Emeril Lagasse is always kickin it up a notch. Fuck it man, I’m not surprised anymore. It’s lost all impact. And I gotta be honest, at this point I have no fucking clue where we are on the notch scale.
The other day I exited my apartment and was confronted by one of the most spectacular signs I’ve ever seen. I swear to you, this sign is completely real. Here’s the thing, your cat’s dead at this point. Unless it travels back to you on it’s own with it’s magical cat navigation, I would have a memorial service at this point. I don’t know anyone in their right mind that’s about to approach a one eyed black cat. I can’t think of anything more terrifyingly superstitious. Why don’t you just put up a sign that says “Lost: Broken mirror stuck underneath ladder. Last time it was seen was on the 13th floor of a building….next to an open umbrella.” It’s unfortunate, but I’d just throw in the towel on this one, random person who lost their creepy feline. Cat’s scare the fuck out of me just sitting being cats. All snobby and unpredictable, ready to pounce and attack my face at any moment. If the uno eyed black cat isn't dead, then it’s probably participating in satanic rituals involving the sacrifice of small children. Good luck with that.
How come ghosts and stormy nights go hand in hand? Is that like the best weather to socialize in the afterlife? Do they know it’s scarier? Does a ghost call his bro and is like “Yo, look outside it’s thundering mutha fucka…wanna creak around an old house and scare the shit outta people?” And his bro-bro is like “I just opened a tub of Cherry Garcia but you know what, that sounds amazing.” Or maybe God gives them a heads up like “Good news fuckers, we got a pretty creepy thunderstorm brewin out in Wisconsin. You guys’ll have a giggle fest and total blast…tell the gang.” You just see a storm in a movie and you’re like waiting for the shit show. I think it’s almost scarier if I was like lying out on the beach on a summer day and I got fuckin haunted. That would be bonkers. I sit up to slather on some SPF 4 and then boo-yah, a fuckin ghost, in….my…grill. No one would believe me. My friend would come walking across the sand from the bathroom and I would be all “Ah, I was just haunted, like straight up, I saw a ghost.” “What? It’s a beautiful summer day, and we’re out on the beach.” “Exactly, it’s so ironic.” “Are you high?” “Yes.”
So there’s a new playset out for little ladies that should be called “Bitch, know your role.” It’s the Rose Petal Playset from Playskool. It’s basically teaching little girls that life is going to be a Shit Pie with a side order of Fart salad. It’s literally a house filled with depressing appliances so little girls can clean, do laundry and wash the dishes. And of course a nursery and muffin making set, hoo-ray. I could get all feminist up in this piece about how disturbing this is, but I’m gonna keep it light as a feather. The tagline is “It’s a place where she and her dreams have room to grow.” Ah, who the fuck dreams about doing chores? How about dreaming of, I don’t know, owning a very lucrative pyramid scheme? Or swimming in the Olympics? No, her dreams should be keeping a tidy house. “Look I’m like mommy, I do the laundry over here, then I bake muffins, wash the dishes, take some special pills and cry in a corner.” Yeah, dream big kiddo. Maybe if you’re lucky for Christmas you’ll get the Playskool Landscapers Set.
Just when I think I understand pop culture and what people are into, National Treasure 2 comes out in theaters and Las Vegas on NBC is blowing out the candles on their 100th episode cake. Fuck it, I give up.
You know a quick way I can tell if people are "off". If they try to harmonize while singing “Happy Birthday.” Don’t do that. If you do that, I have to stop associating with you, and you seemed pretty normal up until now. C’mon dude, we’re just tryin to have fun, you’re not trying out for Nick Lachey’s new gospel choir. Especially when you're attempting to harmonize with people who are completely unaware of what ‘s about to go down. And it's about to go down, like Chinatown. The same goes for breaking out your dance moves at a wedding. Take a seat, you're poppin and lockin and grinding up on my 80 year old Great Aunt. I can fuckin taste the awkwardness.
Admit it, you know every word to the Golden Girls theme song…and that is nothing to be ashamed of.