Why is it that when people on the east coast talk about the west coast, they say “out west” but when people on the west coast talk about the east coast, they say “back east” even if they’ve never been east?

This is particularly true when talking about moving or family, as in, “I have an uncle out west” or “Yea, I’m moving back east.”

And why is Texas considered the west when it’s really smack dab in the middle of the country? Do people in California consider it the west?

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.

Sometimes I like it when I come home and the time on my microwave is flashing 12:00. It lets me know that the power went out that day. Cool. Saved some money today.

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 really hate bumper stickers, and I need a way to express that. So I think I’m going get a bumper sticker that says, “I hate bumper stickers.” Then everyone will know how passionate I am about hating bumper stickers.