If I were a cop, I’d just park across the street from a KFC/Taco Bell every night. I mean, it’s gotta be a 100% arrest rate when people drive out of the drive-thru, right? Anyone buying an actual bucket of chicken or a sandwich with two pieces of fried chicken used as the bread are on drugs 1,976% of the time. If you are a policeman and you are reading this, congratulations. I just got you promoted to a job where you don’t have to sit outside of a KFC/Taco Bell arresting people.

I am confused by people who sign up to be urologists for a living. Look. I’m just sayin’. I don’t know how much the money differential is, but I’m guessing it’s a lot or most of these guys are closeted, because I have one and even I would argue that I don’t really want to look at penises for a living. Like, you had a choice. Of ANY body part, and you said, “Penises. I choose to look at Penises for a living.” Really? Were the check boxes like this?

YOUR CHOICES:

Face Doctor – 200k w/ benefits.

Foot Doctor – 300k w/ benefits, because feet are weird.

Penis Doctor – 1 BILLION DOLLARS. ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY YOU WANT. SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE GOING TO LOOK AT PENISES ALL DAY.

*My favorite part about writing this…when I did about two months ago…was finding out approximately one week later that my cousin Laura is a urologist. I’m sorry Laura. I’m a dick. HEY-O!

I have a pediatric electrolyte supplement drinking problem. You should read that back, but out loud this time. It turns out it’s a killer way to cure a hangover. The only catch is that you’re drinking something that a baby drinks when it has diarrhea. So, you can imagine how that conversation is when you ask a Walgreen’s employee where the baby formula aisle is with no baby in sight. Or what it looks like when you are feverishly pounding a bottle of grape on your way to work and people in other cars are looking at you. Ready for this? I now even eat the FREEZER POPS that they sell, because that’s not weird. But hey, guess what: I’m hydrated, motherf*cker. What are you?

I don’t understand how people design traffic light systems. It just seems like it would be really complicated. I know, because in Sim City I was terrible at it and it had to be the most stressful thing in the world when my not real people were getting in not real traffic jams that were making them late for their not real home lives, which presumably caused them to get not real divorced and THAT’S ON ME AND I LIVE WITH IT EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Oh, Republicans. You guys had it so easy in the coming election year. I say that because America is generally batshit crazy and I just figured that they wouldn’t be cool with having a black guy as our president for more than four years before they had a “THE CIVIL WAR ISN’T OVER” panic attack. To be fair, it sort of still sounds like that’s happening. And in that instance, it seems like to win the hearts of your batshit crazy cohorts, all you had to do was nominate two “not black guys” and…no, you know what? You honestly had to just nominate anyone who didn’t sound like they had been drinking all morning before they started filming things and you probably would have had the next President elect. But you sure found a way to…not do that. Your current nominee options are Rick Perry, Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich. So basically:

1) The only guy in Texas who manages to make George Bush look like a Rhodes Scholar.

2) A crazy Mormon who believes in magical underpants. (!!)

and

3) ….Newt Gingrich. Who I’m pretty sure has been running for president since 1848. (Probably not gonna happen, big guy. Maybe sit this one out.)

What’s even more amazing is that you ruled out one other guy because he was quoting Pokemon in his speeches. (!!!)

So, in advance, may I say thank you from every Democrat. We’re running against the equivalent of mouth breathers in sweatpants with weird mustard stains in the corner of their lips. Things are looking up.

There are too many toothpaste options these days, and my neurotic brain can’t handle it. 

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want whitening?”

Drew: “Sure.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want tartar control?”

Drew: “I mean, I’d assume so, sure…you guys are the experts.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want extra whitening?”

Drew: “…well, sure. Why didn’t you just put the ‘extra’ in the last batch..”

Toothpaste Brand: “3-D whitening?”

Drew: “Wait, what?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about cavity protection.”

Drew: “Dude, what the f*ck. Why wasn’t I getting that before?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about an extreme clean?”

Drew: “…”

Then again, I guess I’ve never been able to make up my mind about this. Ever.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 56: A Mix For Cops To Listen To Outside of a KFC/Taco Bell

Stream the whole thing at the link above (or by clicking on the picture with too much toothpaste in it).

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Dude, I got so sober last night.

Ridic. Like, shit went off. Were you even there? At Trader Joes? I can’t even remember man, I was so sober, just buying lentils and shit. At one point I think I was grabbing affordable chicken breasts marinated in balsamic and rosemary and totally eating handfuls of those everything pretzel chips, straight out the bag, yo. At one point I saw people throwing those pretzel nuggets with the peanut butter in them in the air. No dude, seriously, girls were catching them in their mouths. I tried to snap a pic , but then I got caught up looking at those sweet sunrise pics I took at the beach the other day when I went for an early run. I dropped a Brannan filter on that shit, dude. You should see it. Light flares were everywhere, I was tweetin’ like, “Look at how sober I am on a Saturday, yo!” I sure wish I had those chicks eating the pretzels now though, man. That was hot.

