Monthly Archives: March 2008

Personal Question

I was listening to someone talk at me when he said,

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Now we all know how much I like that question. So, I answered a question with a question,

“Can I ask you one?”

He nodded in agreement.

“If you were fucking your wife and she died would you keep fucking her?”

Funny thing, he didn’t get around to asking his question.

Bush Lover

Unlike most other humans I like public transportation. I think of it as the time during my day when I can let humanity wash over me like a lithium shower.

I don’t have to react to much of it. I just get to sit there and let it come served up like a psycho salad. All I have to do is pour on a little dressing from time to time.

Today a rather loud guy started ranting about the war. He went on to express his hated for Bush up to and including removing the twins uteri to stop the scourge from infecting other generations (Dressing!).

Then he said,

“There’s only one Bush I like and you know what that is.” Everyone sat there hoping upon hope he’d leave it there. He didn’t.

“And it’s not the human kind.”

You Caught Me

I guess I’ll have to give it to you sharp-eyed readers. Yes, now that I look at it, the Back Away Table Tents are similar in tone to the classic, Danger Signs:

But, trust me when I say, shut the fuck up! Do you give Paulie Shore shit for playing the same character in every movie? No! And do you know why not? That’s right! You don’t care a whit about him!

Us, on the other hand, you care enough to bitch the very best.

Although similar, please, I beseech you to believe when I say there was no malfeasance on the part of any member of the Bound & Gags comedy consortium.

But, to be on the safe side, I will take a few of them outside for a little something I like to call the ball peen ballet.

As always, thanks for the feedback!

Back Away

Yesterday’s little adventure got me thinking. Always a dangerous thing, I know; illegal in six states, I got the restraining orders. But sometimes you’ve got to throw caution and potential incarceration to the wind for the betterment of humanity.

There should be a way to warn people you may not be the type of person kinder, gentler people should approach. Not that you’re unkind or rude, maybe you just want to plow through lunch to get back to work on time so your boss doesn’t chew you out. Or you want to sit there unmolested by the world at large.

Nothing personal. You just want some me time in public.

So we’ve devised a way to get your message out without having to say, as I did last night when someone wouldn’t back away politely,

“If you don’t back down I’m going to tear your brain out, eat it, shit it out, then put it back in your skull to remove any doubt that you’re a shit head.”

To alleviate those embarrassing and potentially messy moments, we at Bound & Gags have created the:


Let’s say you want to concentrate on the ball game, your meal, hell, your job, plop a Back Away Table Tent down and consider the world warned!

The Back Away Table Tents come in many varieties to suit your personal warning level. The Back Away Table Tents come in sentiments like:

No Speak Zone
No, Just No
Back Away Slowly, I Have A Knife
Be Polite! Fuck Off!
Speak Only When Spoken To
If I’m Not Talking, Take My Lead
Off Thy Fucketh
Will Speak For Beer
If I Wanted To Speak To You I Would Be
I Love Conversation! Just Not With You.
Mom Said, “Don’t Talk To Strangers.”
I’m Not Here For Your Amusement.
I Think, Therefore, You Bore.
Our Relationship Is Better Unrequited
Wanna Get Laid? Go Fuck Yourself.
Because I Care, I’m Warning You Now.
WARNING: Does Not Play Well With Others
I’m Here For Fun So Shut Up.
WARNING! Engaging May Be Hazardous To Your Health.
I’d Hate To Tell You What I Think So Don’t Make Me.
I’m Here Alone On Purpose
Shhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! It Sounds So Much Nicer Than Fuck Off!
I’d Be Interested If You Were Interesting
And, for those times when you may have a change of heart, You May/You May Not

We’ve also included a blank to jot in your own sentiment to fit the occasion.

So grab a Back Away Table Tent or dozen and let people know just because you’re alone doesn’t mean you’re lonely.


We stopped for bite last night. It was going fairly well. By that I mean there was an entertaining group at the end so I got to sit there, eat, and watch the basketball game.


Possibly taking my silent chewing and staring straight ahead as a sign of loneliness, a guy decided to talk to me. I will say, in his defense, I wasn’t the first person he chose. I will also say that, proving what a damaged sort he is, he winnowed his way to me.

