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Little Things That Irrationally Make You Happy

  • PaulUMD

    Whenever Raiders of the Lost Ark is on.

  • TerpBE

    Mannequins with hard nipples. (I just find them amusing, not arousing, btw)

  • When the other team's seventh, eighth and ninth fouls of the half are two-shot fouls.

  • My shower has separate hot and cold handles for controlling the water temp. Most days I get in and have to fiddle w/ the hot handle for a little to get the temp just right, but every tenth day or so I get it right on the first try. Glorious.

    Im ready for aa 5th of vodica to end my feels.

  • Finally killing a fly that has been aggressively toying with me in my house for the last 5 hours.

    He would land on me, get near my face, and seemed disinterested in leaving the general area I was sitting in. I could hear him buzzing and everything. It was MADDENING! He had awesome reflexes, very quick... wouldn't stay in one spot long enough to get a bead on. Then I think he got overconfident and decided to crawl around the wall for longer than a few seconds.

    Nailed that bitch ass mother fucker with a backhand. He fell to the ground, still moving but flightless. I stomped on him about 10 times while yelling celebratory taunts. Damn, that felt good.

    This post was edited by HEY you suck 10 months ago

  • When I fill the coffee maker pot with water by judging the weight and it's dead on the 6 cups line.

  • PantsEnFuego

    Good wireless reception in your designated pooping area.

    In fact, it should be a law that all restrooms have decent wireless connectivity from here on out.


  • FLY ON THE WALL
    Part I: The inquisition

    “Jim had been talking to Sarah for nearly forty minutes now. She was supposed to be working, but he was totally jeopardizing her job at the front desk of his dorm. ‘If she gets fired, I’ll just have to marry her and provide for her,’ he thought to himself.”

    Scott had heard all he needed to. “Jim, will you shut the hell up already? What does this have to do with anything? And this whole new thing of yours where you refer to yourself in the third person has lost its charm and segued quickly into downright creepy. And none of this explains why it looks like Pompeii in here.”

    Jim surveyed the room. Maybe he was just skewed by the facts, but it actually looked more like the aftermath of a battle. Lamps that once sat upright on tables lay prone on the floor – flickering feebly as if gasping for air. Various drops, splatters and finite sprays of blood adorned the cream-colored walls. Chairs lay overturned, dresser drawers emptied, posters hung askew. And that’s not to mention all the dead soldiers lying about.

    “Dead Soldiers is how Jim referred to his empty bottles.”

    Scott interrupted Jim, “Dude, you’re speaking out loud, referring to yourself in the third person and it sounds like you’re narrating a story to yourself when I have asked a very specific question and actually want to know the story for once.”

    Scott couldn’t take his eyes off Jim. He looked different somehow. He was barely coherent, one eye drooping, slurring his words, half-sitting, half-lying down on his bed, and propped into a corner. Scott was used to seeing that on a daily occurrence, only this time, his hand wasn’t tucked down into his pants.

    “Hmmmm,” he thought to himself, “something’s not right.” Besides, he could smell that Jim was sweating liquor and Jim’s only form of exercise was using two hands to drink. And that almost never made him sweat. Something dreadful had gone down here all right. Something dreadful indeed.

    Jim held up his battle worn foe, now defeated. It was a fly. Not even a Spanish Fly or even a bee, but just an ordinary housefly. Except in this case, it was a dorm fly and, according to Jim, a notorious thief.

    Scott’s mind hit a momentary speed bump. “But I still don’t see what this has to do with the supposedly hot girl at the front desk?”

    Jim lay with a confused look on his face. Then his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. Scott thought perhaps it wasn’t confusion but a concussion. But he wasn’t about to let Jim not finish this story. It’s pretty clear that this would be the easy way out of not telling the rest of it and Scott was going to have none of that. I’m sure you’ll agree.

    “Wake up Casanova!” Scott yelled, snapping Jim back into reality.

    “I was thinking about Sarah you idiot. But to answer your question: Nothing. I just needed to tell you about her before your incessant questioning as to what I do in this room when you’re not here.”

    Scott lifted up Jim’s mattress and pulled out a copy of Playboy. “Oh I KNOW what you do. Just explain why it looks like the aftermath of the Great Backerganj Cyclone of 1876 in here.” Scott liked to show off. “And what’s with the fly carcass?”

    Jim held the fly above his head and smirked like the Joker. And not the lame TV one, or even the Nicholson one. He looked like the psycho nut-job that Heath Ledger and his hair played. He held the fly not by its wing, but by its whole body as he leaned back to look up to it. Scott was amused at Jim being absolutely bat-shit blind drunk, but his amusement rushed to disgust when Jim squeezed the fly’s guts into his mouth and chucked the dry, lifeless fly at Scott.
    Jim held up his forefinger at Scott and did his best to look him in the eye. He stammered through his story, which I really can’t do justice, so I’ll let Jim tell it in his own words:

    Part II: Jim’s Story

    “I woke up this morning and saw that I only had two fifths of Jack Daniels left from last night’s binge. It was only Wednesday and I had already killed four. There was no way this was going to get me through the week so I had a plan. My plan was simple. Quickly kill these and then stammer to the store for more. That is, before that damn fly. I was sitting here watching The Price is Right when I put my glass down to go yell obscenities at that poor replacement of a host. When I turn back to my chair, I instinctively look at my glass for incentive to make it all the way back, only to see that damn fly chillin’ on an ice cube drinking MY JACK. Now knowing full well that I only had two bottles left and God knows I couldn’t find the store sober, much less drunk and I didn’t know WHEN you were gonna get back here…”

    You’ll have to excuse Jim. He’s an extremely drunk college student and his stories are often filled with run-on and rambling sentences. You’re lucky I’m keeping him away from tangents. THAT’S when it really gets out of hand. But back to Jim’s story.

