The Fourth Judge Won't Buy You a Beer

I’m friends with a dude at work who, all things considered, is a great guy. He’s supportive. He’s honest. We get drunk and cry together. But he has one habit in particular that makes me want to spray him with accelerant in a Brooklyn elevator and light him on fire with a Molotov cocktail.

We go out to eat for lunch a lot, and, as often happens in these situations, someone winds up owing someone else a couple of dollars after the bill’s been settled. Every time I wind up owing him a dollar or two he says, “just buy me a beer or whatever.”

I don’t know if this is just a colloquialism for him, but we work in Manhattan where beers are routinely between five and ten dollars at a bar, plus tip. If I owe you one dollar, spending six bucks for a beer is not an appropriate form of repayment.[[MORE]]

It’s like if a friend loaned you a book and said, “Just get it back to me whenever you can. And oh yeah, I’m gonna have to fuck your sister’s face.”

THIS IS EXTORTION AND I WON’T STAND FOR IT!

Sometimes I worry that I’m too handsome to have platonic female friends. It keeps me up at night, if you want to know the truth. Is this what it’s like to be Tim Tebow? How does he do it, besides being gay?

OH, GOD! A TIM TEBOW IS GAY JOKE! HOW TIMELY AND ORIGINAL!

Sorry, dude, we can’t all write award winning humor columns on a boxing tumblr.

The other night while walking down 14th street in Manhattan I saw a guy light a match for a cigarette then throw the match in a dumpster full of trash bags. Trash bags are made of plastic. Plastic lights on fire.

What kind of monster does such a thing? Does he have no concern for his fellow human beings? What if the whole block went up in flames?

I wish I could have seen what happened to that dumpster, but the light was about to change and I didn’t want to miss it so I kept walking.

There’s a check cashing place down the street from where I live. I walk by it every day, pitying the clientele, because I am an empathetic humanitarian. Yesterday I noticed for the first time that there’s a lotto machine inside and I was appalled. Is this not one of the most despicable things that humanity has come up with yet? How does something like this happen?

“Hmm, I already make a living by taking a significant percentage of poor people’s meager, sub-human wages, but there’s got to be something more I can do to squeeze a few more nickels out of these sons of bitches. I know! I’ll cater to their addictions! It’s almost too perfect! Why haven’t I thought of this before?”

To this I say, if you’re going to go there, why not go even further? Why not put a liquor store in the joint? Or better yet, for $10 you can borrow a shotgun and blow your fucking brains out.

I don’t know. I’m just spit balling ideas here. If you have anything you’d like to peddle to helpless, addicted poor people, please let me know in the bustling comments section. I could use a few extra bucks.

I was on my way home from happy hour the other night when I saw a middle aged black woman walking down the street by herself wearing a tiara, holding a Mylar balloon, smoking a cigarette, and scowling.

I don’t have enough money to buy art, let alone commission it, but if I did, this is exactly the kind of image I would pay somebody to make an oil painting of. That or some chick sitting on a dude’s face. Maybe on Scarface’s face. It seems like 90% of commissioned paintings/murals these days feature Scarface and I don’t want to look like a total idiot, so I better just get with the times.

I was at the super market the other day when I saw organic eggs for $3.50. It was like mana from heaven. How could it be? That’s at least a whole dollar cheaper than my usual dozen.

I didn’t hesitate to throw the magical eggs in my basket (side note: eggs NEVER fit in the basket unless it’s completely empty, but if you put eggs in an empty basket, the food you put on top of them can and will crush the eggs. WHY MUST LIFE BE SO DIFFICULT?). Then I skipped to the express lane and paid for my bounty while the cashier scowled at me like I had just pricked her with an AIDS needle (side note: super market cashiers are miserable shit heads).

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized the reason the eggs were so cheap was that they were medium. FUCKING MEDIUM! Not large. Not jumbo. MEDIUM. I didn’t know they could make eggs this small. I needed to crack six of them to make a three egg omelet. What kind of animal can live like this? You need two cartons to equal one carton of jumbo eggs. THAT’S NO KIND OF SAVINGS!

Medium eggs are for assholes. Chickens who lay them should be water boarded then forced to watch their chicken husbands go down on hotter, younger chickens.

I’m always confused when I see a fat person with a nice tan. You let yourself become a massive, disgusting slob, but you make sure your skin has a beautiful, brown tone? How does that make sense? It’s like an artist smearing dog shit all over a canvas, then spending six years in total isolation crafting the finest frame the world has ever seen out of the rarest, most beautiful wood.

Get your priorities straight, fatsos.

I finally ran out of the last roll of a 16 pack of horrible, scratchy toilet paper yesterday. I thought it was soft when I bought it, but holy shit (GET IT???) was I wrong. I ripped open the plastic before I bought it and poked a roll to make sure it was soft, but I’ve come to realize that all toilet paper feels soft when it’s still rolled up. It’s only when you uncoil it that you discover it’s one ply and covered in metal spikes dipped in battery acid.

I instantly realized my horrible mistake the first time I wiped my sensitive bottom, but I’m cheap and wasn’t about to throw out 16 rolls of toilet paper –

Alternate Sentence Fragment For The Ladies: but I care deeply about the fate of mother earth and wasn’t about to throw out 16 rolls of toilet paper made from a majestic tree, grown with the same spark of life that’s inside all living things

–so I suffered through six months of horror until I was finally freed from my bondage. My first wipe with Charmin Ultra Soft – a vastly superior product to FUCKING SCOTT – was so beautiful I cried. This must be what it’s like when someone who doesn’t believe in abortion has a kid at 16. He instantly knows he’s made a mistake, but he’s got to wait 18 years until he’s freed from his own stupidity.

Next time I mistakenly buy horrible, scratchy toilet paper, I’m immediately throwing it in the trash.