Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I Say, I Say, I DO Declare!

If I have to hear one more person say that they've self-diagnosed themselves with some droopy, emo-moody disorder, I'm going to have to self-diagnose you as a lousy piece of trash and prescribe you a bullet in the fucking brain.

"Hold it, hold it. Will my insurance cover this?"

You're not even smart enough to know that weed I sold you was just pencil shavings and poison ivy, suddenly you're the medical consultant from the set of Diagnosis Murder?

"The real medical mystery is how this show ran for 8 years."

And of course you never, EVER self-diagnose ailments that aren't stress or depression related. Ailments that don't require drugs like xoloft, xanax, valium, aderall, etc. Or as I call them: Ian's FuntimeHappyJuiceNoBadFeelings Tonique.

My Actual Likeness

I've never once heard someone walking around telling people they self-diagnosed themselves with anal warts and elephantitis.

"WebMD says it's probably just the flue, but...I have my doubts."

It's the attention-seeking, pitty party diseases that you want to enlighten people you've contracted. Sure. Boohoo, you're feeling sad this week.
You want to prove to me that you truly are a self-diagnosed bipolar manic depressive? Let's go have an awesome time at an amusement park and just when we're laughing it up on the top of a roller coaster you jump off it.

"Either of you two have some vicodin?"

Only then will I have them put " , MD" at the end of your name on the tombstone.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The Thin Caffeinated Line

Do you know what a line is?

It's a queue of a diverse group of people waiting to achieve a goal of some kind.

A common line is one at Starbucks, when it's 830 in the morning, I've been up since 530 for the gym--

--and I want my God damn caffeine before the rage I withhold for this blog works like radiated gamma rays to transform me into a maniac so crazy that he wears purple slacks.

So I'm in line, doing what one does in line, moving forward until the obese woman in front of you orders a caramel macchiato frap (but with only a little whip cream — because she's on a diet, you see)--

--and it's your turn to order and pay for your over-priced, burnt, bitter beverage.


The barista is not your homeroom teacher taking roll call. They should not be repeating the same thing over and over and over again?

"Next in line...Next in line...Next in line"

You know you're getting close to the front of the line, so why are you not paying attention to the line but twiddling around on your phone, checking your OKCupid messages.
(Between you and me, he's NOT the one)

"I enjoy light jazz, dry comedy and strangling women with telephone wire."

I believe Ned Beatty (the more attractive Beatty in my opinion) said it best:


This isn't just your line, to keep at a pace of your liking. It's all of ours. We share this experience together and communally, but still have a personal responsibility to do our part to keep it flowing perennially to its forgone conclusion — MY GOD DAMN COFFEE.

I think it was Marx who originally said that.

No, not that Marx, the other one.

Eh, close enough.