We went to get tapas at around four o’clock that day, dude. I was like, “WHERE THEM SMALL PLATES AT? Don’t skimp on the Tuna Tartare, I’ll send it back if their aren’t at least four wonton crackers carefully balanced between those cubes of freshly caught ahi, motherfucker.” When the waiter was like, “you guys want still or sparkling?” I was like, “oh hell no, bring that stuff with bubbles, man. We’re getting straight sober tonight.”

I left for a bit to hit a spin class. Yeah, just to get a little cardio in so I could get good, restful sleep that night and not feel bad about my caloric intake from all those tapas. Some people have been doing that hard shit. Pilates and that Bikram, yo. But I dunno, I’ve got an addictive personality, and I don’t want people judging. Anyway, I get pretty high off a good spin class, so no need to overdo it.

Yeah, I’m so awake today, dude. I haven’t been this awake since that last time we got all sober on that one Wednesday. Yeah, man, remember that? That one in April? You came home at a moderate hour and were like, “man, I might catch up on my DVR tonight.” And then I was all, “cool, I’m pretty tired and might just fall asleep about three quarters of the way into a documentary on Netflix.” We got crazy sober that night and were like, “NEVER again!” Guess what? BOOM. Blew that one.

I know, I know. I’m thinking of slowing down, don’t worry. It’s just like, it’s always “I just gotta get one thing at Target” or “I’m totally out of t-shirts and gotta do laundry and they shut off the dryer at 9pm.” And then before you know it, i’m all crazy sober again talking about training for a half marathon with four other sober people. I sorta wonder if everyone at work notices when I get in all early.

I can stop whenever I want though. It’s not like a problem. I could seriously go out tonight and get drunk. But like, I don’t want to, you know? Like, whatever: I wanna send out massive amounts of network invitations on LinkedIn tonight, so what. I’m almost 30 and it’s like, this is what I’m into. If you aren’t, you know…no big deal. You live your life and I’ll live mine. I hate people who are all judgmental.

Anyway, I gotta run. This girl I just started seeing hasn’t seen a single episode of Friday Night Lights and I was like WHAAAT. We have GOT to get all sober and watch that on your couch! I’m just happy I finally met someone as wild as I am. Can you imagine the crazy sleep we’re gonna get together?

The other day I was talking to my friend Lesley on the subject of how other people are doing that we haven’t spoken to in a while.

By that, I mean we were casually judging the shit out of people’s lives that we:

- Don’t know that well anymore.

- Never knew that well to begin with.

- Actually do not know. Are we friends with them on Facebook? Of course. But we are in no way friends in real life with them because we share absolutely nothing in common besides a casual like of television. Or eating (which are amazing things to be able to “like” on Facebook, ps).

But that’s my point: we were sitting there talking about people’s lives as we know them to be, entirely based upon facts we’d gleamed from reading their Facebook status updates and monitoring the crap they hit “like” for on the internet. Which is the equivalent to deciding whether a baby is doing well or not based on what he made a noise at that day. Spoiler alert: presumably everything.

Which brings me to the amazing portion of the conversation.

Drew: “Have you seen (name of person I am judging) lately? He seems to be doing really well.”

Lesley: “Oh, you’ve talked to him recently?”

Drew: “No. But I saw him standing in front of an expensive home with a nice car and a girl with fake boobs. So, you know. Did the math there.”

Lesley: “Yeah but, who puts shit on Facebook that’s actually happening in their life? If you did, it would be wildly hilarious, or depressing.”

Yes, Lesley. Yes it would.

So I began to think about a world where people actually wrote on Facebook and took the statement, “What’s on your mind?” a bit more…literally.

And these are the funny things I think people would actually say if they were telling the truth on Facbeook.

“Today was pretty great! Went for a run and thought about my ex-girlfriend the entire time and the guy she’s probably sleeping with! I feel great, physically, but mentally I’m a total trainwreck!”

“Sarah is attending ‘Tara’s 31st Part-ay’ on November 6th. She has no idea why, she fucking hates Tara. But, I dunno. Other people are going and she doesn’t want to look like a bitch.”

“Drank an entire bottle of wine last night. Woke up borderline worried I’m an alcoholic.”

“I just made weird faces in the mirror for no apparent reason.”

“I don’t know the capital of Montana.”

