The Tao of Sarcasm (a variety of topics)

::In an effort to explore the splendors of the lowest form of communication I've skillfully taken the following topics to the stratosphere of sarcastic grandeur: Hot weather, memory foam beds, empty wallets, and cold feet. The literary devices of hyperbole and imagery should enhance your perusal of this highly contemptible and derisive form of blogging, but it could also prove to be a situation of apparently unending awfulness as adult sea lions defecate on your eye balls and make mating calls in your ears::

Memory Foam Beds
So here's the thing with memory foam beds. They don't exactly remember what happened the night before. How do I know this you ask? Well, I'm 5'10, but every night I get into my bed and snuggle up to my girlfriend, there's an impression of Lebron James in my foam mattress bed. I don't like to jump to conclusions, so I postulated that maybe I grow 10 feet in my sleep, or perhaps first impressions really do last and he was the first person to lay on that demo bed in the store. Besides, my girlfriend is a Kobe fan. It's a really comfortable bed, and it's suitable for a King, but why would Lebron be in my bed? I don't like the idea of having to fill size 22 shoes. I don't know how to approach my girlfriend, with tact about this. I bet the wine glass spilled when she was jumping on it (unlike the advertisement suggests) and my memory foam mattress drunk dialed Lebron when my girlfriend left. Yea, this is clearly what happened. Problem solved.

My Tape Player Eats Children
This statement is loosely bound by actual cassette tape ribbon, since it's more accurate to say my tape player eats your face.

I Wish It Was Hot
The mercury climbs to 117 degrees outside and the heat creates a thick blanket of suffocating discomfort that some might consider murderous. Nonsense! My skin begins to mildly sizzle and that's just its way of subtly whispering to me that the stove's on low heat. Turn it up please. I sweat profusely within seconds. My jeans cling to my thighs and I begin generating Olympic size pool rings of sweat under my armpits. I love that! Girls do too. I wish it was hotter though. This is the only condition where I ever feel relief from the mild weather two months out of the year. The hotter the more soothing, duh. It's not hot enough. I want to grimace and melt as I walk to my car. I want to pass out like a bum in his own pool of urine. The feline like sun, ducking and hiding behind the clouds all hours of the day needs to bring it! Such a pussy. It's never hot enough during the summer. Why can't I get heat exhaustion and welcome dehydration more regularly? Is this too much to ask? I hate that my entire summer wardrobe is so Icelandic. I never have the opportunity to wear shorts because it's too frigid! I wonder if people would think I'm weird if I ate ice cream, since it's not even hot outside.

Cold Feet
So I was at a wedding last week and it was in the Arctic circle. I was walking on ice. Sure, you might call it a themed wedding, since no one was wearing shoes on the frozen ground and the ring bearer was a penguin. It was kinda cold, and no doubt, my toes wanted to curl up with a book next to a fire. My feet are happiest when on ice though, like Disney. I just wanna dance! But then this old lady next to me asked when I was getting married. I was bothered by a crippling fear of the dance floor after she posed this question. I felt like all the girls were checking out my feet. The penguins looked like they were having so much fun, spilling and sliding all over the ice though. All I wanted to do was the electric slide, but I was too scared. No more happy feet. I put on some socks I found laying around and everyone scoffed at me, like I was some ultimate party pooper or something. Instantly, my feet were burning and itching. I had acquired athletes foot. Score. Cold to hot in a heartbeat.

Empty Wallets
I can safely say there is nothing more enjoyable in life than reaching in to your pockets, pulling them inside out, and discarding the lint as you shrug your shoulders while realizing the balance of your bank account is equal to that of your 2-year-old niece. The sky's the limit! What are you going to do with all that money? Buy a handful of chicklets? Flick it into a fountain and wish for more? Invest in a postage stamp so you can write a letter to your congressman about the perils of being broke? Or simply ask your niece for some money.