But as stirring and exciting as that speech just was, I don't want to make it to each and every cashier. Nevertheless -- although I apparently have no trouble admitting it to hundreds of thousands of people online -- I don't want to be that guy who stands there like he's waiting for three cents.

My Ridiculous Solution:

So here's what I do. Right after the sale's rung up and I see I'm going to be owed a small amount of money, I begin to busy myself. I rearrange my wallet, futz with stuff in my shopping bags, check my phone, anything. It doesn't matter. I just have to make it appear that I'm not waiting for change. That way when the cashier hands over three pennies, I can look surprised and say, "Oh, OK," as if I'm only standing there to attend to whatever I'm pretending to deal with. Then I pocket those three miserable pennies I never would have waited for and leave.

Oh, by the way, I think it would be super funny if someone made a comment below about me being a cheap Jew, because that's just pretty damn funny. Original, too. If Zombie Hitler read Cracked, I'm sure he'd tote lulz. Ah, who am I kidding? Zombie Hitler only reads Seanbaby's column.

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"Oh, Dick Whiskey. You're the best! I mean, BRAINS!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Y'see, after a series of terrible haircuts at the hands of Asian stylists, I became convinced that they just didn't know how to address my distinctly non-Asian hair. Does that qualify as a hate crime? I hope not. I feel bad about it. I had a crush on a Korean girl in junior high and I dated a Japanese girl for a week in college, so I hope I don't get any evites to join the Klan after this article runs. But yeah, there came a point about 10 years ago where I decided I'd had enough. I walked into a salon. They told me to sit down in one of the empty chairs to await my hairdresser. Within a minute, a perfectly nice man who happened to be Asian emerged from the back room.

My Ridiculous Solution:

My initial thought was to gently explain that while I had had wet dreams about a Korean girl as a teenager, and gotten to third base with a Japanese girl in college, I had a policy about avoiding hairdressers. Somehow that didn't sound compelling, so I thought about calling some of my Asian friends to vouch for me before deciding that that would also be awkward. But that's when inspiration struck. I reached for my BlackBerry (I told you, it was like 10 years ago) and pretended to be getting a call on vibrate. "What?!" I said, pretending some urgent matter had just been revealed to me. "Hold on. I'll be right there!"

I turned to the stylist with a silent look of exasperation, as if it were pressing business and not my burgeoning racism that was keeping the two of us from uniting. Then I walked out of the place, still talking to no one.

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"Come right away and make sure my hair's shaggy? OK, you're the boss."

(By the way, this isn't just a good cover for racism. I've also used it when I've had to leave restaurants after seeing a menu and realizing I couldn't afford to eat there. No, not Chinese restaurants, you ass. I'm not a monster!)

Well, I'll tell you the problem. Even though I give less than 20 percent on rare occasions, I still feel really bad about it. Not so bad that I leave more money, because where's the justice in that, but, y'know, bad.

My Ridiculous Solution:

This one's super clever. I gather up my shit. Make sure I haven't left my keys or something else behind. Point one foot in the direction of the door. Drop my 10 percent tip, and leave before the waiter collects the bill. Gangsta.

My Ridiculous Solution:

Well, y'see, Twitter also allows you to "favorite" or "star" tweets. No one really sees who you star, and if you star something instead of retweeting it, then you're not exposing your followers to the other person's lame joke. Yes, often people (including me) star things they genuinely like, but that doesn't mean it can't be used in a pretend way -- to slowly back out of an awkward conversation while appearing to be smiling. And if you write about this practice in a widely read publication, it has the added bonus of making everyone you've ever starred feel super uncomfortable! Which is only fair, I guess, because when someone favorites my tweet instead of retweeting it, I feel like the girl guys deny having sex with to their friends.

Anyway, not everyone on the road is as awesome as I am. Indeed, lots of people try to force their cars into places they don't deserve to be through intimidation. Like the dude who deliberately gets in the lane everyone's merging out of before zipping up to the very end of the merge and then weaseling his way back into line. Or the dude who plays that same game at toll booths. Or the driver who aggressively forces himself anywhere, daring you to crash into him in order to get what he wants.

My Ridiculous Solution:

Now listen up, because this trick is very complicated. It's called "don't look at the guy." When confronted with douchetastic drivers, I get insanely confrontational. Probably because few things bother me more than someone's selfish belief to entitlement.

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Yes, getting my leg caught in a bear trap is one of those few things.

So, yeah, I don't give an inch. I will aggressively ride the back bumper of the car in front of me, slamming the door on some douche trying to get something they don't deserve by intimidation. But of course, I can't actually look at them. My neck is locked. My vision is fixed. The blinders are on. Risk damage to my car in the interest of preserving vehicular justice? You bet. Eye contact? Never!

But Gladstone looks right at the camera in the latest HATE BY NUMBERS. Also, be sure to follow him on Twitter and stay up-to-date on the latest regarding Notes from the Internet Apocalypse. And then there's his website and Tumblr, too.

For more from Gladstone, check out The 7 Worst Behaviors on Public Transportation and 5 Reasons Life is Better After Age 30.