Well boys and girls, Christmas is right around the corner! I know this because Starbucks has stopped serving pumpkin stuff and broke out the peppermint stuff! Here is a gallery to get you into the Christmas spirit.

“I’m just saying you both asked for a Barbie last year! Broaden your horizons!”

“Honey, I asked you to cut down a tree…not one of the neighbor’s bushes.”

“‘Tis the season to half-ass it…”

“…Fa la la, la la, la la, fuck it.”

“I dunno what you want for Chri…Christmas little girl? All I know is that Santa needs some Tacooooooooooos!”

“It’s Simon’s birthday?!” -Paula Abdul drunk on church wine somewhere

I can’t tell if that’s Santa, or the guy who played Smee in ‘Hook’.

“Well…the kids are traumatized, but at least I don’t have to put out those damn decorations this year.”

“I hate this job, I hate this job, I hate this job, heyyyyyyyyy kidos!”

“You want what? What is a Korn CD?”

“Bill is such a dick.”

“So that is where Rudolph came from.”

“Your kid just took a leak on me, post the damn thing to Facebook and get the hell out of here.”

“Why can’t this play for 24 hours on TBS?”

Kevin was a part of the worst employee White Elephant gift exchange in the history of Grove City’s Best Buy.

Have you ever wondered how the deaf enjoy pornographic films?

Written and directed by Ben Jurney

Filmed by Hannah Levy

Edited by Hannah Levy, Ben Jurney, and Fran Hoepfner

Featuring:
Scott Meyers as “Ralph Jode”
Stefan Di Pippo as “Cornelius Jode”
Ben Jurney as “Mikel-Anton Jode”
Jesse Kubanet as “The Intern”
Fran Hoepfner as “Miserable Woman Crying Alone”
Hannah Levy as “Disembodied Voice”
Devin Heater as “Monte Carlos”

Our buddy Vince Mancini, editor of the the always entertaining filmdrunk.com wrote this awesome story for us. We love sweet potato fries too.

“Excuse me,” the taller German asks tentatively. “What is ‘ostrich’?”

I wasn’t planning for every story I write for this site to be about strange encounters I’ve had in restaurants, but what can I say, living in San Francisco, sometimes inspiration just sneaks up and unplugs your Macbook.

So there I am, having just ordered my food at a place called Roam. It’s a quick-service burger joint in San Francisco, but everything about the place screams LA. It has “artisan burgers’ just below the title. Everything on the menu has fancy-cute names. You can’t order without being asked 12 different options – do you want to make that a double? would you like cheese on that? is house sauce alright or do you want herbed mayo? egg brioche bun or multi-seed? would you like to add an organic free-range egg for another $1.50? And everyone who works there seems to think that “providing friendly service” – I guarantee you this phrase is used in the handbook – involves calling you “bro.” You order at the register, where bored cashiers in brimmed ski beanies pride themselves on ploughing through your personal boundaries and making cutesy off-hand comments about every detail of the unnecessarily-personalized interaction – “okay… Vince, I’ll just swipe your… mastercard, and here you go – we’ll have that Tejano turkey burger on traditional sesame right out for you! You have a great day now, alright, bro?”

Then they hand you your receipt and you slink back to your communal table with your organic soda and chalk-written number stand shaped like a buffalo. It’s like the world’s worst speed date. But God help me, I love sweet potato fries.

I suspect Starbucks is mostly to blame for this. I know from having worked there that the rule of thumb according to the handbook is, you’re supposed to use the customer’s name no less than three times during any given transaction. Three times! For someone you’ll talk to for less than twenty seconds! “What’s your name? Joe? Okay, thanks, Joe. We’ll have that half-caf macchiato right out for you, okay, Joe! See you later, Joe!”

Maybe there’s some lady in Nebraska with a teddy bear on her sweater still charmed by that level of friendliness, but for the rest of us it’s like forced small talk with an obsessed stalker ex every time you try to order coffee.

