Fear Factor

How the National Geographic Channel Has Ruined My Life:

-Can’t plan trip to Australia because of tiny Irukandji jellyfish that, if even a millimeter of skin touches one, you will suffer excruciating pain throughout your entire body and die.

-Can’t go to Bronx Zoo without worrying about a) catching Ebola virus from monkeys or b) being stomped to death by angry, rampaging elephant.

-Afraid to stay in NYC because it’s only a matter of time before Island of La Palma slides into Atlantic Ocean, spawning 100-foot mega-tsunami that will devastate entire eastern seaboard.

-Can’t flee to midwest because of possible F-7 mega-tornadoes caused by global warming. Would move to west coast except for inevitable magnitude-10 earthquake and Pacific Ocean tsunamis. Might have to move to Canada.

-Can’t move to Canada because of recent SARS outbreak.

-Afraid to leave apartment during head cold for fear of being “Patient Zero” in worldwide flu pandemic.

-Afraid to go to Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade because Nazis may have sabotaged the Garfield balloon, causing it to immolate in 34 seconds like the Hindenburg.

Gotta Cut Loose

Signs you live in a town that doesn’t allow dancing:

-People make fun of you for wearing a skinny leather tie to your first day at the new high school
-Hilarity ensues when you explain to your new friends the musical group Men at Work aren’t actually men working
-You are bullied into having a chicken fight with tractors
-You wear slutty red cowboy boots that symbolize how much you want to leave this crappy town
-Your daddy is John Lithgow
-You tell your daddy, John Lithgow, that you’re not even a virgin while yelling at him in church
-Your career tanked after the Fame TV show
-You convince John Lithgow to let you hold your senior dance just over the county line
-You finally realize that heaven helps the man who fights his fear and love's the only thing that keeps you here

Running On Empty

As if I didn’t hate runners enough, there were 9 billion of them swarming up Sixth Ave this morning in some kind of pre-marathon orgy and I couldn’t cross the street to get coffee. Why would anyone get up at 7 am on a Saturday to go running when one could be home sleeping off a hangover like a normal person? The only reason *I* was up at 7 am on a Saturday is because I haven’t figured out how to fake my own death and had to come into work. Now all the runners are out front walking around in their shiny satin shorts drinking Gatorade and acting all “Dude, I’m so PUMPED.” Grrr. Go eat pasta with the rest of your freak friends.

Have I mentioned I hate marathons?

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Q. When is speakerphone use okay, assuming you’re not the President or Donald Trump?

A. The correct answer is: never!