Evolution of Dance made better. Jimmy Fallon’s Evolution of Dad Dance!

Jimmy Fallon’s just the best.

I’d trust R2-D2 with my mail!

memecollection:

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massimilianopanardi929:

“I am a good person”

This made me cry!

Just a friendly reminder:

Even if you don’t understand or appreciate someone, they are still human and deserve your respect.

     I just got a job at a fireworks stand and I’m not entirely sure how to feel about it. I really need to work and I have managed to make it through high school without a source of income more steady than the scraps of cash I get from babysitting. It’s not as though I haven’t put forth the effort. I applied to a dozen places over the past year and for some reason, no word. I become easily irritated when my peers discuss their schedules 100% of the time, to which they respond, “Oh please, if you had a job, you’d be right here with us.”

     On a semi-unrelated note: I despise those that say I hate Valentine’s Day solely because I’m single and I hate it that the only other topic of discussion my friends seem capable of processing is college. Where are you going? Oh my gosh! All these people are going to school with me! I can’t wait to do my scheduling. I did my scheduling, but I have to make a bunch of changes and I don’t want to talk about it; but I’m going to anyway. Now that my scheduling’s done, and I know who I’m rooming with, we’re going to list everything we have to buy while we ignore the fact that Emily’s the only person at the whole table NOT going to the same school as us!

     Perhaps I should be more excited about this next chapter of my life, but for some reason I’m a little wary of my collegiate adventures. Anyway, I pretty much only got this job because they’re desperate. At least that’s what one of the supervisors told me.

     Among the many factors I have to brave in order to reach my paycheck is the sun. I will be hot and sweaty and my skin will turn tomato red just as it begins to peel away from my shoulders and cheeks. Supposedly I will be under a tent and I won’t have to worry so much about the devil sun, but with my luck I’ll still end up shedding several layers of crispy flesh.

     I’ll also have to deal with people. Yes, it is true that most jobs entail dealing with customers, but it is especially awful here. In my hometown, I get to face rednecks in flip flops and tattered jean shorts- and that’s just the men. I also have to endure their fohawked offspring and their grubby little fingers trying to swipe some pocket-sized merchandise.

     On top of that, my bosses are quite difficult. The pushy old grump that runs the stand is always trying to force his political agenda on impressionable youths. He seems to be unconscious of what is the appropriate time or place for expressing his opinions and he and I happen to disagree on almost everything. I’m a firm believer in sticking up for what you believe in and I don’t really want to be fired for debating gay rights with my boss.

      His second in command is an overzealous power-thirster. She secretly wants to end him and take his position, but she knows that if she did he would only be replaced by an outsider. While she is a lot more helpful and a lot less egotistical, she can be a little overbearing. Hopefully I can find an ally in her nonetheless.

     In addition to these forces working against me, I have to somehow find a way to further suppress my own increasing desire to light everything on fire. One should not invite pyromania to a tent filled with lousy combustibles.

Here’s to all the yellow fellows that don’t try to be something they’re not. They don’t dress up as quack-lacking farm animals or baseballs or apples. They don’t disguise their fine anatine by posing as dogs or pigeons or vampires. They don’t need polka dots, stripes, or checkers to get my attention. Here’s to all the Rubber Duckies that are who they are.

Quaint!

     I like to think that I’m a fairly logical human being with a definite distinction between reality and fiction. However, I will admit that I’ve got some pretty kooky fears. I don’t think they’re as bad as Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia (the fear of long words- which, by the way, is downright cruel) or Nephophobia (the fear of clouds), but there are some pretty wacky ones.

     I’m sure a lot of people say this, but I’m not afraid of the dark, just what’s in the dark. I’m fine with heights, it’s the possibility of falling that gives me the heebie-jeebies. I have no problem with the inevitability of death; it’s the thought that I might spend my final days of life in fear, pain, or confusion that gets to me. I’m also not really afraid of anything that crawls or slithers, unless it’s inside. They can skitter around all they want outdoors, but once those critters are outside of their natural habitat and inside my home, I’m out of my comfort zone.

    That’s enough with the cliché fears. I have two very acute phobias that I am actually very terrified will happen. Because of these admittedly ridiculous fears, I cannot stand within hearing distance of a crow and I will not venture into a dark alleyway. Firstly, thanks to an early reading of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven” and far too many viewings of “The Brothers Grimm” and “The Wizard of Oz,” I truly believe that when a crow makes its haunting call, a sadistic murder will ensue. Secondly, and I have no comprehensible grounds for this irrational fear- a fear that far outshines the exceedingly ordinary fear of clowns- is my fear that upon walking down a dark alleyway, I will suddenly hear the soft but frightful tune of carnival music playing just around the corner.

     I also have an inexplicable form of paranoia that I would attribute to my father’s genes, but it is not a feeling of being spied on or swindled. It is an instinctive leap to irrational conclusions. I have not, do not, and will not ever have any part in any alcohol or substance intake due solely to my paranoia that I will become instantly addicted.  Even more outlandish that that, I once believed my water was poisoned as the first stage of an alien invasion. We had had three goldfish for several years and they were all perfectly fine. We eventually got a fourth goldfish and a week after placing the fish it into its new home, all four pets went belly-up nearly concurrently. I did not drink anything but canned soda for a month, despite having observed my family members survive gulp after gulp of tap water.

     The only justification I can offer for my absurdities is simply another example of my aforementioned paranoia. One night I woke up with what I believed to be a nose-bleed. I rushed to the bathroom to grab some tissues and realized there was no blood. So why was my nose so tingly? Moments later, a ladybug scurried out of my nostril and evoked a shrill screech on my part. Again, this may just be my bizarre conclusion instincts, but I’m pretty sure that insect laid eggs in my brain.

All Songs by Anselmo the Brave

     I was twiddling my phone about like the absent-minded fool that I am, and after a little while I discovered that there is an option to “Erase All Contacts.” I found it rather peculiar that my only two options concerning my contacts were to “Add New Contact” or “Erase All Contacts,” and decided that there must be a very good reason for that. Efficiency is key in this day and age, and no human person would dare create something that wasn’t entirely for efficiency’s sake. Nevertheless, the option seemed especially disastrous for one as technologically ill-fated as me. Then it dawned on me that I had very nearly selected that ever-efficient option during my inattentive state. Naturally, I became very flustered. My mind had been abruptly jolted from lackadaisical daydreaming into a state of panic-stricken dread and uncertain urgency. I suddenly could not discern whether or not I had actually pushed the malice-bred key and, consequently, I felt as though my ears were burrowing themselves inward, toward my cerebral cortex.

     They weren’t.

     In any case, this “Erase All Contacts” has gotten me thinking. For what logical purpose would this option exist? What possible reasoning did the creator of this phone have, other than helping shady people get rid of their contacts in a bind? It’s like the option was specifically designed for substance consumers and prostitution connoisseurs. I’m willing to bet that a large majority of the world’s felons were convicted on the evidence of a suspicious lack of contacts. In fact, this button should have some kind of automatic alert system signaling the FBI that there’s some devious business going down.

     On second thought, it had better not. I would hate to be hauled off to jail over some freak accident off the coast of Norway in which a whaling crew misfires a harpoon and perpetrates the erasure of all my contacts. Curse you, Norwegian whalers!