Using a Flamethrower to “Shovel” Snow

flame thrower snow

Intimidated by the thick coat of snow over your driveway? Does your lower back ache just thinking about what’s in store? Well, maybe it’s time you went up to the attic and grabbed grandpa’s old WW2 flamethrower and put that baby to work. Melting snow with a flamethrower could be a tad dangerous, sure, but it would get the job done in half the time, and with half the physical effort! Whole swaths of snow will disappear before your red, tearing eyes!

One little spritz and the most intimidating piles of plow-displaced snow wouldn’t stand a chance. Those ugly mounds by where your driveway meets the street would collapse into hissing, gurgling puddles. Quick and easy. Just try not to aim for your car or the telephone pole or your house and you’ll be fine.

One quick spritz of flame juice to the densest mounds, and then you can send your son in with a plastic shovel to sort of “clean up the neck,” if need be. Depending on your relationships with your immediate neighbors, you can even trudge over to their houses and flame-throw their driveways too.

The way I see it, the benefits to flame-throwing your driveway after a major snowstorm—as opposed to shoveling—are as follows:

Benefits to Flame-throwing your Snow-Covered Driveway 

  • Saves time
  • Sterilizes the pavement
  • Protects your back
  • Impresses the kids
  • Keeps you nice and toasty

So there you have it, folks. Show that snow who’s boss!

WP Readers, let me know if you can think of any additional benefits. I’ll add them to my list w/ link to your blog!


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Crush the Mounds of Laziness: Make Your Bed ASAP!

Unmade bed humor

The terrible mounds of laziness.

I have a little trick to help you get more done on your day off. Don’t worry, this won’t require you to do anything you don’t already do. You already do this, you just need to do it sooner is all. And no, I’m not talking about playing with yourself or picking your nose or both of those at the same time. I’m talking making your bed. If you’d like to accomplish more with your day off, here’s a little pointer: make your bed as soon as you get up.

Rumpled, bunched-up sheets at the foot of your bed send a message to your brain: “Chaos reigns.” Just looking at those warm mounds of laziness, accented by the soft morning sunlight slanting through the twirling dust mites, you feel like flopping yourself on the couch downstairs and sinking into the cushions and scanning the stations for Jerry Springer or Maury. Maybe Judge Judy too if it’s a good one.

Nor do you even have to look at the mounds of laziness to feel their effect. You can merely know that they’re there. You can sense the disorder and capitulation they signify even through the walls and the floorboards of your house. There you are, sitting there clicking through the channels with your sticky remote, finally getting ready for the adventure of climbing to your feet and checking the mailbox. This is going to be your big activity for the day.

But then you’ll remember about the mounds of laziness you’d left at the foot of your bed, and so you abort the adventure entirely. You’ll say something like this, “Eh, maybe one more episode. Jerry’s making some good points.”

made bed

If you want to keep the laziness at bay, never leave the scene of a wake-up without first making your bed.

Waiting until “whenever” to make your bed is sort of like letting yourself go, diet-wise. In the case with dieting, the sin is committed the minute you allow yourself to cheat on your diet and eat that first Devil Dog. We all know that once you eat it you can’t un-eat it, and therefore your whole squeaky clean dieting scheme is tainted, and so why bother at all? Ditch the frozen yogurt, bring on the fat-full ice cream! Let’s do this!

In the case with not making your bed, the sin is committed moments after you clamber to your feet and swat the alarm clock into submission. In that sleepy moment you have a choice to make: you can either make your bed while it’s still nice and warm, or you can flee the scene entirely and get started with your lazy Saturday.

The most you can hope to get accomplished in this latter scenario is to verify that your cable connection is, indeed, functioning at full capacity and that Walker, Texas Ranger is, indeed, still shown on certain channels if you sit around and wait long enough.

But if you go with choice A and groggily make your bed, a funny thing happens to your brain. Flattening the mounds first thing in the morning sends a signal to your hemispheres that you mean business! So what if this is a Saturday, your day to sleep in and be lazy and all that! You still have a choice, Neo!

