How to be Funny

*dedicated to Kevin*
I hope your expectations are low!


Being funny is hardly an art. Anyone can be funny. You don't have to be particularly clever. Most of the time, there's a fine line between being funny and being obnoxious. And how difficult is it to be obnoxious? It's practically second nature for most people. If you have no trouble being an ass, you're 90% there.

That being said, here are some things that I've found generally work:



quoting funny movies

(if you don't know what movie I'm referencing, we can't be friends.)


making puns

Caution: puns can be dangerous. Side-effects may include pity-laughs, loss of friends, or death.


farting



sarcasm



making fun of bros





laughing at everything

(this situation is also funny because the guy craving hummus is white.)


impressions



saying something really awkward with a straight face

*(see side-effects for puns)


racist jokes


And finally...
wit!
While all these other examples prove how easy it is to be funny without being clever, wit still gets the most respect. If you don't know how to be witty, ask Kelly. Because I don't know how to be. Try talking about grapes being the fruit of hope or something.
:)



On another note...

I wish Google Maps included traffic at Wooden.
I also think they should play Crazy Frog music at the gym:

Think of how cracked out everyone would be. You can't listen to Crazy Frog and NOT get a good workout. Just lying here on the futon and typing is making my heart race thanks to Crazy Frog. Or maybe it was the 7 piece of bacon I ate for breakfast...

WHY AM I WASTING SO MUCH TIME

I apologize for being sensitive

So I was standing in line at Chipotle. Because it was Friday. My doctor told me to go on every day with six letters.
Anyway, my homeboy Juan is going through the motions, making everyone's burrito to perfection, maybe a little small talk here and there, when this smug-looking douchebag with a goofy grin steps up to be helped.
"What would you like on your burrito, sir?"
Hmmm.....SURPRISE ME!
"..."

Surprise.
me.

The juxtaposition of those two words makes me cringe. How bout I take a shit in your burrito, would that be surprising enough for you? I hated people like that, acting all pseudo-charming, even when I was just working at BruinCafe and I had to ask them to decide between fruit and chips. "Surprise me!" Shut the fuck up and just PICK SOMETHING, I'm not hear to entertain you or read your mind, I'm here for the shitty paycheck and free food!
This.
is.
problematic.



So I'm in history lecture and this dude decides to raise his hand. Strike one.
He begins to speak. "I just wanted to make a comment on something..." Strike two.
He continues: "So I was watching CSPAN the other day, and..." Strike three. I officially hate you.


Does anyone else think it's odd when people end emails with "cheers"?

Car alarms can be entertaining when they're far away and you know it's probably driving at least 200 people in the nearby apartments insane.


Using my dictionary as a frisbee is my favorite form of word play. Haha. See what I did there?

I like pillow talk. I tell it everything.

I wouldn't wanna f*ck with the chicken they had to kill to make my chicken fingers.

If I take care of chickens, does that make me a chicken tender?

I think it's great we're cutting the wings off of buffalo. Imagine if those things could fly. Imagine getting buffalo shit all over your windshield.

I wanna see a dog with a tongue piercing.
That's not word play. I just do.


Ahh... I love falling asleep to the low humming sound of a fan on a warm night. Goodnight.

F-ing Time

Everyone knows that time seems to speed up as you get older. Summer vacation felt like an eternity in middle school, but now it practically flies by.

I've always thought that this was because each year is relatively smaller to the total time you've lived. For example, when you're 4 years old, one year represents 25% of your lifetime. At 20, a year is a mere 5% of your life. Birthdays stop being such a big deal. After 21, no one really give's a sh*t about your birthday until you hit 30, and after that, you pretty much go by the decade.

