High School Newspaper Op-Ed: DOUBLE STANDARD

by Cayla Langley

Have you ever noticed how girls who hook up with a lot of different guys are called sluts? And yet guys who hook up with a lot of girls are called players! I'm sorry but that doesn't pass the smell test in my book - what we have on our hands at Coolidge High is a big ol' DOUBLE STANDARD...

First Date with Girl Who Has Amnesia

[Setting: Hunan Szechuan Empire Gourmet Palace]

[Amnesiac Girl and I are looking at menus]

Me: You probably don't remember this, but Chinese food is like the cutting edge of the food culture right now. And this place is the epicenter of it all!

Amnesiac Girl: Wow - good thing I have you to take me to the hot places

[Waitress approaches our table]

Me: Hi, we're splitting everything. We'd like to have the e-egg drooop soup to start. Am I saying that right?

Waitress: Ees egg drop soup

Me: And this one is Ch-chicken with brickoli?

Waitress: Ees Broccoli. Thas it?

[I nod]

[Waitress walks away]

Me: Seriously it is like impossible to keep track of all these new cuisines

Amnesiac Girl: But somehow you do it!

[I wave the "stop, stop - too much" motion]

French Stewart Teaching A Sketch Comedy Writing Class

[10 students are seated around a table. French Stewart is at the head. He has a script in front of him]

French Stewart: OK, what do we have here? A leprechaun who gets picked on for being tall. Hmm I like it, but it's missing a certain je ne sais quoi. Oh wait, I know... it's missing SQUINTING!!! How many times do I have to tell you this - just write it down because it's an equation you won't want to forget: Squinting equals Comedy!

Student: Yeah but-but there are other things that're funny besides squinting

French Stewart: What's your name, son?

Student: Lance

French Stewart: Well class, I'm not gonna tell you what to think. But I just ask you this - was Lance a staple of Must See TV? Does Lance have a place in Malibu? Does Lance have a lifetime supply of DiGiorno pizzas?

[Silence]

French Stewart (picking up another script): Now let's see - Kamikaze pilots arguing whether to order the Sushi Deluxe or Sashimi Deluxe for their last meal

[Whole class laughs]

French Stewart: Pretty funny right. Because the Japanese guys look like they're squinting with those eyes. (beat) COME ON! Did I take a wrong turn on my way to the Comedy Club and walk into the Museum of Tolerance? I mean Jesus!

Scene from the Time Out Pub

[11:30 PM and 10:45 PM, dressed in sexy cocktail dresses, are sitting at the bar with 6:00 PM, dressed in a business suit, tie undone]

6:00 PM (looking at his watch): It's 6:00 in Dublin right now! Bartender - Irish Car Bombs for me and the ladies!

[The three of them do Irish Car Bomb shots]

[In walks Noon, wearing a Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt. The ladies turn toward him]

11:30 PM: Oh. My. God. It's Noooooon!

10:45 PM: He is so fucking famous - and hot!

6:00 PM: Ooooh it's Noon, he's got a real name, not a number - ooooh! Look ladies this isn't Spain - there are no siestas in America. In these parts you're usually at your desk with your tummy growling for a Chipotle Taco Salad at Noon. But at 6:00, you're out of work, slippin' into something a little more comfortable for the evening...

[Noon sidles up to the bar. The bartender eagerly awaits his order]

Noon: A strawberry daiquiri for me, and two more for these lovely ladies

[11:30 PM and 10:45 PM move away from 6:00 PM and sit next to Noon, who hands them their drinks]

Noon: You know in Puerto Rico, Noon is officially siesta time. You are legally not allowed to be working at Noon. True story

[11:30 PM and 10:45 PM coo]

[Into the bar saunters Midnight. He is decked out in his finest clubbing attire - Ed Hardy shirt, black jeans, Gucci sunglasses indoors. The whole bar turns to watch him]

11:30 PM (whispering): Holy. Fucking. Shitballs. It's Midnight

10:45 PM (whispering): He is the biggest celebrity in the Time world. And he's fucking sexy as as all hell

[Midnight sidles up to the bar]

Midnight: Goose. On the rocks.

