Getting Your Good Side? Funny.

Have you ever noticed how when people look at photo albums or yearbooks, they are always looking for pictures of themselves?

We are obsessed with our own faces.

With good reason, too.  We are delightful creatures.

Hot.

The "photobomb" is not a new thing- pictures have been interrupted by uninvited guests since cavemen were scratching petroglyphs into the rock and suddenly realized Oog had managed to insert himself into the image.

 

This ground squirrel is probably not named Oog, but he photobombed the CRAP outta this shot
.

The kids at school get school pictures every year.  It's pretty much mandatory- I don't think I've ever had a student who managed to avoid the process completely.  Their pictures are put on their report cards, their ID cards, into the yearbook, up on the wall when they graduate...we plaster their little faces all over the place.

An aside.  Why do we put their pictures on their report cards?  Are we worried that they'll get home, and their parents will look at the name on the report and think "Who the hell is that???" and then be reassured when they spot the little mug shot at the top corner, "Oh YEAH, that's my kid!!!"????

When they get their proofs back, they all inevitably have the same reaction.

"Oh my GAWD no one can look I look TERRIBLE let me see yours oh you look so good."

 ...And that's just the boys!

But in reality, they're all psyched.  Here is another collection celebrating their appearance.  Even kids who aren't terribly attractive are interested in seeing themselves in the yearbook.  I made the yearbook last year, and am again this year, and I had a number of ugmos approach me and ask if I could make sure that they were more highly featured this year.

I of course told them no.

Ugmos have just as much right to yearbook space as the hotties of Junior High.  Amirite????

Anyway.  I had a point.  Actually, I had an original point, which was that pictures where people make funny faces are funny.  But that sort of goes without saying.  Basically, I was going to write about how I take pictures of myself making ridiculous faces and then post them online for people's amusement.  Most recently I recycled a series I call "Teacher Face" onto my teaching webpage to remind students of the inevitable wrath they would incur if they didn't hand in their work.  A sample:

Blaaaaaarrrrrgh!

Luckily, I was struck with inspiration today at work...that veritable cornucopia of hilarity.  I can always rely on pubescent children to fuel my comedy.

I'm not super tech-savvy but I know that people are also not very password-savvy.  One of my students was trying to log into his account at school to show us his presentation, but some of the keys on the laptop he was using are missing (note to self: slap anyone who thinks education cutbacks are ok) and he asked, while typing in his password, "Where is the H???"
So I said to the class "Make note- his password has an H."
And all the kids laughed, cuz of course it means that now, armed with that information, we can all access his top secret documents on his facebook account.

And I laughed, and said that I would go into his account and change all his photos to photos of me.

...then I thought to myself, as I ignored the subsequent comments and blather from the class...

"What if I did go on someone's account and change all their pictures to pictures of myself???"

It would be like two birds with one stone.  First: I would fulfill that urge to have more photos of myself floating around where I can admire them.  Second: some poor sap would go to admire HIMSELF and instead, be peering at MY mug.  HA HA HA!!!

Now, this is only not mean if I keep backups of all the pictures I replace.  And it's pretty obvious pretty quick if I do it, so I am not sure how sustainable this funny is.

So I have an advanced version of this prank- which is like THREE birds with one stone.  It combines that look-at-me urge, the funny of tricking some jerk, and the glory of the photobomb.

Instead of replacing all the photos, I'll simply insert myself into all his pictures!  He he he.  It will take time, and mastery of adobe photoshop, and some guy I just called a jerk to give me his password, but other than that, it's completely fool proof.

Moral of this story: Prepare yourselves, facebookers.  Pretty soon, you'll be seeing me everywhere.

It's not a funny one. Sorry.

It's not a funny one today.  Sorry about that.  If you tuned in for the regular program, you might want to sit this one out, because I didn't feel inspired to be funny but I felt more serious.

I was having one of those "what does it all mean?" moments after reading an article about a 75 year old man who was beaten to death while walking down the beach on vacation with his wife.  The alleged perpetrator murdered him for his wallet.

I have had a few of those moments lately.  Well, if I'm honest, I have those moments fairly frequently.  Things happen- little things, big things, things that aren't even real- like moments on television- and they make me think about what we're all doing here, what we all should be doing, what drives us to do things that are good...and things that aren't so good.

