Relativity

How I’d go about preventing someone from jumping off a building:

“There is no real meaning to life, only patterns. The adventurous type, the boring type, the quiet type, the flamboyant type, the cynical type, the geeky type, the perverted type, the suicidal type and so on and so forth. No matter who you are or how you identify yourself, you’re not the first to do what you’re about to do, and chances are, you’re not going to be the last either. No matter how different we perceive ourselves to be, we really are all the same. Everything is relative to everything else. Could you imagine what would happen if Kevin Bacon decided to jump off a mountain? The six degrees of Kevin Bacon would no longer exist.”

“And that’s a bad thing? “

“Hmmm, good point. I’ll see you in another life, brother.”

Okay, so maybe suicide prevention isn’t my thing. But you know what? I think White Castle burgers aren’t my thing either. I should have realized it after having to use the bathroom less than two hours of having my first White Castle burgers ever. I should have also realized it after having three more of those burgers after clearing out the inaugural set. Instead, the realization hit as I was running late to work this morning because my ass didn’t want to leave the toilet. What felt like a never ending stream of the squirts was actually excess burger, cheese, onions and steamed buns – the catalyst for a smooth ride out the hole. Pepto-Bismol, now that’s what I craved.

The time sitting on the pot wasn’t entirely full of waste though. I started to think of the previous day’s good times being in the company of great friends, and then it hit me.

The cheese sticks. The onion rings. The answer to the Bobby Brown question.

If my lovie was constipated and had asked me to take my hand up “there” to literally clean her system out, I would have to respectfully decline. If she then offered to sing that Whitney Houston song from “The Bodyguard,” I’d point to her and sing, “That Girl is Poison.” That’s right Bobby, let me put it this way: If Bel Biv Devoe busted a cap in your ass, do you honestly think Whitney would fist you to get that bullet? Shit, not if that bullet was filled with crack. “If It Isn’t Love?” What the fuck are you smoking dude?

I could see the comic right now in tomorrow morning’s newspaper:

“Love is...plopping your woman on the toilet and shoving White Castle burgers down her throat for instant constipation relief.”