More Comedy Columns
Here are the last two "comedy columns" that I had printed in the Newspacer. Review them if you dare!
Shopping Comedy Column
q By Max Dulin
Everyone has a weakness. For Superman, it is kryptonite. For Achilles, it is his heel. For me, it is shopping.
Many of my fellow males would look at this statement and scoff. They would look at my clothing - which occasionally is matched - and proclaim that I am clearly a metrosexual. Since this is the case, could I not enjoy shopping?
Well, let me tell you, I may spend upwards of seven hours a day gazing into a mirror and admiring my roguish good looks and my mole rat charm, but I am no metro. A real metrosexual would not be so negatively affected by the experience of shopping.
Honestly, I think that shopping may affect me in the way that milk affects lactose intolerants. Well, I mean, I don’t get THAT many hives, but what I mean to say is, it’s bad for me.
However, despite my best intentions, I needed a suit for prom. So, against my better judgment, I decided I would need to go to…the mall.
From almost the moment I entered that giant hellish locale, I knew that both my masculinity and my very humanity were in danger. To my left, a crowd of voracious middle-aged women were battling for sale items. To my right, a gaunt twenty-something guy stared open-mouthed at the outside world through a glass doorway. Judging from his pale skin color, he hadn’t been out there for at least a decade.
Suffice it to say, I was scared.
As I walked through the shadow of the valley of Gap, I started to feel very alone. Besides the pale mystified guy, I appeared to be the only guy at the mall. The women eyed me with distrust as I entered their native land. I obviously was not wanted in this territory of spring clearance sales and wildly expensive bits of cloth.
For most things people do, it doesn’t really matter what sex you are. For instance, defending yourself against wolverines. I’ve seen both boys and girls be attacked by wolverines, and neither of them seem to handle it very well. Shopping, however, is clearly easier for girls to do.
For some reason, the immeasurably obnoxious employees, headache-inducing lighting and terrifying mall food don’t seem to faze girls. I don’t know how they do it, but I figure it must go along with that whole “childbirth” thing as something that only girls do well.
Well, after several fruitless hours of suit shopping, I was physically, mentally and emotionally drained and ready to give up. I returned to the parking lot feeling very defeated, and after crying for several hours in my parked car, I headed home.
Well, I have my suit now (thanks Mom, I promise I will clean my room now) and am soon to be off to prom, but I have learned my lesson. I will avoid any future shopping trips at all costs. It will take several dozen NBA players in a limo to lure me towards any possible shopping trip, and they’d have to be All-Stars!
Well, either that or a girl of some kind…
Oh, the curse of the mole rat!
Irish Heritage
q By Max Dulin
In the ethnically diverse melting pot that is Lakeridge High School, any observer can find a large array of different types of people. Yes, all races and religions are evident here, and heartwarmingly, they all seem to get along.
Why only yesterday I saw two white boys playing together, even though one of them had a significantly more pronounced tan.
Okay, so maybe Lakeridge isn’t very diverse, and maybe the minorities that do go here constantly feel like they’ve wandered into a Britney Spears concert. That doesn’t mean there isn’t some diversity. Namely there is the pronounced Irish population here at Lakeridge.
Well, maybe it’s not all that pronounced, but I’m part of it, so I’ve chosen to write about it anyway. So there.
Having Irish heritage as I do, there are many difficulties that I am faced with that regular people don’t have to deal with. For instance, racism. Well, maybe not racism, but I still have to face problems that the average man doesn’t.
For instance, the sun is a dire enemy of mine. While many people happily enjoy tanning the days away in the sun, I have been denied that enjoyment. Tan skin may be the reward for others, but it has eluded me. Instead of bronze skin, I only develop more and more freckles, coating my skin in a thick coat of spots. Leopards don’t come close to my spot level.
Furthermore, I don’t tan. I cancer. My skin turns a shade of angry red and stays that way until it reverts to its regular shade of deathly pale. Plus, my freckles cover up any melanomas that might have appeared, which keeps me in a constant state of worry about whether I am dying or not.
Suffice to say, I bathe in sunscreen every morning before coming to school.
On top of my troublesome skin, I have my hair to deal with. My hair can best be compared to some sort of powerful bomb exploding, except instead of shrapnel there is hair coming out. My head is a hair explosion. Combing it is like trying to chop down a tree with a fish…which takes some time. Plus it’s red - which means that when sunburned, I look like I am perpetually in some sort of red light.
Overall, being Irish has its benefits, but it is mostly a hassle. I would write more, but I need to go reapply sunscreen before I turn red again.
