An Imagined Conversation

"And here's our new in-store display! Do you like it?"

"..."

"What?"

"Did you recently watch 'Thelma and Louise'?"

"What? No. Why would you ask..."

"Two women wearing sunglasses in a convertible. That doesn't look like 'Thelma and Louise' to you?"

"Well, I can see the resemblance, now that you mention it, but..."

"We can't have our customers buying our Daily Intimate Wash and then driving off a cliff, Samantha."

"I don't think anyone is going to see this poster and..."

"'Let's just keep going, Thelma!'"

"Oh Christ. Okay, I'll change it."

Some Burning Questions About Some Shit I Saw in a Target Parking Lot

Why do some people put a Kleenex box on their dash? Is it to be a better host for people riding with them, sort of a classy perk? Or do they have perpetually runny noses and absolutely need it right there? If so, why isn't it at the console at their side and not blocking their view? 

Is the Kleenex box stuck with tape on the dash so it doesn't fall off?

Doesn't the tissue box combined with the dumb flower hanging off the rear view mirror create major visibility issues?

Why doesn't the driver just wipe their snotty nose on the dumb flower?

And Now, Uncle Roberto On How His EADJ Segment Is Different From "Ask A Man With His Head Squeezed Between A Woman's Thighs"

A few EADJ readers have brought up the comment that my advice segment is noticeably similar to the more recent one where a man attempts to answer questions but is stifled by a woman squeezing his head between her thighs. I personally don't see it, but here's what we know after careful consideration:

 • Both segments begin with answering a question about how to do something or what something is

• Both tend to veer off subject for cheap laughs

• The Uncle Roberto segment almost always completes the answer in full, whereas the other one never does

• There is nothing overtly sexual about the Uncle Roberto segment

• Uncle Roberto's photo was taken off a real limo driver's business card. The main photo for the other segment is a screenshot from the SheWrestles.com fetish site.

And speaking of "veering off", one time I was driving to a ski chalet in Telluride, and the road got so slippery, I almost hit a full grown moose! Stay safe, kids.

Nobody Owns Life, But Anyone Who Can Pick Up A Pathmark Owns Death

Pathy Pathmarky Mark

Old Man Rant Of The Day

This was spotted in one of those non-newspapers "am New York," a publication that apparently finds it necessary to print people's tweets. On paper.

Now, I know all about Twitter and tweets and hashtags and shit, so don't think I'm some septuagenarian who just logged on with an America Online 6.0 CD. But what the fuck is this? Is that even a complete sentence? (Answer: no). This encapsulates everything I hate about Twitter: The inarticulate "ugh." The sentence that begins with "when," apparently adopting a format that other Twitter users have used to conserve precious characters, when in fact @jessakeller could have saved even more characters by writing correctly: "It's so much colder than I anticipated."

Was that so hard, Jessa? Moron.

Then I hate the fact that Twitter users (tweeters?) throw hashtags at the end to complete the message: that she was unprepared; that she regretted not checking the weather; that she was currently taking the bus; and that she hopes her collection of words makes it into the local rag.

Let's be honest here. Hashtags aren't efficient- they're fucking LAZY. It's a cheap way for someone to clarify what they're talking about without having to craft their sentences into something readable. What they're doing is throwing parts of a sentence at you and making YOU do all the work. Which is a big hint that what they're saying wasn't important enough for them to take the time to write properly. "When" my ass. #YOU KIDS GET OFF MY LAWN!

<\rant> Amen.

The ProofrEADJer, Patriotic July the 4th Edition

Foreigners and immigrants can't spell for shit! USA! USA! USA!

BEANSNAPPERS

Andrew's been sending me shots of ads for this Wisconsin strip joint that he keeps seeing in Chicago. BEANSNAPPERS.


Beansnappers?! What the shit name is that? That either sounds like a farmer's market for kids or a painful procedure that you perform on a woman's clitoris in college.


No word on whether Andrew or Vince have actually been to Beansnappers yet. But it's only a matter of time, right?

Possible explanations for the name "Beansnappers:"

• The club originally started as a processing barn for a nearby farm which grew jumping beans. The jumping beans were often too active and "jumpy" for harvesters to handle and ship, so they had to let the beans "nap" in a quiet, dark barn. When the farm was foreclosed years later, this "beans napper" barn was eventually sold to a sleazy businessman who wanted to start a strip club.

• The original owner of the strip club was a woman named Gidelle Hargrove. She was keenly interested in reptiles and amphibians, particularly her snapping turtle. The club was named "Beantown," after Hargrove's native Boston. One day during the renovation of the club, some lumber fell and crushed her pet turtle to death. Distraught, Hargrove immediately ordered the sign be changed as a tribute to her pet, and "Beansnappers" was born.

• Back in the 70's, when drugs were given crazy names, pills in the Wisconsin area were commonly known as "beans." The strip club was run by the mafia, and strippers there had to pull double duty as both dancers and drug dealers. In their arrogance and hubris, the mafia brazenly named the club "Beansnappers," thinking the local police wouldn't catch on with the name. They did. The club was officially shut down for decades until it was resurrected by three local Mormon missionaries in 2003, who now run the club as a way to pay for bicycle maintenance.


Whatever the origin of that club's stupid name, it seems like they're doing fine with it. I did, however, find a more suitable name for them from a different business the other day:


Visit Beansnappers' website here, you cur.