Facebook Forgot a Few Emotions

If you pay any attention to Facebook, you’ve probably noticed that you can now tag status updates with emotions. This adds a “feeling such-and-such” line to the end of your update in slightly different colored text and occasionally an emoticon. Yes, this is dumb. That doesn’t mean I can’t chide Facebook for omitting the following very important feelings.

  • Feeling gassy. Had too much Chipotle? The world needs to know. Save your coworkers from a miserable elevator ride. Warn your significant other about a potential invocation of the Dutch oven.
  • Feeling like the dead dog shit. The Iron Sheik is pissed at you because you forgot to respect the legend and/or didn’t by his t-shirt. Better rectify that, unless you want to be lumped in with the Ultimate Warrior, the Chris Brown, and the Alex Rodriguez mother. #teamsheikie
  • Feeling like P. Diddy. If you’re brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack, someone needs to know about it–preferably someone who isn’t averse calling certain hotlines for assistance. Also attracts men who look like Mick Jagger.
  • Feeling patriotic. Given what we now know about PRISM and the NSA’s wholesome desire to keep us all safe through the magic of data mining, we should all regularly make sure that the powers-that-be understand just how much we’ve bought into the status quo.
  • Feeling crunk. Get your cups ready, ladies and gentlemen. Occasionally leads to the aforementioned “feeling gassy.” Definitely not the result of feeling like P. Diddy.
  • Feeling this. A statement that’s become such an overused part of the cultural lexicon that it inspired Blink-182 to write a song about it deserves to be immortalized forever in social media. And by “forever,” I mean “until they have to turn off the servers because the stock crashed when everyone switched to something new and better that included all these missing emotions at launch.”
  • Feeling like I just stumbled out of the bar to find the sun is still out. Seriously, fuck that. There is no experience more distressing and disconcerting. Go away, sun; you’re ruining my buzz and all the ugly people around me don’t look as good as they should through my beer goggles because there’s too much light.

Vote Colby for Pope!

Pope Benedict XVI is stepping down as leader of the Catholic Church. What we’ve got here, ladies and gentlemen, is an ancient organization in dire need of a strapping young buck to guide it through the perils of the modern world. I can’t think of a strappinger young buck than yours truly, although I might be in trouble if Tim Tebow decides to run against me despite the fact that I look better in the hat. Ever wanted to see a pontiff ghost ride the popemobile? How about an Easter mass involving several Waterboy quotes? Want to upgrade the church wine to church Jack Daniels? Vote Colby for Pope!

When I’m in charge of the Holy See, I’ll finally be able to put some weight behind these new commandments I found written in crayon on the back of a Fallout Boy CD I got at a garage sale. Try these on for size:

  • Thou shalt not speaketh whilst riding public transportationeth.
  • Thou shalt stop seeing Jesus in thine toast. Dude hath better things to doeth than decorating thine victuals.
  • Thou shalt not order kamikaze shots lest thine are a pussy.
  • Thou shalt always remember to hollah “we want prenup.”
  • Thou shalt know what thou plans to order before thou gets in line.
  • Thou shalt not deprive others of ample Dannon Fruit on the Bottom variety.
  • Thou shalt honor Wednesday as Prince Spaghetti Day.
  • Thou shalt not poop in the shower.
  • But the sink is ok.
  • Thou shalt not trust bloggers.

I just hope the locals don’t rise up and kill me. I don’t trust any of my friends to properly lead my disciples to Utah.

 

Shit I Won’t Miss When the World Ends on Friday

Part of me really hopes the world doesn’t end on Friday. The apocalypse would be just like that time Fox cancelled Firefly; I was mostly entertained, and the show’s cancellation meant I had to find something else to watch, except there really wasn’t any other good science fiction on the television at the time. I was screwed.

Then there’s part of me that wouldn’t mind if it all ended in a burst of Mayan fire. The world is a ridiculous, illogical, stupid place–kind of like your average piece of Microsoft software. Maybe a reboot would fix it.