“I just paid too much rent for my apartment that I can’t afford again. Tonight I will go to bed terrified of things like bills and whether or not I’m on a good enough life trajectory.”

“I just cried.”

“Just spent a good portion of the night stalking that one girl I saw the other day. I feel a little weird about it. But at least now I know her favorite movie is Weekend at Bernies. Which, to be fair, surprised me a little.”

“Just read my ex’s Facebook wall for about 20 minutes. Who the fuck is Paul? Why is he writing all over her wall? Also: if you want to check out his profile, he always takes out of focus pictures and he’s not funny. I can’t believe she’s dating this douche. (Jenny, if you’re reading this…this is the guy you’re dating now? Are you dating Paul?)”

“I just had an awkward conversation with my boyfriend about moving in together. We fought. So now I’m posting a funny inside joke on his wall that will detract from the conversation that I will bring up again in about a week when I’m drunk and we’re out with friends!”

“I just liked…I mean you know what, I have no idea why I just liked that. Wait, that shit showed up on my newsfeed?”

“Just posted a really great picture of myself someone took two years ago as my profile picture! I never look like that, i’m actually much heavier these days!”

“I just searched ‘male pajama onesie’ on Google. To detract from that, here’s a picture of me without my shirt on looking masculine.”

“I wonder if I’ll be alone forever! LOVE YOU, GIRLS, SAT NIGHT WAS TOTES FUN!!”

“I have diarrhea. It’s pretty terrible.”

“I just liked a photo on my friend’s wall. But only because there was a hot girl in it, and I wonder if she saw that I liked it and then checked me out. Probably not. Mike, are you dating that chick? I mean, if not. Just sayin’.”

“I just watched an entire season of The Wire in one sitting. I haven’t showered yet today. I smell terrible.”

“I just went to the bathroom.”

“I am now friends with your friend Jenny. Because I slept with her after the party last night, so logically, now we’re Facebook friends, in a roundabout way of letting everyone know that yes, we’re sort of into each other or at least had relations.”

“I haven’t gone outside yet today. I have no itention to.”

“I went to a fancy restaurant with a one word name so I could tell people about it later!”

“I just played the song ‘A Milli’ by Lil Wayne over and over again until I memorized that one really hard line that I could never get, so that the next time it plays at a party, I’ll know it and recite it and people will notice and be impressed with me.”

“I am searching random diseases I may have on WebMD right now, because I’m neurotic. Oh, and it’s a Saturday night.”

“I just searched ‘Kim Kardashian’ sex tape. For no apparent reason. I’m surprised at how easy that was to find.”

“I just talked to my dog. Like he was a person. I’m home alone.”

So.

You know.

I basically just explained Twitter.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 55: Unicorns Aren’t Real, Just Like People’s Emotions on Facebook.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Dear Guy/Girl in the Costume on October 20th,

Hey! What’s up? Where you headed to? I only ask because you’re wearing a slutty maid costume and it’s a Thursday evening around the middle of October. What’s that? A Halloween party?

Oh. That’s Weird. Because Halloween isn’t for another week.

You’re not alone. I saw on my way over here:

- Three guys wearing a makeshift Gosling-From-Drive costume.

- 1,829 Charlie Sheen “Costumes.”

- A girl who was wearing a “costume”, but I think she just bought a bunch of spandex and a headband.

- Wayne and Garth (to be fair, this one was pretty good)

So maybe I missed it but…isn’t Halloween this week? And if so, why are we all wearing costumes a week before?

Look. I get it, we’re all excited. Hell, when I was a kid? I had a “bucket of swords” and couldn’t leave the house without grabbing one. I also wore a cape pretty much every day, but I suppose that’s another issue.

The thing is, the phrase there that should stick out is “when I was a kid.”

I’m asking as a favor: please stop jumping the shark. Or else the world is just going to collectively become one big Burning Man event…and lord knows we’re all terrified as fuck of that.

This terrifies me. People are going to start opening Christmas presents in October. Pumpkin Spiced Latte’s will be served in May (throwing off the entire female space-time-pumpkin-spice-latte continuum). We’ll start having fourteen new years eve’s…which we sort of do anyway, because it involves “drinking at midnight.” So there’s that.

There are a few people who are allowed to be in costume anytime they’d like. Those people are, as follows:

- Strippers (their costume is “sadness”, mainly)

- Old People (because old people are sort of accidental costumes…think about it.)

- Homeless People (another accidental costume)

- Firemen

- Anyone who works at Hot Dog on a Stick.

But the problem is: you’re ruining it for everyone. Just have a little patience. You’ll get that day. And when it comes? Slut it up. Be a children’s sized super-hero costume. Be whatever your little heart desires.