[Bartender pours a glass of Grey Goose and hands it to Midnight]

[Midnight wags his finger "No"]

Midnight: One for everyone in this joint

[Midnight whips out his American Express Black Card. 11:30 PM, 10:45 PM, and all the other ladies in the bar congregate around Midnight. With the rush of people, Noon is forced to shift over to where 6:00 PM is sitting]

Noon: Don't these girls realize they're usually--

6:00 PM: -- asleep at that time. Tell me about it.

Noon and 6:00 PM (in unison): Fuckin' Midnight

[Noon and 6:00 PM take sips from their respective drinks]

[8:07 AM, dressed in a short-sleeve button down, tie, and unironic George H.W. Bush glasses, approaches Noon and 6:00 PM]

8:07 AM: Hey guys, so let me caveat this by saying the lockout has this whole season very much up in the air, but I was wondering if you guys wanted to sign up for my Fantasy Basketball League? We're goin' with ESPN this year - Yahoo!'s mobile integration was just not up to snuff

[Noon and 6:00PM shoot death stares at 8:07 AM]

Indian Family Dinner

[Indian Mom, Indian Dad, and their son Anil, are at the dinner table]

Indian Dad: Your mother and I are very upset with you, Anil

Indian Mom: Very upset!

Indian Dad: We have always dreamed that you would marry an Indian girl. You'd continue the bloodline, carry on the tradition passed down through generations of Indian culture. But now we learn from your cousin Chetan you're dating this Rebecca girl?

Anil: This is America, Father. I can date whoever I want to date. And I want to date Rebecca - so what if she's white? We love each other

Indian Mom: It's too much! It's too much! I need a breath of fresh air. Talk some sense into the boy

[Indian Mom steps outside]

Indian Dad: OK give it to me straight, son. What's it like to fuck a white girl? Is it everything I imagined?

Anil: What?! I thought you were angry at me

Indian Dad: No no, I just have to say these things for your mother. Now we don't have much time - tell me is the sex with the white girl great?

Anil: Uhh... I... I guess it's pretty good

Indian Dad: And does she have light pubes?

Anil: Wait - what?

Indian Dad: Light pubes - not black

Anil: Uh... I mean they're kind of a dark brown - chestnut maybe?

Indian Dad: Ohhhh the non-black pubes! What about the smell of sex with a white girl? Describe the smells for me, son

Anil: Dad, this is just - I can't tell you how weird this is! No more talk about my sex life. If you're so curious about white girls why didn't you just date one when you were my age?

Indian Dad: Are you kidding me? You think I could've just gone and dated a white girl?

Anil: Oh right - the whole arranged marriage thing

Indian Dad: No one in my generation had an arranged marriage - the problem was white girls wouldn't give Indian guys the time of day back then. Not for lack of trying on our part. But nowadays I walk down the street I see Indian guys with white girls left and right. You don't even have to be that desirable an Indian guy to get a white girl these days - no offense

Anil: I just don't see it like that, Dad. I love Rebecca, and she happens to be white. But I'd love her just the same if she were Indian or Asian or Hispanic

Indian Dad (tearing up): Oh son... that was the dream we Indian men have always had since we came to this country. Have you ever seen those immigrant pyramid murals?

Anil: Oh yeah, where at the bottom is the first generation immigrants who are farmers, then the next generation stands on their shoulders and are factory workers, and the next generation up is shopkeepers, and so on until at the top are minority doctors and lawyers and businesspeople standing on the shoulders of generations of immigrant-Americans

Indian Dad (ecstatic): Precisely! But my generation was doctors and lawyers. We need to add another generation to the top of that mural - your generation, standing on our shoulders, nonchalantly has its dicks in white women's pussies!

[Indian Mom re-enters the room]

Indian Dad: And so Anil, that is why we forbid you from ever seeing Rebecca again

[Indian Mom smiles]

[Indian Dad winks at Anil]

Barbecue in the Year 3000!