I don't know what it all means.

No one does.  Some people have more faith than others, and really truly believe that they know what it all means- but I'm fairly certain that no one really, really knows.  We might have guessed right.  Some people might have more of a handle on the meaning than others.  But no one really knows for sure.

But just because we don't know what the master plan is- if there even is a master plan- doesn't mean there isn't a way that we should be while we're alive.

As far as anyone knows, we get one shot at this life.  One life.  You don't know when your clock is up.  Good people, bad people, average people, all kinds of people die for ridiculous reasons all the time.  Some people get to a fitting end, grow old in the arms of someone they love.  Others are walking on the beach on vacation with someone they love and they are killed by someone they've never met, for a matter of probably fifty bucks.  Fifty bucks.

Is that what that man's life was worth?

Absolutely not.

What should we do about this?

This is what I think.  Take it for what it's worth.  It's more of an exercise for me than it is a sermon for the rest of you.  I want to live a positive life, every day.  I need to try harder.

We get one life.

So does everyone else.

Spend that one life making other people's one lives better.

Why waste any of your time- your precious time- making another person unhappy?

Even petty little things...laughing at something that makes someone else happy.  Like someone who enjoys music you don't care for.  Justin Beiber fans.  I don't get it.  But it doesn't matter even a little what the hell I think about their taste in music.  Laugh at them?  Make them feel bad about something that makes them happy?  How disgusting is that?  Make someone feel foolish about what they like, guilty about what they like?  How horrible.

I am not always a good person.  I'm not always making other people's lives better.  But I really think that my ultimate happiness lies in being the best person I can be, and seeing other people benefit as a result.  And I really think that is true for other people as well.  It sounds so corny...so simple... but what if we were all trying to take care of each other, respecting each other...what if we were all kind to each other?

Would the bad people take advantage and overrun the good?

Or would there be less bad people, because they wouldn't have any reason to be bad any more?

I don't know.  It just breaks my heart that some old man was walking down the beach with his old wife and he died.

He died because someone else beat him to death.

I want the news to be about reunions and sneezing pandas and charity dinners and hope and good and happiness.

I want to live the best life possible.  I am going to try harder.

Upgraded running? Funny.

 

I'm not into running.

When I was younger, I was on the cross-country and track teams and would sprint and run long distance.  I didn't really choose those activities- I was on the track team more by default, because most girls at my school thought exercise was for butch chicks and it would interfere with their rigorous makeup application routine.  I was on the cross-country team because my father thought it would be good for me.

It probably was good for me, in some way, but I really wasn't a big fan of running then and I really loathe it now.  I enjoy running with a purpose- like in soccer, where I have to run if I don't want to look like an asshole walking around trying to get the ball.  I would be totally on board with running if I was being chased or had to escape some kind of imminent danger.  These are situations that warrant running.

It is a good idea to run when dinosaurs are chasing you.

But just running for the sake of running?  I dunno.  I have heard of this so-called "runner's high" that people in spandex get after booking it around the block a few times.  I have yet to experience such a thing.  It might have something to do with my severe deficit in actual running.  It might also have to do with there being a type of person who IS a runner, and then everyone else, who looks at those jerks running around and wonders- if they're in such a rush, why not take a bike?  Or, better, a CAR???

Bob and I live near a Running Room, the official church of those people who get high off running.  This is their mecca.  They gather there, spend a fortune on running gear and hustle around in large, holier-than-thou groups who look down their noses at us mere mortals who walk or drive to get where we need to go.  Actually, these runners aren't even going anywhere.  They're coming right back to the start.

There are a lot of bogus runners who join that club, I think.  The one we live near has a McDonald's, a bakery, a chocolate shop, an ice cream shop and two coffee places in the same complex, and on running days all these businesses are overrun with doofuses (doofii?) in silly tight-fitting hats, reflective jackets and utility belts designed only to hold multiple tiny water bottles.  It's hard to tell if they are finished their run or having a pre-run latte, but they are all OVER the place, sometimes choking out even the hordes of old people who wander over from the plethora of care homes across the street.  Running days are a drag in the complex.

