I don’t know if I could ever work in an office building. Being that close to people gives me hives, and I’m deathly allergic to work. It all seems a bit grim, which is why I have a lot of respect for my friends who work regular jobs for regular hours. Waking up each morning is enough of a chore without having to be somewhere before noon. It takes me well over an hour to wake up and get about halfway down the stairs. I have one friend in particular who’s always been very good about working, and showing up on time, and willingly participating in everything else that I abhor.
I’m glad that they took the time to prepare themselves for working with flammable materials by donning the finest gym shorts and sandals, the most inflammable of all clothing. Err — I mean nonflammable. Well, I don’t think they know the difference either; that’s why they’re wearing them.
I’m not sure what they were expecting. A hollowed out melon has the tensile strength of — well, a melon. If you can rip it apart with your hands, how well do you think it’ll fare when it’s on fire and being struck with a baseball bat. If they were using a catapult to launch the melon, I think the whole exploding-fruit concept would have worked swimmingly, but their delivery system is decidedly flawed.
After a little bit of research I discovered that this video predates YouTube, so everyone in this video is pushing thirty at this point. And those who aren’t pushing 30 have probably died in melon-related accidents.
As many people have pointed out, I am a mixture between a drooling moron and a Luddite. I don’t take it personally because I am quite fond of being an idiot. Ignorance is bliss, and idiocy is the purest form of happiness.
When I went to school I had to take the shortest of short buses. My bus had two seats, one axle, and an imprint of my butt where I would sit. The driver would drop me off in the middle of a field and I would eat mud all day, because attempting to educate me bankrupted the entire state of Massachusetts at one point. They completely gave up after I left the first grade, so I was left to my own devices for many years.
After a while I got bored and made a vague attempt to educate myself. I’m still on the spectrum of vapid idiocy, but there is some hope. After watching this video I wondered how much one of these watches would cost. After a quick search I found out that a watch made by Patek Philippe is worth well over 500,000 dollars, with some advanced models costing 990,000 dollars. I was taken aback, startled, and very confused.
Does this watch cure cancer? Is it the key to immortality? Will it fix my receding hairline and secure my place in the afterlife? Hoping to find some answers a dove deeper, and found five reviews for the watch in question. Overall, the 990,000 dollar watch had an average review score of three out of five stars. Not only have five people actually bought the watch, but three of them gave it a review of two stars or fewer. One review eloquently states, “Isn’t even actually a watch” and another says “It was not really worth it”.
Now, I may be an absurdly dressed, window-licking, knee-biting dullard, but I’m coming to accept it. At least I haven’t bought any 990,000 dollar watches recently.
You know; nunchuk skills, bowhunting skills, computer hacking skills. Useful stuff like that. I mean, look at this dork. He can’t even land a high five, yet he has managed to find someone presentable enough to put in a sparkly dress and display on a pool table. The man is wearing batting gloves and shiny pants for Christ’s sake.
But, he has sweet skills, and that’s all that matters. His sense of style doesn’t come into it. He could dress as ludicrously as he likes, and still pull a bus-load of babes. It’s because of all his sweet skills and hookups. Never doubt the sweet hookups.