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.

 

Going Out With A Bang? Funny.

I generally am on a perilous precipice of employment, where I've spent the last few years waiting to see if my job will disappear or, miraculously, extend for another term.  I've been lucky, and have basically been gifted a job for the last while.
But I've told many a joke of what would happen if I were to find myself suddenly and completely jobless.
I have a very dear friend who works contract to contract and is in a much more fickle field than I am.  He spends a lot of his time in his underwear, smoking a bubbly pipe and watching Star Trek: TNG.  At least, that's what he does when he's on the dole.  When he is working, I imagine he is still sometimes in his underwear and sometimes smoking that bubbly pipe but probably not watching TNG because he's supposed to be editing something current, like "Degrassi: The Next Generation."
...is that really what it's called?
He tells a lot of jokes about unemployment as well.

In "Harold and Kumar Go to Whitecastle", there's a very funny scene where a disgruntled employee states that he would like to 'burn this mother down'.  That's the sort of joke that Trent and I make when we hypothesize about a grand exit after being fired.

We are gonna burn this motha to the GROUND!

 

That sort of thing.
My most-often made joke, which doesn't need only apply to being fired (although would most certainly RESULT in being fired), has to do with pooping.  Specifically, on someone's desk.  Who, depends on the context of the joke.  I swore on a number of occasions that I would poop on the desk of whoever was in charge of (not) paying me, then telling me I owed THEM money when I had the GALL to ask for payment for services rendered.

 

That sort of thing.
Now, I have not yet pooped on someone's desk, nor do I think I'd ever actually do that.  In my head it's very funny.  I need a newspaper to really sell it.  I'd be sitting there, doing my biznass, reading the paper, and buddy who owns the desk would come in and be like "WTF" and I'd be all "Hey, do you mind???"
He he he.
But I would probably be arrested.  At the very least, fired and completely unemployable for a number of years.  It goes against the rules, not just those I put forth in the comedic follow-through mandate but also those pretty much universally agreed upon by society.  One simply does not poop on another person's property.
My friend recently lost his job, which wasn't such a bad thing because it was sucking the life from him.  He's had some very fulfilling jobs, and some very terrible ones, and this one was in the upper ranks of suckage.
Thus, we brainstormed ways to make it a Grand and Lucrative Exit.
Of course, our thoughts turned to theft.
I heard recently on the radio that 90% or something of employees admit to stealing office supplies.  I assume this doesn't just really mean "office supplies", but I think means "stuff at work".  One woman called in and admitted that she had stolen toilet paper from work.  She was very regretful.  I wouldn't be wasting my time on crappy office toilet paper...every workplace I've ever been in can't shell out the extra ten cents for that second ply, let alone a third, so we are wiping our butts with what amounts to a handful of dust, really.  Unless she was sanding something, I don't know why she would steal it.
Other people called and said the usual junk...pens...staplers...rubber bands...
At first, we discussed similar, petty items.  But then we were doing some quick math on the ratio of Trent's soul sucked dry to the number of staples he'd have to take and it just wasn't worth the bulk.
We had to go for the big guns.
Office chair?
Perhaps.
Photocopier?
Getting better.  I heard that the one that we have at work- the one that I am certain has a mind of its own and chuckles as it chews up and spits out every job I give it- cost us over a hundred thousand dollars.  A HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!  We could hire a team of monks to transcribe our documents for less than that.  And I bet we'd have better karma.
Office chair with photocopier perched atop?
Yes, yes, we are getting warmer...
Boss' aquarium, I suggested.
Just the fish!  Trent counters.
And thus was born:

Operation Fish Be Mine

Really, the funniest part of the whole plan is Trent's explanation when he's caught stealing the fish:

Boss: What the hell are you doing?

Trent (caught fish-handed, so to speak): These are my fish.

Boss: You just took them from my tank.

Trent: You can't prove these fish aren't mine!!!

Boss: I have a receipt (reaches into desk) right here.

Trent: (snatches receipt) You mean I have a receipt!  (bolts for the door)

FISH BE MINE!!!  WAAA HA HA HA HA HA!!!  (that's maniacal, if you didn't know)

Moral of this story: If Trent manages to get "his" fish "back", I have a great plan for them.

What's in a Name? Funny.

Bob and I have talked about having kids.  We're pretty sure that we will, some day.  My grandmother thinks it should be tomorrow, or that by some miracle of conception I should already be pregnant.  I figure it'll be a few more years; we have things we want to do that aren't super kid-friendly, such as not give birth.  But, we also figure that we owe it to humanity to reproduce and try and balance out the jerks of the world with our undoubtedly awesome offspring.
It's a bit of a scary thing, thinking about playing genetic lottery and having kids.  We are both aware that our kids could go either way, really; they could have it all, or they could be total duds.  We've got good and bad in our genetic pool...

Kid A: The Lucky One

Also, a Radiohead album.  But that has nothing to do with this.

1. Above-average in height, but not freakishly tall.  Bob is pretty tall but not a giant, and I am average.  So our kid could be a bit above average and would not have to hem his/her pants or ask tall people to reach the top shelf in Superstore.