[A group of 30-somethings are already at the BBQ, including couple Xavier and Jarina. A new couple, Zilas and Ordana, arrive. The couples pair off by gender]

Zilas: Dude, you are not gonna to believe the traffic while I was flying over here. I took Space Highway 8713 - bad. idea.

Xavier (disinterested): Oh hey Zilas. Yeah, I guess it is the weekend

[Another guy butts into the conversation]

Quixen: Did I hear someone say he took the 8713? Guys, do you not know about Suborbital Service Road 5621? No one's ever on it - zips along at nearly supersonic speeds

Zilas: Yeah until you hit those Space Traffic Lights.

Quixen: Come on bro, I'd take a few stops in exchange for no congestion any day. Xavier, whadda you think?

Xavier's Internal Monologue: Who gives a fuck? Wow you can get to this boring barbecue 10 minutes earlier if you take one route instead of the other! Whoop dee frickin' doo!

Xavier: I'll be honest - I took 8713 myself - it's a highway, no stops

Quixen: Yeah except when you're in Space Bumper to Space Bumper traffic! Space Jesus Christ!

[Jarina and Ordana sip Space Wine]

Jarina's Interior Monologue: I cannot believe Ordana's Space Boots are genuine Martian Leather from Tazlee Kallen Boutique. Maybe if Xavier actually buckled down and got a real job like Zilas instead of "pursuing his artistic vision" I could afford those. His "artistic vision" has got me in boots from five seasons ago. From Space Macy's. Fucking Xavier. Fucking Ordana with her fancy boots. Bitch.

Jarina: Oh my god, Ordana, your boots look amaaaaazing!

Ordana: Oh my god, thanks! Zilas got them for me at Tazlee Kallen!

[The two groups - men and women - rejoin]

Xavier: How're you enjoying the barbecue, honey?

Jarina: I'm having a great time, sweetheart!

Xavier: Me too!

Old Guy Married to Bossy, Fat Old Woman Named Irene

Old Guy Married to Bossy, Fat Old Woman Named Irene: Hurricane Irene - I guess the East Coast'll get a dose of what I deal with every day

Irene (in the other room): WHAT'D YOU SAY?!

Old Husband: NOTHING, DEAR!!

Unsolved Mysteries: Rockaway Beach Edition

So Rich, Todd and I were walking toward Rockaway Beach on Saturday. I spotted a condo building facing the water that was holding an open house, and managed to convince them to come with me - "see a beautiful apartment we can aspire to, it'll be chill" was how I sold it. But as you'll see, our experience was anything but chill...

We entered the building. A chipper young white guy gave me a folder and a form and asked me to fill in my information. A minute later, I handed the filled-in form back to him, assuming he'd now lead us upstairs. But instead I heard a voice cry out from the elevator bank. "I'll be taking you on the tour," it proclaimed.

I turned around and found myself staring at the rather voluminous silhouette of a Real Estate Broker. "Right this way, gentlemen," the Broker beckoned. The Broker, still shrouded in darkness, stuck out a brown hand and shook mine with the firmness you imagine Rick Perry shakes voters' hands with. "Strong handshake - I like that in a man," I thought. In the elevator, I admired the Broker's red polo shirt - a nice hue, one I had been looking for myself. When I looked closer at the polo, I noticed that the Broker had small breasts. "Man-Boobs. Poor guy," I said to myself.

Then the elevator opened and the Broker led us out. And right in front of me was what some in the African-American community refer to as a badonkadonk. "That ass - that's a woman's ass! Wait a second - were those Man-Boobs actually Regular Boobs?!" I asked a banal question about square footage just to hear more of the Broker's speech. "The D-Line units like this one are 1,147 square feet," the Broker replied. Damn it! The pitch of the voice was either low for a woman or high for a man!

As the Broker rattled off answers to questions I didn't care to know the answer to in the first place, I searched for any clues I could find. "The washer-dryer is in the unit" - let's see, the haircut is short and gelled - is that Dyke-y or Dorky?! "Roof access is ava

ilable until midnight" - what about those glasses - damn it, Unisex frames! "We allow subletters but right now we're 100% owner-occupied," - come on, shoes have got to give something away - nope, asexual cross-trainers.

