Jamaican me boner.
" - "Excuse me, Ma'am, but why don't you make like the economy and get fucked by me.
" [Note: Only works if it's well-established that your nickname is 'The Government,' or something similar.
] - "If you can guess what number I'm thinking of, I'll let you have sex with me in the back of a Nissan Sentra." [Note: No matter what she says, pretend it's the number you were thinking of. And if she did guess the number you were thinking of, she might be a witch. Drown her post coital.
] - "Hey, what's goin' on with that vag of yours? Anything I'd be interested in?" - "Ma'am, I'd like to show you an amazing device that'll take you anywhere in the world." [
Note: Only works if she's extremely foreign, extremely young or otherwise suffers from a mental condition that makes her unfamiliar with the concept of an automobile and, specifically, a Nissan Sentra.
This book is ready
, HarperCollins, and you look like a fool for not picking it up. [subtitle]X [X] Irrational Fears That I Genuinely Suffer From[/subtitle] ["Irrational Fears" is actually one of the most fascinating topics in the world, to me. I don't know why, but I've always been really obsessed with it and, if you email your irrational fears to dan(at)cracked.com, I can guarantee you that it would make my day.]***
My Toilet Exploding
I check my toilet, on average, four times every hour, (in addition to my regular schedule of standard toilet visits). I just pop my head into the bathroom for a second to make sure my toilet isn't up to anything funny. I can't help myself. And I don't do it with other appliances or pieces of furniture. I only look at my bathtub when absolutely necessary, and I can sometimes go weeks without seeing or even speaking to my toaster. But this f*****g toilet has my number. I believe, for no coherent reason, that my toilet will explode, or more accurately, that all of the sewage that currently hides beneath Los Angeles will get tired of being ignored and will decide to burst triumphantly out of my toilet. Sewage would flow majestically, as if my toilet was some sort of nightmare s**t fountain that hates me. I have visions of myself staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed completely helpless, because who do I call? When you're dealing with an unstoppable volcano of waste, who do you call? A plumber? The police? Mommy? Jesus? What could they do? They, like me, could do nothing to stop this. Even a plumber is, without a doubt, unprepared for a disaster of this magnitude. So I'd just stand there and wait until this stopped which, in my mind, is never. There's no childhood fear behind this. I've never been witness to any out-of-the-ordinary toilet-related complications. I don't even know if this kind of powerful vertical s**t expulsion is something a toilet is actually capable of doing. All I have to go on is my terrible, terrible visions and this drawing I made to explain it to my therapist.
If the comments of this article are any indication, (as well as the 100+ emails I've received), the people of the world are just as interested in irrational fears as I am. To speak to this desire, the lovely and talented Lounsey has decided to start a Blog
wherein users can submit their own irrational fears, and waste hours reading about the fears of others.