But it’s not Halloween on October 20th. Knock that shit off.

Love,

Drew

I was informed today by someone with a medical degree that I have not been able to close my eyes my entire life.

I’ll wait while you digest that.

No, seriously: A doctor told me that I am incapable, and have been my ENTIRE LIFE, of closing my eyes. (!!!)

This was the actual conversation.

Drew: “My eyes just feel really tired. And dry. Pretty much always. So there’s that.”

(Doctor inspects eyes.)

Doctor: “Well. You can’t fully close your eyes it appears.”

Drew: “…”

Doctor: “Yes. You have a slight opening between your eyelid and your eye. Has anyone ever told you while you were sleeping that your eye is sort of open?”

Drew: “Wouldn’t it be more strange/creepy…take your pick, really…that they were just staring at me in my sleep?”

Doctor: “Well, you can’t close your eyes fully. So you’re eyes are just permanently dry. We’ll have to get you some eye drops and..”

Drew: “Can we go back to the part where I’ve never closed my eyes my entire life?”

Doctor: “Sure.”

Drew: “Could we fix that?”

Doctor: “No. I mean, technically you’ve always had one eye open!”

(Doctor laughs at her own joke.)

(Drew does not laugh at doctor’s joke.)

I’m clearly presented with two options: be wildly depressed that I’m always going to be sort of tired looking, or simply embrace the fact that oh my god there are so many funny jokes that could come out of this.

I’ll obviously choose a healthy dose of both. But the latter is way more fun.

Here are some things that I now know about my life, and/or things that you could laugh about due to the fact that I have theoretically never actually closed my eyes.

I have technically been cheating at hide-n-go-seek my entire life. So, sorry if I ever was “it” and found you really quickly. Apparently I was looking.

I have never lost a staring contest. Ever.

I’m apparently better at not getting shampoo in my eyes than you are. Because we weren’t on an even playing field. On that note…

It totally makes sense why I ALWAYS get suntan lotion in my eyes. This has been a running joke with my friends ever since we were little. We figured I was just the worst at applying suntan lotion, ever. And that may still very well be the case. But still. This makes so much more sense now.

I have never kissed a girl with my eyes closed. So technically, I could be that “creepy guy who always kept his eyes open” to some girl. Sorry, some girl. I was trying.

I could be in a few films and they’d be sort of amazing. 

FILM 1: Don’t Blink – The story of a man whom, after scientific testing by the government gone horribly awry, could no longer keep his eyes closed. Though a tortured soul, I’d become a huge asset to the government, as I would be an ideal sniper and/or guy who stays up on watch all night. Sample dialogue:

Bad Guy: “Blink and you might miss it.”

Drew: “Don’t worry. (GUN COCKING NOISE). I won’t.”

FILM 2: Cries WIthout Tears – The story of a man born into a Native American tribe who is originally cast aside…but then brought in as one of their own when they realize he can’t close his eyes and they realize his gift for “seeing everything” they cannot, both metaphorically and literally, of course.

I can’t wink. At least now I have a bad/good excuse.

I have a really good excuse for having red eyes if anyone ever says I look high. I can just tell them that my eyes are open ALL THE TIME and i’m NOT LYING. Like, what?

And finally…It’s always going to make me laugh now when Aladdin says “Don’t you dare close your eyes!” during the song A Whole New World.

Because I can’t, Aladdin.

I can’t.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 54: Songs That Are Great, Even If You Can’t Close Your Eyes. Ever.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I am not a competitive person by nature. I’m certainly not someone who’s ever going to get something by means of bargaining or having that “killer instinct” that people speak of that gets you ahead in life.

(Side note: Can we talk about how messed up the term “killer instinct” is? We casually throw around that people have an instinct that gets them ahead in life because it resembles a cold blooded human being who kills other people for sport. That’s cool. You can have the last Tostito.)

I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized that this is why I’ve always been terrible at board games. And, inversely, why I’ve been terrible at a lot of rudimentary things in life. Money management. Property acquisition. The ability to completely screw someone over without wanting to talk about their feelings afterwards.

And when you think about it: board games are actually just a really f*%ked up way to learn about life and how it’s going to go down. Essentially, we’re providing children an oddly solid grasp of how the world works through a man with a monocle and a game revolving around murdering people in rooms with silly names.

So. Of course. I went fifteen steps further and started overanalyzing it.

Here’s a breakdown of a few popular board games you probably grew up with and the life lessons they were probably striving to teach you.