It was hot and Rich and Todd were getting antsy when we got back in the elevator and the Broker asked me if I wanted to see another unit. "No," I replied, "but why don't I take a business card so I can call you to follow up." "My business card's stapled to the folder you got on the way in." "Great, thanks so much!" I exclaimed as we got to the lobby. I ran out into the fresh air, ripped the card off the folder and took a long, hard look. This is what I saw:

That's right - I was in a full-on It's Pat! situation. The last name, which in many cultures gives away gender, was no help either. In fact, I'm not sure what nationality the Broker was - I was convinced Indian at first but now who knows - Mexican? Pakistani?

This person is a total enigma, and it's eating me alive. All I do now is type "Alex Torryn" in Google and stare over and over at the results for some crumb of a hint. Here is some of Alex's internet presence:

Real Estate Agent Listing [the picture: ]

Condo.com profile [ the picture: ]

Rockaway Real Estate Agents listing - 75% of agents have pics []

Youtube listing [no face, no voice]

SOMEONE HELP ME!!!

ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN MAN WOMAN MAN WOMAN ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN GENDER CONFUSION ALEX TORRYN HERMAPHRODITE? ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN ALEXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX....

AT&T and Me

Me: Your service is really spotty, I'm gonna leave you

AT&T: No you won't

Me: That's not true, I will. When my contract is up, it's Sayonara AT&T, Hello Verizon

AT&T: Yeah right, you limp-dick faggot. You don't have the guts

Me: I... yes I do

AT&T: No you don't. Now wait till the iPhone 5 comes out and we'll re-up your contract and sell you a 16GB unit for $399

Me: Well... maybe I'll get the 32GB version

AT&T: No you won't, you broke bitch

Me (whimpering): Yes, Daddy

Real-Life Insta-Reaction to S&P U.S. Credit Downgrade

[Persian BankerBro has smoked a ton of weed, maybe had brownies - is high as fuck. Chatting up two college girls]

Persian BankerBro: Ladies, I am seeing the trooooth! This is so dope - it's like I can just see shit, like the Matrix. Feeling sooo chill right now

College Girl: So what did you major in in college?

Persian BankerBro: What? That shit doesn't MATTER - just embrace all the beauty around you.

[Persian BankerBro checks his iPhone. Sees that S&P has downgraded U.S. Debt]

Persian BankerBro: DOOOOD! THIS IS SO FUCKED! My MorganStanley job offer is on the line here! My internship's over in 2 weeks!

College Girl: I'm not a big econ person. I'm more into fashion, I actually am working at Redbook for the--

Persian BankerBro: This shit hasn't happened in 70 years! This is real bad dude! So bad!

Me: Calm down man, I'm sure it's not--

Persian BankerBro: No Doood you don't understand. I was gonna get a Lexus with my signing bonus! Ohh this is the worst trip ever!

College Girl: You seem like a smart guy, you'll be fi--

Persian BankerBro: Just, everyone leave - leave me alone.

[Persian BankerBro sulks/vortexes on his iPhone for the next 30 minutes, I leave]

Real-Life Taxicab Confessions

[Taxi picks me up on Upper East Side]

Muslim Taxi Driver: Where you going my friend?

Me: North 4th and Kent Ave in Williamsburg

Muslim Taxi Driver: Oooohh I don't know, my friend.

Me: Don't want to go to Brooklyn? That's OK I'll just get another cab.

[I reach to open the door]

Muslim Taxi Driver: Wait - it's not that! I want to go to Brooklyn. I want money. I love money. But I also love to pray! And I was on my way to the mosque on 96th Street right now.

Me: It's OK - really, go pray.

[I reach to open the door again]

Muslim Taxi Driver: No wait! What is it going to be? I love money soooo much! But I love to pray soooo much.

[Silence for 10 seconds]

Me: So, uh...

Muslim Taxi Driver: Money - so important. Need money to live a good life. BUT, BUT prayer so important as well. Need prayer to live a good life.

