Good On Paper.

Often you will hear that something is ‘good on paper’.  This means that while it would seem like a delightful idea in theory, once you actually play it out, it doesn’t quite live up to the beautiful list of benefits that may or may not have once listed onto some sort of paper at an earlier moment in time.  There are things out there which are more obviously ‘good on paper’ but ‘bad in practice’, such as Communism, Adult Diapers, Napping, Water Beds, or Unprotected Sex.  However, some things are much more covertly ‘bad in practice’.  Leave it to me to assist you in avoiding the following list of ‘good on paper – bad in practice’ things and shit and whatnot that may otherwise take you by surprise.

Smelly Candles.

Who wouldn’t like fresh cookie smell?  Or pumpkin pie smell?  Or laundry smell?  Or Christmas Tree?  The thing is if you have a bunch of good smelling candles lying around, at some point, you’ll end up lighting one up before sex, or, on the opposite side of the spectrum after taking a huge dump.  And given how connected smell is to memory, over time, the given smell will act as a trigger.  Which means that this particular smell will either make you pop a boner or completely relax your colon, neither of which are very desirable when you are standing at ‘Mrs Fields’ at the mall, or cutting down the Griswold family Christmas tree, or eating dessert with the In-Laws, or folding clothes, and so on and so forth.  If you are female, replace ‘pop a boner’ with the female equivalent.

Digital Cameras / Camera Phones.

I realize that this is old news, but I wish that I could have prevented this one, and warned so many people of what was to come.  On paper, it reads that “I can take so many pictures!” In practice it becomes “I must take so many pictures” or “I need to take pictures of everything forever” and everyone ends up with a never ending library of photos that no one will ever look at.   I’ve covered this before, though (see: Picture Perfect).  I guess I’d just love to go somewhere, ANYWHERE, and not see people taking pictures of everything.  Just once please.

Netflix.

Again, I’m far too late to have prevented this, but on paper, we all love the ease of use, the accessibility and the huge selection that Netflix and the like have to offer.  In practice, however, there are no more movie stores and I miss browsing.  And fuck Redbox too, especially since the one at Shaw’s was busted tonight.

Drinking Eight Glasses of Water per Day.

On paper – I’ve never felt so alive, hydrated and healthy.  In practice – I’ve never peed so much.  I can’t commit to a one hour meeting, out of fear of pissing myself.  The commute home becomes a race to not pee all over my car.

Stalls with Walls that Go All the Way to the Floor.

I learned this on a recent business trip, where the office building I visited had bathrooms equipped with stalls of this kind.  I know what you’re thinking “but Kev, what about the added ankle privacy?”  While it is true that no one will be able to figure out who you are by the crumpled up pants and shoes normally put on display, it is also horrifyingly true that every smell that has ever been in the stall up until that point will be trapped in this poorly aerated stall, possibly forever and ever.  The smells all mingle together to create some sort of perpetual super smell mixture. Stepping into the stall is like being slapped in the face by an old sweat sock drenched in piss, chock full of shit, and sprinkled with some sort of onion-garlic-curry hybrid.  Too much?

Ice Makers.

I agree that the old school method of having to fill little ice cube trays is both tedious and slow.  And I ALWAYS spill water on the floor when travelling from the sink to the freezer… But I don’t think I’ve ever had ice cubes from an ice maker that didn’t smell funny.  And not ‘ha ha’ funny.  I prefer my ice non-smelly.

Alpaca Sweater.

I honestly liked how it looked on me at the store.  It was slimming, it was warm.  So, dagnabbit, I bought it.  What I didn’t know about an Alpaca sweater, and you should know, is that little fluffs fly off the sweater and go everywhere.  The floor at home – covered.  The floor at work in and around my cubicle – also covered.  Belly button and ass crack – full to the brim.  But seriously, my little fluffs are all over the office.  You can actually tell where I have been.  And forgive me for once again bringing up the workplace poop, but I left more than just trace amounts of Alpaca on the floor in the stall.  HENCE, EVERYONE KNOWS WHERE I’VE BEEN – the frequent trips to the kitchen area and to the bathroom.  Alpaca Sweater makes my workplace routines completely transparent!  It didn’t take me long to throw it away.  I felt like taking it back to the stupid GAP where I bought it.  I don’t remember seeing fluffs on the floor around the display.  FALSE ADVERTISING.  They must have had someone armed with a ‘Ghostbuster’ backpack style vacuum cleaner to run out and clean house every five minutes while no one is looking.  Damn you GAP, your Alpaca sweaters and your stupid staff of vacuum ninjas.

