renebenavidez

The title sounds cheesy, right? Well, just read on and I can assure you that the scenario I am about to propose will test your resolve both mentally and physically. So don't be such a jerk. Jerk.

Having gone to three different weddings so far this summer, I started thinking about friendship. A common question that people ask themselves is what they would be willing to do for a friend? Now, the most widely known and cliché question people tend to think about true friendship is: Would you take a bullet for a friend?

I submit the following. A more bullshit question could not exist. No one in their right mind would take a bullet for anyone! Are you kidding me? That's a bullet! And you're a target. In a situation where a gun is pulled out, you've got two choices. This is referred to as the 'fight or flight response' and is present in all of us. When you see a gun, your options become narrowed down for you. You run. You run because what else are you gonna do? Stay around and try to fight the bullet? I repeat, THAT'S A FUCKING BULLET. The smart thing for everyone to do in that scenario is run and leave the slowest behind. It's like when you were kids and you used to race each other. "Loser gets a wet willie!" Well, it's the same thing here, except the loser gets fatal blood loss. So don't be a loser McFly.

The other dumb thing about that question is that it usually involves a scenario where people just have to react. There's no time to think or see the bullet coming and then make an informed decision about exactly how you should leap in front of it so as to minimize damage. And in what scenario would someone just fire one bullet at someone standing next to you? No no no, this is all wrong. It's a crap question.

I propose a better, more realistic question for you. It's one that I've put a lot of thought into, and it's one that you can think about and fully appreciate, especially if something like this ever happens to you. Here it is:

If your friend was being mauled by a bear, would you or would you not stick your thumb up that bears ass to stop the attack? Take some time and mull it over.

Now, the first question you're probably asking is "What kind of a sick fucking question is that?" What's wrong, are you afraid of how you might answer? Remember, this is your friend, and they're being mauled by an angry bear. You might also be thinking "This is a completely unrealistic scenario and there's no way to know for sure whether that tactic (however brilliant it might be) would actually work." Oh, you foolish mortals. It would absolutely work. And while I've never tried it personally, I can assure you that once I give you my reasoning, you might actually crap your pants in the face of it's magnificence.

Think about it. You sit down for a nice meal. You take a bite. You think everything is going swimmingly. Suddenly, a thumb is plunged knuckle deep into your pooper. What's your first thought? I can't say for sure, but I'm almost positive that it has nothing to do with hunger. A nice hearty meal is probably the last thing on your mind. Thus, your attention has successfully been turned to the perpetrator (or 'poopetrator' if you like shitty puns (I'll allow you a moment to soak in that awesome pun within a pun)).

Here's a list of FAQs that often accompany the whole bear/thumb/ass topic:
Q: What the fuck?
A: Just think about it. And don't be jealous because you didn't come up with it.

Q: What makes this the "perfect" scenario as you suggest?
A: Well, with the mauling bear/thumb in the ass scenario, you've really got some quality time to think about what this particular friendship means to you. Do I really like this person enough to insert my thumb into this bear's ass? Is there a scenario that exists where I would actually truly be okay with this? Plus, unlike with the bullet scenario, there's a possibility you don't die. And there's a 100% chance that you don't get hit with a bullet which is aces in my book!

Q: Why the thumb?
A: I'm glad you asked. The thumb is the only digit on your hand that's entrance into the bear's brown starfish would be unimpeded by any of your other fingers. It's what I like to call 'The Lone Enforcer.' Easy in, easy out my friends. It's that simple. 

Q: How did you get so handsome?
A: I'm actually getting a little tired of this question. It's a combination of things really. Genetics, work ethic, my ability to eat whole bags of candy in one sitting, male pattern baldness, etc. Just accept it.

So that's pretty much that. The next time you're hanging out with someone wondering if they're a true friend, just take the test. Ask yourself "Would I stick my thumb up a bear's ass to save this person?"

Friendship. It's got my thumbs up.

The following is a commercial that actually aired more than two years ago on television. Please click the link and watch it in it's entirety and try not to either laugh, grimace, or throw up a little bit into your own lap (you won't be able to do it).

