Cashing Out

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A Cache of Cash

I won the lottery last week. $363 million dollars after taxes. This is including the deduction of $750 for the broken window and the work laptop I tossed through it upon realizing my good fortune. The look on my boss’s face when I informed him that, effective immediately, he would be down an employee was priceless. Nothing against him, but I work to live, despite telling him the opposite during the interview process. Since I don’t need to work to live anymore: Peace out, fellow employees. Peace. Out. Continue reading “Cashing Out”

Religiously Void

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The Tools of the Trade

“You’re too tall to be Jewish,” said a generically Jewish man to me once. I laughed, until I realized he was serious.

At 6’2”, I’m not even really that tall. Certainly, there are tall Jews out there; though, come to think of it, I’ve never really seen one. Bigfoot is tall, though I doubt he is Jewish, if he even exists. Continue reading “Religiously Void”

A Solar Eclipse of the Heart

A solar eclipse of the heart

Originally published on The Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/all-opinions-are-local/wp/2017/08/22/a-solar-eclipse-of-the-heart/?utm_term=.4daddc7ae17c

August 22 at 10:56 AM

Washingtonians get way too excited about everything.  Cherry blossoms, “Game of Thrones,” fidget spinners. We even overuse the phrase “there is no there there.” Don’t get me started on snow storms, either. The District has no poker face when it comes to these things.

Do you think people in Brooklyn or Boston act as goofy as Washingtonians for stuff like this? No. They do not. I’ve been to Brooklyn. Nothing impresses those people.

Meanwhile, in Washington, we giddily walk around the streets, clapping our hands with child-like enthusiasm for a newborn panda at the National Zoo or a preseason victory by our football team. Fourth of July fireworks on the Mall may as well be a Hallmark movie.

It was my hope that our city would use this solar eclipse to change; to learn to be chill and nonchalant like our northern neighbors. Sadly, when the moon slipped in front of the sun, we said, in unison, “ooohhh” and “ahhhh.” We hugged each other in the streets, slapped high-fives and said, “Did you see that?” when it got dark for a few moments during the day.

We had a chance to wave our hand in a dismissive manner and say, “Meh. What else ya got?”

It was okay to be impressed by the eclipse, but we didn’t have to act like dorks.

Public Service Announcement: Thank you for wearing the solar eclipse glasses while looking at the event. Going blind is no way to honor the person who provided science with the understanding that witnessing a solar eclipse without them is a very bad idea.

On Monday, we, as a city, had the unique opportunity to stand up and fundamentally change our future. Think of what we could have achieved if we had acted indifferently on a unified front. We blew it.

 

Continue reading “A Solar Eclipse of the Heart”

No one is taking my kidney!

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I’d donate all my kidney’s to this cat

I wouldn’t donate one of my kidneys to just anyone. Don’t send me a friend request on Facebook, then start schmoozing with me for a few minutes about how we were friends in 9th grade English class, and then slip in a, “Hey, man, I need a kidney.” I didn’t have friends in 9th grade English class. Don’t tweet me a sob story or send me a sad Instagram photo of your dog. Besides, I don’t even like dogs. I didn’t help anyone move when I owned a pickup truck, and this is no different. Continue reading “No one is taking my kidney!”

A Letter to the Future Homeowner

Dear Homeowner
This is my house!

Dear Homeowner,

If you are reading this letter, it means that I’m dead and you are now residing in the home I once occupied. Please get off of your phone and read this.

Before I died, and well before I had become a bitter old man, I decided to sit down and pen a letter to the future homeowner, which I guess is you. Continue reading “A Letter to the Future Homeowner”

Mannequins are People too

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Helping the headless

The other day, I was perusing a few aisles of a retail clothing store when I caught the eye of a hard working mannequin. Actually, he had no eye. He didn’t even have a head. He was one of those headless mannequins, standing there with his well defined biceps and smoothly severed neck. How he was able to maintain his muscular definition simply by standing there, for all of eternity, and with no brain function to indicate that he must get some physical activity, was truly a mystery to me. Despite him not having eyes, it felt as if he were staring at me, imploring me to spend money on the tight fitting t-shirt he was modeling. Or, he was crying out for help.

Around the corner of the headless John Doe, came another mannequin, this one with a head, but with an empty look in his eyes. I couldn’t help but feel sad for this particular mannequin as he truly seemed to have become resigned to his retail fate.

There were a plethora of mannequins in the store that day. Bosomed female mannequins wearing bathing suits, child mannequins wearing summery tank tops, muscular male mannequins wearing seersucker shorts. There was even a dog mannequin, which was highly strange as this particular store sold no animal products.

These overworked and underpaid mannequins are people too, I thought. It was at that time that I felt compelled to be a voice for these stoic victims of retail abuse.

“Excuse me,” I said to the store employee, Holden. “I want that t-shirt,” as I pointed to the mannequin in the distance.

“We have plenty of different sizes on the shelf over there,” said Holden.

“No, no. I want the one he is wearing.”

Holden seemed puzzled. Perhaps he thought that I had a mannequin fetish and this was just an opportunity for me to see one shirtless. This was not the case. I felt that by literally taking the shirt off this mannequin’s back, it would give him an opportunity to wear something different; to make him feel human, even if just for a moment.

“But sir,” said Holden. “The size shirt he is wearing is a medium. You clearly wear a bigger size.”

“How dare you question the customer in these matters, Holden,” I said angrily. “The customer is always right. Besides, I’m buying this shirt for my petite friend.” I was proud of my last second, instant credibility fib.  In truth, I have no petite friends.

“Oh, okay,” he responded. “We have medium sizes on the shelf as well.”

“Holden,” I said condescendingly, while staring at him.

He uncomfortably removed the shirt from mannequin John Doe and then quickly dressed him in different shirt, a buttoned-down jean shirt. Had this mannequin been able to see the events transpiring, I am certain his eyes would’ve expressed gratitude for my sacrifice. Since he was severed at the neck however, I can only speculate.

I paid Holden an exorbitant price for a shirt that was much too small for me to wear, and I left the store with an empty wallet but with a full heart, knowing I did something good for someone.  Well, sort of someone.