Well, I’m sure there are plenty more examples rampaging out there and maybe I will get to them one day.  For now, I think that is a good start.  You’ve been warned.

That’s it.  My Alpaca just came out of the dryer and I need to use the potty.

Writer's Block, Vol. VI.

I recently took a huge dump at Barnes & Noble.  Anyone who knows me, or has read enough of the things that I write will know that browsing leads to photo finishes in the restroom.  Bookstores are the worst for this, especially since I usually end up with a coffee in my hand, which is yet another of my favorite and most effective laxatives.  So there I was, racing from the bargain bin to the lavatories, desperately hoping that my usual stall was free.

Yeah, I have a usual stall.

Yeah, I am worried that the Barnes & Noble people refer to me as “The Shit Guy” or “Mr. Poo Dude” or “Maybe we should just stop serving him coffee”.

So I did my business.  I won’t get into graphic details, but let’s just say I lost about five pounds.  As I was pressing the little flush handle (by the way, I love that they haven't switched to those automatic flushers yet, because it allows me to better control courtesy flushing, as well as the timing of everything as I stand up to wipe), someone who must have recently entered the bathroom (like a ninja, I must say, since I didn’t even hear the door open) shouted something out to me. 

"CAREFUL WITH THE FLUSH IN THAT FIRST STALL."  

It was too late, I had already flushed, but everything seemed to go down correctly.  When I exited the stall I saw a guy, probably in his twenties, holding a wrench, and wearing some sort of tool belt.  He looked at me and said, "Sorry for yelling, I wasn't sure it would flush right, I'm here to fix that one" as he walks past me and heads directly into the stall I just annihilated with a few days’ worth of bad eating (Chinese food, pizza, brie… some kind of onion soup… many eggs).

I turned around to advise him against immediate entry into the danger zone, but I was too late.  So I say to him, "Well, in that case, let me apologize for the air quality in there."  I was tempted to add in a “That skid mark on the bottom was totally already there when I arrived.”  Also worried that he might lift up the seat, I could have potentially added “Any below the seat markings were probably not from me.”

Anyways, before I could add anything else onto my apology (for what had to be a brutal scene), without skipping a beat, this is what the guy says to me, from his KNEES in the stall, FACING a toilet that I had just destroyed. 

"Welcome to my office."

It sounded so HARD and so wise.  The dude was twenty-something, but clearly, as my brother said, "When you work a shitty job like that, you grow up real fast."  I don't think my brother actually said 'SHITTY' job, but I felt the pun worked rather well.  Sorry big brother, if I misquoted you.

I realize that the holidays are over, and many of us are bummed that we have to wake up early again, go to the office, and pretend to work for eight hours.  Well, the next time you go to the washroom, any washroom really, and are face to face with a clogged poopy toilet, just remember, THAT could be your office.  

Suddenly the cubicle seems pretty nice, doesn’t it?

That's it.  I need to go look at books, I’m pretty backed up from all that holiday eating.

Where the Cheese At?

Dearest Readers of HXR,

As you may have already noticed, I have been spending less time writing for your beloved Super Happy Fun Blog, Highway 10 Revisited, and spending lots and lots of time writing for my Action Packed Full to the Max Blog, Zombie Hall.

I have still been writing comedy and Highway 10 material, albeit mostly in my mind, and will document some new stuff in the Newest Year of all recent New Years in memory, 2012.

Here are a few thoughts that will likely work their way into some upcoming material:

- Why I stopped going to Open Mics
- Alpaca sweaters are awesome but the worst too
- Where did my pants button go?
- Yankee Swaps are fucked up
- Who buys this shit?
- Who watches this shit?
- Newt Gingrich? More like Shit Sandwich (and similar remarks for all of those candidates)
- Real Adventures of Kev D. in Public Restrooms
- But I don't FEEL 30...
- Never juice an onion
- Don’t try the hot sauce
- I’ve never had an ‘AH-HA’ moment, and I don’t know what it feels like
- Where jokes go to die
- Grown men look stupid in sunglasses, especially indoors
- Warm sheets good, warm toilet seat bad

And so on and so forth.