Super Happy Fun Time Kids Toy

Yeah, I know, I know. A friend showed me this clip a while back, and it never gets any easier to watch. It's horrifying, right? No commercial for a children's toy should ever involve a money shot. Period.

What could the marketing department at Super Soaker have possibly been thinking? How the hell could you not have seen criticism coming?! They made the substance WHITE for Christ's sake! You're not fooling anyone. At least make it yellow or purple or green so kids think they're shooting alien guts or something at each other. But white? The only way it could be worse is if it smelled like bleach.

I want to know the thought process behind actually creating this gun. "Hey, I know! Let's make a toy for children that you have to pump down at waist level until enough pressure has built up, and then have it aimed and 'released' onto another person's chest and face!" Even the guys at NAMBLA were probably like "Yeah, this is a bit much."

Look, I have no qualms about the overall objective of the gun. You're trying to shoot slime at someone that doesn't want slime on them. That's inherently funny. Always has been. It's like when you were young and you used to throw mud at girls. Or like when you were 12 and you used to EJACULATE ON YOUR BEST FRIEND'S CHEST. Good lord, what were these people thinking!?! I know I've asked that already, but it just continues to defy any type of logic.

I haven't done any further research, but I would assume that this toy has been pulled off of store shelves in an effort not to sully childrens' minds. Save that nightmare for summer camp. It looks like it's back to the drawing board for Super Soaker. I'm not even sure I want to speculate what could possibly be next. All I can say is that it better not shoot warm mud and be shaped like an ass, because seriously people. Seriously.

So I hit my knee on a table at work today. After my initial reaction of wishing the world would just implode in on itself, I began to wonder what the hell would make something so seemingly insignificant hurt so garsh darn bad.

Now, I'm not a medical doctor but I kinda figure I'm basically as smart as one. Whatever I may lack in book smarts, I more than make up for with an eagerness to make a fool of myself and a monumental set of balls. Seriously, sometimes they barely fit in my underpants. I feel the need to qualify that last statement with "sometimes" only because I don't always wear underpants ...ladies?

However, ridiculous intelligence and grapefruit sized cajones (which I'm told is spanish for "brains") aside, I should get back to the matter at hand . . . . or knee if you wanna be that jackass that thinks it's funny to take everything too literally. Choke on something already.

So I get home and bust out Wikipedia and my old Milton Bradley Operation game. After conducting some extensive research (I never made his nose light up ONCE!) I discovered that all naked red-nosed freckled fat people have a bucket of water beneath their knee! Who knew!? After finding out this nearly unbelievable medical fact, my detective-like instincts kicked in. I quickly did a Wikipedia search for "bucket" (in hopes I would find a remedy for my problem) and was brought face to face with the following search results:

" . . . Bucket? . . . Seriously? . . . You typed 'bucket' into our search engine? Really? Do you even have opposable thumbs? Don't answer. We hope . . . no, we PRAY that your retarded sloth of a cat somehow climbed onto your desktop and accidentally mashed out the word 'bucket' on your keyboard. Because, so help us, if it was really you that did a search for the word 'bucket' of all the stupid ass simple words in the world, we will see to it that you never reproduce or ever achieve true happiness. Good day sir."

And I'm gonna be honest with you. It hurt. Emotionally. It hurt about as much as being hit in the fucking knee with a table. So then I thought, maybe when you bump your knee, the hurt you're actually feeling is more of an emotional hurt as a response to you even beginning to ponder why hitting your knee could possibly hurt so much that it could make you want to drop kick a chinchilla. I don't rightly know because, as I said before, I'm not a doctor. I'm just unreasonably smart. So much so, in fact, that if you were to paint a picture as a metaphor to represent my intellect, it might resemble something along the lines of a blade covered ninja (like Shredder in Ninja Turtles 2 (but the big Shredder, after the ooze got on him))jump kicking a planet into smaller more manageable pieces.

What does that even mean, you ask? I don't have any idea. My knee still really hurts and I think I may be delirious. Good day to you sirs.