In any case, I’m sitting there at the communal table in Roam, waiting for my classic American with a side of truffled brussel sprouts, still within earshot of the register. Just in my periphery I see a pair of awkward-looking Germans – yes, Germans, Germans have a look – pause from studying the menu to look over at  my bro, Blake. I’ve decided the cashier’s name is Blake. Blake is eager to help as always, because he has absolutely nothing else to do.

“Excuse me,” the taller German asks tentatively. “What is ‘ostrich’?”

“Haha! Well, it’s like a giant, six-foot-tall bird,” Blake says cheerily. “Basically, the dinosaur’s closest living relative on Earth.”

Okay, now a few things.

At this point, I hadn’t yet noticed that the special burger option that day was locally-raised ostrich. So before I looked over, as my brain was still trying to understand the interaction that was taking place bestride me, the story that flashed through my mind was that a foreign man had been wandering the streets, confused, tortured, plagued by the very question of what an ostrich was. Seeing the restaurant glow like an oasis in the distance, he’d wandered inside, found a friendly-looking stranger, grabbing him by the lapels and screaming “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAN, TELL ME ABOUT THE OSTRICHES!” And, without missing a beat, the friendly burger clerk, like an oracle, had explained exactly what an ostrich was, complete with a breezy lesson in evolutionary taxonomy. I actually prefer this version of events. People helping people, no ulterior motives.

As I turned to fully take in the scene with my eyes, I saw ostrich on the menu, and I understood for the first time the basis for the German’s question. Suddenly, the explanation took on a whole new meaning. I had to shake away the first story I’d created like an Etch-a Sketch.

“It’s like a giant bird, basically the dinosaur’s closest living relative on Earth,” the description reverberated through my skull.

This is how Blake had described something that the Germans were hoping to eat. Ooh, a giant bird, that sounds yummy! Hmm, but what does it taste like? Oh right, A DINOSAUR. But before I pull the trigger on this, tell me: do they run fast? How would you describe their mating practices? Feet – prehensile, or no? Ancestry in the pre-cambrian era?

Hearing this, Hans and Franz, who I was unapologetically staring at by then, turned back to the menu, confused as ever. Eventually they just left without ordering, walking slowly away, no doubt still hungry, but with a strange story to tell their friends about San Francisco’s zoning practices. “It ist true, een San Franschizko zey haff place zat look like eine reschtaurant, vair you must order een code, by saying za name uff schtrange beast.”

Blake just went back to his iPhone, a vacuous smirk on his face, no doubt taking pride in a job well done.

Disclaimer: I love Taylor Swift. I love her in the mornings, I love her in the evenings, even at supper times. (Guess what I’d do if Taylor Swift was on a bagel?)

However, after this most recent break-up with Conor Kennedy, I am starting to fear for her. I mean, I get that she’s a hopeless romantic (or, for womenkind’s sake, let’s say hope-half-empty) and she’s got her heart on her sleeve. It’s impressive to see someone so pretty (really, Tay, so so pretty) fall in love so easily. But, sweetpea, there’s a LINE. And buying a house across from the family of your 18-year-old boyfriend? I’d say we’ve crossed it…We’ve crossed it, driven 3,000 miles past it,  taken a ferry down Clingy Creek to Stalker Stream, and boarded the train out of Psycho Station.

So we find ourselves on the verge of Never Ever Getting Back Together once more and we begin to lose sight of reality. Specifically, that we’re still really super rich, pull off red lipstick like it ain’t nothin but a g thing, and, like, we die knowing we’ve dated a Kennedy. These are the things we are at risk of forgetting. And, alas, we all know what comes after the complete and total breakdown of logic and reason: online dating. So, I’ve gone ahead and created an OkCupid profile for my darling (slightly)craycray TayTay, with the profound hope that she’ll see it, spritz herself with Fiji Rare-Diamond-Fairy’s-Wing-On-A-Spring-Morning blessed water, and get back out there with her head on straight, knowing she will never (ever) have to use it. Read it, love it, break up with it, write a song about it, whatever floats your super-retro-polka-dot-bathing-suit-outfitted boat. Just enjoy.

…And let us pray.