Happy Holidays and all sorts of hugs and shit,
Kev D.


That's it.  I should probably start writing some of that stuff.

Expert Opinion.

People tend to have different passions in life.  What bakes one person’s beans might not, in fact, bake someone else’s beans to quite the same level of bakedness and/or bakeosity.  Some people don’t even like beans.  Some people eat beans and get all gassy and smelly.  The point is, beans are pretty awesome, especially if you put hot dogs in them.  Wait, no, that’s not the point.  

Allow me to start over.  

I see people obsessing over sports and don’t really understand what the big deal is (see: Color Commentator).  I see people loving cars, and think, what a waste of time and energy.  Just like some people may not understand why I know so much about obscure zombie films (see: Zombie Hall… no seriously… If you’ve been wondering where the hell I have been, I have been writing there lots…).  Some people try to keep up to date with all of the newest gadgets and iDildoes, learn about fine wine, or eat all sorts of soft cheeses.  I sort of get it, but who has the money for that?  

Some people go bird watching.  No comment.

The point is everyone wants to be a buff of some kind.  I fancy myself a music buff, and a bit of a film buff, but if you are looking to be a buff and have not yet chosen something to buff on, allow me to present you with a buff list (which I guess makes me a buff buff), of what I feel are underrepresented hobbies and passions that surely must exist in the world today, somewhere.  Be a buff like these, and you’ll really stand out as a one-of-a-kind buff.

The Urinal Buff

I would imagine life as a Urinal Buff would be exciting and full of non-stop action, especially if you’re a woman.  Imagine being able to stop at a random rest area somewhere like southern New Hampshire and come out cheering.

“Honey, they have the new Falcon 4000!  Limited edition! What a swirl!  Get the camera!”

Sure, people might look at you funny when you enthusiastically piss, but every public urinal pee would be an educational experience.  You’re probably thinking that there isn’t much to know about urinals.  Maybe the Urinal Buff could also have vast toilet seat knowledge.  You don’t know.  

You don’t know because you’re not a Urinal Buff.  By the way, the Urinal Buff prefers to be called Whiz Kid.  I bet the Urinal Buffs would have all sorts of inside jokes slagging guys that sit down to pee, or prefer the comfort and privacy of a stall.

Other types of buffs along these lines could be Toe Nail Clipper Buff (“I just got the new model Trim”), Shower Curtain Ring Buff (think John Candy in “Planes, Trains”), Ceiling Fan Buff (“It’s got eight speeds!”), or Late Eighties’ Microwave Oven Buff (“You can cook a whole turkey to the max”) just to name a few.

The Crayola Connoisseur

Outside of the weird kid who ate crayons in class, few people seem to have a real appreciation for crayons, and I think that’s a shame.  I think a true Crayola Connoisseur would be able to take a crayon that is missing its little rolling paper and still be able to name which color it is, likely based on its smell and texture. They’d probably get confused between Mahogany and Shit, though.  

“Smells like Magenta, but has a bit of a Fuchsia aftertaste.”

They’d actually understand the purpose of that built in sharpener on the box too.  Also, let it be known, that the Crayola Connoisseur wouldn't respect people who know a lot about markers, because, markers and marker experts are bullshit.  You ever smelled those smelly markers?  

“Uh, yes well, the last time I checked, the color pink does not actually smell like bubble gum” said the Crayola Connoisseur, quite condescendingly.

The Firework Enthusiast

Fully grown humans enjoying fireworks have always, to me, seemed a little bit ridiculous.  I often like to blurt out things like “classic Pinsky formation” or “I wasn’t sure if they’d bring it home, but then BAM, double Fapperwheel!” because I’m so silly like that, and to me, that joke never gets old.  But imagine someone who actually knows the terminology of fireworks.  You’re probably thinking that there isn’t a terminology.  Well, probably not.  But I’d assume that the fireworks enthusiast would invent his own glossary of firework related terms and maneuvers.   I bet ‘bouquet’ and ‘finale’ would totally mean something.

I know you’re out there and I’m dying to meet you.  Probably you’re good friends with someone who knows all the techniques for making various styles of paper snowflakes.

“Check this one out! I only used three scissor cuts.”