Making your bed first thing in the morning, before laziness has a chance to sneak in and alter your trajectory, puts an entirely different spin on your day. Every time you walk by and see those flat, tucked in, Full Metal Jacket style bedsheets on your bed you’ll experience a feeling of accomplishment and well-being. You’ll be like, “Holy crap, even on a Saturday?!? I must be serious!”

Everything you do that day will be informed by the secret knowledge that the mounds of laziness have been vanquished and your bed is as flat as your voice mail greeting.

In lieu of being a couch potato you’ll actually accomplish amazing things, such as:

  • Writing a blog post you’ve been putting off for no particular reason.
  • Exercising
  • Tidying up the house
  • Paying some bills
  • Reconnecting with old friends
  • Practicing your swordplay in preparation for your upcoming battle with a fellow immortal inside the parking garage of Madison Square Garden. There can be only one.

I’m telling you. Never leave the scene of a wake-up without making your bed right away. Flatten those mounds. You’ll get more out of your lazy Saturday.

Readers, do you make your beds first thing in the morning? Do you let it slide on Saturday?

This post has been a late response to a prompt at the Daily Post. Check it out!

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Are We Still Supposed to Call Them “Smartphones”?

dumb smartphone

If a smartphone is no longer noticeably “smarter” than its competition, is it still a “smartphone”?

Are we still supposed to call these things “smartphones” or what?  Now that just about everyone has one I’ve come to wonder whether our flashy iPhones and Androids really so distinguished smart-wise? I’m starting to feel like that term “smartphone” has gone and become old fashioned while no one was looking, because the other day that’s how I referred to my new Galaxy S5 and all of a sudden I felt like binge-watching Matlock. “Hey guys,” I said to a group of my guy friends. “Check out my new smartphone!” And then, in the very same breath, I felt compelled to add, “I’m old, huh.”

When smartphones first started to become a major thing—around the mid-00’s—you had every right to call them “smartphones.” I’m talking about the era of the first big bulky keyboard-having Blackberries and Treos and devices like like. Many came with a stylus, though their screens were a fraction of size of a modern day stylus-having phablet device.

Back then, these bulky pocket beasts deserved to be called smartphones, as they were far smarter than the average phone. They had bigger displays. They had keyboards. Some had real bonafide touch screens (!). If you had one you didn’t refer to it as a phone. You always made sure to say SMARTphone. Because guess what, you didn’t pay all that extra money just to go around calling your smartphone a “phone,” thank you very much.

You could add events to your calendar. You could take 2 megapixel photos of your friends and email (!) them to everybody. You could surf a smartphone-ized version of the Internet. It wasn’t fun, but you could do it, and sometimes, to your smartphone’s everlasting glory, it totally saved your ass.

You were in the minority if you had a smartphone at this time, and when you whipped that puppy out at a bar it did impress girls. I’ve been there. I know. Girls would give you their number just to watch you enter it in to your fancy monstrous device. Wielding a smartphone made you look thrice as successful as you actually were. And if you weren’t successful at all, this was one of those cases where you can multiply something by zero and not have it equal o. In this case, 2 X 0 = 4.

But the golden era of the “smartphone” was short-lived. Technology moves damn fast, and as processors and doohickies got smaller and smaller, it became possible to include “smartness” in more and more phones. Smaller phones, yet phones with even bigger (!) screens. Smartphones became cheaper to own, and it wasn’t long before you were sort of expected to have one. What really sealed the deal was when the first iPhone came out, because there was a device from a company everyone already knew and loved. Not everyone went out and bought it right away, but there was this general feeling of: I’m probably gonna buy one of those eventually, it’s just a matter of how soon. Android rose to prominence during this era too, heroically preventing Apple from completely cornering the market.


I was one of the elite: here’s my old smartphone, a Palm Treo.

And the result of Android bold challenge was a sort of space-race, except with smartphones. Every years the two biggest competitors had to outdo the other technology- and feature-wise. Soon smartphones could take very good photographs; could search the Internet for real; could access and run thousands of free, totally useful “apps,” many of which involves some kind of cartoony bird either 1) flapping around in erratic patterns, as if drunk, or 2) soaring along suicidal trajectories into a gang of pigs in a contsruction zone.