Bob and I once tried to commit to an exercise program that was based around running.  We both wanted to get in shape and we wrote out all these goals and this plan where we would be running pretty much every day.  We went out on the first day and, fueled by what I can only assume was either our pure love for each other or complete insanity, ran about 5 km and pretended to like it.  We both said prerequisite things like "Wow I'm so pumped, what a great workout" and agreed that we were on the path to greatness.

...deep down inside, we both were thinking "Eff this!  I hate running!  We look like turds!  Running around for no reason.  Nothing's chasing us!!!  And now my stupid legs hurt and my skin feels like someone slapped it!  Bah!!!"

...but the next day, we went out, ran our circuit again, and breathlessly smiled at each other at the end.  Until I broke the silence...

"Bob.  I'm really sorry.  I hate running.  I'll still do it if you want, but I really, really hate it and I wish I was dead."

To which Bob replied:

"OH THANK GOD IT WAS TERRIBLE I ALSO WISH I WAS DEAD!!!"

...thus ended our ridiculous foray into the world of running.  Now, we both get exercise and spend some time together on our coed soccer team, where lots of people are relying on us to run around and not be stupid jerks who just stand there.  Social pressure, plus the addition of an actual goal, makes running less of a horrible waste of our time and more of a slightly aggravating aspect of something we enjoy.

We got to talking the other day, though, about running clubs.  Bob had made a joke at work about how all those people from the Running Room look like a team, that they're supposed to be running because they're all decked out in hundreds of dollars worth of running crap, but if you saw a group of people in plainclothes running around you would think you'd have to call the cops.  Why would a bunch of people in regular clothes be running?  Almost definitely because they are escaping from the scene of a crime.

One thing led to another, and I now propose to you:

Heather's Hobo Running Squad

Now don't worry.  Membership is not exclusive to hobos.  Hobos are certainly welcome, along with anyone else who wishes to join, except maybe those sorts of people who join the Running Room.

For a nominal fee, we will provide you with all the running gear you need and will schedule places and times for us to get together and run.  Each person's membership kit will include:

1. A uniform consisting of clothing that looks like this:

2. Free weights to be carried in your hands while running, to maximize your burn (or whatever), that look like this:

3. A map of starting places and rest stops around town, mostly situated downtown near banks.

4. A laminated lifetime membership card.

5. A pack lunch, to be carried in a bandana (translation in Kimspeak: hobo napkin) on the end of a long stick.

6. A phrasebook to use in situations that almost certainly will arise.  Here are some sample excerpts from the book:   

"I'm running with my Hobo Running Squad.  Here is my laminated lifetime membership card."

"Yes, we are all together."

"Yes, this is our standard running uniform.  It lets people know we are organized."

"These are my free weights.  They help me maximize my burn."

"We carry our lunches like this so they don't get in the way of our form."

"I get high on running, not on drugs."

"Officer, you are welcome to search my free weights, but I must insist you return them as I need them to maximize my burn."

I'm pretty sure you want to join.  I'm pretty sure this is something that we should actually do. It's fitness...AND fun!!!

Moral of this story: I'm getting a junior chicken, and I don't care if I have to push all you runners out of the way to get it.

Watching other people work? Funny.

Have you noticed how there are so many "reality" television shows these days?  Less scripted stuff and more stuff where some poor sap follows a bunch of morons around with a camera.

Bob and I watch some of these shows.  I like Top Chef (particularly Top Chef Masters), Project Runway, House Hunters International and, my new favorite, Duck Dynasty. 

 

 Duck Dynasty: a show about dudes with beards basically doing whatever they want, whenever they want.  It makes me jealous.  Also- they are the funniest men alive.

Bob likes the ones where buff dudes build things with wood.  Seems kinda gay, but he assures me that it is totally manly.

Screw that wood, my good man.  No homo.

Shows come and go, but we've realized that there is a trend emerging in today's lineup.

We call it:

Jerks With Jobs

"Today on The Cleaners: Helga and Trina dust lamps, shelves and cupboards.  Hilarity ensues!"

"Later on Nannies with Babies: Eduardo brings little Samosa on a trip to the bank.  Hilarity ensues!"

"This evening...on mystery television...join us for a very special engagement...as we join in progress...traffic court.  Who struck the garbage cans on Dreary Lane?  Find out later...on mystery television...when hilarity ensues!"

It seems like every jackass who has found some kind of employment- and it doesn't even have to be gainful- gets a television program.  I've got a job.  I figure I'll be the next star.  It's going to be HUGE!  So much hilarity!  So much...ensuing!