Dental Hygiene Assistant Fanatic 

If you think that they would only know about the famous ones, you’d be wrong.  They’d know about the local up and comers too, and they’d have trading cards, like baseball cards, that have their stats printed on the back.  You know, like Cavity Assists, Cleaning Time Average, and Drool Handling?

“I’ll trade you a ‘Melinda from Springfield’ for your ‘Peggy from Rochester’ rookie card.”

Seriously, if we throw other healthcare professionals (nurses, pharmacists, the person that operates them fancy machines in the hospitals, etc…) into the mix, we could have whole talk radio channels centered on them.  I’d listen to that.

“Welcome to ‘You Can’t Handle the Tooth’, I’m your host, Barry Jogbar, let’s go to the phones.”

“Yeah, hi Barry, long time listener first time caller, what do you think Portland Charlene’s chances are at being called up to big show this year?”

“After yesterday’s veneer performance, I think they are pretty strong.  Pretty strong indeed.”

Honestly, they are already wearing colored uniforms. We might as well organize the color scheme a little more and make them form teams.  Besides, they’d certainly be better role models than people in ‘US Weekly’ (see: Keepin’ it Real).  Think of the children, people.

Cigar Aficionado Aficionado

I’ll leave it up to you the reader to decide what exactly this would be.  It’s kind of like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, minus the horrific cover art and the fact that I always die on purpose.  

“To jump off the cliff and end your adventure, turn to page SET BOOK ON FIRE.”

Most likely a Cigar Aficionado Aficionado involves some kind of parallel universe.  I believe that it has very little to do with cigars.

I wanted to add Muzak Lover to this list, but when I did a quick search on that there Google thing, sadly, it turns out that this type of buff exists already and will therefore not make this list.  In any case, don’t feel the need to follow something on this list necessarily.  I’m simply trying to get your brain motivated to get out there and be creative.  Go become the first SOMETHING Buff.  The world needs buffs of all kinds.  Except illegal stuff, or stuff that involves a lot of eating.  There are enough of those buffs as it is.  Also, don’t confuse Buff with Fetish.  You should like something, not like-like something.  Big difference.

That’s it.  My office building got the new Falcon installed and I need to go try it out.

Impulse Drive.

We've all seen the commercials and billboards for them.  And, sure enough, they are sprouting up everywhere you turn.  Otherwise desolate strip malls are now decorated with bright yellow signs promising you cash for all of your unwanted gold.  The ads all sort of start out the same, implying that most of us have extra sacks of pirate booty hiding in our attics and under our beds just waiting to be melted down and cashed in on.  Are you sick of carrying around dead stinky grandma’s stinky old dead jewelry?  She’s dead and you’re poor, so get rich!  Get rich now.

At an open mic’ once, a very funny guy was on before me, and did an entire bit about leprechauns and ‘cash for gold’ advertisements.  I don’t remember exactly what he said, or what his name was, but I figured that I should give him a cosmic nod of some kind, and telepathically thank him for warming up the audience for me that night.  There’s no way that my bit about inflatable mattresses was that funny.

So, anyways, we can all agree that the ads are already ridiculous enough.  But a few weeks back, I saw a closed down gas station that had recently been converted in to a ‘cash for gold’ temple, with a rather large sign obnoxiously advertising what they are all about.  In case you were wondering, they give cash for gold. Right underneath this sign, a poor sap standing in one hundred plus degree heat was holding a big arrow that read ‘CASH 4 GOLD’ and was pointing it to the store directly next to him.  To top it off, he was wearing a Mr. T sized gold medallion.  

Makes me think of the dudes standing outside of the strip club asking me if I like boobs and/or pussy, as if I am going to suddenly stop in my tracks, unaware of what lay beyond yonder walls.

“Wait, wait… you have the beaver to cure my fever?  Finally! Thank God you were out here to let me know what was available in your fine establishment.  It wasn’t clear from that naked woman on the neon sign.  Now, just so I’m clear, your establishment features both breasts and vaginae?  Honey, you go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Now, aside from the ridiculousness of holding the arrow (and playing air guitar on it) directly below a Buick sized billboard, one must wonder how many extra customers are coming in thanks to this roadside arrow.  Ordinarily this type of sidewalk luring is meant for drive-by impulse buys.  