2. Reasonably good-looking.  Perhaps I am biased, but I think that my parents are decent looking people, and so are Bob's parents, and so are we.  None of us are models, but maybe we could be part-time models, even though we'd probably have to keep our regular jobs.  But our kid could be good-looking, there's a good mix of colouration and descent in there to make up a nice-looking person.

3. Pretty good at sports.  Bob's Dad was a very good baseball player.  I'm a decent soccer player.  My Dad was a bit of a track star.  Our moms...are hopeless.  As are our siblings.  But if we're lucky, our kid could be pretty good at sports.

4. Dang smart.  This is where our kid could really shine.  Bob's smart, I'm smart, our parents are smart, my brothers are smart.  Everyone's done at least one University degree, a bunch of us have two.  I understand that these days that might not be a really incredible achievement, but I'd like to think that given our track record, our kid could be highly intelligent.

5. Socially aware.  We have friends.  Our families have friends.  There is a reasonable level of social awkwardness amongst us, but not so much that we can't overcome it, and hopefully our kid wouldn't get a crazy amount of it and will actually be able to interact with other humans.

Kid B: The Less Lucky One

This scenario...might actually be more likely.  Poor kid.

1. Totally freaking blind.  Bob wears glasses.  I wear glasses.  Our siblings wear glasses.  Our parents wear glasses.  The chances of our kid being able to see past his own nose is pretty slim.

2. Short and fat.  Both our moms are short.  Both our families have tendencies to carry extra weight, although not tons.  But with the right/wrong genetic mix, our kid will look like Cartman.

3. Ugmo.  I'm thinking this would not make for a very attractive person: Bob's freckles, my darker skin, Bob's hairy arms and legs, my double-chin, the bigger nose, the smaller mouth, close-set eyes with big bags under them, bad teeth.  It could all happen.  Plus a bunch of other stuff I don't even know about, I'm sure.

4. Physically incapable of even walking and chewing gum.  To be frank, we'll probably NOT have a sports-star kid.  Probably the opposite.  I'm anticipating beaning the kid in the head with many a ball trying to teach them sports.

5. El Stupido.  We both come from families of wiseasses, both of which have some learning disabilities thrown in the mix.  I can hardly imagine the worst-case scenario for us...a smart-aleck dummy, who always thinks he's right but NEVER NEVER is.  Arrrgh.

 

...but I digress.  This episode was not intended to focus on what our kids might or might not be like.

Instead, I wanted to talk about naming those kids.

It's a terrible power that parents have over their children, deciding what their names will be.  I've met a number of people who have totally inappropriate names.  I sometimes take the liberty of assigning a new name to those people.  It's not usually on purpose.  It's usually because I forget their real names and just make up new ones that seem to fit.

My father works with children and has told stories of hilarious names he comes across.  One time he met a kid of two flowery, ridiculous hippy-leftovers who had named her "Rhythm Sha Na Na" or something like that.  Another couple had not named their child, instead allowing her to name HERSELF when she was old enough to talk.  The result?  Some poor schmuck will be called "Princess Baby" for the rest of her life, and she has no one to blame but herself...in a way.  I figure it happened because she was 2 years old, for pete's sake, and had been referred to as "Baby" up until that point.  It's a good thing she was into princesses at that point in her life and not shrimp or dogs or crocodiles.

Bob and I talked a bit about serious names for our kids.  He likes "Sophia" a lot for a girl, as she is the goddess of wisdom, but my cousins named their daughter Sophia.  I can't remember what other names we discussed.

I DO remember the funny ones.

I feel like this might not be an appropriate opportunity for comedic follow-through, but check back in five years and see if I have kids named the following:

1. For a first-born boy: Optimus Prime.  Self-explanatory.

2. Jesus.  It's funny because Spanish kids are named Jesus, and it's pronounced "Hey-Zoos".  So when teachers call out his name, they'll probably say "Hey-Zoos?" and he'll say "It's pronounced 'Jesus'.  It's biblical."  He he he.

3. One already taken, and maybe not intended to be funny: Blandon.  This was on the nametag of the kid who served me at the grocery store the other day.  I think I made him nervous because I kept staring at it, wondering what would possess people to name him that.  He was Asian...is it simply the Asian spelling of "Brandon", allowing for the Asian pronunciation?  Or is it a reflection of his personality?  Either way, amazing.

I'm sure I could think of a bunch of other hilarious names to inflict on my offspring, but that's all for now.  In all honesty, I plan on being very thoughtful and careful about what I name my kids.  I wonder if people named "Mitzi" and "Brandi" have a different go of things than people named "Bertha" or "Olga" and if their lives are unlike those named "Jeeves" and "Hubert".

We're lucky- Heather is a decent name; Bob has the power of the old man behind his name.  Hopefully we can grace our children with the same luck...if I can reign in my desire to be hilarious.

Moral of this story: The doctor says your nosebleeds will stop if you keep your fingers out of there!

I'll Take That Bet? Funny.

