The Fourth Judge Needs a Smart Phone

Last week I saw a subway ad for a pawn shop with a QR-code on it. A QR-code is a small, square bar code of sorts that’s scannable by smart phone. I apologize if that explanation is unnecessary, but I’m not sure if everyone is familiar with QR-codes yet. I’m the last person on Earth with a dumb phone, a point which I finally accepted after seeing this particular advertisement.

Apparently crackheads hawking stolen copper pipes have it together enough to cobble together a few bucks for a smart phone, so what’s my excuse? Why will I not shell out the extra dough for a data plan? It’s not like I don’t spend money on booze and drugs and all kinds of other frivolous, randomly selected shit.

I’m slowly but surely turning into one of my childhood friend’s cheap parents who pretended they were liberal so they didn’t have to pay for cable. I disgust myself.[[MORE]]

I’ve decided that during casual conversation I’m going to start saying shit like, “You don’t wanna find yourself at the mercy of a Scotsman in the middle of a Jack’s 99 Cent Store during the Spring Equinox. TRUST ME.”

I think the TRUST ME thing could be huge. I don’t know why, I just have a hunch about it.

I got black out drunk last Saturday. It’s not really noteworthy, being my 400-somethingish blackout, but as a 29-year-old human being I should know better by now. I could seriously hurt somebody else. Under the right circumstances, I could kill somebody else. Even scarier, I could seriously hurt or kill myself.

It’s horrifying to think about all the things that could happen, especially if you’re traveling from Manhattan to Brooklyn in such a state. I could have fallen off the subway platform or walked into oncoming traffic. A bus full of hasidic jews, who have multiple schools in my neighborhood, could have easily run me over (I was drinking during the day (don’t judge me)).

On a semi-related note, I’ve always not-so-secretly wanted to get hit by a car or a bus. Only a little bit, though. Just enough to break a leg or sprain an ankle really badly. Something that’s significant enough that I wouldn’t have to go to work for a long period of time and could sue the offending party for a relatively large sum of money, but not so significant that it had lasting physical repercussions beyond the initial recovery time. I don’t want to get paralyzed or anything. I’m not a fucking idiot.

In Japanese porn they blur vaginas but they don’t blur buttholes. They blur penises but they don’t blur the cum that shoots and/or dribbles out of them. It seems pretty obvious to me that Japanese censors are controlled by asshole and cumshot lobbyists, which begs the question, would you rather be an asshole lobbyist or a cumshot lobbyist? I’m leaning towards asshole, but I’m willing to be convinced otherwise. Please leave your arguments for or against in the bustling comments section below.

I love going places drunk that I’ve previously only been to sober. Like a church, a school, or a doctor’s appointment. The more times I’ve been there sober the better. It really titillates me.

I once went to the eye doctor after smoking weed earlier in the day. It was a thrill-a-minute joy ride. I kid you not. I felt so naughty. “Will they find me out? After all, getting high can really fuck with your eyes. THIS IS SO EXCITING!”

I’m kind of into big, juicy Japanese knockers right now. I mean, the girl should have a pretty face and be smart and funny and all that. I’m just saying. Big ol’ Japanese tits. I dig ‘em.

Halloween was last Monday so I was at home doing my typical Monday night thing. At one point my cat starting lick his own junk and his tiny pink penis wriggled out. It was fucking disgusting and I yelled, “EWWW! Put your tiny little penis away!”

Immediately after this my doorbell rang and a bunch of 6-8 year olds were standing there. I don’t think they heard anything – their parents didn’t look like they wanted to fight me – but it was harrowing nonetheless.

I’m kind of ashamed I yelled at the cat, too. I mean, he was just exploring his sexuality. Sure, it was a revolting sight that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy, but if I yell at him for licking his own junk, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Aren’t I doing the same thing my parents did to me when they found cakefarts.com in the browser history? “I Learned It By Watching You, Dad!”? Etc.?

Besides the cat penis kerfuffle, I was worried about inappropriate shit happening all night. I had my iTunes on shuffle and was afraid some disgusting rap interlude was going to come on while I was handing Princess Jazmin a Krackle.

I also refrained from smoking weed at my usual hour because I live in a studio apartment and the kids’ parents and/or the kids themselves would definitely know what was up.

You don’t want some “I was acting weird around children” stigma hanging over your head for the rest of your short, miserable life. That shit’ll get you on the outside of society looking in real fucking fast. TRUST ME.