Thursday, February 28, 2008


I do not understand why the price of blue jeans are up in the triple digits.

People are freaked out about the rising cost of gasoline, but nobody has paid much attention to the absurd prices tacked onto a pair of blue jeans. And amazingly, the more expensive the jeans, the more it looks like they're from a thrift shop.

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What is this magical force that will keep a piece of hair stuck to your tongue despite your best efforts to remove it? NASA should look into that and use that force to secure foam to their space shuttle.

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I bought a bag of peanut M&M's. I came upon a brown M&M and realized that this is the only color M&M in the bag that didn't have a corresponding character. Blue, green, yellow, orange, and red all have been drawn into characters, but not the brown one. What's up with that?

A quick email to the Mars company, the parent company of M&M's, asking why there's not a brown M&M character resulted in a canned email response within 24 hours talking only about how the company is not racist. No mention of why there's no brown M&M character, just that nobody at Mars Co. is racist. They failed to actually address my question.

Up until I read that answer, I didn't even think to correlate brown M&Ms with black people. Or Indian people. Or Mexicans. Or whichever race Mars Company thinks should be associated with brown. Which then leads me to ask what race of people the green, orange, and blue M&M's are supposed to represent.

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No question that the elevators can often run slow. Especially during the lunch rush. As I walked over to the elevators to get up to the 8th floor, there was a woman pacing, ranting, and pitching a fit to nobody in particular about how she's been waiting for nearly 10 minutes and she's in a rush to get back to her company and she's too important to be delayed and blah blah blah.

Thankfully, a down elevator arrived shortly, but it was full of people and they couldn't make enough room for her. She couldn't get on, and as the doors closed on her, this caused her to erupt into another tirade about the elevator system in the hospital.

I tried to ignore her, but just couldn't take it anymore. I pointed to the stairs just 10 feet away from the elevators and informed her that if she's in that much of a rush, perhaps she should take the stairs. Afterall, she's only on the second floor. I figured she could manage one flight down.

She looked back at me as if I just told her to go fuck herself. Which is, in all honesty, what I really wanted to suggest after hearing her self-importance rant for the past several minutes. She then focused her energy in telling me what a moron I am to suggest such a thing. I obviously have no clue that important people are too important to take the stairs.

Thankfully, the elevator she couldn't get on to get down arrived on its way up. I got in, pushed for the 8th floor, the doors closed, and that was that.