Love,
Wahoolin
Shopping Comedy Column
q By Max Dulin
Everyone has a weakness. For Superman, it is kryptonite. For Achilles, it is his heel. For me, it is shopping.
Many of my fellow males would look at this statement and scoff. They would look at my clothing - which occasionally is matched - and proclaim that I am clearly a metrosexual. Since this is the case, could I not enjoy shopping?
Well, let me tell you, I may spend upwards of seven hours a day gazing into a mirror and admiring my roguish good looks and my mole rat charm, but I am no metro. A real metrosexual would not be so negatively affected by the experience of shopping.
Honestly, I think that shopping may affect me in the way that milk affects lactose intolerants. Well, I mean, I don’t get THAT many hives, but what I mean to say is, it’s bad for me.
However, despite my best intentions, I needed a suit for prom. So, against my better judgment, I decided I would need to go to…the mall.
From almost the moment I entered that giant hellish locale, I knew that both my masculinity and my very humanity were in danger. To my left, a crowd of voracious middle-aged women were battling for sale items. To my right, a gaunt twenty-something guy stared open-mouthed at the outside world through a glass doorway. Judging from his pale skin color, he hadn’t been out there for at least a decade.
Suffice it to say, I was scared.
As I walked through the shadow of the valley of Gap, I started to feel very alone. Besides the pale mystified guy, I appeared to be the only guy at the mall. The women eyed me with distrust as I entered their native land. I obviously was not wanted in this territory of spring clearance sales and wildly expensive bits of cloth.
For most things people do, it doesn’t really matter what sex you are. For instance, defending yourself against wolverines. I’ve seen both boys and girls be attacked by wolverines, and neither of them seem to handle it very well. Shopping, however, is clearly easier for girls to do.
For some reason, the immeasurably obnoxious employees, headache-inducing lighting and terrifying mall food don’t seem to faze girls. I don’t know how they do it, but I figure it must go along with that whole “childbirth” thing as something that only girls do well.
Well, after several fruitless hours of suit shopping, I was physically, mentally and emotionally drained and ready to give up. I returned to the parking lot feeling very defeated, and after crying for several hours in my parked car, I headed home.
Well, I have my suit now (thanks Mom, I promise I will clean my room now) and am soon to be off to prom, but I have learned my lesson. I will avoid any future shopping trips at all costs. It will take several dozen NBA players in a limo to lure me towards any possible shopping trip, and they’d have to be All-Stars!
Well, either that or a girl of some kind…
Oh, the curse of the mole rat!
Irish Heritage
q By Max Dulin
In the ethnically diverse melting pot that is Lakeridge High School, any observer can find a large array of different types of people. Yes, all races and religions are evident here, and heartwarmingly, they all seem to get along.
Why only yesterday I saw two white boys playing together, even though one of them had a significantly more pronounced tan.
Okay, so maybe Lakeridge isn’t very diverse, and maybe the minorities that do go here constantly feel like they’ve wandered into a Britney Spears concert. That doesn’t mean there isn’t some diversity. Namely there is the pronounced Irish population here at Lakeridge.
Well, maybe it’s not all that pronounced, but I’m part of it, so I’ve chosen to write about it anyway. So there.
Having Irish heritage as I do, there are many difficulties that I am faced with that regular people don’t have to deal with. For instance, racism. Well, maybe not racism, but I still have to face problems that the average man doesn’t.
For instance, the sun is a dire enemy of mine. While many people happily enjoy tanning the days away in the sun, I have been denied that enjoyment. Tan skin may be the reward for others, but it has eluded me. Instead of bronze skin, I only develop more and more freckles, coating my skin in a thick coat of spots. Leopards don’t come close to my spot level.
Furthermore, I don’t tan. I cancer. My skin turns a shade of angry red and stays that way until it reverts to its regular shade of deathly pale. Plus, my freckles cover up any melanomas that might have appeared, which keeps me in a constant state of worry about whether I am dying or not.
Suffice to say, I bathe in sunscreen every morning before coming to school.
On top of my troublesome skin, I have my hair to deal with. My hair can best be compared to some sort of powerful bomb exploding, except instead of shrapnel there is hair coming out. My head is a hair explosion. Combing it is like trying to chop down a tree with a fish…which takes some time. Plus it’s red - which means that when sunburned, I look like I am perpetually in some sort of red light.
Overall, being Irish has its benefits, but it is mostly a hassle. I would write more, but I need to go reapply sunscreen before I turn red again.
Love,
Wahoolin