Abso Hilare

…as of last December (21st to be exact). It has been an excellent run, and we will continue to push forward. I was looking back (*cue violins please Clev) at old posts from the first month (*learns Clev is an awful violinist) when we used to reel off new material DAILY (*takes tissue to wipe tear from Itty) . The first thing that came to mind was, what the HELL did we do aside from blog!? I don’t remember, but it couldn’t have been that much else. In any event, this serves as an official thank you to all the folks from the mainland to across the seas who took time to read our stuff, Cheers! Long Live AH!

In other news: It was a very rough 4th quarter, leaving me with little to no free time for the better things in life; i.e. AbsoHilare.com. Lucky for me, it seems as if things have calmed down, thus freeing up more space in my mind to think of random things hilare in nature. 

Not many chuckles over here today, very drab Monday in the office…WAIT! I take that back, I did see some some wild shit on my way in this morning, nothing big though. 

I’m on the 7 train, and it is packed (as always) and everyone is basically throwing themself into the person infront of them to try to get to work on time. It’s always disasterous. So after the door closes I find myself entirely too close to this other person on the train, wearing the most festive hat. In wondering who designed this awful piece, i take a closer look. It is then and there i became very confused. In a dream world I would have tapped this man on his shoulder and said, “Sir, it isn’t that cold this morning, nor will it EVER be cold enough for you to leave your house, as the grown man you are, wearing a Baby Phat hat, jackass.” I just couldn’t believe it, this grown effin man wearing Baby Phat to work, it is for WOMEN! Assclown. 

Also, (blatantly continuing my rant for no reason) it has been quite some time since I forgot my cell phone at home. Today I learned the hard way that it just is not the way to go. I mean, I am doing pretty well without it, I think. My main problem is the fact that I continually make myself look like an arse. How? Oh, easy. When you are walking around the office and you (continually) slap your hip in hopes of retrieving your phone from it’s case, only for your hand to meet with the leather of your belt time and time again. It only makes it worse. Just be good to yourself and don’t forget your phone. Thanks. 

Happy New Year? Yes!

Happy AH Day?! hmm, any takers? 

But, this Plaxico Burress fiasco just can’t go unmentioned.  Really, how do you get arrested for shooting yourself? The only thing worse than getting arrested for shooting yourself is getting off for murder and then going to jail for stealing a photo of yourself like OJ.

There are actually a few things going on here. 

1) Plaxico, how do you take a gun to the club and end up shooting yourself. Did you not know that you had a gun? Did you not know that the gun was loaded? If you’re that stupid, chances are you shouldn’t be near a fork, much less a gun.

2) He’s pleading not guilty to gun possession. Did you get that? NOT GUILTY. How do you shoot yourself and then plead not guilty to gun possession? So what exactly are you claming happened here?

3) I’m all about gun laws. (I’m not sure what I meant by that either, but let’s just keep it moving.) However, if a man shoots himself in the leg, I think he’s already received his punishment. Three and a half years seems a bit much to me. However, if he sticks with this not guilty nonsense…

Sooo… Hi.  I’m new to the roster of the fabulous AH authors.  Annnnd, I’m not gonna lie, I feel pretty privileged to be here.   It’s not every day you get an invite like that.  You treasure those days… You remember them warmly in your heart and can only hope you’ll stumble upon another… Whoa.  WAIT.  Sorry, I don’t know what happened. 

I’m guessing you’re wondering what the title of this post could lead to.  Well, while it’s amusing to tell and see people’s reactions, it wasn’t so much what I would call “fun” when it happened.  It was a blustery fall morning (lie, I don’t know what the weather was like that day) and my friend popped up on Gmail and straight out the gate says, “Have you ever posed nude for pictures?” 

Wh-wh-whaaaaat? 

No. 

I answer with a firm, all-caps NO.  But then (THEN!) he tries to just leave it at that and change the subject.  Sorry, bud, not getting away that easy.  I inquire as to why he would ask such a question and he proceeds to tell me that him and some buddies were perusing some p0rn sites that weekend and had stumbled across a picture of me.

OK.  WAIT.

Excuse me?  I do not pose in such ways, my friend.  You MUST be mistaken.  Finally, he’s like, “Alright, but it looks JUST like you.”  (A. Who does that?  Ha!  Got a funny joke!  Found naked pictures of you online!! SIKE!!!!  B.  Not cool, man.  NOT.  COOL.)  And you know when people say that you’re like, “Sure, sure… whatev.”  I mean, I was once told that I looked JUST like Jennifer Aniston (and I didn’t have a stitch of makeup on and I had just come from a sauna so I was all greasy.)  In no way, shape, or form do I resemble Miss Aniston.  I mean, really.  Not at all.

