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I Think

Page 9


"Permanent" is scary. I think teachers have that one down pat. Back in elementary school, the disciplinary threat was always "You better behave, or this will go on your permanent record." We were all terrified, because we never wanted anything to go on our permanent record. Now that I'm grown up, I realize it was all just a fraud. How can there be a document about me that everybody but I can see? I'm older now, but things haven't changed. They call it a "credit rating" now. They can't fool me.


I'm going to dig a big trench around my house and fill it with water and large predatory reptiles. I'll have a drawbridge, which I'll keep up by default, and cannons which will protrude from each window. I think this will significantly reduce the number of door to door salesman that come visiting.


Why is "real life" humor funny? There's no punchline. There's no building or releasing of comic tension. "Why do people in elevators always face the door?" Bwahahahahahahah!!! "Ever notice how adults bite the corner of a sandwich first, while kids bite the edge first?" Heeheeheeheehee! Stop it!! I can't take anymore!!! I think stand-up comedians are darn lucky, as they build their entire careers around what has to be a genetic mistake made with the human sense of humor somewhere along the line.


I went to a Chinese restaurant the other day. They had a "make your own dinner plate" special where you choose five items from a list, and that's what you get. They wouldn't let me have a double portion of golden batter dipped chicken fingers -- I had to pick five different things. What difference does it make to them? Stupid restaurant. I think I'm going to go to this restaurant a lot, try to order a double serving of chicken fingers, then gyp the waitress the tip when the request is refused. I know what you're thinking: "It isn't her fault." Of course it isn't. But this tactic will get the waiting crew mad. They'll complain. They'll demand the silly rule be eliminated. Then the next time I go in, I'll pass out all the tips from before, with interest. No harm done. I get my extra chicken fingers, and the restaurant staff will be trained to do my bidding. First chicken fingers. Then -- the world!


I don't understand sports cars. You pay extra money to get a car that gets bad gas mileage, attracts cops, rides so smoothly you think you're doing 30 when you're really doing 115, and has a bookshelf for a backseat. Maybe I'm just hopelessly practical, but I think there's an excellent untapped business opportunity here. I'm going to build and market the "sports bike." It'll have a cushy but non-body-forming seat that's so low it's between the wheels instead of above them. It'll have massive shock absorbers for a smooth ride. It'll have a huge pedal radius and an elaborate system of gears so you can go insanely fast. The chain guard will be comprised of sleek curves and tinted canary yellow. As a specialty feature, the kickstand will be too short to be functional, but -- and here's the good part -- it will be locked in the down position. If that isn't cool, I don't know what is. No stealing my trillion dollar idea, now.


I think my company should provide me with free breakfast, lunch, snacks, and drinks. Instead of a cubicle, I should have an office with a door and a window, a kitchenette, and a private bath (with jacuzzi). I should have a secretary or two and at least three general-purpose servants. If my company isn't spending more on me than the gross national product of most third world nations, I ought to go where I'll be more appreciated. I could work for some big shot oil company, I suppose, but I've got my sights set higher. I hear there's an opening for Bill Gates' brain. I'll be his brain, work for next to nothing for two years, then threaten to quit. He'll have no choice but to give me whatever I ask for -- how could he lose two years' worth of memories and experiences? He'd forget how to run his company in the current marketplace. I could ask for a 90% cut of his fortune. Then I'd retire anyway.


I think "Bursitis" would make a great name for a dog.


Soda cans are a big waste. You've got a whole hunk of metal, and its entire purpose in life is to keep one unit of soda from spilling everywhere. Once the soda's gone, the can's job is done forever. With modern technology, we can work around this inefficiency. I think we should have canless soda cans. There would be a force field around the soda to keep it in place. You pick it up, drink it through the hole in the force field, and the field contracts as there is less liquid to secure. When the soda is gone, the force field shrinks to nothing and disappears. Better yet, let's just have the factory teleport it directly into our mouths. You push a button on the wall for the soda of your choice, position your head just so, and bam, you're chugging down carbonation. Of course they'd have to make sure not to teleport it in too fast, or there would be a mess. And if they missed and got it in your nose, well that's just completely unacceptable. Soda in the nose is about as bad as life gets.


Every single time I read a poorly written piece of email, news posting, or other electronic communication, I want to go stomp on the writer's head. I don't care if he has a Ph.D. in physics, computer science, or economics, or if he has an IQ of 180. If people can't communicate without typos and misspellings and sentence fragments, they look like morons, and I feel I should treat them as such. I think that every computer should be equipped with a perfect grammar and style detector, and every time someone types something incomprehensible or stupid, then tries to share it in an electronic communications medium, a massive electric shock would be delivered. You'd get one chance to fix all mistakes, then zappo. I realize I'd probably get a few shocks myself, but it'd be worth it to be able to read email and newsgroups without stumbling over the inane musings of pathetic morons.


I find it mildly offensive that people find their personal idiosyncrasies such fascinating subjects to talk about. "I eat popcorn one piece at a time." "Oh really? I don't. I shove it in by the handful. The only thing I eat one piece at a time is Skittles." No. This is not an interesting conversation. I think this practice should be illegal. The courts could hire Shirley MacLaine to carry out sentences against violators. She'd talk about her personal idiosyncrasies. It wouldn't just be punishment. It'd be rehabilitation.