“How will I ever make it up to Cindy for that pesky 'whoops wrong hole' incident? Oh, hey now, FLOWERS!”, thought Gerald, as he whizzed past the lonely clown holding a sign indicating where one might buy roses. 

And then there is always the classic ‘sexy girl car wash’, or something involving free hot dogs.  I mean, who wouldn’t pull over for that?  But how many people are actually driving around with treasure chests of doubloons in their trunk, just in case they have an impulse to sell?

“Cash for gold eh?  Why not!?!  Get the good gold out of the glove compartment, we’re going in.”

Is it often enough to warrant having him out there?  

“We were on our way to the grocery store and thought, well, since we have all this unwanted gold hidden in our seat cushions, we may as well pull over.  We just couldn’t resist the sweaty fat guy with the arrow.  Say, how much for my wedding ring?”

And why do these signs sometimes try for some cheap play on words?  It’s insulting to my intelligence.  Granted, we are a nation of people that need to be told to ‘click it or ticket’.  Yeah.

“I saw the sign, and didn’t want to miss my ‘golden opportunity’.  Now, do you guys have pliers?  I have some teeth to rip out.”

You think any alcoholics have ever brought in their peepee and poopoo after a night of binging on Gold Schlager? ... Too far?  I’m just thinking that that would certainly be unwanted gold.

Perhaps the sidewalk charmer is aimed at criminals fleeing the scene of a crime.  Although, unless their crime was a gold heist, I don’t see what good it would be.  Maybe if they robbed another ‘cash for gold’ place. 

“This way! Hurry! Follow the arrow!”

I think about these things when I should be more focused on the road.  Even as all of this raced through my head, I was still tempted to pull over, because I thought it would be a solid joke to go up to the guy holding the sign wearing that enormous medallion and say, “Hey man, that’s an awfully big medallion.  Is that gold?  I’m pretty sure there’s a place around here that would pay you good cash for that...  Not sure where though... Any ideas?”

Moving right along.

My realization in seeing Goldenboy McNecklace-Chest is that if the place needs to dress a guy up in a bunny suit or tutu or whatever to try and lure you into the store, it’s probably a store and product that you can do without.  This realization, in turn, got me thinking about what the worst impulse buy situations would be (other than cash for gold), and whether they could even employ a sidewalk goon or not.  

In general, you shouldn’t impulse buy at all.  The most tempting, and often easiest, impulse buy to give into is food, because after all, you definitely need to have that brand new sandwich.  But, if you see any of the following examples, or anything like them being advertised on the side of the road, or being dangled at you so seamlessly in front of the checkout, you really need to just move on.

Colonoscopy

Granted, if they had a sidewalk guy and his sign said 'ENTER IN REAR' or something of the like, I would still have to pull over just to give him a high five, you know, in the name of comedy.  As long as he’s not the one administering the procedures, because then maybe just a fist-bump, followed by a lot of hand sanitizer, might be better.  For the record, most medical procedures are not recommended to be purchased purely on impulse (unless the purchase is Emergency Medicine that you suddenly need due to bleeding from the head or something).

Foreign Babies

I know it seems like celebrities pick these up on a whim, but if a place is advertising with a guy on the street, you might be better off just calling the police.  I know you want to be like Brangie, but the babies here won’t be the quality foreign babies you’ve come to appreciate in such magazine photo shoots as ‘US Weekly’ or ‘In Touch’.  Not sure what that magazine is in touch with.  Definitely not reality, or ethics.

Cult Membership

Never pay money to join a cult, and certainly not on a whim.  I guess don’t join one for free either, even if they promise cookies.  Especially if they promise cookies.  The expression ‘Drink the Kool-Aid’ exists for a reason.  How do you think they got so many people?  Arrow signs.  I’m telling you, look it up.  No don’t.  Lifestyle changes should be discussed with your wife / husband / family / brain before you just proceed on an impulse.  Same for those Timeshare deals, which are rather cult-ish.   Just give me my free gift and take me back to the strip, and no, Steve, I don’t care how often you went skiing last year.

Christmas Tree

Especially if you already have one, or it’s not Christmas, or you don’t celebrate Christmas.  Seriously, it’s a tiny apartment, where the hell would we put it?  This goes for all holiday-related gear.  No, Halloween is not a holiday.  Nonetheless, avoid those Halloween superstores.  Forever.  