Monopoly

Monopoly is a game that, title alone, should be a red flag. When you grow up, you learn that having a “monopoly” over anything is everything that is wrong in the world, so much so that we’re having a bunch of protests regarding such behavior right now. But guess what: slap a shoe or a small terrier and some colors on it, and you’ve got yourself a hilarious game in which you strive to push your friends into bankruptcy.

Let’s go through this.

The point of the game is to buy property while every now and then crossing an ambiguous place called “go” to sustain a bank account (pssst: in the real world it’s called “paycheck every two weeks”). The larger goal is to “monopolize” the board. To literally buy everything and charge anyone for going near it. From time to time you go to jail (which oddly just sorta flies under the radar, I mean..who’s like “Whoops! Carl went to jail again, I sure hope he rolls doubles!”). Oh, and also? There’s a part of the board called “chance”, slightly indicating to children that from time to time things might go horribly wrong or great for no apparent reason. Oh, and once a friend gets poor? You become a maniacal, horrible person who sits and waits to literally charge the crap out of them for nothing.

This game apparently did nothing for my property owning and renting skills, as I still seem to be playing the board game in real life, except now I make the same horrible fiscal decisions but with real money:

Drew: “So the place comes with -398 sq feet, the bathroom is pretty much inside of the room, which, let’s be real Bob, we’ll just call it a room because the bedroom is a part of the ‘room’ i’ll be renting out. The stove doesn’t work. There is a Mexican coke dealer who lives next door, and my hallway looks like the scene from The Shinning with the two little girls.”

Landlord: “It’s about $1400 dollars and..”

Drew: “I’LL TAKE IT!”

The game takes 4,978 hours to play, is run by an adorable man with a silly monocle and most people die before they can even finish it or reap the benefits of their investments.

Just sayin’.

Battleship

Battleship is a game that lets people know how the world works if you were to ever go to war. Basically: fire missiles with blatant disregard as to who or where you are shooting them at, hope they hit something, and if they do continue to do so until someone dies a horrible death. If this game is correct, it takes approximately 3-5 ambiguous missiles to destroy ships.

So that’s cool.

Life

Life is probably the most wildly accurate of any game. Ready?

The game literally emulates life in the most depressing regard ever.

It’s tag line? It’s a game of twists and turns/Where will your choices take you? (I mean, Jesus.)

You go around a board and either get a good job or a bad job. If you go to college? You can make more money and eventually end up at a place called Millionaire Acres. If you don’t? You can actually go to a place called the poor farm (I mean, again..Jesus).

When you have children in the game, they are identified as a peg you throw in the back of your car. If you obtained a fifth child, you had to lay them sideways in your vehicle because that was the board game way of saying use a goddamn condom.

And there was a tile on the board that you could land on titled “Revenge.”

That shit’s real, kids.

Guess Who

During your childhood, you are taught to never talk to strangers. When you grow up, you learn that the entire goal of life is to talk to strangers until one of them eventually sleeps with you and you make babies with them.

Guess Who emulates for children the practice of going to a bar: you throw out random attributes that someone may or may not have. When you eventually get close enough to guessing what you’re looking for, you win.

Fairly accurate.

Operation

When you grow up, you may want to go into the field of medicine. When you do, if you want to make the big bucks, you should look into being a surgeon (or a lawyer, Mom, I know…I KNOW).

If you do become a surgeon, this game is really going to f*%king pay off.

Essentially, just try to open someone up and do not hit the ambiguous “sides”. Make sure to use tweezers to remove the bad things. If you do this successfully, you make a shit ton of money. If you don’t, their nose will illuminate. That or the red light that signifies their heart has stopped beating.

I was bad at this game. Sorry, Jewish family.

Clue

Clue was pretty amazing. A big no-no in life is killing people, in general. A big yes-yes in life is pointing the finger at people and blaming them without much real reasoning or backing: just have a vague idea that they were the one that did “it” (‘it” being anything, really) and throw the book at them (turns out the legal system is pretty close to the game Clue, which is in no way terrifying).

The best part about Clue is that they didn’t just let children know that people are probably going to kill people when they grow up, they let them know that they are presumably going to do it in some of the most f*%ked up ways possible.

For instance, one day you may be trapped in a place where an attractive woman will either have a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that she will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench. When people aren’t looking, she is going to kill you. Good luck.

So, you know. Don’t kill people. But if you are ever in a situation where someone has a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that they will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench? It’s best to at least know what room they are going to do it in.

At least then you’ll win.

Sorry

Sorry is, without question, my favorite board game. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of real life going on here. But ohhhhh that’s where you’re wrong.

The whole point of Sorry is to just get home. That’s it. You just want to get your people home. Which, metaphorically, seems sort of heartwarming.