After only a few years of this space race, you were pretty much a failure at life if you were a youngish person and you weren’t hunched over a shiny blue glowing rectangle. At bus stops. On the train. In class. In bed. Whenever. Just all the time.

Smartphones became the new “cell-phones.” Nowadays even your mother has one, though she likely uses only the “turn on” and the “call” functions. You probably have to go over there at least once a week and remind her to charge it. But she has one is the point. Which brings us to my most recent pondering.

Are we supposed to keep calling them smartphones now that everybody uses them? Because it’s starting to sound a bit weird and dated coming out of my mouth. It’s starting to sound akin to calling your widescreen television’s remote a “remote control.” Or calling your PC an “IBM.” Or calling your glasses “spectacles.”

Smartphones are no longer smarter than the average phone because they are the average phone. And having calibrated myself to see through this perspective, I discovered that most people—from grandmothers to little kids to english-as-a-second-language tourists—have taken to referring to their smartphones as “phones.” Period.

And perhaps that is as it should be.

Yes, modern day smartphones are still loads “smarter” than the odd, scuffed-up flip phone you still see every now and again, but at this point it’s the flip phone that needs a rebranding, not your big glowing rectangle of distraction. The formerly market-dominate flip phones are the minority now and will have to absorb any and all name changes necessary for an ever-evolving techno culture.

A flip phone shall hence forth no longer be referred to as a flip phone. Now it’s just an “old ass phone.” Done.

This, of course, creates a kind of retroactive ripple effect, effecting all previous incarnations of the cellular phone. I have compiled a convenient list of all additional name-changes necessary if we want to just call our smartphones “phones” from here on out.

List of naming ret-cons necessary so we can call a smartphone a “phone”

1.) Flip phone = old ass phone.

2.) Non flipping cell phone = ancient ass phone.

3.) Early smartphone/PDA = hand computer.

4.) Big plastic 80’s mobile phone w/antenna = cell phone invention.

5.) Early car phones = Michael Knight technology.

6.) Rotary wall-phones = communication device for WW2 submarines.

7.) Alexander Graham Bell’s first telephone = the Big Bang.

Readers: If I missed any please let me know. I think I covered everything. Meanwhile, what do you call your smartphones? Have you embraced them as the new normal yet?

Read my popular series of posts: Life Before Smartphones.


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Bill Cosby’s Controversial New Day Job

"Okay, who hired this guy?"

“Okay, who hired this guy?”

Yes, I get that Bill Cosby can use some extra pocket change on account of all those recent show-cancellations, but I’m not sure his new side gig is gonna go over too well.

(Couldn’t help myself—I was inspired by Tina Fey and Amy Poehler’s kick-ass Golden Globes routine)

For more celebrity hazing: check out what I think of Justin Beiber’s novel approach to urination.

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How Much Coffee is Too Much Coffee?

funny coffee picture

You’ll know you’re drinking too much coffee if you experience these 11 tell-tale symptoms.

How much coffee is too much coffee, you ask?

Coffee drinkers can tend to overdo it sometimes. Fact is, it’s very easy to drink too much coffee because caffeine can be a sort of a gateway drug to itself. It just leads to bigger and bigger ceramic mugs. Extra shots of espresso. One more scoop of Maxwell House. A bonafide caffeine buzz can lead to many a flighty, ill-advised decision, such as drinking a lot more coffee. “Can I top you off there, sir?” your waitress or manservant will inevitably ask. “Oh sure,” you’ll say before your brain has even finished processing the question. “Ya can never get too much coffee, right?”

Wrong! When you drink too much coffee the resulting caffeine overdose starts to nudge you onto unexpected, sometimes-embarrassing trajectories. Who knows what you’ll do! But how much is too much coffee? Really, there’s no easy answer, as everyone’s body is different. Some of you are big, some small, some young, some old. And caffeine content varies depending on your brand of coffee. Therefore we must deal with this question from a perspective of telltale, caffeine-related symptoms you can expect the moment you cross over into the drank-too-much-coffee zone.