Anyway, I found this chart made by some dude who has a similar hypothesis but decided to waste a ton of time coming up with complex equations to explain our "Effective Age," (EA) which reflects the idea that based on our perception of time, our lives are halfway over by the time we're 10. Assuming we live into our 80s.

time (yrs.)  EA (yrs.)  Life%
0            0.0      0
1           12.6      16
2           20.0      25
3           25.2      32
4           29.3      37
5           32.6      41
10          43.7      55
15          50.5      63
20          55.4      69
30          62.5      78
40          67.6      85
50          71.6      89
60          74.8      94
70          77.6      97
80          80.0      100

That kinda scares the crap out of me. I've taken comfort in the idea that modern medicine will progress enough in my lifetime to make living to be 100 much more common... and since I'm 21, I should have at least 3 more lifetimes to live, right? But according to this chart, I'm practically 70% through my perceived time alive.
So.
Depressing.

Time to turn to religion.


...or Chappelle!

Poor little fatties

I remember reading an article on abnormal psychology and childhood obesity. Apparently fat people are often mentally unstable. (Makes sense when you compare the percentage of our country that's overweight and the percentage that believes Obama is a Muslim non-citizen terrorist-sympathizing socialist maniac.)
Anyway, on the side of the article there was a photo of a fat kid gleefully frolicking across the beach right above a caption grimly describing the epidemic of obesity in this country. Did this kid agree to have his picture published? Was he bribed with a 3 Musketeers? Maybe that's why he looks so happy in the photo. Were his parents f*cked up enough to allow this to happen? The article was in a textbook at least 10 years old and it's very possible that the kid has reached the age where he might be studying this shit. How distressing would it be to outgrow your embarrassing tubbster phase just to find a photo of you prancing around the sand in all your obese glory branded into the side of an article about abnormal psychology condemning mentally unstable fatties. After all those years of bullying you endured and all the hours you put in at the gym to hide your insecurities with bulging pecs, a little picture published in millions of textbooks comes back to undo ALL THAT EFFORT ASDLFASHKDFASALFJDS!


Anyone recognize me circa 1998?

I'm so sad I can't find the picture I'm actually talking about...Anyway, to all the poster children for those anti-childhood-obesity campaigns: I salute you.

All art is quite useless.

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner
or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode
of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt
without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things
are the cultivated. For these there is hope.
They are the elect to whom beautiful things means only Beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of
Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the
rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of
the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect
use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove
anything. Even things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy
in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is
the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling,
the actor's craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work
is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he
does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless
thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.

- Oscar Wilde

Crap. It's August.

Totally had a dream within a dream last night. Crazy stuff.

I wonder who the first person was that, after tasting alcohol, decided to keep drinking enough of that sh*t to get a pleasant side-effect and tell all his (I'm assuming it was a man) friends to give it a shot. (bad pun intended)

I wonder who the first person was to find out that kissing feels good.

I wonder who the first person was to say, "This will be the year 1!"

I wonder who the first person was to create sand boobs for their buried friend at the beach.

Sometimes it's hard to remember a relative's age, even a sibling. Unless they were born in the year 2000. Then I'm pretty good at remembering.

Is it weird that I find it weird that people have birthdays after the year 2000? I can't imagine writing a birthday like "6/21/00" or even "01" or "02." I had to register for random forums for advertising for my internship, and to check if the user is of "suitable age" (13), you have to agree that you were born before July-whatever-date of 1997. Being born in '97 makes you qualified for something?! Goddamn. I feel old. It already feels weird to know I was born in the 80's. '89 shouldn't count.

Speaking of time, I think everyone should have a countdown clock constantly reminding them how much time they have left until they're, let's say 60 years old. I feel like it's harder to disregard time when you see it ticking down, and there's nothing you can do to stop it... People might be less inclined to waste it.

Anyway, I wonder who decided that there would be 60 seconds to a minute, 60 minutes to an hour, and 24 hours to a day.
Actually I kind of know. The word on the street says it was the Egyptians. They had a base-12 counting system and were the ones who invented the sundial. Instead of counting their 10 fingers, they used their thumbs to count the 3 creases where the joints are in each finger (12 on each hand). Since a sundial only works during the day, they only had 12 units (hours) to the day, so to get a full cycle of day and night, we just have to double that number to get 24.
Betcha didn't know THAT.


//edit:
What I wrote above was from what I remember learning a while ago, but I found an article that seems to explain it better. I'm just speculating though, I'm too lazy to actually read the article right now, but here it is for all the nerds like me out there:
Why are there 60 mins in an hour?