But here’s the catch:

Do not EVER turn your back, kids, because some fucker is going to come out of nowhere and he/she is going to ruin your goddamn day and completely stab you in the back. To make matters worse, they are required to say, “sorry” when they do.

But. I mean.

At least they’ll say sorry.

It’s the little things, I guess.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 53: In Retrospect, Board Games Are Sorta F*%ked Up

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I’m passive aggressively letting you know that I’m not concerned with your life’s mundane activities anymore.

I’m aggressively letting you know that I’m over you.

You talk about your baby too much. I don’t have a baby, so this makes no sense to me. Don’t be offended, it’s more like a hobby that I don’t understand. Maybe when I have a baby we can be friends again.

#youwrite #toomany things with #hashtags in it and I fE#el Like I’m #reading transmissions from a ro#bot.

You got a boyfriend, and it sorta bummed me out.

You are having entire back and forth conversations with your friend (that have gone way beyond the internet socially acceptable one to two public replies) and you’re clogging up my feed.

You just keep saying how much you hate “New Facebook” on Facebook and Twitter.

(Ugh. I hate New Facebook.)

You have tweeted over ten times in the last 15 minutes. Most people don’t say that many things in public.

You’re at Coachella and I’m not. Fuck. I should have gone to Coachella.

You checked into Walgreens on foursquare, and then posted that on Facebook and Twitter. It was unimportant on the first social network you used. Three was overkill.

We went to high school together. I didn’t know you then. Turns out you’re still not saying anything interesting.

You followed me. I didn’t know who you were, but I followed you back. But then I realized you don’t live anywhere near me and we share nothing in common. I’m trying to gracefully irish exit this online friendship. Don’t make it weird.

You are a porn star who used to be funny and post inappropriate things, but now you just talk about being a vegan, which is sorta like birthday cake becoming lima beans.

You write blog posts that seem to be primarily about yourself, and then you post them on every social network that you are on, and it doesn’t seem like you have any shame in your self promotion.

You stopped following me and it hurt me for some surprising reason. Now I’m not following you to make a point.

Wait, so you noticed I stopped following you? So you DO still think about me. Okay, I’ll follow you again.

You are tweeting about how crazy your office is, and telling me that “this is how you roll at (blank corporation).” I don’t work at (blank corporation), and really, you only needed to notify me of how you roll once.

You write replies to over 6 people in a tweet. Again: most people don’t talk to this many people at once in public. You have used your entire 140 characters to identify the names you would like to speak to, thus not allowing yourself space to say anything. You’re doing it wrong.

You are writing an inside joke that I don’t get, and since I don’t get it, I’m going to throw down my internet and get angwy because I WANNA BE IN ON THE JOKE, TOO.

You just keep saying you’re hungry. Or that you want to nap. I mean, just go for it. We’re not dating, you do not need my internet permission.

Your new profile picture makes you look less attractive than I remember you being.

Your profile picture is your dog or cat.

Your profile picture is you and your boyfriend. Look, I tried to hang in there when you got a boyfriend, and at start I just buried you on my feed. But now you commented on a mutual friend’s post and I saw that profile picture and we gotta end this. I’m sorry.

You are being vague about everything you talk about. I honestly just don’t know what you’re talking about anymore. Are you sad? Are you happy? Do you WANT to tell the internet what’s going on? Do you NOT want to tell the internet what’s going on? Why are you talking to the internet?

You are posting about political things using poor grammar. I can’t tell you how dead to me you are.

I literally don’t know who you are and don’t know how you ended up on my feed. Did I follow you when I was drunk or something? This is more my problem. I’m sorry. Awkward.

Your name is @BrendanGahan and you mostly just post surf videos with the word “epic” or “gnar” attached to it. Just kidding, Brendan. I love you. #insidejoke #hashtag

(The writer acknowledges that more than 120% of these insights are probably things he has done or will do in the future, and in some cases, was even using multiple iterations of things he was making fun in one insight so as to make an ironic point of how he is part of the nerdy internet problem he is trying to write a humorous post about. Please get the joke, Internet. Please.)

Play Jenga. It’s really anticlimactic when you play yourself.

Go to a farmer’s market on a Sunday. Seriously, go without a cute girl. “Yeah, just pickin’ up my organic blueberries. You, uh…you come to this…stand…often?” It’s like a really, really refined creepy.

Pronounce words like acai, or have any idea what that is. For some reason, girls just know these things. Like they grew up, got a “smell amazing” kit and learned how to pronounce fruits with strange accent marks in their spelling.

Figure out if it’s “it’s” or “its” in that one sentence you just wrote. Because everyone has their grammatical achilles heel. And couches don’t know the difference when you ask. Also, see what I did there? I hope so.