11 Ways to Tell If You’re Drinking Too Much Coffee.

1. You start coming up with wacky inventions that have already existed for at least five years, such as robots that vacuum the rug while you’re not home.

2. When you look in the mirror you see an overloading Austin Powers Fembot.

3. You have already transported quite a few random objects—pens, cellphones, wallets, and snot rags—to strange corners of the house and then left them there, all whilst brainstorming some wildly inane subject, such as: “How long before they have flying cars? And will they be Fords, Chevys, or a completely new company that only does flying cars?”

4. You finally get (and laugh at) jokes that were told to you the week before. Which weren’t even all that funny in the first place.

5. There is a fairly large, rather magnificent castle of empty coffee mugs next to your computer. It emits a smell quite similar to the inside of a Starbucks.

6. You are standing on your roof and shouting to the neighborhood: “I am a golden god!” And then you realize you’re not on the roof at all—you’re actually sitting in the armchair in your living room merely  fantasizing about going up there on the roof.

7. You can’t fully remember the last time you’ve eaten a complete meal. Nor can you gauge if you’re even hungry or not. You’re simply too busy thinking about flying cars.

8. You start rehearsing in the mirror all the badass things you’re going to say to the next person who disrespects you in the slightest. Like, for example, what you’d say to the clerk at the liquor store calls you “boss” just one more time. Eventually you have to abandon the whole exercise for fear that you’ll turn into the Hulk and start breaking furniture.

9. You start seriously considering reconnecting with friends (via Skype) whom you haven’t talked to in 15 years, but then you realize that those friends never existed in the first place—you’ve made them up completely.

10. You are particularly annoying to your cat. It has already swiped at you at least once and is now playing dead. Or else you’ve killed it.

11. You write this article.

*drinking too much coffee isn’t always a bad thing. Check out this article over at Cracked about some of the unexpected benefits of drinking coffee.

Check out my article about the latest trend: coffee naps!

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Wet Hot American Summer Sequel Series. Just Start Laughing Now.


Against the odds, cult-classic Wet Hot American Summer is returning for some more arts and farts and crafts.

Yesterday it was announced that comedy classic Wet Hot American Summer is going to return as a limited series for Netflix. With most of the original cast members reprising their roles, too. I’m here to tell you this is a good thing. The original film, which followed the summertime antics of an irreverent group of lusty camp counsellors, has become a bit of a cult classic since its original release, and if you haven’t seen it yet maybe now’s the time.

Though I arrived somewhat late to the Wet Hot American Summer party—I first saw the 2001 film at some point in 2007—I  got nearly as big a buzz from this news as when I found out Twin Peaks was returning as a limited series for Showtime (premiering in 2016). In the case of the latter, I had heard the news mere days after having finished watching the entire early-90’s series on Netflix, after years and years of putting it off. The timing was crazy.

A similarly weird coincidence occurred with respect to the news of a new Wet Hot American Summer series/sequel. Just last week at a New Years Eve gathering, having gotten myself into a conversation with relative strangers regarding the subject of cult classic comedy films, I drunkenly extolled the virtues of Wet Hot American Summer. I really went for it. None of my audience had even heard of the film, and so I knew I had to make an extra big deal out of it or else they’d never remember to watch it.

Then, a few days later, I find that Netflix has elected to revive yet another cult property, bringing back to life the original WHAS film’s characters in the form of an 8-episode limited series. My first thought upon hearing this rather awesome news was: Damn, I hope those New Years Eve dinner party guest hear of this; then they’ll know I was for real!

I’m not going to go into a full review of the original Wet Hot American Summer here, but let me just give you the same shpeal I gave the people on New Years.

The following is as accurate a recreation of that event as can be expected ten days after the fact:

“Dudes! If you haven’t seen it, SEE IT! It’s not what you think. I know it kind of sounds like a no-brain (BUURRPP!) sex comedy staring Ryan Reynolds or something, but it’s not. It’s freaking got Jeanine Garafolo in one of her earliest film roles. Got young Paul Rudd in an awesome role, Michael Ian Black, Amy Poehler, freakin’ Bradley Cooper, Michael Showalter, Christopher Meloni! But it’s not just that they’re in it, either. It’s like a super bizarre no-holds-barred comedy of randomness. It sometimes delves into the metaphysical. It breaks the rules, man!

