, I’ll charge you 120/hr like my therapist does to listen to my bitching and moaning about my exes, and I’ll still dump your sorry ass because whiny does not equal sexy.
Habit 3: total,compleetlack Of anYpunctuashion skillz,,that makes, me, wonder if you are , a, Nigerians Scammer . OR YELLING ABOUT HOW SENSITIVE AND KIND YOU ARE AND HOW YOU WANT TO MARRY A NICE NORMAL GIRLWHY CANT YOU FIND ANYONE NORMAL HOW COME NOONE RESPONDS??!!!
I’ll tell you why—it’s because no one can understand a goddam word you’re SHOUTING. Settle down, and remember, capitalization, periods, and the proper use of the comma are your friends.
Habit 4: You say “I promise you won’t be disappointed.” How the **** do you know? What if I am looking for a 6’7” red headed trapeze artist who likes to shove popsicle sticks up his ass while yodeling? Every time someone has said “you won’t be disappointed,” I inevitably am.
Habit 5: You post the same, overly earnest, long winded ad EVERY DAY FOR MONTHS. Dude, you know who you are. Clearly, it’s not working for you. I suggest a different approach. Besides, I don’t have time to read your friggin dissertation. Brevity is the soul of wit and all that crap.
Habit 6: You post repeatedly, using the same picture, but with different ages, categories, descriptions of who you are and what you want. What, Dateline’s “To Catch a Predator” wasn’t enough for you? Crreeeepy.
Habit 7: You are looking for a Girlfriend Who Squirts. Jesus H. man, you also won’t give up. I’m tempted to buy a water pistol, stick it up my vagigi and let er rip all over you just so I don’t have to see your ****ing post one more time.
Okay folks, that’s all, back to your regularly scheduled program.
Vasectomy: $400. Speechless look on her face: priceless.
I'll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago:
I got a vasectomy.
I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.
I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.
We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her - as I was to find out - it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.
Four months into dating, I get the "I'm pregnant" talk. She's going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married "for the baby". She's positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she's gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.
At this point, I'm just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse "oops" on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can't think beyond their own uteri.
So I wait a couple of days to "think about all this." I meet her again. I say I don't want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batshit insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.
Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I'm laughing hysterically.
It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a "negative test result for sperm" to show I'm sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I'm ready.
I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.
She's all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly - or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. "Are you sure that this baby is mine?"
Well, she goes batshit insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she's really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she's a slut. I'm just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities... blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.
I'm not really mad. I'm kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won't shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.
I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.
I tell her simply, "You're screwed".
Her look doesn't change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.
I continue. "I am sterile"
Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women's logic. "You're full of shit. You're trapped and you know it."
I hold up the letter and the test results. "Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine."
This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. "Bullshit, those are fakes."
I was ready for that. "No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It's a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine."
I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It's a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.
I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.
I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.
The Moral of the Story -
Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.
I can't post this here due to language, but here is the link, it's my favoritest favorite!!!
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