Why is it such that, as a society, we revel in human misery and dire misfortune? I am watching a reality program wherein a repo man shows up to repossess an impoverished person’s vehicle and claims that if the owner of the vehicle can answer five of eight trivia questions correctly, he will satisfy the due payments in full. This whole game show is predicated on the idea that people will delight in the failure of what can only be described as a victim of popular media. If the producers of this show have the resources to resolve the debt the so-called ‘contestants’ (as the must for the program to be financially possible), why do they simply feign philanthropy in lieu of helping people regardless of the return and without airing the difficulties of others all over prime time television?
While doing so, we came to the conclusion that sleepovers are great. They are like social stasis. When we are having sleepovers, we are content. When we are not having sleepovers, we are continually waiting for a friend to request stay for the night; and in that moment we are totally prepared to deliver an emphatic ‘yes.’
I discovered this on the Film Discussion Forum of craigslist.com. It is as follows:
“Iron Lady not so great
spent way too much time in unenlightening dementia years”
Are a real downer.
If ever there were a reason to quit smoking it would be to decrease the aggregate number of smokers thereby decreasing the frequency of such ads.
Not getting a letter jacket in high school.
This has been eating me up lately.
When I borrow the old man’s teal Bel Air and cruise up to the drive-in, or better yet, make-out point, just what will I drape over the shoulders of my best girl? Nothing, that’s what! When I’m on one end of the cool leather bench seat and she is on the other, and she slyly comments about how cold she is becoming, I’ll have no means of drawing that pony-tailed girl in.
Sure, I could always feign an yawn and wrap my arm around her, but alas, she will not know the comforting feeling being ‘jacketed’ by a strong jawed square-hair such as myself…
I was recently kicked in the mouth. Inadvertently, of course. Consequently, my lip is swollen and the inside of my mouth is bloody and uniformly purple. What i find most impressive about this incident is my ability to withstand the pain of such a forceful strike. Armed with this new found propensity to withstand trauma of this nature, I will go forth and propel myself into many satisfying drunk fights with consenting drunk fight enthusiasts of comparable skill to my own.
Krampas is, in Germanic lore, a demon that drunkenly snatches up individuals, puts them in his sack, carries them to his lair, and either eats them or burns them in a fire. He is also said to accompany St. Nicholas as he travels, doling out gifts, so that he might snatch up and consume or sodomize dissolute children. Just thought somebody might want to know.