    “So I damn well couldn’t let that thieving fly steal my stash, ya know? I mean, not only was there limited supply, but this kind of thing sets precedence. You remember that time I caught you `borrowing’ a beer? You’re lucky I let you live. As you can see, the fly wasn’t so lucky. But it was a battle in perseverance and wits, and I wasn’t about to lose. Not to no damn fly. What kind of man would Jim be to Sarah if he couldn’t protect our property? So I rush over to grab that bastard fly, only I’m wobbling a little cause it’s so early in the day. So I fell down and got the mother of all rug burns on my left knee. Well, that was the first of many battle wounds I’d suffer before this historic mêlée would be over.”

    I actually appreciate Jim’s exaggeration. I put an incredibly interested look on Scott’s face to encourage it. What’s great about it is that you can see in his eyes that he really believes what he’s saying. To me, that makes it all worth it. I don’t even really care what he’s saying so much as I’m just feeding off his excitement.

    “Well this fly sees how rabid I am and like a pussy it flies off. Actions like that suggest it shouldn’t have been drinking Jack. It should stick to Whineakin or the like.”

    “Whineakin,” of course is a play-on words for Heinekin, a popular beer. It’s funny and all, but Jim didn’t make it up. He stole it from the David Spade classic, Joe Dirt. They also used the phrase “french cries” in the movie, but Jim didn’t think that one was very funny. Besides, he would’ve had trouble incorporating that into his story.
    “This fly shoots out of my glass the way I dive out the window of your mom’s bedroom when I hear you get home. So I take a gulp of courage and started out after the fly. Then I thought to myself, ‘what if this fly tries to outsmart me and doubles back to my drink while I’m searching for him?’ So I down my drink and throw the empty glass against the wall. I’d like to say it shattered like a Supernova, but you and I both know it’s plastic. Anyway, I see that damn fly hanging out on the wall above your dresser. So I climb up there and lunge at it, careful not to rip your Cindy Crawford poster. By the way, how old is she? Anyway, that 300-eyed motherfucker sees me coming and takes off again. I got snagged in your lamp cord and went tumbling to the floor while that goofy fuck flew around in a drunken stupor. So I climb back up on your dresser for two reasons. See, in the thick of the battle, you need to keep your wits about you. It’s not necessarily the strongest that wins in battle, but the smartest. So I get up there to 1) get a vantage point with which I can survey the room and perhaps lunge at the fly and 2) to get my Jack. You see, flies puke when they land and that fucktard fly had landed up there and regurgitated my Jack. I wasn’t about to let him get ANY kind of victory in this battle. So I licked the wall and tasted that sweet, precious life-affirming juice. So then I see the fly over by my desk. I survey the situation and try to get a feel for exactly how many steps it’s going to take me to get over there. I figure if I jump off the dresser, I can make it in two. But then I look up and realize that I’ll hit that big light on the ceiling so I took off my shirt and…”

    Scott finally broke into the conversation. “Look. I can figure it out from here. You went from spot to spot diving at this fly and foolishly licking the wall and eventually you caught it. I’m stopping you right here because I’m deathly afraid that you’re going to somehow incorporate my mom further into this story. You know, she actually falls for your Eddie Haskell routine and thinks you’re a good influence on me.”

    It was true. I made Scott’s mother extremely beautiful, but also extraordinarily naïve.

    Jim looked a little hurt by Scott stopping his epic battle story short. “Aren’t you even curious about the shrink wrap being off some of my textbooks? That’s a first for me in my college career.”

    Scott wasn’t. Because frankly, I wasn’t sure how I was going to even explain that part. It had me worried for a bit. But Scott had heard enough. He just shook his head at how pathetic Jim was and headed to the store like a good roommate to get him more JD. As he closed the door, he leaned over his shoulder and said, “You’re a twisted soul Jim.”

    Jim sat there for a moment and pondered those thoughts. He quickly shrugged them off and justified to himself, “Hey, every last drop counts.”

  • Jim and I would be amazing friends.

  • eamhokie94

    The horn section of DJ Kool's "Let Me Clear My Throat."

    classlessthug: I have too much on my plate to worry about the fact that my junk intimidates some needle D undergrad.

  • TheArsenal

    They played that song at the Ellicott dining hall like 8 times a day my freshman year.

  • How ironic, I just got into an accident in one of my beamers.

  • JPeterman said...

    First wipe after a poop resulting in the toilet paper be clean.

    ___________________________________________

    Disgusting. It should be 3 wipes regardless.

    This post was edited by dolphin_md 9 months ago