I am not shocked at all that we haven’t been openly contacted by life from other planets yet, and remain convinced that we will not be at any point in the future. If not because of our insatiable desire to delve into the lives of human garbage named Snookie and Kim Kardashian, then it must be due to the fact that the human race has a number of incredibly weird habits.
For one, we love to do this really weird thing where we spend nearly all of our precious time sitting in office chairs and complaining about sitting in said chairs in order to get a bunch of pieces of paper to trade for stuff we don’t need. The most fucked up part is that we usually don’t even get to see the pieces of paper! I would be all for this strange addiction if I could pile it all up and roll around in it for a large portion of my day, but that privilege seems to be reserved for strippers and Huell from Breaking Bad.
If you haven’t realized by now that I’m talking about money, then stop reading this and go shove a metal fork in a light socket.
Money is just one of our countless strange addictions. Horrible reality TV shows, hamburgers that may or may not be actual hamburgers, butts and selfies are a few others that currently plague society. Oh, and drugs, of course. Out of all of these, drugs make the most sense. It is fairly easy to understand (both scientifically and simply from common sense) why people get addicted to drugs.
While actual drugs are no laughing matter, the latest “drug” that we’ve become dangerously addicted to is absolutely hilarious.
I am talking, of course, about getting juiced. No, no, not steroids. I think we’ve done a pretty good job of making fun of steroid users (small nutsacks, and/or half nutsacks. Looking at you, Lance) to the point where steroid abuse isn’t that huge of a problem anymore. No, I’m not talking about getting ourselves juiced- I’m talking about getting our smartphones juiced.
Take a look around you, right now. Is there a charger in sight? Is your phone in the middle of getting real intimate with your charger? I’m talking full insertion here.
If you’re on a train, someone is getting juiced. If you’re in a car, chances are high that someone either has a USB car charger plugged in, or is anxiously checking their battery percentage every few seconds to try to calculate how long it will be before they can get some juice.
This behavior sickens me. I’m certain that if someone was in the middle of a fantastic group chat discussing that night’s big plans, and their phone was getting juiced, they wouldn’t give that outlet up for someone who needed it to charge their AIDS medication.
Does AIDS medication need a charge every now and again? Not to my knowledge, but it’s a metaphor and this is MY blog, so shut up.
One of my good friends sunk to a new low the other night at a bar. We were there with quite a few friends, and I hadn’t seen him in a while. I needed to go to the bathroom to adjust a massive wedgie I was trying to deal with, and I saw him in the coatroom when I walked past.
“Dude, what are you doing in here?” I asked, puzzled at why he was on his knees and had his head buried in other people’s coats.
His head whipped around and his eyes darted up, scaring the bejeezus out of me. He looked like some sort of crazed crack baby. “I gotta get juiced man,” he said nervously. I continued to be freaked out, due to his crazy eyes and constantly moving hands. “I need some juice, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“Well, I thought I could find some juice in here, ya know? There are usually outlets in the coatroom, right? So, I figured I’d come in here and grab some juice so I can keep talking to this girl.”
“Have you lost your goddamn mind? If someone sees you in here, they’re going to think you’re stealing peoples’ shit.”
“Nah, nah,” he shook his head furiously. “I just need some JUICE, man. I’m not trying to steal anything. I just really need some JUICE,” he started yelling as he grabbed ahold of my collar. “I NEED SOME FUCKING JUICE, MAN, WHERE IS THE JUICE?!”
“Chill, man!” I yelled, breaking his hold on my shirt. “I saw an outlet next to the bar, just go ask the bartender.”
He started whimpering like an injured puppy, cradling his phone as he sprinted to the bar. I think he’d be better off if he had an actual drug problem.*
*Two things:
1. This may seem bad, but in no way would he be better off as an alcoholic.
2. None of that story is real. I’m just tired and pissed off at people who keep asking me for an iPhone charger to plug into my car. I have an Android, first of all, so suck on that. Second, I need the juice myself, and have no qualms about shoving you out of my moving vehicle to keep myself juiced.
Juice out.
Tomato, Tomahto 