[Silence for another 10 seconds]

Me: Look, just tell--

Muslim Taxi Driver: Is there a mosque in Willamsburg?

Me: I don't, uh, probably

Muslim: Ehh, no, no - I know this mosque. It's a good mosque. I'm sorry my friend, I must pray.

[I exit cab, and get into a different cab, who proceeds to drive in the Kent Avenue bike lane, sending frightened bikers screaming in every direction]

Real-Life Encounter in Boston T Elevator

[I run into the elevator just as it's closing. Middle-Aged Lady (pictured above) is only other person in elevator, facing away from me]

[Middle-Aged Lady lets out a long, relaxed fart. One that seems like it's been saved up all day]

[Middle-Aged Lady turns around to notice that I'm there]

Middle-Aged Lady: Jesus Christ! You snuck in here silently! You're supposed to make a noise, make other people aware of your presence.

Me (suppressing laughter): Oh, sorry

Middle-Aged Lady: You're the one who should be embarrassed, not me. You snuck up on me - that's just not right.

(beat)

Middle-Aged Lady: I'm not embarrassed. You're sneaky.

[Elevator doors open. Middle-Aged Lady runs out into the Boston night]

Scene from John Kerry's Office

[John Kerry, Teresa and Stephen, an aide, are in Kerry's office]
Stephen: This is horrible Senator Kerry, they're hanging an effigy of you in Pakistan. I'm so sorry.

John Kerry: I know, Stephen. Frightening what some people will stoop to. Now I need a moment to console Teresa.
[Exit Stephen]

John Kerry: Can you believe it? An effigy? Of ME? And my name is BEFORE Obama's!

Teresa: Johnny I've got 3 words

John Kerry: John. Kerry. 2016.

Teresa: You got it
[Teresa and John Kerry start making out]

[Enter Stephen. John Kerry immediately makes it seem like he's just consoling Teresa]
Stephen: I'm sorry for barging in Senator Kerry, it's just I forgot my iPhone charger and I'm going on a long train ride.

John Kerry: No, no - it's fine, Stephen. There, there Teresa

[John pets Teresa's hair]

Preview of President Obama's Labor Day Speech

President Obama: My fellow Americans, on this day we give thanks to the hundreds of millions across this great land who summon the strength to get out of bed in the morning, show up to the office or jobsite and put in an honest, hard day's work to make this country run each and every day. These Americans are not out for riches, and they're certainly not out for fame - they just want to do the best job they can.

[President Obama turns toward the Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas, sitting on dais]

And that's why today I am giving the Presidential Medal of Honor to the Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas. Like so many decent, hard-working Americans, no one knows his name--

Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas: Mr. President, my name is Taboo!

President Obama: No one knows what he does--

Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas: Mr. President how do you not know that I rap, dance capoeira, and also play keyboards on some tracks?

President Obama: No one even knows what race he is - Samoan maybe?

Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas: Jesus Christ President Obama I'm a mix of Mexican and Shoshone Indian!

President Obama: But we do know that he is a hard-working American who puts 110% into his work and that on this Labor Day we honor that dedication to his job!

[Rapturous applause from the crowd as President Obama puts the Presidential Medal of Honor around Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas' neck]

President Obama (small talk w/ Post-Racial Guy over the deafening applause): So how's apl.de.ap doin'?

Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas: You know his name but not mine?! He's the fourth wheel! I'm only the third wheel!

President Obama: Hey - but he's a brotha...
[President Obama flashes a 1000-Watt smile]

[Post-Racial Guy from the Black Eyed Peas sulks quietly]

Opthamology 101

Badass Opthamology Student: I'm gonna say "Which one do you like?"

Crusty Old Opthamology Professor: Listen kid, everyone says "Better 1 or Better 2?" That's how it is, that's how it'll always be.

Badass Opthamology Student: Well I ain't everyone.

Crusty Old Opthamology Professor: Jesus, every year there's one guy who thinks he's gonna reinvent the wheel. You think people come to Opthamologists to get their eyes examined? Any half-wit could do that. They come to be asked "Better 1 or Better 2?" It gives them order in their otherwise chaotic modern lives. It comforts them. It narrows this incomprehensible world down just two choices. This... or that? Not Half-Fat this and Part-Skim that and No-Soy No-Gluten the other thing.

