I’m fiercely against the practice of wearing solid colored tee shirts by fat people. Have you ever see a really obese person laboriously walking down the street in a bright, over-sized orange shirt? Where’s the rest of the Fruit of the Loom guys? Actually, I don’t think there’s an orange Fruit of the Loom…but what if that shirt was…purple? They’d be like one really, really big grape…or a plum. A plum with a hot dog it its hand. I feel like they’re just begging to be made fun of, and that’s not cool ‘cause it’s never funny making fun of fat people...unless there aren’t any fat people around.

And whatever food you’re eating is not allowed to match the color of your shirt. I once saw a really fat guy in an orange shirt eating an orange? Just kidding, that’s not true. Fat people don’t eat fruit.

It could be worse though. That shirt could be soaking wet (see Six Flags in the summer). That can’t be comfortable. I know I’m uncomfortable looking at it. Their shirt is all suctioned to their body. It looks like their belly button is trying to swallow their shirt.

You never see really fat people doing roofing.

I just feel like obese people are the last people that need to be riding those motorized grocery carts, you know. If you get out of breath walking around a grocery store, that’s a hint and a half that that you need to be doing a bit more walking. And the messed up thing is, have you seen how small the little basket is on the front of those things? Ironic. That thing’ll hold exactly one loaf of bread, a half gallon of milk and an egg. Sometimes someone is there to help them, though. This is the Spotter. They’re responsible for pushing another cart next to them. This person always looks miserable.

But not as miserable as me when I get stuck behind them.

Waitresses always call me hon’...or sweetie. “What can I get you hon’?” “How are we doing to today, sweetie?” I don’t know why, but it feels a little condescending to me. It’s like the equivalent of saying “lady” to a woman. They hate that don’t they? The funny thing is, simply add the letter “a” before it and everything is fine. Call a woman “lady” and watch out. Call a woman “a lady” and she’s complimented.

The opposite is true for sshole. If you call someone sshole, they’re like “Hey, that’s innocuous. Cool.” Add an “a” too that though and they get pissed off. Weird.

I really hate it when you’re on a date, and you’re walking into a restaurant that has two sets of doors really close together before you actually get inside the restaurant. You’re trying to be a gentleman and hold the door open for your lady friend, right? First door? Easy. But it’s the moment in between doors that’s tricky.

She’s through the first one and your still outside, so to get to the next door before she does you pretty much have to run or hop skip or do some football spin move to get around her. And that...well that’s just stupid.

I only have one solution.

Step one: Go through door one first, but hold the door behind you.
Step two: As she steps in, release door one and step towards door two.
Step three: Reach for door two. Open.
Step four: Twirl left hand and bow as if to say “You may enter.”

Crisis averted.

Of course this all becomes less of a problem the longer you date because after the first few dates men just stop holding doors open completely. Then we’re all bewildered when women say “You never hold the door for me anymore.” We’re all like, “Whaaaat? I always held the door for you that time.”

So then the next time we hold a door open, we’re all proud. Women notice that and are, at once, amused and irritated. Then later they tell their girlfriends about how proud their boyfriend was just because he held a door open for them once in the past year. Then they each take turns recounting the last stupid thing their boyfriend did...except for one of them. This one says her man is perfect. All the other women secretly hate her and when she isn’t around, they say her boyfriend is probably cheating on her.

It must suck to work in a glitter factory. Because you’d have to tell people, “Hey. I work at a glitter factory.”

You’d always have some stray piece of glitter on you. People would be like, “Dude, you’ve got something on your face. Is that glitter? Dude.”

“That? That’s not glitter, that’s...sand. A lone grain of shiny blue sand.”

You try to wipe it off. Now you have a piece of glitter on your hand. You only succeed in moving it from surface to surface. You ever just find a random piece of glitter on yourself? It’s like “What the hell? Where did that come from?” Then you back track and try and figure out when you managed to pick up the mysterious fleck. I found a piece of glitter on me the other day that I can only assume has been there since the second grade.

I bet it’s always a party inside a glitter factory.

What if a glitter factory blew up ? It would be beautiful...but terrible at the same time. People wouldn’t know if it was a disaster or a party. That shit would be worse than an oil spill to clean up, though. You’d have Greenpeace volunteers trying to clean glitter off birds. People would be like, “Hey, look at that gay bird.”

You know what confetti is? Big glitter.

I hate it when girls where that glitter lotion. I want to say, “Wow. You look like Christmas. A really slutty Christmas.”

I was eating out the other day when I noticed the couple next to me hold hands and pray before beginning their meal. I got to thinking, when did this fairly common practice begin? What is it about sitting down to eat that makes it a good time to have a brief little convo with the man upstairs? Most of the time, I think, people are just giving thanks, "Thanks God for this food...this food is a blessing, blah blah blah," right? If you believe in God then you can reasonably argue that he bestows many blessings, so why food. I'm going to go ahead and forego any real research and guess that this practice must have started because at some point, food was a really big deal and if you were eating, you better praise Jesus, 'cause who knew the next time you were gonna get it.

The practice of praying before a meal is antiquated, and is now done pretty much out of tradition; that's fine, but I can think of a better time to say a blessing based on the idea that your thanking God for something that you rarely enjoy. Sex.

Speak for yourself, you say. Well, I am speaking for myself, so suck it. I think the next time I am about to have sex, I'll take the time to stop and thank the lord for his blessing. Of course it will probably be something like, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thanks you, Jesus," as I clumsily hop to the bed kicking of my shoes and pants. And if I do things right, God will get a shout out during the sex too.

To the fat, bearded redneck who kept looking back at me in his side mirrors: what the fuck are you looking at? Secondly, why the fuck is your side mirror set to where I can see your face if I'm directly behind you? If I can see your face and you can see mine, then you've got your shit adjusted improperly. Rear view mirrors are for seeing what's directly behind you, side mirrors are for seeing what is to the side of you, you dumb shit! They're supposed to be tilted out enough so you can see the spot that is just outside of your peripheral vision and just outside of what you can't see in your rearview mirror. That's called the blind spot and if you adjust your mirrors right, you don't have one...and also I won't have to see your dumb, fat, plaid wearing, Nextel talking, fish hook in the camouflage ball cap face staring back at me.

In your defense, you're not the first fool to do this. Somewhere along the line, people forgot or just plain never knew in the first place how to do adjust mirrors. There's two exceptions to this rule (yes, rule.) If you don't have a rear window (cargo van, tractor trailers) or your rear window is obscured. None of these were the case. So suck it...and stop looking at me.