1) I'm taking my Paris equivalency test. I want to see how many bars from the Eiffel Tower correspond with patterns in my DNA. Some French guy told me that the "D" in my DNA stands for denial, and the people at Fox News won't return my calls because it's "so obvious" that I was supposed to be born in France and yet somehow landed in the Bronx. All this makes me want to do is establish a new country whose motto is "brevity is the soul of wit, " but I never have enough time to work on it.
2) Who am I? Why are we here? Who ordered the turkey club with no mayo and extra lettuce?
These things went through my mind when I interned at a prestigious New York delicatessen (Krebner Leibovitz & Iscariot). Then I got a real job as a "model model"...I'd teach models how to not be themselves (and thus model successfully). This is what the unborn Olsen triplet and I refer to as being "so close, yet so far"...
3) Being that the slash (/) is right next to the period (.) on the keyboard, I sometimes think I type an ellipses, also known as "dot dot dot" (...),
only to find I have done this: ///. However, I hereby propose a new punctuation in English grammar that utilizes three slashes. It can be called the "elvis" and be used as a shortcut when anyone in a story leaves the scene, especially while using their hips in a creative way.
EXAMPLE:
"Oh, shit, Larry, you left the parrot's cage open!"
///
"He was a great parrot...too bad he's gone now."
"Yeah...are you a boy or a girl?"
4) The trans fats in this donut are going straight to my hips, but this napkin is going str8 to my lips (it was, after all, a powdered donut)...
I have the metabolism of a classically-trained rhino.
5) Helmets, obviously, peaked in the '80s. This had a lot to do with Nintendo, and nothing to do with junk bonds. Many Nintendo games involved a helmet that could turn you into different things, like an eagle, a lamp shade, or a guy who claims to know more about UV rays than he actually does. Regardless, priests wearing helmets for any reason remain irrationally humorous to me, as do winning lottery numbers hidden in coconuts.
6) What if ceilings had breasts?
7) I've Been Known to Eat Dinner at Midnight, while accurate, is a terrible name for my autobiography, but I'm not writing it. RuPaul is, so I have to just listen to the publisher. I've actually outsourced most aspects of being Jared DiDomenico by now so that I can, you know, do coke till 9am every day in L.A. If I've been having a lot of "deep" conversations with you recently, "I" apologize..."Guitar Jared" is under repair so "Philosophy Jared" had to pick up the slack. Obviously, all of these "Jareds" are really young Mongolian boys and their sheep-herding fathers. Including the present author. Please help us, the real Jared is a raving ///
(sorry I got distracted by an argument over whether goats have free will).
D)e Tour. Switch your gender.
9) Anger is a gift. Unfortunately, I got it from someone I had given it to last year, and thus was "re-gifted." Do you know what contempt sounds like just by shaking the box?
10) Porn filmed in the center of tornadoes.
11) I've come to realize certain things are not crutches, but more accurately can be described as having "joke tenure." Gnomes, for example. The word "moccasins" turns my skeleton to weak glass during that brief sweet moment in which it is uttered, making me feel on the brink of collapse and destruction, at its mercy. Cows, chickens, walruses, and even lobsters have seen better days (ah, youth), but still are inherently ridiculous. Goats will always be there (the marriage of the word itself with the thought of the beast it denotes a potent combination)... Some men look to past lovers with this kind of adoration, melancholy, and awe...and I...I have but this...please tighten the noose even more...thank you ///
-Alexander the Great's last words
12) Actual letter from my email account provider:
"Feel free to print my name. You peaked a year and a half ago.
Now these things are just uninspired, but, you know, you need content for your website. Focus on a career."
-The Failure Police
My afternoons are a cross between pharmacy small talk and sadness,
Proton "The sauce is never done" Variables