I’ve decided that the best option is somewhere in the middle: the world almost comes to an end on Friday, but a plucky crew of heroes saves it at the last minute. That way we all get a little excitement and the History Channel gets to launch seventeen new shows about ancient prophecies that might someday come true. Plus, if the apocalypse is averted, there’s a chance it won’t be stopped before the following things get wiped out.

  • Baby carriages. I’ve got no problem with babies; I was one once, after all, so hating them would be a bit hypocritical. Their primary mode of transportation, however, could use some work. Modern baby carriages are both built and operated like Hummers; they’re ridiculously big and complicated for what they do, and the people in control of them use them as battering rams for powering their way through surrounding traffic. This Friday, I hope all the baby carriages get hit by asteroids. After all the babies have safely escaped, of course.
  • Quarterbacks named Manning. These people live to make my football life miserable. Granted, it’s a lot of fun to laugh at the silly faces they make when they lose, but I wouldn’t be particularly disappointed if they all got eaten by zombies on Friday.
  • Grocery stores. There has got to be a better way to distribute food than piling it all up in narrow aisles clogged with old ladies trying to choose which can of beans they want. Don’t even get me started on the produce section. Those plastic bags on the roll? The devil incarnate. I wouldn’t shed a single tear if every grocery store was swallowed up by a fiery rupture in the earth’s crust.
  • Rewards cards. I swear I’ve got more of these than I have teeth–and I live in Massachusetts, not the south, so that’s saying something. Can I please just have the sales price without having my purchases tracked and my wallet stuffed with ugly plastic, please? I’d be very happy if all of the rewards cards on the planet spontaneously combusted sometime on Friday.

Scott Colby’s Officially Recommended Halloween Costumes, 2012 Edition

It’s almost Halloween, bitches! This time of year is really a trick-or-treat situation. On the one hand, all of the bars are about to be filled with people in funny/skanky/creative/okay-mostly-just-skanky costumes, and watching Slutty Raggedy Ann, Slutty Strawberry Shortcake, and Fat Dude Dressed as Tinkerbell make the walk of shame home the next morning is probably my favorite part of being an American. On the other hand, the day after Halloween marks the annual beginning of the ridiculous deluge of Christmas shit that makes me want to take a hair dryer to Frosty.

Luckily, I’m here to make your walk of shame extra special. If you’re going to stumble bleary-eyed through Davis Square in an inappropriate costume at 11 am, you might as well do it in style. Stand out in the bedraggled crowd with the following costume suggestions:

  •  Staple a bunch of flip flops to your long underwear, print out a shit ton of pictures of Jessica Biel and Natalie Portman and stick them in a binder, and head out dressed as Mitt Romney. Bonus points for adding a dash of Just for Men: A Touch of Gray to complete your look.
  • Dress yourself completely in white. Cover your face, hair, arms, legs, feet, and hands. Everything. Then choose a random stranger out on the town–preferably someone dressed as a sheik or a camel or Princess Jasmine from Alladin–and circle that individual all night at an inconspicuous distance with your arms outstretched straight to either side. Everyone will love your predator drone costume!
  • Put on a leather jacket and a bald skull cap. Stand around outside the bar and yell at the bouncers “I was a Navy SEAL and a governor! Why won’t you let me in?” until the cops come, then lead said cops on a merry chase around the block. Congratulations, you’re Conspiracy Theory with Jesse Ventura.
  • Sweatpants Boner Guy is always a hit on public transportation or in a crowded elevator. Just remember that erections that last longer than four hours need to be checked out by a doctor–although, that right there might make for an interesting couples costume…
  • I’ve seen a lot of pictures of people dressed as Walt White or Jesse Pinkman, but people who really  want to show their Breaking Bad cred dress as the RV, complete with a steady plume of noxious yellow gas. And sometimes, if their friends want to go elsewhere, they stay behind and make choking noises until someone jumps them with a hand-cranked generator.

What do all of these options have in common? Nothing. I’m an idiot.