please listen to this poor man losing his shit as he reads an article blaming millenials for killing the mayonnaise industry that was written by a babyboomer upset people don’t want to eat her bland salads anymore
I think a lot about who I am to other people in the world–particular who I am to strangers as a mere concept in their lives.
Today this woman called our information desk and said, “my son’s band is playing tonight. I want to come see him, but he never answers his phone…..I want to be there. Have you heard anything about his band?”
And I felt so bad for this lady but I’m not in the music scene around here so I had to tell her no, sorry.
Five hours later, I’m hiking and run into a group of guys setting up for some outdoor performance, and as I watch them unload the drums it hits me.
“Hey,” I said, “are y’all in a band?”
They said yeah and smiled and I told them “one of your moms called today. She wants to watch you play, but she can’t get a hold of you. Call your mom.”
And they all pulled out their phones and started discussing whose mom it probably was as they presumably dialed their own.
And now, unless we meet again and recognize each other, that’s who I’ll be forever to those guys–some mysterious courier for mom-messages who came out of the woods and told them their mom called.
I didn’t even tell them why their mom called me. Who am I to their mom?? Nobody even asked. They just took my word for it and called their mothers.
just so everyone knows: i was with my rabbi today (the short version is i’m trying to catch up on all the judaism i missed growing up) and King David came up as far as “historical figures” and i couldnt keep a straight face because i was thinking about this FUCKING post and it just wasnt going away so finally during a lull in the conversation (the little old lady who takes the class with me had just asked if david was bisexual, which apparently he was) i told her about King David, Babylonian Twink
unfortunately i incorrectly assumed that “very gay-friendly leftist jewish woman who grew up in New York” had crossover with “knows what the word twink means” and in this case it did not, so then i had to explain what twink means to my rabbi (and to the little old lady). she agreed with it once i reassured her it wasnt derogatory. the babylonian twink, king david
You turn on the radio one morning to find another one of those Rap songs where every 4th word is a swear. Naturally the Radio bleeps it out, but you realize that it sounds familiar. You realize that the rappers are speaking in Morse code.
Your eyes widen as you swerve over onto the shoulder of the expressway, nearly hitting a Jeep Cherokee in the process. It didn’t matter to you. Frantically searching the glove compartment, the backseat, and your purse, you finally find a small notepad and a pen with a low ink cartridge. You listen closely to the radio, and begin to scribble down as much as you can. You realize it was merely a pattern.
— -. . / – .– — / – .– — / ..-. .. ..-. – -.–
Unfortunately for you, you aren’t very well versed in translating Morse code, merely recognizing it. You reach into your purse to grab your phone, but after a moment of searching, you realize you had left it at home before you left for work. “God damnit,” you mutter. You’re more than halfway to your office, and you’re already running late due to the fact that that you decided to follow some whim and jot down some cryptic message from a provocative rapper. Concluding that it would probably be best for you to mosey to work, you pull back onto the expressway and try to make it to work on time.
Upon arriving at work, you ask any coworker in sight if they know Morse code. Nobody seems to, and some don’t even know what Morse code is. You slump your shoulders in disappointment and head over to your desk, when suddenly, the quiet, mouse-like secretary clears her throat and says, “Excuse me, I know Morse code!”
You turn around with the same wide eyes as before. “You do!?” you ask vigorous excitement, which seems to startle the young woman.
“Yes,” she says, “when I was younger, I planned on joining the navy, so I taught it to myself.” You feel a bit sorry for her, that she wound up as a mere secretary instead of a naval officer, but that feeling of pity didn’t stop you from being grateful for the lucky coincidence of her knowing Morse code. You show her the pattern.
— -. . / – .– — / – .– — / ..-. .. ..-. – -.–
“That’s all there is?” she asks, furrowing her brow.
“Yeah,” you shrugged, “it just kept repeating that over and over again. What does it say?”
“One, two, two, fifty.”
Your heart sinks a little. “What is that? What does that mean, is it like a phone number or house address or something?”
The secretary shrugs. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know. It’s too short to be a phone number, but beyond deciphering it, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
You nod slowly, and though you understand, you are still not at all satisfied. You go to sit at your desk. 1 2 2 50. The sequence plays over and over in your head all day, and needless to say, your curiosity an wonderment got the best of you. It was not a very productive work day.
You head home, and the same damned song plays on the radio. You shake your head as if that would make the song stop, then decide to plug 12250 into your GPS to see if there are any autofill results. None. You become increasingly frustrated.
When you get home, your daughter is sitting at the kitchen table, working on homework. She runs up to you and gives you a big hug, and asks about your day at work. You put on a fake smile and sigh. “Interesting,” you say— no doubt sugarcoating the intense excitement, disappointment, and confusion.
“Will you help me with my homework? I have to memorize something for my history class tomorrow.”
“Of course, doll! What are you memorizing?”
She hands you a laminated sheet of paper. “Roman numerals!”
You glance over the page, your eyes quickly darting from one, to two, to fifty.
It dawns on you. You’d recognize this pattern anywhere.
do you guys wanna see maybe the stupidest most absurd life hack video i’ve ever seen
i cannot take my eyes off this video whenever i start playing it. the amount of dumb shit that goes on just entrances me. this video is only 10 minutes long but it feels like an eternity
Never in my entire life have I ever watched anything where I was less sure what the next frame might possibly contain.
The strongest recoil of my life happened when the pliers started getting hot glue on them.
one of my favorite threats is “youre not invited to my birthday party anymore”.
from ages 4 to 11 its one of the most heinous things you can say, then 12 through 17 its just embarassing cuz teenz think that thats a childish thing to say, but from 18 onward, it only gets more and more effective, if only because it confuses the person youre speaking to.
its like a verbal smoke bomb. it catches them off guard and disorients them to the point that they might not even know how to react.
Molly's Monsters 