I immediately call up my friend, who’s husband was with the guy who saw the picture (who ate the cat, that ate the rat, that ate the fly… You guys remember that book?  No?  Nothing?  Okaaaay… NEVERMIND.)  I blurt out this current development on my one-way (yet unknown) track to a life of p0rn which would eventually lead to a life of me being addicted to coke before I moved onto other drugs and then eventually I would be all Courtney Love in “The People VS. Larry Flint” and NO!  I WILL NOT GO OUT THIS WAY!!!  I’m practically holding back tears.  Her response?  To start laughing.  Hard.  I do not think this is funny.  After she calms herself down she sends me the picture and says, “Now, before you open it, I’m not going to lie.  I REALLY had to look at it to make sure it wasn’t you.  But then I saw the date when the picture was taken and you would have JUST had your daughter and well, you know.”  (Translation:  Weeks after giving birth you still looked a bit of a fat ass and well, in no way could qualify for p0rn.)

I open the email.

OH. MY. HEAVENS.

It’s me.

In my head, I’m frantically trying to remember if on one of my more of my poor unfortunate nights I had gotten drunk and made a (TERRIBLY!)  (HORRIBLY!) bad decision as I’m sometimes wont to do under the influence of alcohol.  I even consider the possibility that I had been roofied and had somehow been convinced that this would be a good idea.  No way.  I may have a stiff drink every now and then but never am I THAT out of control… Or AM I?

I study the picture.  I zoom in and out… I consider photoshop… I consider everything.  And then I see she has a small bump on her nose and breathe a HUGE sigh of relief.  It’s not me.  BUT HOLY SHIT.  It is my twin.  It is my effing evil identical twin who has chosen a life of p0rn.  Way to keep up the family name, sis. 

There is no other explanation.  Well, we could always go with the sci-fi cloning route but that would take me days to come up with legitimate reasons as to why that was the answer so we’re going with evil twin.  Of the naked variety.

Alarms, a solid way to protect your home for burglary/theft. Not at home? No problem, fire up the good old alarm, put on the code and your off to tackle the day.

Now, I’ve used an alarm or two in my day but NEVER in my life have I ever heard an alarm this fidiculous (fuckin ridiculous, use it if you want, its cool). Safe to say I get off the train at one of the safest neighborhoods in Queens, with some nice sized homes. Apparently the well-off owner of this home was a damn fool, don’t believe me? Read on.

So I see the little (useless) neighborhood patrol car (armed and ready with the latest flashlight and nextel) outside of this home  flashing his yellow lights. As I walk closer to scene of this potential break in I happen to hear the warning message some jackass programmed to go off when someone breaks into their home! The robotic voiced monotonous message went as follows:

“You have illegally entered a home protected by a security system; so…Run for it! Run for it! Run for it! It said that shit about a dozen times! The effed up part about it is if I was the thief (not that this would ever be the case, ever) I would clearly be caught red handed, on the floor even, in tears–from laughter! I could’nt escape with shit hearing an alarm system telling me to “run for it”. Home owner, you win! Happy Friday & Long live AH!

*Ultra Important Announcement: (*cue drom roll……) We have a new member of the AH team, W. Itty! She will join forces along with myself, V. Clev & M. Randy in ensuring that hilarity lives on. To W. Itty, Cheers! 

The economy is bad. Fact. But is it really this bad?

I’m on my way home from work. Where’s work? It’s downtown DC next to a bunch of international organizations and blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.

Anyway, I’m on my way home from work (I’ve never said this before, lie? ). I just happen to pass this man that’s begging, normal occurrence in DC. But, this wasn’t your ordinary bum beggar, no no no. Forget the usual, “anybody have any change.” You weren’t going to get, “Can you help me get something to eat,” from this guy. Not even an, “I need a bed.” (I’ve been asked for a bed before, they have really high hopes)

This clever man’s schtick was, “Anybody got a euro, I just need one euro, any spare euro.”

Sir, are you really begging for foreign currency? Even so, if you got the “one euro” you really needed so bad, what next? At some point I think it would behoov my bummy bretheren to beg for some US bucks, perhaps?

Give us your take. Until next time, take care.