Watch Sex and the City. Yeah. I think it’s a good show. And when you own these DVD’s and you’re a male living alone, a lot of questions start coming into play. A lot. And I dare you to watch it on Netflix. Oh, I dare you. Just pray that it doesn’t make suggestions for you after that. “That’s so weird that Netflix recommends other shows about women that only women would watch, I usually only watch action films where things explode and people die. Strange.” (FUCK YOU, JUDGMENTAL GUY. DID YOU KNOW THAT ROGER STERLING FROM MAD MEN WAS ON IT? YEAH. HE WAS. AND HE WAS GREAT.) (OH, AND I REALLY LIKE THE CHARACTER STEVE. HE IS A NICE PERSON.)

Fart on accident. Because your television doesn’t care when you do. And that first time that you do around someone you’re dating is always sorta funny: turns out both of you have a butt.

Rationalize going to Bed Bath and Beyond on a sunday to buy throw pillows. To be fair…they really brought the apartment together. 

See if your bald spot is growing. For some reason, taking a picture of the top of your head is wildly depressing. Especially when you forget to delete it and then someone looks through your phone and finds pictures of the top of your head…that you took. That’s worse than like, midget porn.

Stay in. For some reason, the only rational reasons for staying in on a Friday or Saturday night are: you’re dying, you’re working, you’re working while dying, or you’re in a relationship.

Argue with a girlfriend. Which, face it…though sort of miserable sometimes, there’s always the fun part where you pretend nothing was ever wrong and then you think she smells of cinnamon again and you want to buy a dog named Bob with her, because wouldn’t it be funny if you got a dog and gave it a human name? “You hungry, Bob?” Just sorta sounds like some dude who lives at your house.

Wear a scarf. Because if you wear a scarf and no one likes it, I just assume you can say that “fill in the blank name of my future girlfriend” liked it, so I wore it for her. And then casually take it off when no one is really looking.

Wear hilarious two person costumes on halloween that require a male and a female. Can you do this with a friend? Sure. But…look. I was Cookie and Gerry Fleck with a girl one year. And let’s just say the “in character” shots and prep of it were enough to wife someone up. Because someone who’s willing to publicly embarrass themselves for you and be completely and totally blind to the fact that it’s happening in the process? That’s love.

Watch Disney movies that you know the lyrics to…and sing them. You know what? No. Forget that. If you can’t accept that I like the song Under the Sea, you’re a bad person and I will treat you like a pedophile: please stay at least 1,000 feet away from me.

Tie a tie. Because I still don’t know how to do that. And I will look forward to the day that I can go to big boy events because my girlfriend teaches me how to do this in the mirror. So that I can not comprehend it. But at least it’ll be endearing.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 52: It’s Okay For Guys To Watch Sex and the City Because The Word “Sex” Is In The Title.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

When my friend Ryan and I heard that Nike was finally making the shoes Marty wears in Back To The Future 2, our heads exploded. Then we were bummed out that there was no way we were going to get a pair, because they are only auctioning 1,500 pair. Then we got a plan.

This is our craigslist ad below.

–

SUBJECT: It’s time to go back to the future, motherf*%#ker

Guess what: the future is finally here and Nike made those badass shoes that Marty McFly wears in Back To The Future 2.

Guess what: there are only 1,500 pair that are going to be auctioned. So, they are unaffordable for anyone you and I know (you’re on craigslist, so don’t argue that), and the only people wearing them are going to be “that d-bag who made a startup missing a letter in the word who got a round of funding for an app that’s going to fail in 3 months.”

Fuck that.

It’s time to go back to the future, mothefucker.

We want people as nerdy as us to go in on the ultimate nerd timeshare: part ownership in a pair of shoes that will do the opposite of getting you laid, but totally get you TONS of high fives from other nerds:

My friend and I want to create a strong enough bid to get a pair of the Air Mag’s in the eBay auction.

Imagine going to a bowling alley and dropping one of those puppies on the counter and being like, “you got anything in a LACELESS SIZE 10 1/2 YO?” BAM. I’M NOT MESSING AROUND (Drops Gray’s Sports Almanac like the mic, walks away).

Here is some criteria.

- You should probably be between a size 10 and 11. To be fair, this sh*t is from the future and laces itself, so it’s probably better to have a smaller foot than a larger one if you don’t fit the criteria, because we figure it’d be like BAM, size 9? We can adjust to that.

- We’re not looking for the $1 “haha that’s cute, i’m in!” bidders. Hell no. Be serious. Bring like, $200 bucks to the table or nothing. This is a time share, so you’re gonna get these shoes for a little bit of the year and then mail them along to the next Marty McFly. If 52 people gave $200, that’s about a $10,000 bid. So if we won, we’d all get them for about a week of the year, which would probably be the coolest week of your life.

