Observations like a Nosy Clerk

Few things in life are more annoying than purchasing a home pregnancy kit (while sweating bullets and chewing fingernails) and hearing the woman behind the counter ask, “Aww, is someone gonna be a proud papa?” I think there are a few items that, when purchased, should invoke nothing more than complete and total silence from the checkout clerk. I mean, if someone was buying condoms from me, wouldn’t it be impolite of me to ask, “Hey, who you banging?” or “Is someone gonna have a proud boner?” Maybe it’s just me. At any rate, here’s a list of items (in addition to the aforementioned condoms and home pregnancy tests) that should never be commented on by the checkout clerk: hemorrhoid cream, sexual enhancement pills, cheap whiskey, fatty foods, athletes foot medication and pornography. Perhaps this idea should be addressed in some kind of etiquette course for dumbass, intrusive clerks. Incidentally, what do you think of the name, Tobias Van DeGraaf? It’s got some style, huh?

My favorite part of funerals is all the food. My least favorite part of funerals is, well, the funeral I guess. (One of these days, I’ll make a point. Keep reading, and you may be there to experience the moment. That’s a reason to come here everyday, eh?)

By the way, I want to thank those of you who offered condolences for the death of my grandma. And to those of you who didn’t offer condolences: I’ll see you in hell. I’ll be the guy with all the fireworks and porn. Well one of them, anyway.

So, in the few days I’ve been gone, The Beech (Mike Forest) has returned to the PIC Blog Community and newcomer Scott Goodyer has joined us as well. This just goes to prove my theory that everything happens while I’m out of it. Hopefully, Tobias will understand this theory when he’s older and starts asking me questions about how I met his mom and shit.

At the Omaha airport, they have interesting signage. For example, I saw two signs outside that airport that offered the words, “Rental Car Return Second Right.” In the words of my brother Jay, “Why the hell would a sign tell me where not to turn until later? Looking for the rental car return? It’s not here, yet. Try the Second Right. Stupid Omahoans.” So take that, Southeast corner of Nebraska. Your signs suck.

Spring training and spring break are in full effect here in Florida, which can only mean one thing: spring is here (Mom says I’m intuitive).

And finally, because this is another one of those random, jumbled, incoherent pieces where I abort logic and fluidity like a bloody fetus (sorry, Tobias), I leave you with the following, which I overheard in a Council Bluff’s McDonalds:

“It just don’t taste like meat anymore.”