Monthly Archives: October 2010

You’re not a drunk!

You’re a genius!

Why do smart kids grow up to be heavier drinkers?

A pair of new studies suggests a correlation between intelligence and a thirst for alcohol. What’s the connection?

Don’t worry, all that excessive drinking is just a sign of your intelligence. According to two long-term studies — one American, one British — there’s a correlation between smarts and a thirst for alcohol. The “more intelligent children in both studies grew up to drink alcohol more frequently and in greater quantities than less intelligent children,” says Liz Day at Discover. Why might this be the case?

It’s all about evolution: Drinking alcohol was “unintentional, accidental, and haphazard until about 10,000 years ago,” says Satoshi Kanazawaat at Psychology Today. Smart people are generally early adopters and, in the context of human history, “the substance [alcohol] and the method of consumption are both evolutionarily novel.”

“Why intelligent people drink more alcohol”

Alcohol makes up for boring early years: “I’m surprised” by the findings, says Joanne Hinkel at The Frisky, so “here’s my pop-psychology theory” to explain it: “All that studying in childhood repressed kids so much that they’re still trying to compensate well into adulthood for all that fun they missed.” Granted, that’s just a theory.

“Brain types booze more — are you surprised?”

Drinking is the only way to deal with morons: Smart people “booze so we can tolerate everyone else,” says Greg at Food & Wine Blog. When sober, we tend to “take people’s responses at literal face value.” But after a few drinks, “we can relax a bit, stop being so anal with semantics and let comments slide a bit.”

What is it about me. . .

. . .that makes people tell me what I should be doing with my life?

And how come they never tell me I should grab a beach chair and retire to an island?

It’s always something like,

“You should be more serious.”

“You really should be kinder to your fellow being.”

“You positively should take my head out of this vice immediately!”

As I’ve pointed out here on a few occasions, fuck you and your opinions. If I wanted your opinion I’d give it to you then beat it out of you then scoff at you for being so easily lead by someone of such low moral standard.

Another one of these do-gooders was spraying their do-good juice all over my frontage. Why is it these giving folk have to continue to the point of giving you the details of all the wondrous things they do? Seriously, I’m glad you spend your time and money teaching left-handed, albino dwarfs the benefit of sunblock but why do you have to talk about it?

Trust me, I volunteer my time to many things. Legally it may be considered terms of probation but I’m still putting the time in! The difference is you’ll never hear me talk about it. What happened to the days of humbleness? If someone thanked you you’d avert your eyes with a ‘no problem, don’t mention it’ wave. And you meant it. Now if someone gives ten bucks to People for the Ethical Treatment of Atheists they get pissed if there’s not a video game hero based on them.

“It’s so rewarding, Chris. You really should get involved!”

“I’d like to,” I lie. “But, I’ve got my own thing going.”

“Oh yeah?” They do not hide their skepticism.

“Yeah,” I lie giving credence to their skepticism. “I volunteer at a local senior center.”

“Really?” Their skepticism dwindles to disbelief.

“Yeah. I run the dead pool.”

If you know what’s good for you. . .

. . .stay out of Sears!

Elvira is not a witch!

She’s just like you.

Sort of.

This month’s PSA

The greatest political ad of all time


A woman was stating bad things about her husband. I don’t know if she had it in some specific list, it could have been alphabetical, it could have been numerical, hell, it could have been by acts she figures will help her beat her justifiable homicide rap. The thing is, just like when men talk too much, I’d stopped listening once I got a handle on the situation.

“Husband doesn’t listen. Check. Husband doesn’t follow directions. Check. Husband is just a slovenly, little-dicked, good-for-nothing who’d be living under the streets if it weren’t for her continually keeping him in check. Check.”

Then my brain goes into sleep mode. I still look attentive, but I’m not. I have a screen saver playing in the back of my eyes of scenes from Slap Shot. Playing softly in my ears is Jonathan Richman’s ‘Action Packed’ (if you don’t get a rocking happy on during that song turn in your air, you’re dead). Just like a computers sleep mode, I can be roused easily but, at this moment, I am out.

“That’s why I like talking to you, you listen.”

He he.

I mean, “That’s what I’m here for.”

Sometimes there’s a momentary freeze when coming out of sleep mode.

I know she wants me to say something. To side with her. A little affirmation, a chuck on the chin and a hearty send off. Then why do they come to me? I really don’t get it. It’s not as if I’m hiding my almost universal disdain for man and womankind. It’s not as if you haven’t heard me tune the dial to vile if you’ve spent almost a minimal amount of time with me. Hell, you don’t even have to meet me. Spend fifteen minutes here if you’re on the fence. Read ten bits and you’ll likely have one of two reactions.

1) “I’d drink with this guy.”

2) “I’m calling Chris Hansen. This guy must be stopped before he offends again!”

I guess some people have a head full of dumb and a heart filled with stomp me.

I say that because this woman was standing in front of me like a tick infested baby bird with it’s cackling maw opened awaiting nourishment. Silly people, I can’t cook.

“It’s never going to change. You’re always going to feel this way. You’ve been with him all these years and haven’t seen an iota of growth. That must mean the problem lies with you.”

Can you believe it? She didn’t take kindly to that assessment.

“Seriously, you may have a mental illness. You’re doing the same thing, getting the same result yet expecting a different result. Albert Einstein defined that as insanity.”

If you think she didn’t like that last statement I’m sure you know how that one was received.

“Okay, listen, I know you’re not ‘clinically’ insane,” how’s that for a good hedge on my part? “But you have to realize how men work. It’s a limited machine.”

“You can say that again.”

“But I won’t because I want to finish. The average man says two thousand words a day so logic would dictate, even doubled, he can only comprehend four thousand. That still less than the seven thousand words the average woman says in a day. So after getting ready for work, working, getting home from work his comprehension is at the breaking point. He’s full.”

“And you’re full of shit.”

“Okay then, it comes back to you’re insane.”

“Or he’s just an asshole.”

“Asshole is an opinion but insanity can be medically proven.”

I can see she’s exasperated but also thinking. I may only use a couple thousand words a day but I put them to good use.

“What if what you say has some validity?” Ha! This is where I always get them. “What if I change and instead of just talking in the morning I tell him to do one thing? Just one thing. Do you think that would work?”

“Nope. By the time it’s time to do it he’s forgotten all about it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Finally! You’ve hit on something that is universally accepted.”

Writing The Blues

Ya ever felt so down you just wanted to put those words into song?

But you have absolutely no musical talent and the best couplet you can think of is

I’m sure sure my woman done truly hates my own personal guts
’cause she’s feeding me like a vegetarian septuagenarian

Then fret (Ha! Musical punditry!) no more!

It’s breast cancer awareness month

So if you’re to busy to do a self-exam, Cam’s your man!

He’s Back!

By the way, if a dog sniffs another dogs ass then goes back for seconds is that considered a rebuttal?