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Showing posts with label things that worry me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label things that worry me. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

This Worries Me

I love "Project Runway."

Think what you want of me: I don't care. We all know I have problems with the incessant Garnier, Loreal, Bluefly.com, Hewlett Packard, etcetera, etcetera markething whoreism that goes on there, but I'm often willing to look the other way in favor of a great character, and Tim Gunn, whether he's a real person or a character or a... whatever he is, well, he's fucking hilarious. While "He Made it Work" will probably be engraved as the epitaph on his tombstone, I'm much more fond of

"This worries me."

I want a bumper-sticker that says "This Worries Me." And, of course, I could custom-order one if I really wanted. The ass of my PT Cruiser already bears a sticker emblazoned with the caution, "WARNING: Gilbert & Sullivan Freak Behind Wheel."

(I just think other drivers have a right to know.)

Anyway, in honor of Tim Gunn's utterly fabulous catchphrase, I thought I would create a brief (ha!) list of things that worry me, the voice behind My Masonic Apron. Because, while I may sometimes seem like an apathetic little shit, believe me, lots of things worry me.

So, without further muckmuckmuckmuck, I give you the official, officious, odoriferous

THIS WORRIES ME LIST

* The Brewing JFK International Airport Scandal:

So, apparently some jackoff father working in the Air Traffic Control Tower at JFK got a little overzealous about "Bring Your Child to Work Day." He let his pre-pubescent kiddo communicate takeoff clearances and other instructions to JetBlue and Air Mexico planes which, generally speaking, is not such a hot idea, seeing as most commercial airline pilots areoverworked, underskilled, sleep-deprived alcoholics whose penises are perpetually crusty from midair antics with stewardesses and are prone to making mistakes when licensed adults are giving radio instructions, let alone elementary school children. Kids on the Air Traffic Control radio?

This worries me.

* The Cadbury Bunny:

The rabbit boks, for Christ's sake. And, if they aren't putting rubber cement in its mouth to get it to rapidly masticate like that, then I don't know what they're doing to it, but it can't be something PETA would approve of. I never thought I'd say this but, after watching the commercial for possibly the forty-seventh time this past weekend, the Cadbury fucking Bunny definitely worries me.

* Earthquakes:

I'm not immune from being affected and influenced by what goes on in the media. I don't know if an 8.8 magnitude earthquake would ever strike the southeastern Pennsylvania suburbs but I'm now thinking about it approximately ever four minutes, which used to be how often I think about sex, which has now been forced into an every 7.5 minute timeslot, and that annoys me. Thinking about sex is infinitely more preferable to thinking about my house falling down and the streets opening up and mass carnage. What would be really convenient would be if I could somehow combine thinking about sex and earthquakes-- sex during earthquakes. Mmmmm...

I'll bet that worries you.

* The soap inside my coffee mug:

I don't know what fucking gives here but, every time I wash my travel coffee mug, I never get all of the liquid dish-soap residue/slath/funk off of it so that, when I pour the coffee in it and take my first sip, it tastes like lemon-flavored coffee. And it's slick going down my throat-- the consistency of watered down motor oil. I'm addicted to coffee and I try to be a good boy and make it at home, but, when I do, there are more bubbles in the mug than in a bottle of club soda. I just took my first sip for the morning, and it tastes like a child's bathwater and a cigar.

And that worries me.

People with guns:

When my wife and I used to live in the ghetto, and I would be driving around or walking the dog, being careful to avoid broken syringes and raggedy, splayed out condoms, I would often look at people walking towards me and think to myself, "He's armed." "She's packing." "He's definitely got a gun." Call me racist (I don't care what you call me so long as you don't call me late for dinner!") but the people I would most frequently identify as potentially armed were young, African American males with angry expressions, Timberlands, and one hand shoved unceremoniously down the front of their oversized jeans. Maybe that was wrong of me, maybe they were just warming their hands or reading the braille "JOCKEY" logo on their undershorts waistbands.

Now that we live in the suburbs, I still play this game. I think everybody's packing. When my 60-year-old widow neighbor confronted me about our lilac tree that is half-down on her property, I thought she was going to pull out a Glock and shoot me in the neck.

And that worried me.

* Quitting my job:

While I am immensely pleased that August 27 will be my final day of work (I've already given notice-- aren't I nice?) I'm scared shitless about changing careers at a time when there's 10% unemployment. What am I, fucking stupid? It must be all that dishsoap I drink.

That definitely worries me.

* Clever newspaper titles:

In the Philadelphia Inquirer this morning: "Another Dash of Snow, But Hold the Salt"

These people get paid to write and I don't?

That worries me.

* The Same-Sex Marriage Debate:

Seriously, what the fuck is going on here? Isn't it 2010? Isn't Stom Thurmond dead? Why is there even a Same-Sex Marriage Debate? I thought that the days of institutionalized bigotry, prejudice and oppression were over. If you don't like gay marriage, don't marry a gay person. If you think that gay marriage denegrates the institution of marriage, take a look at the divorce and adultery rates for heterosexuals-- and the domestic violence and spousal homicide rates, too, while you're at it.

I know this one worries Tim Gunn, and it worries me, too.

* Pop-Tarts:

Even though I have been known to annihilate a fair number of chocolate frosted fuckers, Pop-Tarts definitely worry me. And I've never even read the nutrition information and/or the ingredient list. I'm just talking about from a strictly philosophical standpoint.

N'yah mean?