“But the bags of fake cob web are on special, buy eighteen get one free!!!” 

Yeah, exactly.  If you collected everyone’s unused Christmas and Halloween decorations, you could probably build a tower to the moon, or at the very least, you could probably bury a lot of really annoying people.

Drug Trial

This is a special one, since it’s not so much an impulse buy as an impulse sell (much like the 'cash for gold').  What you are selling, of course, is dignity and potentially your overall well-being.  A respected clinical trial place might not be so bad, and you might only end up with the more traditional diarrhea side-effect, but do you really want to even risk having a story that ends with “and that’s the story of my exploding left testicle”?  And you really don’t want to know what non-traditional diarrhea looks like.  

Anything at a Mall kiosk

Face it, if you really needed it, they would have an actual store.  They are hoping that you hate yourself enough that you just can’t resist their redundantly shitty product.  Excuse me sir, do you like [ face cream / toy helicopter / funny slippers / cheap sunglasses ]? No.  But not nearly as much as I dislike you.  I realize that this is getting away from the idea of sidewalk people, but then the mall will go and have a sidewalk sale, so they can pretend to have a sidewalk with which to lure you in, as well as sidewalk people who are all “50% off everything! Except what you might want to buy!”.   Seriously, that's not on sale?  Fuck you, mall.

Haircut

The cheaper the place, the more likely they are to have a guy on the street, and the worse off your hair will be.  Well, unless you want to look five years old again.  Even a good haircut is the worst, because you have to go to work, and everyone is like, “hey, new haircut?”.  So imagine a bad one.

In conclusion, I’m sure there are some important impulse transactions that I am missing, but if you go directly after the more obviously bad impulse buys like PROSTITUTES, ANOTHER BOOK from THE BOOKSTORE, SKINNY JEANS, GAMBLING, NEW CAR, HOME OWNERSHIP or the Godfather of all impulse buys, PETS, you probably deserve whatever grief you are currently feeling.

In conclusion part two, never listen to people on streets holding signs, unless they are the police or one of those old lady crossing guards with the big lollipop stop sign.  In those cases, I will leave it up to you to decide if you want to buy what they are selling.

That’s it.  I’m going to go drive around and see where my impulses take me.

Writer's Block, Vol. V.

The end of a vacation is always so bitter sweet.  Sure, I’m glad that my cat’s not dead and seems to remember that I’m the guy that feeds him.  It’s also nice to be back in my own bed, where my pillow smells like my old gym socks and my wife and I know exactly how to angle the fan for a refreshingly pure and blissful sleep.  But that last day of vacation, when I’m back home and unpacking has that awful feeling that Sundays always had when I was a kid.

How can I enjoy today when there’s school tomorrow?

Whenever I get to work after a vacation everyone just seems so content in their office cocoon.  I feel like I’m missing out.  What do they know that I don’t?

It’s kind of like how growing up, all the other kids seemed to like ‘Winnie the Pooh’, but I found the entire ‘Pooh’ world to be thoroughly depressing.  Seriously, 'Eeyore' makes me want to kill myself.  I have vivid recollections of watching the cartoons and feeling sad inside.  James Taylor has the same effect on me.  Some people sit there finding his music toe-tappin’ and smooth, I find it pants-shittin’ and moldy.

And all the 'back-to-school' paraphernalia out there this time of year isn't helping.  On top of my current vacation withdrawal, my brain is flashing back to the dismal feeling of wonderful summers coming to a close and returning back to school, where I can get in trouble for speaking English in the halls.

Still, complaining about having a job definitely qualifies as complaining with my mouth full.  So I’ll shut up now, as it is rather impolite to talk with my mouth full, even if I’m still not sure whether or not I like the taste, or whether or not this particular mouthful will give me a heart-attack someday.  Or make me choke, right now.

I’m still hopeful that in the long run it makes me poop gold.

That’s it. My cubicle calls.

Survival Horror.