Mrs. Hartling's Class O' Hilarity

Starring: A bunch of teenage dirtbags, a few other teachers, and Mrs. Hartling herself!

Basically, some poor sap with a camera would have to follow me around at work.  In fact, they should follow me all the time.  After all, it isn't just jerks with jobs that get shows- there are a lot of other categories of "reality" television that seem to be getting more and more saturated... morons with mental problems, stupidheads with social issues, poopypants with products, oafs with offspring.

Imagine it!

You could watch me all day.  There would be a supporting cast of characters like my husband (Bob!  His name screams talent!), my friends (there's Trent the Racist!  Kim the Local Expert in Alcohol!  Mark the Hugger!), my family (God there are a lot of Chinese people in this show!  And one grumpy white guy!) and my dog (is that a dog???  OR FIREFOX?!?!?).

 

I'd go to work, roll my eyes at some kids making and eating phallic snacks, hope that no one got dumber, head home and scratch my butt a bit.  I'd pet my dog and watch some television.  I can't think of anything more compelling than watching someone watch television.  That's Emmy material, baby.  Or whatever award they give to television programs.  I'd win all up in there on those.

Moral of this story: I'm pretty sure the only thing holding me back from starring in my own program is my lack of beard, so I'm working on it.

Trying Before Buying? Funny.

I hear stories about women who will buy fancy clothes, and then wear them out to events with the tags still on so they can return them later.
Sort of like renting, but for free.
Many people think this is like stealing, that it is despicable behaviour done only by the lowest of the low.  Or the financially challenged.
Personally, I don't have a big problem with this.  What difference does it make if you test-run the clothes for ten seconds in a change room or ten hours at a soiree?  I don't buy clothes with weird smells, stains or damage anyway, so if some stinky broad slipped it on and off or rocked it all night it won't matter, I'm not buying it.
Maybe stores that are against this "sampling" of their wares should start a "sniff and search" policy for returns.  Employees will have to smell the crotches and armpits of all garments and inspect the insides for tell-tale deodorant and sweat stains.  I'm fairly certain that won't cause a decrease in business- waiting in line while the clerk smells the clothes- and it will likely reduce the number of people who are willing to go through that to return used articles.

I think that there are some more acceptable venues for trying before you buy- or more specifically, trying before you pretend to buy.
There are some things that I have no intention of buying but I occasionally need.
For example, a truck.
I don't want a truck.
Bob wants a truck.  Apparently, some massive Toyota truck of some kind is his "dream" vehicle.
An aside.  I think it's funny when people refer to their "dream" anything.  When I dream, I dream of effed up crap that makes no sense.  My dream car is probably made of marshmallows and runs on owl pellets.  It is florescent orange and can hold an entire floor of an apartment building while flying to Africa.


It might look something like this.

But sometimes, I really NEED a truck.  I have to move a fridge.  I have to take stuff to the dump.  I want to run over my obnoxious neighbour.  I have a NEED for the truck that I don't own.
There is an assumption that one will test-drive a vehicle before they purchase.
I figure- the next time I have to go on a dump run or commit vehicular homicide, I will go on a test drive.  I can even bring Bob along to really "live his dream".

This is more practical than it is funny.  It's sort of a funny premise, pretending you're interested in the car, going through all the blather that happens when you talk to a salesperson, and then using the car to run errands.

There are funnier opportunities.

Haircuts.  "On second thought, this isn't what I want.  Goodbye" (said while gathering all the hair off the floor)

Apples.  (munch munch) "Nope, no good."

Pet fish.  "All these do are swim.  I expected much more."

 This makes me think of another thing that some people do.  "Freecyclers", I believe they care called.  They don't believe in purchasing anything.  They aren't without their consumer needs, though, so they just don't really want to pay for the stuff they need.  Instead, they get stuff for free somehow- scavenging, donations, thievery- and then they trade with people to get the stuff they need.
I hear some of these people will even do this with food.  There is a lot of perfectly good food thrown away by grocery stores and restaurants each day, just waiting in dumpsters for someone to come along and eat it.  I guess it's probably not perfectly good.  I guess it's probably covered in garbage juice.  But what's a little juice???  Flavoring!  Free flavoring, at that.
I bet freecyclers do a lot of try before you buy scheming.  Anytime they need a car, or a dress, or a shower.