Now, my dear Taylor, consider this a wake-up call in the form of the Ghost of Sad-Sack Future. You can do better than online dating…and schmucks like John Mayer …and man-baby-wolves like Taylor Lautner…and one “n” Conors (seriously, dude, you’re missing one.) Your guitar’s gonna start malfunctioning if you keep crying on it. Heartbreak’s what brings home that cheese anyhow, muffin. So lock it up, Swiftboat. We’re counting on you.

And remember: Friends are better than boyfriends. And best friends are better than other friends. And me > your best friends. So let’s be best friends. Seriously. I have like 12 colors of glitter pens. It’s perfect.

I’m really glad that I’m not deaf. Closed captioning is literally the worst thing in the world. I want to watch TV, not read a book. What is this, the 1920′s?! Occasionally, closed captioning can offer some unintentional entertainment. Here are a few examples of some great closed captioning typos.

“This country is going to hell…”

“Way to show your hand MSNBC…”

“Wait, it’s NOT his butt? I HATE this show!”

“It’s supposed to be nice out tomorrow. Want to go to the park?”
“Umm…I think I’m going to stay in…”

“The Yankees want Carlos Pena? That makes sense.”

“At least try to get it on the fire! That might help?”

“The Met’s are ovulating right now, but late season results will prove that they are still baron.”

“It’s going to be a very tight race.”

“Is that, like, one of those drinks that you order in one of those ‘special’ bars?”

“Shit! I took French in high school, what should I do? I’m just going to put [Speaking Spanish]. That’s all I can do.”

“I just don’t get Joe Rogan’s sense of humor some times…”

“He’s a little slut out there on the playground.”

TV writer Laura Moran has YET to win one of the MacArthur Foundation’s $500,000 dollar genius grants.  

She decided to write a letter to the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation to see just what THE F#CK is going on… 

———————————————————————————————————

October 2, 2012
The John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation
140 South Dearborn Street
Chicago, IL 60603-5285

To the Anonymous Board of Nominators and Selection Committee and Whoever Else Might Have A Say in Handing Out the Money;

Hey guys! What’s up?

Hey, so I see you awarded the 2012 MacArthur Fellowships “Genius Grants” today. I read all about it on The New York Times website. Yeah, that’s right. I read The New York Times. The paywall doesn’t dissuade me. Okay, it did, for like 4 years. But then I realized I could write it off.

I listen to NPR and read The New Yorker, too.

Oh, so while I was reading (and clicking through fucking Ralph Lauren ads), I noticed I didn’t win. What’s with that?

It’s really too bad because The “Genius Awards” are pretty cool— $500,000 handed out to about fifteen randos a year. Not for anything they’ve done in the past, but, as you so proudly state on your website, “rather [as] an investment in a person’s originality, insight, and potential.”

You guys really made some strong choices this year. I mean, Benoit Rolland! As in Benoit Rolland, the “stringed-instrument bow maker [who] experiment[s] with new designs and materials to create violin, viola, and cello bows that rival the quality of prized nineteenth-century bows and meet the artistic demands of today’s musicians.” His work influences me daily, and by daily I mean never.

Then there’s geriatrician Dr. Eric Coleman. He runs the Care Transitions Program, which trains nurses and social workers to help patients and their caregivers manage issues like medication use and organizing appointments.

Okay, okay. I think I can help with this. Step 1: buy one of those giant medicine things.

There. Done. $500,000 PLEASE!

And then there’s Natalia Almada, a 37-year-old filmmaker from Mexico City, who is known for “not relying on conventional techniques, like interviews with experts or even a linear timeline.”  That’s on you, John D. and Catherine T.  That is on you.

And there’s some broad who is a “flutist and art entrepreneur in Brooklyn.” So she’s a “hipster and hipster in hipster.” I didn’t know we were handing out a fuck-ton of money for that nowadays.

Okay, now back to me.

Supposedly the MacArthur Fellowship is “designed to support people, often unrecognized, who are expanding the boundaries of knowledge and human interaction.” Coincidentally, that’s my twitter bio.

