humans are funny

Category: abortions

  • News & history for aliens. Jurg.

    It’s much easier to appreciate how funny humans truly are if we try to explain our everyday goings on to those who don’t understand. Like aliens. If I had some aliens over for dinner and tried to explain human culture, they’d surely burst with laughter. Or just say, ‘jurrrrg.’ I don’t know.
    This is how I’d sum it all up:

    Jesus
    There once was a man who came to town and told everyone that his father lived in the sky and controlled the whole world. Some people didn’t believe him.
    Those people were persecuted then and even 2000 years later. Some of them escaped persecution and have become heads of Hollywood movie studios, but others are still really hated for collectively killing the son of the man in the sky thousands of years ago.

    Muhammed
    There are some people who worship a god. Nobody is allowed to draw this god even though they have no idea what he looks like because nobody who actually saw him ever drew him. It’s forbidden to even draw a fork or a wagon and say it’s this god. If you do, the worshippers will try to kill you.

    Abortion
    Sometimes, when a man makes a woman pregnant and she doesn’t want to be pregnant, a doctor takes a vacuum and sucks the baby out of her womb. In order to elect a president, the people of the United States need to know how the candidate feels about this vacuum.

    Media
    Certain things happen in the world. Humans need to know about it. We pay certain people a lot of money to get their hair styled to look like a brick and read about these events to a TV camera. Sometimes, they have nothing to report so they make up stories. Powerful people who don’t want anyone to know about their events persuade the people with brick hair to NOT talk about them. Also, there is competition among the people with brick hair, so they add details to their stories to sound better. And they love to use the word ‘exclusive.’

    Kim
    There is a man who rules a country called North Korea. He will not allow anyone to enter or exit his country. He doesn’t allow the people in his country to know anything about any other country even though there are 195 countries in the world. He does not even let them watch any people with brick hair. Instead, he shows them pictures of himself and tells everyone that he is the best.

    BP
    People use cars and trucks to move themselves around. But there are so many cars and trucks that the world is having a hard time keeping up with the demand for oil, which is what makes them run. Some oil companies decided to dig for oil in the middle of the ocean. And then everyone was really surprised when they spilled a lot of oil into the water.

    Lohan
    There is a girl who was in a few movies. None of them were that good or memorable. She put a lot of illegal and unhealthy chemicals in her body and got in trouble. Then, she put more illegal and unhealthy chemicals in her body and got in more trouble. She went to court and wrote ‘fuck you’ on her fingernail to insult the judge (‘fuck you’ is considered very rude.). Nobody knows why the people with the brick hair talk so much about this girl. But many people in the USA know more about this girl than all of the other things listed here.

    As is evident, Martha MacCallum reports on very significant issues of the day. She also carries one brick in her hair.

  • When I was a teenager, I hated myself too.

    My office sits in the center of 3rd St. Promenade, the tourist haven of Santa Monica. It’s a smattering of Western discretionary income, sunburned shoulders, and overpriced ‘American Food.’ It’s a beehive of buzzing consumers all vying for the best sale item at the Gap on their way down to the polluted beach. There are so many tourists here, all clad in summer dresses and sandals, that I am amazed the Taliban targeted this place. If you want to hit Westerners where it counts, I say go for the always crowded outdoor strip mall. But whatevs. Osama has not returned my calls, so F that guy.*

    My office is nestled between Johnny Rockets and Benetton, and I have to pass Forever XXI, H&M, Zara, and Mango just to walk in. This is creating unnecessary cravings for leggings and holey jeans. No! Stay away, appetite for clothes. I’m barely staying within my budget now. Plus, I pride myself on wearing the same thing every day. I’m cultivating quite a unique odor.

    When I eventually walk into my building, I often share the elevator with a pair of teens, either nervous and giddy or terrified and crying. This is because my cubicle is directly above the Santa Monica Planned Parenthood. Directly above. This means that there are screaming teens getting abortions right below me as I write this. And when I go get a coffee, I’ll ride the elevator once again with a girl whose feet were in stirrups just moments before. She doesn’t know that I know that her little paper bag is filled with the NuvaRing and condoms. But I know.

    Working here has taught me many a lesson in such a short time:

    1. The recession was either a lie or it’s over. Everywhere I look I see people spending money.

    2. My gag reflexes are in ship shape condition. I can’t walk within a mile radius of Abercrombie & Fitch without gagging. Frat boy smell. Gross.

    3. Teenagers have more sex than I do.

    4. Oh yeah, and I hate teenagers.

    I’m sorry.
    I see them every day because where there are clothing stores and free birth control, there are teenagers. They are skateboarding suddenly out in front of my car, pushing each other, littering, laughing about balls, flirting with girls by way of flashing braces and squeezing butts. Their oily skin mocks mine: ‘I’m supposed to be oily and zitty because I’m teenage skin. What’s your story?’

    Their entitlement disgusts me. Their know-it-all-ism angers me. I know they feel entitled. Because it wasn’t that long ago that I was one of those dickweeds. I too squeezed butts and flashed braces and padded my bras in a pathetic attempt to hide my insecurity. So maybe these guys are just reminding me of the annoying person I used to be; hence my hatred.
    Maybe.

    But I can’t help but worry about when and if I have kids. I’m sure I’ll love them. I’m sure they’ll be cute at first. But what happens when they become teenagers? What happens when they get all awkward and act as if I know nothing? Am I going to be that mom who rolls her eyes and gets a bumper sticker that says, ‘You can’t scare me. I have teenagers?’ Or will I be the mom who locks her kids in a closet and only slides meals through a hole? Probably the latter. Either way, I will never bring them to the 3rd St. Promenade for a pair of leggings or an abortion. But I know they’ll come anyway. Because they’ll be teenagers. And they won’t listen to anything I say.**

    * Please relax. I don’t call Osama. I text him.
    ** Fuck. I’m a kurmudgeon. Please alert me if I begin starting sentences with ‘The kids these days…’