But some things in life are as inevitable as tides, and no I don’t mean death and taxes. Don’t be stupid. Donald Trump has beaten both of those. I mean, here are five things that you can absolutely take to the bank as consistent, inviolable, and rock solid. Get out a pencil ‘cuz you might want to jot these down.
5. Inadvertent Mastery Of The Universe And All Of Physics When You Need To Find A Rest Room – You were cruising past those green lights and a steady clip before, but now that tense feeling in your bowels has shown up. You’re feeling a little prone, a little compromised, and you’re feeling like you need the facilities right now. Only now your lower extremities have gerrymandered the whole essence of being. All lights turn red. Traffic grinds to a halt (as if grinding ever led to anything but a halt). Oh look, a freight train with 30 boxcars, and what the heck. Let’s just close a couple of those major highway arteries right now, just because we can. Sounds desperate, and it is, but remember that you yourself are causing this so assign the blame where it is warranted, bucko.
How so? At one point in human history the soul, or the “being,” was considered to be in the bowels and not in the heart or the head. They were actually right the first time out. The bowels also are the seat of your mojo and, because of that intense power being tormented and inflamed by the sudden need to shift the furniture around in there, it lashes out. The mojo don’t like having a brown bean bag evicting it suddenly from its position. Where does that intense displeasure go? That’s right; into the electric grid that’s all around you, and that is why the world seems to be disagreeing with you all at once. If only you could capture such raw, potent power and use it when you have full dominion over it, rather than the reverse…but you can’t. Only when you’re full of crap, man…Only when you’re full of crap.
4. The Sexy Slippery Slope Scumbag Magnet – This one, in the realm of never-fails, never ever fails. Here’s the recipe: take picture of hot girl posed suggestively. Scratch that. Take picture of hot girl just standing there minding her own business. Scratch that too. Take picture of perfectly normal, possibly average girl, standing around being perfectly normal and average. Post to Facebook. Wait.
What are you waiting for? SHH SHH SHH shh shh shhhhhh…keep it down. You’ll scare them away. The first one trundles up and leaves a message. “Gorgeous,” he writes. The second, seeing how easy it was for the first, writes, “UR amazing.” The third types in, “So hawt.” And so it goes. Seven or so responses down you might get an “Ai, mami.” Get to ten responses and you will find replies consisting of nothing but guys’ pictures with their shirts off — can’t see their faces, though. It’s all just exposed gut. And those aren’t even pictures of the guys who posted them! Those are just photos stolen from Men’s Health. These dudes are really only tubby chum chewers!
If this behavior is allowed to persist, you’ll eventually wind up with filthy odes to bodily fluids and cramped spaces, and maybe a mention of inappropriate usage of household objects. This always happens.
Some would say it is the fault of the young woman for posting provocative pictures, and that she clearly was trolling for attention which she subsequently received. And maybe she was just feeling attractive that day. And maybe she wasn’t and was just hoping for a little positive re-enforcement. Or maybe she just finished cleaning the manure off the milking floor where the filthy cows were making their third rotation, with hip waders up to her neck, also in manure. Or maybe she just had her left arm amputated by velociraptor with a machete riding a great white shark. Doesn’t matter. Comments will show up and they are almost always of a wolf-call variety, and the will increasingly become more doggish over time, like male dogs marking territory over and over again to reassert their alpha-ness.
How dare she put her Facebook status as being a woman! Or just being a woman!