I've got it all figured out though, if I ever hit rock bottom and need to meet my basic needs without any money to do so.  I don't know if it's a good idea to give out all my secrets, because all you other poverty-stricken jerks will be crowding me in all my sweet hangouts, but here it is anyway.
I'm going to live in the University.  I can gain more education and will have access to showers, toilets and benches to sleep on.  I won't need a disguise or a cover story- no one will wonder about some raggedy-ass girl wandering around the halls at all hours.  There are at least two buildings that are open 24 hours.  I would probably volunteer for safewalk to further legitimize my presence.
I'm going to eat out of grocery store dumpsters.  I think I'll avoid restaurant ones, even though the food thrown out might be tempting.  The advantage of grocery stores is that they might be throwing out packages and whole foods, instead of prepared stuff mixed with food waste and crap from the washroom garbages.  That might literally be crap- think of baby change rooms, yech.  I need to maintain a certain standard of cleanliness if I'm going to survive on zero income.
I'm going to visit the Wal-Mart dumpsters for other items.  Normally, I wouldn't go near Wal-Mart, unless I had no other alternative or I was certifiably insane, but I know from working there (I am sorry, I am sorry, I will make up for it for the rest of my life with good deeds) that they throw away just about anything they can't deal with.  Lost its tags?  Garbage.  Slightly damaged?  Garbage.  Can't remember where it goes on the shelf?  Garbage.  I could get a lot of household goods and clothing from there.  I remember they once threw away a BIKE.  I think because it was missing a bolt.
So yeah, I've got it all figured out.  Hopefully if you all come and live at the University with me they don't start to wonder about the high number of sloppy jerks wandering about.

Moral of this story: It's a good idea to smell the crotch of those pants before you buy them.  You never know.

Hijacking History? Funny.

Bob and I went to a few different historical sites during our summer vacation this year.  One was Louisbourg, a re-built fort on the far East coast near Sydney.  It’s pretty expansive and full of people in period costume, pretending to be actual residents of the fort.  Another was St. Georges, the oldest town in Bermuda, which is of a similar vintage and feel to Louisbourg, strangely enough.

In both of these locations, one can partake in free daily historical reenactments.  Louisbourg has more on offer- weapons displays, blacksmithing, baking and public punishment.  We saw the firing of the historical weapons.  It was interesting enough, and didn’t have a lot of talking, mostly just some music played by the marching band, and then some firing of some guns, and then some more music while they marched out.

In Bermuda, we saw their only historical reenactment- public “ducking”.  I think it’s sort of funny that there would be enough interest in historical methods of punishment that in both Louisbourg and Bermuda they would have punishment demos, but I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised given what passes for entertainment these days.

Anyway, so we gathered around “ye olde square” to hear ye, hear ye the town crier and his charges against ye olde wench.

As it happened, she was accused of being a “nag” and a “gossip”.

How dare she.

Town crier, old fat man that he is, spent a long, long time blustering about how this woman as guilty, guilty, guilty, and she better damn well repent lest she be “ducked”.

Ducking, it turns out, means getting stuck on a chair on the end of a long platform and then dunked under water.

The good part of the whole thing is the part where the person gets ducked.

No one comes to hear the old dude talk.

It was pretty boring.

At one point, Bob muttered under his breath: “Bo-rrrrrring.  DUCK THE WITCH!”

Eventually, they did.

Then they did it again.

And again.

And again.

…to a point where it, too, became boring.

 

We were laughing about that whole scenario again tonight and we got to thinking how funny it actually would have been had Bob YELLED

“BO-RRRRRRING.  DUCK THE WITCH!”

instead of whispering it.

Then we were thinking about how it would be even MORE funny if we got organized and heckled from all angles.

And how it would be EVEN MORE FUNNY to organize a TROUPE of “thespians” (as Bob would like them to be known) and hijack volunteer, free historical reenactments.

It would be easy.

Find out the schedule of these events.  Get a group of moderately talented, yet totally unscrupulous, actors together.

Locate and dress in period costumes.

Arrive discreetly, so as to not draw too much attention.

At a key moment, interrupt and insert selves into the scenario.