- Ability to quote BTTF 1 or 2 is a plus. 3 was kinda crap. Let’s be real (only one of the founding member’s opinions).

All the money from these auctions will go to Michael J. Fox’s Parkinson’s charity. So think of this like “Toms for Marty McFly.” Plus, Elizabeth Shue was in Part 2, and she’s really hot.

If you’re interested, contact us at hoverboarddontworkonwater@gmail.com. If we actually get enough serious people, we’ll kickstarter the shit out of this shit.

Amazingly? hoverboardSdontworkonwater@gmail.com was taken. So we know you other dorks exist.

Make like a tree and get on board. SEE WHAT WE DID THERE, BIFF TANNEN??

13 Year Old: “What’s a pager?”

Me: “Oh. It was this device that I wore on my pants. My friends would call a number that would sound like an answering machine. And when they did, they’d enter in a number for me to call them at. It’s like, someone saying…’hey, call me.’ It was like…analog texting.”

13 yo: “What does analog mean?”

Me: “I don’t know. Not fancy.”

13 yo: “What’s an answering machine?”

Me: “There used to be machines. That literally picked up the phone and recorded things when you weren’t home. Like a..”

13 yo: “Why wouldn’t you just text them?”

Me: “Oh, we used to not actually like, have cell phones. So texting didn’t exist. People would just go outside. And hang out with other people. You had to, you couldn’t just text and shit.”

13 yo: “So instead you wore something in your pants that couldn’t make phone calls?”

Me: “Don’t say it like that.”

13 yo: “Why, you wore a robot in your pants. I’m just saying what you said.”

Me: “It wasn’t a robot.”

13 yo: “It sounds like a retarded robot.”

Me: “You’re a retarded robot.”

13 yo: “I don’t get what that means.”

Me: “That’s because you’re young and don’t understand dry wit.”

13 yo: “I don’t get what that means either.”

Me: “See?”

13 yo: “But I still don’t get a pager. Why wouldn’t you just call people?”

Me: “Because we would be out and wouldn’t have phones. So, friends could page you. And you’d call them from like, a pay phone or whatever. And you could write things in “pager code”. Like 07734 was hello. And 143 meant I love you…which, in retrospect, is a bit aggressive for a 13 year old. Don’t tell anyone you love them yet, you don’t. Christ, I sound depressing.”

13 yo: “What’s a pay phone?”

Me: “They used to have phones all over the place that you could call people on. You’d put money in it. Didn’t your generation see The Matrix yet?”

13 yo: “What’s The Matrix?”

Me: “Jesus.”

13 yo: “Nobody calls anyone. Why don’t you just write them on Facebook or tweet at them.”

Me: “We didn’t have Twitter or Facebook then. You had to meet people. Like, for real. And wait, why do you have a Facebook account? Or a Twitter account? You’re too young for that shit. And wait, do you read my stuff? Don’t take that stuff seriously.”

13 yo: “Why wouldn’t I have Facebook and Twitter. And yeah, I’ve read your stuff. You swear a lot. If you didn’t have Facebook or Twitter how did you know if you liked a girl?”

Me: “Oh, we talked to her. She’d tell us about things. Like, interests. And then I’d tell her things. Like, interests.”

13 yo: “That sounds exhausting.”

Me: “How do you know the word exhausting?”

13 yo: “I’m 13. Are you serious?”

Me: “Just seems like a big word. You’re very little. Like, physically. So I just figured you wouldn’t know that word.”

13 yo: “That makes no sense.”

Me: “You make no sense.”

13 yo: “Every one of your jokes just seems to be you saying what I just said back to me.”

Me: “I know. Because it’s hilarious. What are you looking at?”

13 yo: “Instagram.”

Me: “Unreal that you know what that is.”

13 yo: “My friend just posted a picture. She’s hot. I liked it.”

Me: “I’m worried for your generation. You guys are gonna just stop talking altogether. Like, little ‘like’ buttons just walking around. BOOP! I ‘like’ you.”

13 yo: “You have a blog.”

Me: “What does that have to do with anything?”

13 yo: “You’re worse than me. Have you seen your blog?”

Me: “We’re not talking about me.”

13 yo: “I am.”

Me: “I miss when you were dumb and just listened to anything I said.”

13 yo: “I miss when you thought I didn’t understand sarcasm.”

(FIVE DAYS LATER)

13 yo: “Hey. I saw The Matrix. It sucked.”

—

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 51: Songs To Say 143 To

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.