Because of my own personal obsession with the Zombie genre (see: Zombie Hall), and the fact that I have recently found a tick on me TWICE, and had a brush with poison ivy (like they say "Leaves of three, Kevin you SUCK"), I have come to the conclusion that in an apocalyptic survival scenario, I’m as good as dead.  You may be thinking the same thing yourself.  I’m no boy/girl scout, and probably, neither are you.  Well, I’m here to help.  Whether it’s Zombies, World War a Million, The Rapture, Alien Invasion or The Jersey Shore that come to get us, the following preparatory steps will help you out when civilization reaches its breaking point.  I won’t get into the obvious ones like 'FIGHTING', 'HUNTING', 'BEING IN SHAPE', 'AGRICULTURE', 'MAKING SHELTER', 'MAKING FIRE', or 'WHAT BERRIES CAN'T I EAT' because those are clearly the least important.

01) Eat Garbage.

It’s good for the immune system, and eventually, it’s all that will be left, so better get used to it.  To be fair, the average American already eats garbage, so this is no stretch.  Anyways, practice with actual garbage, not just Happy Meals.

02) Jogging Pants.

When the end of the world rolls around, you’ll want the comfort of elastic waistbands and cottony delightfulness, so better to start creating a stockpile.  Plus you don’t need underwear with jogging pants.  Matching hooded sweatshirts are a nice touch as well.  If you have enough for some friends you could be a gang, the Comfort Gang.  Whether or not you go with the elastic at the bottom of the legs is entirely up to you.

03) Poop Outside.

I don’t see there being toilets, so start practicing.  Although be careful when choosing a wiping leaf ( as they say "Leaves of three...", “Please tell me that’s not how you recently had a brush with poison Ivy, Kevin.”,  “No, it’s not.”).

04) MacGyver.

Watch episode after episode, because I’m sure most of his inventions are fundamentally sound and would work in real life.  If you can make a solar powered laser beam from a pistachio, a soiled prophylactic and your own eyeball, trust me, you’ll do fine in THUNDERDOME WORLD.

05) Learn Guitar.

You could totally be the next Bob Dylanesque folk hero in the Post-Apocalyptic uprising (assuming that you are uprising against some type of force, like Pod People, or Snooki).  Hmm… maybe learn the Ukelele or Harmonica though as they're more portable.  Or invent your own instrument with the skills you’ve learned watching MacGyver.

06) Hide and Seek.

Although, it’s mostly the hiding part that you will need after the end of the world, unless you’ve taken to cannibalism, at which point, maybe you’re a seeker.  Oh, also play with other adults, because kids are AWFUL at hide and seek.

07) Home Brew.

You know, because the MOONSHINE guy is always loved in the Post-Apocalyptic community.

08) Monologue.

Start being comfortable talking to yourself, because you might be the only one around for long stretches of time.  And be ok with it.  Don’t create yourself a lover named Wilson from a ball used in the sport Volleyball.  A volleyball, if you will. 

09) Nick Name.

Figure out what you want to be called after the apocalypse, because people named Kevin don’t last long.  People named SOLITAIRE or DESTRO or TRIXIE or DYNAMITE or NITRO or MALONE can survive a long time.  Do not use names like TARGET or GONER.

10) Catchphrase.

Have a catchphrase, like “thrill me”, or “I’d buy that for a dollar”, because if someone is shooting a documentary about the aftermath, you’ll totally get more screen time.  It might be good if you have a theme song too.  It’s even better if you wrote it (see: Step 5 - Learn Guitar).

11) Hoarding.

Have enough to be ready, but not enough to end up on 'A&E' with that psychiatrist with the huge forehead (Dr. Fivehead, as she is called in our household).  Or just rob an Extreme Couponer.  Have you seen those stockpiles?  That’s a lot of green beans.

12) Be Nice.

You know, to people, in general, because karma is a bitch.  Especially in a flesh eating scenario.

I know a lot of these steps seem drastic, but you really never know when the big change is a comin’, so you’re better off having these things ready.  What’s that saying? “The best preparation is awesome preparation”.  No wait, it’s “the best prepared people are prepared for the worst”.  Is that a saying?  If it is, it’s kind of a bummer.  Fuck that.

I’m probably missing some vital preparatory steps, but this is a good start.

That’s it.  MacGyver Season three… GO!

Judgement Day (a.k.a. Panel of Judges 2).