“Hear ye hear ye!  This woman stands accused of being a nag and a gossip”

“Hear YE hear YE!  This man stands accused of being boring!”

“…Who are you?”

“Why, I’m the town crier.”

“…um, I am the town crier.  Shift change isn’t until 5.  I don’t even know you…”

“You hear that, good people???  That sounds like witch talk!  Duck this unsavory fellow!!!”

I know what you are thinking.  Recruiting a band of actors willing and able to play such difficult roles would be hard.

But I have a solution:

Simply tell them that they are going to be a part of a performance art piece and it will contribute greatly to their portfolio.

I know what you are thinking.  Where can I find period costumes on such short notice?  To that, I simply respond: Those volunteer jerks got them somewhere, don’t be such a baby.

I know what you are thinking.  “I don’t want to get punched in the face by some Bermudian town crier.”

I think the risk is far greater in Canada, but worry not.  Many period costumes come complete with weapons.  Simply brandish when danger arises.  When in doubt, draw your sword…words to live by.

Of course, I know that there are probably those who are still wary of this plan.  I have an alternate proposal for those ninnies too scaredy to follow through with this one.

ALTERNATE PLAN FOR BABIES

 

You’ll still need costumes.

You’ll still need actors.

You can just skip the part where you hijack someone else’s historical reenactment and make up your own.

I know what you are thinking.

That’s not nearly as funny.

Actually, it might be even more funny, if you are willing to perform your reenactment in a fairly public place.

The funny lies in what story you decide to tell…and how many historical “facts” you decide to include.

“Hear ye hear ye!  We are here to share with you the story of Amos of Lethbridge!”

“Little known Amos B. Reilly brought the bagel to the prairies on the back of a donkey!”

“Before they were married, his wife was a diamond miner!  She discovered that there was more money in producing ‘schmear’!  It was a match made in heaven!”

“On this VERY spot was where Amos and Shirley first met!”

“Interestingly enough, this is also the spot where Amos died, clutching his dear bagel to his chest!”

“His recipe lives on though, here are free samples!”

Later that day…

“Today I tried a famous Amos bagel.  Very delicious.  Shirley schmear is also very tasty.”

“I love history.”

I wonder how many people you could get to stand around and listen to your crap if you wore a costume and put up a sign that said “historical reenactment”.  Probably a lot, if you also wrote on the sign “free”.

Moral of this story:  I'd be way more into history if it involved free bagels.

I'm Watching it for the Articles? Funny.

Attention readers.  If you are easily offended- which you probably aren’t if you made it this far- be forewarned.  I’ma gonna make a lot of off-colour jokes about adult films in this particular entry.  If you read anyway, don’t jump to the conclusion that I am a pervert or whatever.  I’m just trying to be funny.

I was listening to the radio one morning on the way to work- I listen to Don, Joanne and Natasha on XL 103.  I used to listen to X 92.9 until I got so weary of their constant angry tirades against, well, usually nothing, that I decided to try and get into a more positive frame of mind in the mornings.  Don is, in my opinion, hilarious.  He is so much like every great part of people’s Dads.  He tells Dadly jokes and looks like a Dad.  Since my own Dad doesn’t have a morning radio show, Don will have to do.

Anyway, so Don was reading the news, and there was some bit about how there will be a new multi-plex theatre in the south somewhere.  It will include an “adult-only” theatre.

My immediate reaction was “What what whaaaat????  I thought that only happened in the US!”

Natasha, the producer (or whoever that third person is, who talks a bit but doesn’t get top billing), thought the same thing.

Turns out that in this case, “adult-only” theatre simply means that it is a theatre targeted at adults (nothing worse than a damn buncha kids in the theatre, amirite???), where they will serve alcohol and maybe lottery tickets, or something else age-controlled.

Whatever it is, it made me think of adult movie theatres.  Not the ones where kids aren’t allowed simply because they are annoying- the ones where kids aren’t allowed because THEY ARE SHOWING PORN.

Every once in a while you hear about some b-list celebrity getting busted for lewd conduct in an adult movie theatre.  Recently, it was this guy:

 

…who you may recall from such heartwarming roles as the Buy ‘n’ Large CEO in Wall-E or the grandfather in Modern Family.

He denies the accusations, but here’s my take on it.