As odd as it may seem, this question evokes a sense of happiness in me. I reminds me of a carefree time in my life where I really had no purpose (not like now, where I'm a very successful CEO....). It reminds me of high school to be quite honest with you.

As far as I know, the question was initially coined by my good friend Travis as we would drive around the wonderful city of Idaho Falls constantly complaining that there was nothing to do. Upon initial examination, the question seems quite simple and straightforward. "Did you drop a jellybean?" Seems like a simple yes or no answer would suffice, right? The actual meaning goes much deeper than that, quite literally. In order for the question to acheive it's maximum humor potential, you must know the right moment to ask it.

The question in question has nothing to do with an actual jellybean (though it can). Allow me to explain. Have you ever been riding around in the passenger seat of a vehicle and developed an itch? Not an itch on your face or neck or arm, but deeper. Lower. More central. Past the grundle, beyond the taint, to a place of indescribable darkness and sometimes minor irritation. Your "undercarriage" if you will. Are we all on the same page here? I think I heard somebody gag, so we must be.

Anyway, the question came from just such an occasion. I "went in" for an itch, and while I had my hand down there, digging away, Travis turned to me and said "What did you drop a jellybean?" And so it was. From that point on, that became the perfect question for that scenario.

Now, I don't know if any of you have actually ever dropped a piece of hard candy while driving/riding in a car, but where's the first place it goes? That's right. It somehow immediately finds it's way to that cavernous little bird's nest between your seat and your meat. And it always seems like the harder you try to dig around for it, the farther back it makes it's way, to the point where you've pretty much just wiped your ass with a piece of candy. And, let's be honest people, 95% of you will still eat it.

I'm not saying I'm above the law here. I do it too. And really, a jellybean is the only type of food you can do that with and get away with. Chocolate covered candies might melt, cookies or crackers might crumble. You wouldn't smear a half a pint of Haagen Das on your crotch and then try to eat it, would you? Something about the chemical makeup of a jellybean makes that horrid act just slightly less horrid.

The point of this whole story is not to gross you out (though that's like a bonus for me if it did), but to bring back the question. I don't know if you've ever heard it before or if Travis independantly conceived it, or even if he heard it from someone else. But I contend that we bring it back. Who's with me?

One day about a year and a half ago, I was driving home from work in my slugbug, rocking out to the Bee gees or Dan Fogelberg or Little River Band or some shit, and I was feeling a might gassy. So being that I'm alone, and a big fan of personal comfort, I decide to let one go. Instantly, I'm both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time (don't read too far into this yet, I didn't shart.). I'm comfortable because my gas is no longer taking up empty space inside me. I'm uncomfortable because, well, heat rises.

The first thing I notice is that it smells, which is normal. However, the second and more interesting thing that I notice is that the smell kind of reminds me of Mcdonald's french fries. ...Hang with me people, it gets worse. Immediately after that, my next thought is that I'm now kind of hungry for Mcdonald's.

. . . Okay, allow yourself a moment to go ahead let that sink in. Gag if you must. Light a scented candle to get the smelly thought out of your head. Or maybe go buy some Mcdonald's if that's what suits you......sicko.

After having said all that, I would like to pose the following question to you: Am I disgusting for getting a craving for Mickey D's after smelling my own gas?

I understand that your initial gut reaction will be "Yes. Yes, hell yes! Absolutely!" However, I must follow it up with another question. What's more disgusting? The fact that I got hungry after smelling my own foul stench, or the fact that every last one of you have eaten french fries that taste like the inside of my ass?

I rest my case.

Have you ever run into a doorframe while trying to exit a room quickly? Like you'll just clip your shoulder on the way out and it sends you a little off kilter, but you can usually recover from it? Yeah, I did one of those a couple days ago, but I ran into the door frame with the middle of my chest. I'm still not sure exactly how it happened or what it was that had me excited enough to forget how to exit a room. (I think there was mention of pizza downstairs or something.) Regardless, I was still able to recover after only a slight popping sound and some mild grunting. I'm like a big lovable man child.