PISS!

You know what's absolutely hysterical? Farting into the toilet bowl at work and spewing anal blood from your hemorrhoid all over the pristine porcelain.

Good times.

Signs I'm overdosing on Scrubs...

As I was cruising down the highway this morning, I noticed a bald, well-dressed man carrying a thick briefcase battling the wind as he walked along the breakdown lane. Due to the frigid air, I considered picking him up.

My mind wandered off as J.D narrated the following...

I decided to pick up the balding man as an act of goodwill during this holiday season. He was initially quite appreciative and polite-until he pulled out the gun.

"Give me all of your money. Better yet, drive to the nearest ATM and take out all of your money."

I was confused for a moment, because having just recently seen the movie "Reality Shows That Never Made It" , I had an unconventional understanding of the acronym "ATM". Once it hit me that he meant "Automated Teller Machine" I began to laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" he demanded incredulously.
"My ex-boyfriend just stole all of my money. Well, not stole, exactly, gambled/drank it away under false pretenses, I know, it was a little naive to believe that he was supporting a tribe of Inuits in Australia-I'd forgotten they're not "Eskimos" anymore, so he tricked me, and there was the bail bond for the whole Mexican waitress/salsa/knife fiasco, and I consider the ensuing shopping/drinking/strip club visiting spree entirely his fault due to my emotional distress. So we can go to an ATM if you'd like, but you'd get about 33 bucks-wait, looook at these nails, just had them done, great manicure, love the Vietnamese better than the Koreans for nails-do you think they can tell each other apart?, but $33-10, plus tip, ok there's 22.19 left in the bank then."

He stared at me a minute, then yelled, "Drive me to a bank, you cheap bitch, I'll rob it, and you'll drive the getaway car."

My life had been leading up to this moment. I hadn't wanted to go to work anyway, but had already taken three sick days. This day would be excused, I wouldn't even have to call in, and I could fulfill a fantasy of breaking the law, and could probably get away with it under these circumstances.

I reached under the driver's seat and pulled out two black ski masks (one trimmed in black fur...so bad, that poor little mink, but, oh, so soft. I rubbed it against my cheeks as my eyes started to well. Finally, after years of being stored in that exact spot, it would be put to good use.)
"Yippee!" I screamed gleefully. "I'm in!"
Bald robber man was stunned for a minute, but once he recovered, he began rattling off instructions.
"Drive back to West H*******..."
"No, no, no, " I said. "Someone might recognize me, and it's a bad hair day."
"Fine. New B***** then. "
"Nope, my Dad does his banking on Wednesdays, and it would be rather awkward, you know, 'Put you hands up! This is a robbery...Dad.' And then there's his trick shoulder, and he can't really reach that high, and honestly, if you cared about me, you wouldn't ruin my first law-breaking opportunity."
"P******?"
"No go-my mom lives there."
"Goddammit, then, where?"
"Well, I'm kinda hungry."
"Great, we'll rob a Dunkin Donuts, and you can eat, too."
"I'm doing South Beach."
"Really? Me too!"

So bald robber guy and I bonded over medium-rare bacon burgers (hold the bun) and we shared life stories. We had so much in common. He was raised in an orphanage in Romania, I saw a Romanian once on TV (Well, I think. Where is that hot foreign doctor on E.R. from?) and both of our moms' have brown eyes (Well, my mom has one brown, and one green, but I wanted him to feel close to me.) We never got around to robbing the bank, because he blew a red light two feet from a cop, and when they ran his name he was wanted for many robberies, but bald robber man had taught me so much in the time we were together-how to sneak out of a restaraunt without paying, how to get Russian girls to marry me and give me money, how to make swans out of paper napkins...and as he escorted away in slow motion by the cops, he yelled, "P r o m i s e y o u ' l l w r r r i i i t e ! ! !" I knew that my life would never be the same, and that I certainly never would write-I mean, being from Romania, could he even read English?