Knuckle Up Some Knowledge, Kid

Idiots log: 31JAN2013

Yesterday, someone asked me how many days are in January. I instinctively made a fist, raised it to eye level, and delivered a blow against ignorance. No, I didn't punchisize any faces, I merely cracked a well past-due egg of knowledge all over this person. "Thirty one", says I. "How do you know?", asks this man. "Count your knuckles, brah.", I respond. Then I proceed to show him to count knuckles, expressing your first knuckle as January, the hollow adjacent as February, and continue til the last knuckle, proceed again to the first and continue the count stopping when you reach your desired month. Knuckles are long months, hollows are shorts. Easy day. I learned that in first grade and still have to refer to it to this day. 'Membering things is hard, visual aids are da bess. Also, in first grade I read the Town Musicians of Bremen. I didn't know that was the title, but I googled rooster cat donkey thieves. It knew what I was talking about.

Bathroom Walls: The Original Message Board

Before the birth of "OP is a faggot" and memes, the best way to spread vulgarity and hate to a broader audience was to scribble your message to the world on the walls of public restrooms. Before smartphones and Angry Birds, all you could do during an unplanned deuce was stare at the walls, in most cases a plethora of ongoing conversations. Limericks, mom jokes, cave drawings of penises, they were all on semi-permanent display for an audience held captive by bodily function. If you were lucky enough to have a writing utensil, you could cast upon the world an unsavory message of your own to amuse fellow shitter patrons. If you were really lucky, someone would continue the conversation by adding a witty retort.

Behold this modern example of bathroom wall art: "2 inches of hard Dick". And then, as we can see, RE: "2 inches of hard dick": "In your moma's(sic) mouth."

Mop with some passion, motherfucker!

I don't know why this bothers me, but I can't stand watching people suck at mopping. As a seasoned veteran of the Flatware Sanitation Field (dishwashing for the laymen), I know my way around a mop. I have special chemical blends and mopping techniques that I simply cannot delve into due to a 70 year non-disclosure agreement with the Flatware Sanitation Guild, but suffice to say, I am a beast on the mop. Why do people insist on just pushing back and forth with a dirty mop head thinking that is going to do anything? Figure eights goddammit, figure eights are the key to success. And also a two stage approach to mopping is another key technique that I am able to share with you non-FSG members. Wet mop first, this allows the water and chemicals time to emulsify stubborn grease and funk. Then, after a suitable soak time, come back with a dry mop (or a well rung mop for that matter) to pick up the water from step one and hopefully wipe away the grime that has been released from the floors surface. That's it. Stop pushing a wet mop around hoping that shit is going to do something. And don't be afraid to lean into the mop to get up the stubborn stains, just mop with some passion, motherfucker.

Let me kick off my sneaks and get comfortable

Ahh, there is nothing quite like a fresh blog to make you feel all warm and tingly inside. Mmm, still has that "new blog" smell doesn't it? I guess we can go ahead and break this mutha in, huh? First and foremost, let me begin by telling you that yes, I am in fact another angsty twenty-something who can't make heads or tails of his path in life and whah-whah, boo-hoo, poor me. But, the purpose of this blog isn't for me to whine and cry about the same old existential crisisy bullshit that I always do, it is to catalog and file away dumb shit that amuses me and keeps me somewhat sane. Let's just call it a blog about futility, shame, and the pursuit of all things you probably don't even give a shit about. Hell, chances are I am going to be the only one that reads this thing anyways so fuck it, let's just call it my journal. But, if you are as uninspired as me, you probably don't have shit else to do other than tag along with me on my idiotic journey out of this grey area we refer to as "twenty-something".