Can You Tell Me Where Is Fry's?

Driving home from work tonight, I was accosted by a vaguely foreign-looking fella in the car next to me. So, I turn my head while I'm sitting at the light to see who is admiring my visage at this moment and I see this guy with his pale skin, buggy eyes and unkempt 70s afro staring at me, his eyes shining like a bat with a bad sense of direction.

I know that look. It's the I-need-to-ask-you-something look. See, I'm not from the future like most of you. If I want to roll down my passenger window, I need to lean over and turn the handle in a circular motion. Hoping he's going to ask me if I want a shiny new hundred dollar bill, I roll it down. The look on his face is so sad, though. There's like an 80% chance he's not actually going to give me $100. But, I roll down anyway, because there's still hope.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me where is Fry's?"

Now, you know I'm bad with quick verbal reactions to strangers, but I'm all over this one. I know the answer and I spit it out before he can even finish. See, I work right across the street from the Fry's in question. I've got this shit. I just came from near there; it's behind us about two blocks.

"It's back there just a little on the left-hand side."

"Back there?" he whines, the look on his face growing sadder with each syllable he makes. "But I've turned around three times already."

Three times! Do you know how big Fry's is? It's an electronics store like Best Buy or the Cinnabon. It's fucking huge. If he can't see that building with his big-ass eyes, he needs to get his sonar checked. But the best part about it was his tone of voice, which I'm sure is being appropriately relayed in writing here. I'm such an idiot.

He said it like he thought everybody in Burbank was playing a trick on him--that there wasn't even a Fry's in the city. It was this big inside joke that the whole city played on people, they'd ask and, whichever way their car was facing, tell them it's the opposite way. I just drive the streets hoping somebody asks me if I know where Ikea is. Explaining the trapdoor in the Wendy's drive-thru will be fun.

Track to the Future!

So, the other day I was checking an order I made on Amazon trying to find out when it would arrive and I found out what was taking so long.If you can't see that, it says that my package was scanned upon arrival in Burbank at 3:59 and 59 seconds on December 31, 1969. My towels are almost antiques! I mean, Abraham Lincoln could have used them; they are made out of log cabins.

It's like that movie Frequency, but with terry cloth instead of Dennis Quaid. And aren't the two interchangeable anyway? I'm almost positive that the towel could have made Dragonheart more interesting.

How Was This Not Seen by Me as a Child?

Who doesn't want a skateboard possessed by an old Jewish guy? Jews just know skating. Tony Hawk's real name is Tony Hawkbergenstein.

Friday Super Stumper: Final Edition!

Last week's question:
A centaur walks into a bar, says something to the bartender, to which the bartender replies by pulling out a gun and pointing it at the centaur. The centaur responds, "Thank you." And exits. How much money was in the centaur's pocket?

The only guess was that centaurs don't have pockets. That is wrong, however. Centaurs found pockets thousands of years ago beneath the magical ancient Willow Tree of Destiny. The legend says it was a bucket filled with pockets and Jose Canseco rookie cards. Lucky centaurs. The actual answer is $4.15. It's not a trick question. If you all had done your research, you would have known that all centaurs carry exactly that much on them because that's how much it costs to get a blowjob from a Leprechaun.

No more questions. Nobody got it right. Nobody gets to take it home for the summer. I get to keep it forever. Suck it! That was the same thing my GATE teacher would say to us when nobody got it. She would just yell, "Suck it!" and push her groin in various students' faces. It was awesome, but it smelled like a new He-Man.

Giant Baby Haunts Vaginas' Dreams around Planet!

'Super Tonio' is the nickname given to a big-ass baby born in the Spring Break capital of the world, Cancun, Mexico. He weighed 14.5 pounds at birth and he was born fully clothed eating an Ultimate Cheeseburger from Jack in the Box.The doctors say he was born by Caesarean section, but it's not the Caesarean section many of you may be familiar with. He actually conquered Rome in the womb and took his soldiers to storm the gates of his mother's vagina. She never stood a chance.

When told of this story, women around the world cower in fear. Many recoil and grab their crotches, or maybe that's just the way I tell them, but I doubt that. I walk up to random women, hold up a picture of 'Super Tonio,' point to their zipper and say, "Imagine this inside of you." Then I point to my crotch and say, "Now this." And then I lick my lips and rub my nipples. I know it's not the nipple rubbing; every woman I've ever known has loved that and never objected to it in any way. Ever.

The doctor said that there are signs of high blood sugar. I think that became obvious when they cut the woman open to find the baby in a pool, not of amniotic fluid as one would expect, but of delicious buttercream frosting.