Books

Reading is good. I'm will finish all of these books by the end of the summer.

Sophie's World: DONE!
Acts of Faith: DONE!
Thus Spoke Zarathustra: in progress
A. Lincoln: in progress
Malcolm X: almost done!
Oscar Wilde - the Major Works: in progress
Stem Cell Now: DONE!
The Prince: almost done!
Scarlet Letter: haven't started
Killing Pablo: haven't started

I can do it!

Apparently I'm a Fattist Idealist.

Came across this ridiculous article while doing research for my internship:
WALL-E's 'fattist' satire angers fat pride groups

"Fat pride"? Are you sh*tting me? Being proud to be fat is about as reasonable as being proud to be a diabetic. Or ugly. Or handicapped. Which are all pretty much side-effects of being a fat f*ck. I guess as a straight, white, (and non-overweight) male, it's hard for me to find sources of pride that are socially acceptable to express.
White pride? That's a no-no.
Straight pride? That's just odd.
Man pride? When does it end... we might as well all just be proud to be human. Hmm.

You know what, I hope that one day, aliens take over. Why? I'll tell you.
If I'm in SoCal and I come across someone workin' some Sharks/Giants/A's/Warriors/Niners/Raiders gear: instant connection.
If I'm at another school and I come across someone in UCLA attire: instant connection.
If I'm out of state and I meet someone from California: instant connection.
If I'm out of country and I meet another American: instant connection.
It doesn't even matter if we exchange a single word, I'll automatically feel a sense of camaraderie with this person. And you know you would too.
So now imagine we've been enslaved by aliens. Imagine how united we'd be. Every time you see another human, "What up, man!" So damn excited just to see another person. Hopefully the aliens will have a derogatory term for us, so we can bond over the word and eventually be the only ones allowed to use it. "Human Pride" wouldn't sound so retarded anymore.

Actually, I just realized: I guess it would be better if aliens TRIED to take over the world, but we dominated them and enslaved their alien asses. Dude... imagine unleashing Al-Qaeda, North Korea, all the genocidal maniacs in Africa, the sheer number of Chinese and Indian people, and the combined nuclear power of the world... ALL that sh*t directed at some unfortunate extraterrestrial b*tches. Team Humanity would put up a hell of a fight. And once we begin exploiting the aliens for cheap labor, we'd be too busy discriminating against them to hate on our own kind! What can I say, I'm an idealist.

And we could still have "Human Pride," just 'cause it's in our nature to be assholes.




‎"A lot of people have gaydar... I have fatdar. I can automatically tell if you're fat or not."
-Zach Galifianakis


P.S. I don't hate fat people. I just judge them. Watching a fatty chow down at McDonald's is like watching an asthmatic do this:

It just makes me angry and sad. And I'm mainly talking about those who are morbidly obese and bring a chair to lounge in while they wait in line at KFC for their family-sized bucket of popcorn chicken. But if you just got a little chub, I really don't care.

Good ideas.

First of all, I believe we should take over Canada and call it New Alaska. Why? Who cares. Because it'd be funny. F*ck you.


Next, how to create a hit pop song:
1. Awkwardly sing your own name, then auto-tune it a la "Jasoooon Derulooooo."
2. Take a retarded pick-up line and auto-tune it, a la "Call me Mr. Flintstone, I can make your bed rock!"
3. Repeat.

Example:
" ♪ Aleeexx Reicherrrrrt ♫ (I need more vowels in my name)
Is your name summer? 'Cause you're hott oooOOOoooOOO
'Cause you're so hott yeahh oooOOOoooOOO "


(Me, as soon as this shizz goes mainstream)



Lastly, a stereogram t-shirt! Amazing idea. Especially if you love having people intensely stare at you.
(Stare long enough, you'll see some birds or something:)

Imagine this. On your shirt! Or on the crotch area of your pants... "Stare long enough, you'll see something in 3D."

Rage. Road Rage.

It's a good thing James Bond doesn't get road rage. With cars like this, who knows what could happen...

"Asshole cut me off?! Eat lead, motherf*cker!!"