He was your typical gung-ho, young salesman type. The kind of kid who’ll, with no irony whatsoever, use the phrase, “Location, location, location.” To a gentleman who stated (loudly enough to reach my ear) that he’d owned his own business for many years and wasn’t in the market for a sales lecture.

“Hey, you come here often?”


“It’s nice, huh?”


“It’s my first time here.”

Not being a question I feel no need to respond. I’m not the fucking welcome wagon. I’m not PR for this place. I’m not someone people should randomly begin conversations with. Not that people know that. At first.

“Food’s good here, huh?”


“What do you suggest?”

“Leaving me the fuck alone.”

I must admit to relishing the moment when people get up in arms whenever I respond like that. Truly, I don’t understand why they get upset. I didn’t invite them to my ear space. I’m not being loquacious in any way, shape, or form. I’ve not even turned my head in their general direction.

I’m sorry, where I come from those are signals.

“You don’t have to be rude. I was just trying to make conversation.”

The defense of those who cannot shut the fuck up.

“Why is it,” I say turning my chair towards him. “I, the person being invaded by inane and meaningless conversation from someone who hasn’t had an original thought since the first time he reached for his momma’s tit, am considered rude? Since when is it rude to be sitting quietly bothering no one with sound or deed? Or is it rude because you expect, due to some divine right, anyone who happens to be within earshot to become a willing participant in your blabbering?”

It’s not like I try to cause psychic damage to itinerate talkers in the world.

It’s more like my divine right.


I was talking to someone who, for whatever reason popped into their head, asked me what my hobby was. I thought that was an odd question for an adult by an adult. I guess I’m missing out on some great things, if this person was to be believed, but I’m not much of a hobbyist so informed them as such.

“Oh, come on, everyone has a hobby.”

Now why do people have to ruin a perfectly ridiculous conversation by being idiotic? After all, if I did indeed have a hobby isn’t talking about it one of the joys?

No, I explain again, I don’t have an interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation not as an occupation. I don’t have an occupation pursued for pleasure or relaxation either but I don’t want to sully the mud of this conversation with my stupidity.

“There must be something you do to relax.”

“Does passing out drunk count?”

Turns out that wasn’t in the big book of official hobbies. Too bad because that would be a great hobby. I was also informed telling people to fuck off wasn’t in the book either. That wouldn’t be my hobby anyway. I’d be on the pro tour!

Am I a model trainer? No. Do I collect life-sized replicas of celebrity poop? No. Am I a devote of German-style board games ? No, but I think I’m starting a collection of stroke inducing blood pressure readings.

By this time I knew he wasn’t going to stop without me having some type of hobby.

“Does blood splatter painting count? Because soon you’re going to be my work of art.”

Now if you have any familiarity with me, you are aware that, usually, after a line such as that I am left to my own devices. But what is it about hobbyists? Are they lonely? Starved for interaction not related to spelunking? Whatever it was, this pitbull wouldn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I say. “You got me. I have a hobby.” He smiles gleefully in anticipation. “But I’m a little embarrassed about it.”

“No need to be embarrassed!” He coddles. “Whatever brings your life joy is good.”

I pause an extra moment kicking invisible stones with my toe.

“I collect business cards.”

The man is shocked!

“What’s embarrassing about that? Many people collect. . .”

“. . .and scratch out the persons name and number then write in my own. . .”

“. . .ing. . .oh.”

“I have one that says I’m a United States senator!”

I love this moment. It’s that netherworld between them wondering if I’m crazy enough to do this or I’m messing with them. They never seem to arrive at the truth.

“I even did it to my own business card. I thought that was quite post-modern quixotically ironic.”

After all, how can they get to the truth if I’m not sure myself.

Old Bartender

My girlfriend and I were at a wing place. We’re eating and drinking, even saw our first green beer of the season. The bartender, an older guy, had regaled us with a few stories about his younger days. They were entertaining in a rotary dial phone sort of way.

He walks off to take care of a couple closer to his peer group and comes back a little while later. He has a look of disdain on his face when he snaps his head in the other couples direction and says, “Old people should be fish food.”

“Hey,” I say. “You’re too close to chum yourself to be making that joke.”

It may be my imagination but I think our service was worse after that.