If you are inspired to create a character by the name of Butthurt Burt, then rest assured you will have my full moral and probably monetary support. If it's just a shared nickname for people experiencing butthurt, for that I can offer some stifled snickering. If it is, say, the name of a special kind of cookie, I suppose I would try it. I think it would make a good nickname for a hydrogen bomb.
Yesterday, there were a bunch of tortilla chips in the break room of my office. I grabbed two handfuls because why do anything halfway.
Then I realized that I had to go to the bathroom.
I weighed my options, referred to my wallet-sized Maslow chart, and decided that my need to Take Care of Business was more important than my need to start a party in my mouth. Both were pressing matters, but sometimes priorities need to be made.
I set the chips down. Right back in the bowl my grubby hands had dug them out of.
Then I thought about how far away the bathroom is from the break room. Kind of far.
So I quickly calculated how many chips I could eat on the walk over, I figured four. So picked up four chips and exited.
Four was an interesting choice, because that’s also the number of coworkers saw this disgusting and, I’m assuming, amazing display of creepo behavior.
Little window into my world, folks. Little window.
My dad called in jest to remind me that its Take Your Daughter to Work Day. His tone turned stern when I started asking about snacks. Were the kids getting pizza? If so, what kind? Did they order a lot of it? How strict is the age cutoff of 13?
Sometimes, right after I’ve hit “send” and just before I lean back and enjoy the self-satisfaction that is the unappreciated witty work email, I panic.
"DID I USE THE RIGHT ‘YOU’RE’?! DID I USE THE RIGHT ‘THE’?!"
Perhaps I did. Heck, I probably did. And while that is unacceptable - I’m an adult, capable of grasping the lower-level rules of grammar - I take solace in the knowledge that I probably misspelled several other words that will draw the eye away from grammar oversights. Also, there is a grass stain on my shirt today.
Howdy, just started listening to your podcast, and COINCIDENTALLY listened to the one where you mention an army of enraged handi-capped people on rascal scooters or whatever the same week I read this bikesnobnyc post, about enraged robo-tourists on segways. so it’s like Gottfried Leibniz and Isaac Newton discovering calculus at the same time, only with enraged elderly people on pathetic means of transportation. keep up the good work.
I need some sort of stock letter that tells people I appreciate that they listen to the podcast, that I love hearing from them, but I have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about.