Often times they say that you should not judge a book by its cover.  I think more realistically it should be that you should not always judge a book by its cover, but that sometimes it is ok, especially when it has a buff pirate on it and you can see his nipples.  You know what that book is going to be about.  Who holds a sword like that?  Come on.  Anyways, this can also sometimes be true of people (see: Panel of Judges).  But the ridiculous clichés like “You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes” as I previously discussed, or something equally absurd like “You can tell a lot about a person by the company that they keep”, you will find, are not accurate barometers of personality and character.  Like I discussed when I dissected the shoe argument, there are probably cases where the latter argument could still ring true.  

When someone hangs around a bunch of snobs, it can sometimes be safe to say they probably are themselves rather snobby.  However, just because someone lives within a society of mountain gorillas, it does not mean that they, in fact, are a mountain gorilla.  Maybe they don’t even like mountain gorillas, maybe they spend most of their time talking about the king and queen gorillas behind their backs to the plantains.  You don’t know.

Anyways, if 'shoes' and/or 'company kept' are off the table, but you still would like to effectively try and judge a book by its cover, then here are a few accurate ways to gauge someone’s personality, just by observing some random thing about them.

You can tell a lot about a person by…

the number of cats that they have.

I’m still working on the algorithm a little, as well as the graphs and flow chats and whatnot, but essentially depending on the number of cats, this is what you are saying to the world:

1 Cat: “I love my cat, cats are awesome.”

2 Cats: “I love ALL cats, I’m a cat person.”

3 Cats: “I love my cats, probably a little more than I like people.”

4 Cats: “Sparky and Mittens are my babies and they will never leave me, not like my lousy kids.”

5 Cats: “Last week I knit myself seventeen Christmas sweaters, all with cats on them. My cats.”

6 Cats: “The local kids say my house is haunted.  It is.”

7 Cats: “I speak cat… MEOoooooW Rehhhrr!”

8 Cats: “The urine that you smell is mostly feline, but also mine, mostly.”

9+ Cats: “SHMARGLE GLUB! Darrrrrr, Gabaraga WEE dee fwaaa? Hahahaaaaaaaa…”

It also says a lot about a person if they claim that they are striving to become the crazy cat lady / man / hermit / wildebeest.  Mostly it says 'stay away' or 'keep away from children'.

Increase in cats, increase in crazy, which, if you have a cat, makes total sense.  

You can tell a lot about a person by…

the size of their pit stains.

You can tell if they are nervous, have recently exerted themselves, or whether or not they are wearing antiperspirant.  Depending on how far down and widespread the stain is, you can tell how long they have been feeling anxious, warm or physically strained.

There’s a scene in ‘Superman 3’ (or maybe it was number four, there’s no way for me to remember, really) where Superman is lifting an enormous ice block or person or something and has atrociously large pit stains all down the sides of his best blue tights.  I’m not sure that Superman actually would sweat, and especially not when he is somewhere in Antarctica like he was in this particular scene.  What this tells us is that this ‘actor’ is not actually Superman.  Now the fourth wall is broken and I’m back to reality.  Thanks a lot, Hollywood.  Next you’ll tell me that the mall Santa Claus is not the real Santa.  Well, then how did he know I wanted a pony? How did he know?

More importantly than all of that, if someone is wearing a light gray shirt on a hot humid day, so that it clearly accentuates and highlights the tremendous pit stains, you can tell that they do not have much in the way of foresight.

But seriously, how was I supposed to know the office would be this warm today?

You can tell a lot about a person by…

whether or not they plug their nose when they jump into a pool.

People that do this may as well be wearing one of those bathing cap bonnets like in those old synchronized swimming videos (with the rubbery flowers and the metal snap button strap across the chin).  No matter a person’s age, when you see them doing this, they immediately look about four years old.  For the record, at four, I already did not plug my nose.  I already knew that I did not want to look like a weenie (see: Weenie Roast). Get your shit together!  One thing you can tell about these people is that they clearly are not comfortable in the water, and they’ll be the first to go when the whole world floods.  

Hopefully when it does happen, it will be less like ‘Waterworld’, and more like ‘The Little Mermaid’, what with the musical numbers and magically delicious crabs.  Seriously, Sebastien would make a sweet crab roll.  Hot buttered soul.

Either way, the nose-pluggers are fish food.

Well, that, along with my previously stated guidelines (see: Panel of Judges), ought to get you started along a path of judging books by their covers, only when it is completely acceptable to do so.  Or not.  You be the judge.

That’s it.  I’m going home sick, these are gargantuan pit stains.