[A single tear falls down Badass Opthamology Student's cheek]

Badass Opthamology Student: That's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me.

Crusty Old Opthamology Professor: Alright, alright, let's turn off the waterworks. You still need a lot of practice to get your "I'm gonna shoot a puff of air in your eye, but don't move" up to snuff. Back to work!

AIM Chat Between Pluto and Neptune

PlutoNash: yooo what up Nep?

Neptune8: oh hey - nothin' much

PlutoNash: so i was just IM-flirting with Venus, and she said the Sun was having some sort of NBA playoffs watching party on Sunday?

Neptune8: yeah since the Suns didn't make it, he's kind of obsessed with the Heat so he's having some people over to his condo to watch the game and bbq on the terrace

PlutoNash: did he send u an invite email?

Neptune8: uh yeah

PlutoNash: hmm... didn't get it

Neptune8: you probably just didn't realize it was from him - he sent a PaperlessPost

PlutoNash: OK ill search my inbox for 'PaperlessPost' one sec

Neptune8: k

PlutoNash: nope - no results

Neptune8: try "It's Gettin' Hot in Herre" - that's the name of the party

PlutoNash: word ill try that

PlutoNash: nope - nothing. did that motherfucker not invite me?!??!

Neptune8: it would appear so. I guess it's kind of a "planets-only" type of vibe

PlutoNash: but i've been boys with u guys for years - i was one of the groomsmen at the Sun's wedding for godsakes! but now that I'm not a planet anymore i'm just another schlub?

Neptune8: look man i don't think this is a personal thing, it's just the Sun can't invite all the Dwarf Planets over, cause then the Asteroids will want to come too, and the Meteoroids, and it gets out of control. His condo's living room isn't even that big

PlutoNash: oh come on, he's got the couch that seats at least 3, maybe 4 if everyone's thin. and the loveseat that's another 3. then the La-Z-Boy and the 2 chairs in the corner. plus the folding chairs on the terrace!

Neptune8: he hates to use the folding chairs indoors - they scratch up the floor

PlutoNash: well then what if i just sit on the floor?

Neptune8: kind of blocks people's view

PlutoNash: ok ok i'll stand

Neptune8: then everyone feels like you're hovering

PlutoNash: how about i stand in the doorway of the Sun's bedroom and watch from there?

Neptune8: that's just weird

PlutoNash: so that's it. I've finally officially been excommunicated from the planet social scene. Saturn's birthday in January - which FUCKING SUCKED btw, terrible overpriced bar! - was my last hurrah

Neptune8: no dude, you know how the Sun is - he's all about his parties only having "bodacious bitches and ballin' bros" - he's always excluding people

PlutoNash: so i guess i'm not a ballin' bro, huh???

Neptune8: look, forget about it - Natasha and I are having a Little League World Series Luau in our backyard in August. u should come it's gonna be fun - some of the other planets r gonna be there, we got tiki torches...

PlutoNash: great, i can't go to the Sun's exclusive NBA Playoffs party at his luxury condo, but it's fine because i'm totes welcome at the Little League Luau in your weed-ridden backyard. woohoo!

Neptune8: jesus dude, i try to do you a solid and this is what i get in return?! the Sun is right - you are a bitter loser!

PlutoNash: did he fucking call me that????

Neptune8: in so many words

PlutoNash: whatever, u know what, it's fine. i'm sorry i insulted your luau. it sounds like it'll be a lot of fun. When is it?

Neptune8: August 18th. would be cool if u brought some pineapple juice as a mixer

PlutoNash: sure thing - are you gonna send out an official invitation via PaperlessPost?