First of all.  WHY are there public theatres that show pornographic movies?  WHY is this not something exclusively enjoyed in the privacy of one’s domicile??  Are people so completely technologically inept that they cannot locate porn at home?

You couldn’t POSSIBLY argue that the people frequenting the adult movie theatre are doing so to try and maintain dignity or anonymity.

“I didn’t go and get a porn movie to watch at home because SOMEONE MIGHT SEE ME!!  So I went to a three-hundred seat venue and sat by myself watching it with a bunch of other dudes.”

Perhaps the demand for the theatre-showing lies in the desire for the theatre experience.

“I LOVE popcorn.  And no one makes it like the theatre.  That, plus porn, equals perfect outing!”

“I just don’t have the picture quality or sound definition at home that I want.  You can practically COUNT HAIRS at the theatre!!”

Although I DOUBT that at the adult movie theatre you are getting prime popcorn or high-def anything.  And the floors will be sticky like any other theatre, but I would hazard a guess that they are for different reasons.

So I don’t get it.  Why do these places exist at all??  But I digress.  They do, and I shall move on to my next point.

Second.  If these places are sanctioned and legal and all that, and bring in business, and are popular enough to run, what’s with all the prudes thinking even for a SECOND that people are going to…

Go in there…

“What shall we do tonight my dear?”

“Why a visit to the cinema shall be grand.”

“Indubitably.”

Check out the playbill…

 “And what is showing this evening?”

“Big Booty Babes, Throbbin’ Hood, Spankenstein and March of the Penguins.”

“Oh I heard that one is narrated by Morgan Freeman!”

“Yes, although he doesn’t like to talk about his work with Kevin Costner.”

 

Choose a film, and pay for their tickets…

 

“Two for ‘Throbbin’ Hood’”.

“That’ll be $24.50.”

Get the usual snacks…

“I swear, my dear, $24.50 for the movie ALONE and now they want $14 for a popcorn and drink??  I’ve a mind to bring my own!”

“Don’t make a scene, dear.  And it’ll be $19, I want Sour Patch Kids.”

“My word!”

 

Find their seats…

“Do you want to sit near the front, or the back?”

“How about somewhere in the middle?  I like to see the whole screen but, not too far away.”

Sit down and watch it like two normal human beings enjoying a piece of cinema…

“Oh lovely.  What a performance.  I am truly enjoying this.”

“Why yes!  Spectacular costuming!”

Like THAT is what happens???

Is anyone so completely naïve to think that is what happens??

Now, I cannot say for certain what happens in adult movie theatres, other than from what I gather, they screen adult films.  I’ve never been and don’t have any first hand accounts.

(there’s a joke in there about first hands…but I won’t go there.)

BUT.

I think I can make a pretty accurate inference that people are NOT behaving in a similar manner to when they go see “Babe: Pig in the City.”

This is NOT an adult movie.

AND WHY WOULD THEY?

They’re WATCHING PORN!  It doesn’t matter what that teenage boy says!  He’s not reading Playboy for the articles!!!

THEY’RE NOT WATCHING IT FOR THE DIALOGUE!
My point is this- who CARES if they are engaged in “lewd conduct”?

WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EXPECT???

Seems like entrapment to me when people get busted for it in an adult movie theatre.  YES, that would be horrifying in a screening of “Finding Nemo: 3D”.  YES, it would be totally inappropriate and awful during “Eat, Pray, Love.”

But during a porn movie??

Which leads me to what I think is funny.

I don’t really have any desire at all to go to an adult theatre.  I don’t even really know where I would find one. 

But it’s funny in my head to think about going to an adult theatre in a nice outfit, after a nice dinner, with Bob or a group of friends, and go about our business like it was just a regular movie.

Read the playbill.

Get the tickets.

Buy the popcorn.

Make bland conversation about the location of the seats, the sticky floors.

Turn off our cell phones and watch the movie.  Laugh occasionally at funny parts, weep during touching moments, applaud if it moves us so.

Leave the theatre and make comments about the acting, the story, etc.  Ponder if it will win awards or be slammed by critics.

…and you know why that’s funny?

Because NO ONE ELSE is doing it.

Not at those theatres.

The moral of this story?  If you have a big purse, or satchel, you SHOULD bring your own Sour Patch Kids.  Five bucks is highway robbery.