But seriously, how much more could I fit that definition? I am most definitely unrecognized. Can’t argue that. I constantly expand my boundaries of knowledge. I look up words on urban dictionary at least once a day. And they almost always turn out to be terms for weird gay stuff. And then I go one step further–  I tell my friends the terms for this weird gay stuff, thus expanding the boundaries of others around me. And I interact with humans constantly. I get drunk most Saturday nights. Sometimes at bars; sometimes in my apartment. And no, not by myself. My boyfriend and cats are almost always present.

But really, I think the larger issue here is that I need the money so badly.

So, 2013?

Sincerely,

Laura Moran

P.S. I know you don’t have a say how the Fellows spend the money (which seems like a really bad idea) but maybe you could just casually mention to “conceptual photographer” Uta Barth to buy a fucking smile. She just won $500k.

It’s very important to pay attention to warning signs. Read them thoroughly, and abide by their rules. However, here are a few signs that could be misinterpreted. 

“If you drop your iPhone, dive after that shit! Those are expensive and you don’t have a warranty!”

“When walking your Scottish Terrier, pick up any giant bushels of grapes you stumble upon. They’re free!”

“Free Quaker Hats!”

“If you fall, be sure to do it with jazz hands!”

“Your husband will leave your baby in a McDonald’s bathroom.”

“Make your wife go first to make sure it is safe to cross!”

“Practice playing the triangle while you shower!”

“Free giant doughnut rides! But wait your turn please!”

“This is where giants go cliff jumping!”

“Flight attendants do not care that your seat is ‘right there’. You have to wait until they give everyone their Diet Ginger Ale before you can return to your seat sir, or you will be run over by the drink cart.”

“If you miss the train, it’s OK to jump on the back as it speeds off! Don’t be late for work!”

“You’re never too old to enjoy a slide!”

Made from 100% post consumer materials.

Kids these days think they are invincible, like Robocop or Kevin Costner, but the truth is 80 percent of our brains are made up of thinker cells, thats how we formulate ideas. This fact makes it clear that cranial trauma prevention is extremely important.  Any helmet is better than nothing, just because you can’t afford a Coco Chanel chinchila lined helmet or one made from fancy space grade alloys doesn’t mean you should forget about the safety of your brain. Try a bucket or maybe duck tape some hotdog buns to your head.

…You can always improvise.

“I know we just past Rally’s Ted!, I can still smell the curly fries god dammit!”

Cops are among the greatest of thinkers, this is why we have to take extra precaution when protecting their brains.

“Thanks man! it came with a free gallon of potato salad too!”

Punky Bruster rides again!!!

“Dude I promise I won’t be mad, just admit that you ate my fucking carmel corn before you used the box… … BULLSHIT. It was not empty!.. Gramma doesnt like popcorn it gets stuck in her dentures!”

“Dude, I told you these blind dates never work… They said to meet them exactly right here”

If your helmet weighs half your body weight, then your less likely to get thrown off your bike when you hit something… Smart, this is straight out of the DMV handbook.

“Hmmm… what if I paint my car to look like a limo.. ..Whoa! this thing really works!”

“In the name of little caesar!!.. ..BRING BACK CRAZY BREAD!!!”

You have the right to remain silly. Here are a few cops who aren’t afraid to take it to the streets.

“What is that guy doing? Stealing that old woman’s purse? (Sigh)…I’ll get him later…”

“Do you have a license firearm, sir? What’s the Galactic Empire?”

“The Chief is NOT going to like this…”

“I thought I smelled bacon…”

“Just tell us what to do Superman, we are just two inept cops who have no control over the simplest situations.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to the robbery…”

“What do I do Captain?!”
“Just give it a muffin, I read that somewhere.”
“I believe that will only work for a moose sir…”

“First arrest! You have the right to…to…pose for this picture real fast!”

“That’ll probably buff right out…”

“God this new zoom lense is fantastic! You can see every intricate detail…the sweat on his brow, the question of whether or not he should fire…”

“That’s it! I’m sick of park duty! I’m putting in transfer papers tomorrow!”
“I don’t know, Hank…I kind of enjoy it…”