Neptune8: u know it

PlutoNash: cool. alright man well i'll see u then. have fun at the Sun's party - put in a good word for me with Venus ;)

Neptune8: will do. peace

PlutoNash: l8r

Scene from a West Philadelphia Barbershop

Barber #1: Last time I was at the post office I picked me up some of them Forever Stamps

Barber #2: Ooooh yeah I got a whole envelope full of Forever Stamps. And not one of them regular envelopes you send a letter in and you gotta fold it up into thirds. A big ol' envelope like for taxes and shit

HipsterBro Customer: Actually, I read in Slate that Forever Stamps are a bad investment because inflation always rises faster than the price of stamps. So even though ordinary stamps get more expensive, they're relatively cheaper

Barber #1: What?! Do you have brain damage? What don't you understand about Forever? It's the same price, for-e-ver! That's a good mothafuckin' deal right there

Barber #2: That's right - what else stay the same price forever? You buy milk lately? That shit like four dollars a gallon!

HipsterBro Customer: Right but with inflation the stamps actually go down in p--

Barber #1: Son, ain't nothin' in this world last forever - not you, not your momma, not me, not the United States, not the Earth, not the Sun, hell maybe not even the mothafuckin' universe. But these stamps - they forever

HipsterBro: Yeah but this Slate piece said--

Barber #2: Why you in here anyway?

HipsterBro: Uh, I read about this barbershop in Philadelphia Weekly - it was a pick of the week

Barber #1: Well I ain't cuttin' yo hair. And he ain't cuttin' yo hair. So get the fuck outta here!

(HipsterBro leaves in a hurry)

Barber #2: Forever Stamps a bad investment? Some people, man

Barber #1: Next thing you know, someone gonna say I shouldn't have a thousand dollars worth of P.F. Chang's Gift Certificates in my drawer

Barber #2: Nah, no one dumb enough to fuck wit de ChangBucks. ChangBucks so solid - when China done investing in Treasury bonds they headin' straight for the ChangBucks.

Barber #1: Mm-hmm, mm-hmm

Tail End of a PIXAR Pitch Meeting

Marty Kornfeld: OK, OK but what about a picture where Scotty the Scotch tape dispenser is replaced by Duke the duct tape dispenser, who's tougher, meaner and stronger than Scotty. So Scotty has to team up with Witey the Wite-Out bottle and Randy the 3-Hole Paper Reinforcement to take back the office from Duke and--

PIXAR Executive: --3-Hole Paper reinforcement? What?

Marty Kornfeld: Those little circular stickers you put around one of the holes in a piece of binder paper that's ripped.

PIXAR Executive: Oh yeah. Look, Marty, Toy Story played on nostalgia for old toys, and Cars played on nostalgia for old cars, but that's because there really is nostalgia for those things. No one has nostalgia for office supplies that used to be more important in a pre-digital age.

Marty Kornfeld: Alright, alright, I'm hearin' you. (beat) That's why I came with another character - Hank the Hard-Line Phone. He's a badass who takes no prisoners -- "My only dead zone is anyone who fucks with me!"

(beat)

Marty Kornfeld: Could you validate my parking?

Scene from the First Day in Prison for a Neurotic Jew and his Bro Accomplice

[Neurotic Jew is sitting alone at a table in the prison cafeteria, sporting an orange jumpsuit and a freshly shaved head]

Neurotic Jew's Interior Monologue: This jumpsuit is too big on me, it makes me look even scrawnier than I already am. I specifically told the guy Small - I'm swimming in this Medium! This is the last thing I need - I'm fresh, weak, meat in this place already. How am I, and my asshole, gonna stay protected? Maybe I'll join a gang - the Aryan Brotherhood. I bet I could pass as a Christian - I mean they shaved off my Jew-fro and I have blue eyes! Passing? Dear God where am I, Vichy France? And I can forget about my literary ambitions. Back in the '60s it was cool to go to jail - "You've been in the slammer? Sweet man, write about that shit!" Now it's all "Where'd you get your MFA?" and "Who do you know at Random House?" It's a fucking travesty. Wait is that giant Mexican guy looking at me? Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact... Oh God, I just made eye contact. FUUUUUUCK!!!!

[Bro sits down next to Neurotic Jew, tray full of food in hand]

BRO: Dude, you gotta try this creamed corn! No joke - BEST. Creamed corn. Ever.