You know how when you’re watching a movie? (BUURRRPP!) And then you think of something funny that you wish the filmmakers had had the balls to do? Like randomly give one of the character super powers for just one scene? (AWKWARD LAUGH) Or maybe make one of the characters casually walk off screen only to take part in a completely unprovoked, random-as-hell homoerotic sex scene? (NERVOUSLY SHUFFLES FEET) Or have characters forget their lines and make up new ones on the spot, yet leave this in the movie?

Well dudes, director David Wain (BUURRPP!) has the balls to do exactly those things, and much, much more. Watch the freaking movie, dudes! Even if you think it sounds terrible—like I did, at first—just watch it brah!”

Well, that’s approximately what I said. Maybe without so much burping, but yeah. Anyway, who’s to say if this Netflix sequel will live up to the original in any way, but, as with Twin Peaks, I’ll take it where I can get it. I feel like it’s one of those cases where more is better than nothing.

Not like you can say the same for the Terminator sequels.

Read more about this Wet Hot American Summer sequel series here!

Or, speaking of Netflix, I hear they’ve changed their logo yet AGAIN! Read my report on the newest Netflix logo change.


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5 Reasons the New Sony Walkman Costs So Much

new sony walkman

Sony’s new digital NW-Zx2 Walkman packs some premium features to help rationalize its hefty price tag. But are these enough?

It’s back in the news, people. The Walkman! Perhaps hoping to cash in on the trend of 80’s nostalgia, Sony Corp. recently announced a new version of its famed Walkman device, set for release in 2015. This new device is sort of like your iPod Classic but with one major difference—this one will cost you $1,100 dollars. Yes, you read that correctly: the price tag comes to four digits. And that’s without the extended warranty.


The Sony NW-ZX2 Walkman is touted as a high resolution digital audio device. Using a special digital amplifier, this amazing device can apparently “reproduce master quality recordings just as the artists originally intended.” It’ll reduce distortion and make for a noticeably cleaner sound than you’re typical used to. Sweet.

But surely for $1,100 of hard earned cash the NW-ZX2 does more than simply clean up the sound a bit. If Sony actually believes anyone’s going to abandon their iPods and music-swollen Smartphones for this seemingly anachronistic device, there must be something more here. There HAS to be a reason it costs that much!

Well, I did a little sneaking around and yep, I’ve discovered 5 tech specs that totally explain why the new Song Walkman comes with such a high price tag.

5 Reasons the New Sony Walkman Costs $1,100

  1. The device comes with a long-lost 1973 Beatles reunion album that no one—not even Paul McCartney himself—remembers doing. Brand new songs. But it’s only listenable through the device’s proprietary codec, so you can only hear it on the NW-ZX2 (sorry, no YouTube).
  2. The device doesn’t just make your songs “sound” better, it uses advanced software to break down and restructure your songs to literally make them “be” better. Like, for instance, if you listen to a Maroon 5 song on this device it’ll actually turn out to be an awesome song. I’m talking it’ll sound like “Exile on Main Street”-era Rolling Stones.
  3.  The device gives you insider stock trading tips as it transitions between songs. You’ll make a killing in the market if you set this puppy on “shuffle.”
  4. The device uses a landmark algorithm to compose and perform its own songs. Meaning you never have to buy new music so long as you dig the NW-ZX2’s unique writing style. Which is pretty decent, actually. Paramore meets John Denver is the best way I can describe it.
  5. The device has an option to make all vocals, no matter who the original artist is, sound like they were spoken by John F. Kennedy during a television interview circa 1963. If you’re a fan of that kind of accent you’ll gladly fork out a grand for this option alone. Quite a conversation piece. Or else it’s just bloatware.

Check out Rolling Stone’s article about the amazing new Sony NW-Zx2 Walkman 

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The Doctors Have Finally Cleared My Blog to Play

steve nash humor

My blog spent most of the last three months on the bench, but it’s ready to hit the hardwood once again!