3. The Best Buy-lite Zone – Your local Best Buy still has CDs, or maybe you were itching to pick up the latest Brad Pitt movie on either DVD or Blu-ray. Or let’s just shoot for the moon and say you wanted the new Grand Theft Auto. Why not. Let’s go for the broad side of the barn. Guess what. Your local Best Buy won’t have any of these. You may want Guns ‘N Roses Appetite For Destruction, yet they only have Use Your Illusion I, II, The Spaghetti Incident?, and God knows they have tons of Chinese Democracy. But no Appetite For Destruction. If you’re going for copies of World War Z, you won’t find them. Oh okay, I’ll grant that since it is a new release that demand might outstrip supply. But if you wanted instead 12 Monkeys, then there will be stacks and stacks of WWZ, but nary a single monkey in sight. And the latest Grand Theft Auto is out but all the rest — even the out of print ones — are still here. And the reason for that is…
Yes, the fabric of time and space converge in a nexus located at your local Best Buy. This phenomenon used to be called the De-K-Mart Principle, but since nobody actually shops at K-Mart anymore, the threat of interstellar suction just has no basis in necessity anymore. Best Buy is quickly headed in that very same direction. And lest you think that it is all just you like you’re so doggone special, it happens to EVERYONE. Using the case study I just laid out, if you go with a friend to the store to buy Appetite, and he or she goes for a copy of Lies, neither will be there. If you are getting World War Z and he/she is going for Benjamin Button, neither will be there. Conversely, another customer will go there later on looking for Seven and only find stacks of World War Z and Benjamin Button. It’s the wormholes, man, and the energy of lingering malaise and ennui. And it’s probably being engineered by Jeff Bezos.
2. Morlocks, the Clandestine Accountancy That Lives Right Underneath You – There’s no other way to explain it. How could anybody know? You just won $50 from a lottery scratch-off game and, even before you could blurt out “time for a big sandwich,” another bill has popped up that is either exactly $50 or somewhat above it. Get a decent refund back from your taxes, lose a couple centimeters off your brake pads and require emergency repairs. Find some cash in your birthday card, end up with a broken plate glass window all over your living room. It’s too close to be coincidence, and that’s because it’s not.
H.G. Wells knew the score. People believed him to be a prophet, you know. After his initial success with science fiction, Wells wrote presumptive alternate histories, Utopian fictions, to present the world as it could be in the future if people just cut the crap and…well, listen to him. Then again, everyone thinks they have the right answer at any time, so maybe ol’ Herbert wasn’t so brilliant. But he knew from Morlocks, the underground dwellers of his book The Time Machine, his first success.
What he didn’t realize was that, instead of evil mole-like beings who fed off the souls of the much more pleasant Eloy, they were a clique of renegade CPAs. This one tallies up every dime you find in the parking lot outside of the grocery store. That one handles small gifts while the other handles extreme positive reversals of fortune. Chuckie down the hall arranges for relationships of convenience if those reversals range upward of a million dollars. He has a book of nearsighted people who will find you just attractive enough to want to spawn with you should you strike it rich.
But mostly the transactions are little things, common breakages, hidden fees that crop up, or that unpaid doctor’s bill you forgot about a decade ago. Truth is, so did he, but the Morlocks will remind him. Their job is to make sure you always break even or are worth less than before your “lucky break.” So yes, Morlocks are the big stupid jerks of the underworld…and they are ruled by the Zombie Trump. Everything falls into place in the end.
How do they know, you ask. It torments you to the point where you fear to watch anything approaching PG-13, and even some scenes from The Little Mermaid are bound to get you in trouble. As a matter of fact, it’s not what your significant others or mothers know. It’s all about you, Shrinky Dink. Like ants in a trail, you give off unseen, unsmelled pheromones that others can sense. Pheromones can be emitted through fear or arousal, and you’re just oozing them. If life was a cartoon in The New Yorker, you would be the fellow with the stink lines encircling your head like a wreath of shame and guilt. You can’t see the lines. They can’t see the lines, but it totally triggers their internal sex alarms. “Why is Joey having bloodflow issues,” they ponder from three rooms over. They choose to investigate and — Double Secret Probation BAM! — Lizzy Caplan without her top on.
The only cure you have for this is celibacy. Or maybe just watch movies starring Dame Judi Dench. Unless that’s what you’re into, you sleaze.
The question then must be why does it only happen with guys and not gals? There are two reasons. 1) Guys will watch a lot more movies, and with so many more opportunities to encounter exposure, there are more opportunities to be caught at the exact wrong moment. 2) Mainstream movies almost never show male genitalia, unless it is for comic purposes. That’s because the man junk is a total joke. Just figured we should confirm that fact.