Competition is a natural thing.  From an early age, people "double dog dare" each other to do difficult, dangerous or hilarious things.  I'm not sure what "double dog" has to do with anything, and I'm pretty sure that dogs do not in fact dare each other to do anything, but I know that when a double dog dare is doled out, it's serious business.
As were the 100 baht bets of my Bangkok days.
It all started on a trip to hedonism island, also known as Ko Samet.  Actually, pretty much any island in Thailand can earn the title of Hedonism Island.  A few bucks and a lack of self control can turn any place in Thailand into a hedonistic paradise.
Anyway, we went down to Ko Samet and promptly drank ourselves into oblivion, as one is wont to do when drinking alcohol of unknown strength from buckets.  One of the bartenders at the bar there was relatively attractive; at least, that's what our bucket goggles would suggest.
A colleague and I struck up a bet- who could get the bartender to kiss them first?
My game plan was something like this: completely forget the bet and carry on with my night.  I was a whirling dervish of tomfoolery and had no time for concentrating on such nonsense.
Steph, on the other hand, had the eye of the tiger and won that very first bet with photo evidence of her kissing the bartender.  I passed her the inaugural 100 baht bill without knowing that we had begun a journey of wagering that would take us all over South East Asia.
A side note.  For those of you who aren't aware, 100 baht is about 3 bucks, or was when we were in Thailand.  It's not a lot of money.  No, we weren't in this for the money...we were in it for the glory.

THE RULES: Only the person currently holding the 100 baht can propose a bet.  It cannot be so completely ridiculous that no one will be able to complete it- it has to be feasible.  It should be legal.  It shouldn't be so dangerous as to prove deadly.  That sort of thing.

 

100 Baht Says You Won't...

1. Stick your hand down that hole to the elbow.  The sewage system in Thailand is different than in Canada.  Generally speaking, the drains are open rather than covered with grates, and they are probably deeper, given that when it rains, it basically pours sideways until the streets are completely flooded with knee-deep water.  All manner of creatures come out of those drains.  Frogs, cockroaches, rats...there are rumors (probably true) that the sewer system in Bangkok is infested with crocodiles let loose by irresponsible jerks who bought little ones at the market and then discovered that a 10 foot croc doesn't make for a great bath time pal.  I attempted this bet but retreated from those black depths when my finger touched...something.

2. Get into that car covered in vines.  We were on a road trip and went to some picturesque lookout.  Someone else had gone, too, but abandoned their car.  It had been completely engulfed in greenery (which almost definitely concealed about a billion different bugs).  I have a picture of Steph in the car.  100 baht well won.

3. Dance with the Ajarn.  The Ajarn is the boss of the school- the guy who started the school with his brother and two sisters.  The big cheese, the head dude.  I drank a tower of beer as tall as me and danced with him, which not only earned me a 100 baht but made me his favorite.  I can't say if it was because he thought I was a good dancer or thought it was funny.

4. Eat the soup that moves of its own accord.  On another road trip, we stopped at a small town and had lunch.  Well, only a few of us ate, because there were only two things on the menu- stir fried mixed vegetables, or some kind of spicy soup.  About half ordered vegetables, about half the soup.  Those of us with the soup discovered that it was not just spicy, but unearthly SPICY.  The soup was so hot, it was trying to escape itself, and was moving around in the bowl.  Seriously.  It swirled without us doing anything.  Everyone tried a bite, and confirmed that even the soup thought it was too spicy.  No one won this bet.  I'm pretty sure that someone working at the restaurant won a bet in the back, though.

5. Eat some other gross thing.  We had lots of eating bets.  Bugs.  Street meat.  Mystery snacks.  I actually never ate a bug- on purpose- in Thailand.  I did accidentally eat a chicken butt.  Not good.

6. Eat a candle.  This was the beginning of the end of the bets.  A new guy came towards the end of my year there who seemed awesome but then turned out to be completely insane.  He tried to get on board with the 100 baht bets, which had been a solid game for months, and took it to a level where it was just weird.  He took a candle while we were out at a restaurant and bet us that he couldn't eat it.

A side note.  What the hell is it with boys and eating candles??

First of all, he didn't have the 100 baht, so he couldn't propose the bet.  Second, it was never a "Bet I can't" thing.  It was "Do this thing and I'll give you the 100 baht".  Third, don't eat a candle!!  What the hell.

...but he did.

I can't think of the hundreds of other bets we had offhand.  Touch this gross bug.  Talk to that weird guy.  Wear this ugly thing.  Take a picture with that hilarious whatever.  But this candle-eating business was the end of it- he ate the candle, despite our protests and total lack of interest in his candle-eating prowess, and we reluctantly handed over the well-traveled, never spent and always enjoyed 100 baht bill.

...it was a sad day.

We don't have a three dollar bill in Canada (and why not??  I ask you.), but we do have a five dollar bill, and I might just get this going again.  Five bucks says you won't... it has a nice ring to it.

Moral of this story: Who has five bucks they can lend me?  I have a game I want to play.