Okay, so after quite a long hiatus I’m going to resume the good work here at practicallyserious. No, I won’t be posting every day again like I did for that last epic stretch. It was fun and all, but it took my attention away from my other projects. So no posting every day, maybe not even every week, possibly not even every month (at least not for a while anyway), but I’ll see what I can do. Jeez, how’s that for a New Year’s blogging resolution? Really swinging for the fences here!

Basically my blogging comeback is going to resemble, at least at first, aging basketball player Steven Nash’s multitudinous attempts at a late career comeback. I don’t know how many of you are Laker fans out there, but if you are I’m sure you’ll appreciate my metaphor. It was ugly. Seemed like every other game he was coming back from an injury, only to get quickly re-injured and limp right off to the locker room. Poor Steve didn’t even need to step one foot on the court in order to throw his back out. He did it trying to tie his shoelaces. But the point is he tried. In epic fashion.

I can succeed where Steve Nash failed. Slow and steady is the key here. I don’t want to throw my back out trying to tie my metaphorical shoelaces. A post here and there will do. Limited minutes on the court.

Happy New Year to all, and to all a good weekend!



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How to Use Hyperbole to Mask Your Ignorance

exaggeration hyperbole

Sometimes gross exaggeration is the only way you can avoid making your friend (or yourself) look stupid.

Ever get caught in a situation where you can’t tell if the other person’s being serious, or if they’re simply that dumb? Maybe they make a wild claim about how many cars could probably fit into an average 7-Elevan parking lot—they say 130, and with a serious face. Or maybe the person makes a wildly inaccurate statement about an historical person place or thing; like, for example, maybe they say that “George Washington was a short, short man.”

It’s wrong, but not quite wrong enough so that it was obviously meant as a joke. Like, if your friend had said, “George Washington was Chinese,” you’d know he was obviously making a joke and you could feel free to laugh and slap him on the shoulder. But George Washington being short? You’re pretty sure he was a tall man. However you’ve no hard evidence handy readily available to prove this. So you can’t tell if you’re friend is screwing with you, or if he really believes that George was vertically challenged, or even if George actually was short and you’re the one who’s wrong.

So many questions! How are you possibly supposed to respond to your friend’s statement? You’re scared of a) embarrassing him by correcting him or b) looking like you don’t “get” his sarcasm or c) revealing your own ignorance vis a vis George Washington’s officially recorded height. But, hell, you have to say something. He’s looking at you like a kid anxious for his report card!

I have a solution for you. It’s a major life hack. I call it “hiding in hyperbole.” Basically, if you’re uncertain as to the jokingness or rightness or wrongness of a friend’s statement and you’re scared to show your hand, simply respond with a hyperbolic statement. Something obviously exaggerated and silly—it’s the safest way out. In the George Washington example, you’d respond with something like, “Oh yeah, he was real short. I hear he was four foot seven. That’s why the Brits kept missing him.”

Now the ball’s back in your friend’s court. He’ll have to show his hand. Was he joking? Was he serious? Here’s where you find out. Your friend might say something like, “Haha, well not that short but, seriously, he was kinda short. I saw it on the History channel.” Okay, so clearly your friend truly believes his own bizarre statement. This doesn’t mean it’s true—your friend was probably watching the History channel high as a kite. You don’t have to agree with him.

But at least now you know you’re supposed to pretend to agree with him in order to finally change the freaking subject already. “Ah, interesting,” you might say. “I’ve never heard that before.” You’ve survived the episode without incriminating yourself. A transcript of the event would show that you never technically agreed with him.


When in doubt, mask your ignorance via hyperbole.

Or maybe your friend was never serious about George Washington being short. Maybe your friend has a weirdly developed sense of humor where he doesn’t quite make his jokes jokey enough to register to others as real jokes. I’ve known many people like this. I call this “ambiguous stupidity,” when you can’t tell if a person’s being funny or if they’re actually that stupid, the confusion stemming from the fact that it’s indeed possible the person is that stupid. It’s not much of a stretch.

But fear not. By hiding in hyperbole you’ll likely expose your friend’s misfired joke for what it is. After you make your hyperbolic statement about four foot seven George Washington, your friend might simply laugh along with you, as if to say, “Touche!” No, you still may not know whether your friend’s simply laughing at your isolated joke or if he’s laughing at the combined energy of your joke and his joke; it’s possible he simply thinks you’re providing some comic relief to his very serious scholarly fact.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’ve survived your obligation to respond to his initial Washington statement. Now you’re free to change the subject. Steer the conversation into safer waters. Start talking about Iron Man 2 or something.

Hiding in hyperbole is a relatively new life theory for me. It’s still in the beta testing phase, but I’m feeling good about it. I’m going to try and incorporate it into many areas of my social life. Like, if somebody asks me a simple fact about football that I should know but don’t, like “How many yards did Peyton Manning throw last season?,” I can respond with something along the lines of “Eh, I’d say about 100,000,000.” The interrogator will just laugh and move on, never once suspecting I don’t even know what a “yard” is.

Reader, ever encounter some ambiguous stupidity in your social life? How did you react?

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“Trivago Guy” Fan Fiction

trivago guy fan fiction

Finally. Trivago Guy fan fiction that’s truly ideal.

The following is an excerpt of an embarrassingly complete short story I wrote based on the probably already forgotten Trivago Guy meme. It was inspired by the Rolling Stone article, What’s the Deal With the Trivago Guy?, which dangled the possibility of fan fiction based on Trivago’s sad-eyed spokesperson, but then failed to back it up with actual links. I decided I would take it upon myself to produce the world’s first legit Trivago Guy fan fiction. I won’t bore you with the whole 3000+ word short story. The important thing is merely that I wrote it in the first place.

Don’t even bother reading this if you haven’t first checked out the commercial that started it all (see below).

Anyway, I tried to make this the ideal short story, for the best price.

Trivago Guy Fan Fiction: Trivago Guy Buys A Belt [excerpt]

First? Time to power up. He climbed out of bed and got dressed in his signature outfit: slightly rumpled grey shirt tucked sexily into pitch black Kohl’s brand jeans. The crusty denim smelled of dried keg beer and Febreze and Raid, which meant they were ready to go. His sleeves he rolled up tight and neat and crisp. He had a yardstick set up on the corner of his wall, like what you’d do if you wanted to chart the growth of your firstborn child, and this was his next stop. What he used the yardstick for was to identify where his waistline was, so that he could tug his jeans down two inches below that. Since this was a defining part of his signature look he didn’t want to simply eyeball it. Presently he tugged tugged tugged until the fabric waistline met the pencil mark on the yard stick.

His trademark look was nearly complete, except for one very important detail, and it didn’t even require him to do anything—it merely required him to not do something.

It required him to not wear a belt. Which he promptly didn’t do.

And with that he was all Trivagoed up, just like in the commercial. He went over to his big mirror and did the stance. Arms low and fanned out, knees bent just so, toes pointing in opposite directions, sexy half-slouch, right arm hanging a bit lower than the left. When he noticed his hair didn’t quite look quite as “I just crawled out of a sleeping bag” as he liked, he ran a hand through it and shook it out a bit. Perfect. Ideal.

As he stood there checking himself out his eyes fell again to the trim waistline of his jeans, and all of a sudden everything clicked into place—he knew what last night’s dream had meant for him to do. The answer had been hiding in plain sight all along: a belt! That was the trouble, was it not? Ever since the commercial had aired, thousands and thousands of jerks online kept saying Why didn’t he wear a belt. His beltlessness was a key factor in his failure to reach an ideal level of success as that enjoyed by Jared from Subway or Flo from Progressive, both of whom probably wore belts when they were just starting out. So, heck, why didn’t he just buy a belt and be done with it?

Then the story basically follows his adventures trying to purchase a belt via the precarious Internet connection on his old 2001 Gateway computer. In the end, he learns an important lesson about being who he wants to be, not who the belt-wearing guy the haters want him to be.

Readers, what do you think of our friend the Trivago Guy? Has he haunted your late night television viewing yet?

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