heybarmold

You know what really grinds my gears?

International keyboards. Where the fonz is my ampersand? And for that matter, my -at- sign? And how do I generate quotes?? This thing is teh sux, quote unquote. My shift key is the smallest key on the keyboard. I hope no one likes apostrophes. European keyboards are essentially worthless. Anyways, I guess this could use some explaination...

I'm in London. And I just discovered my apostrophe, thank you. Thank you. Don't ask me why I'm here, unless you've got about a half a day to listen to a sordid tale about gifts and curses, camping trips, the mentally insane, standby tickets, stimulus checks and the job that just wouldn't fire me. If you can wait, we're submitting the screenplay to pre-production, and this epic comedy will be hitting theaters in early December. I'll make a long story a little less long. Denise and I are en route to the Madeira Islands of Portugal to visit the land of her Forebearers. Through a really bizarre chain of events we ended up with a 3 night stay in London, which thus far we have milked for just about all it's worth.

The best part of the trip, however, was the fact that Denise and I are on seprate flights, she possesing an actual legit ticket, and me with a Employee 1st class standby ticket out of Oakland, by way of Denver and Chicago, booked about a week ago. Apparently I'm not the only one traveling this summer, as I was bumped from my first 3 flights starting at five in the morning, barely squeezed onto a flight to Denver, and took my chances on non-stop London flight leaving late that night. They weren't expecting me to get on, as every flight out of Denver for the next 3 days were oversold by almost 10 people each. United = Awesome. Let me tell you, that marks the second time that I have spent 9+ hours in the Denver Airport. That place rules.

Well, thanks to a freak thunderstorm causing mass landing delays, I made my flight no sweat. 1st class would have been sweet if I'd only been told of the dress code for those on employee tickets, and thus I was bumped to coach due to my shameful brand new Converse Chucks.

Meanwhile, Denise is FREAKING OUT because we can't communicate while she's in London due to a lack of international calling plans from verizon, so she's imagining this horrible catastophe where I arrive in London two days after she flys to Portugal, where I would get to enjoy two weeks here with no hotel, and no money.

But, as always, the universe revolves around me, and therefore Denise also. So I land in London just about an hour after she landed. We met up at the border, played good cop/bad cop the the border patrol officer, and lived happily ever after.

In the end: Denise has a heart attack, Arnold gets 4 hours sleep in 3 days, and the trip couldn't have worked out better thus far.

Dear America,

Hey, what's up? It's me Arnold. Yeah. Just like that TV show. The one with the football head. I've never heard that one before. LoLz. RofL and stuff. How goes it? You doin' alright?

Ok, I'll cut the crap. Look, it's over, alright? It's not funny anymore. You've crossed the line. Some jokes are funny no matter how many times you hear them. Like Helen Keller jokes, or dead baby jokes. Even my fiancé laughs at them. Seriously. She does. They're gold. But not this one. It's old. It's played out, America. It's not funny anymore. It's like when Andy Dick tells a joke. Cricket... cricket. But listen to me, America:

Sanjaya has to go.

Yeah. So I watch American Idol. There, I said it. I know all about Haley's legs and Melinda's awesomeness. I know it all, but don't you dare judge me. Look. Don't even say it; I know what your thinking. Yeah, it's Fox Media. It's THE system. A well oiled machine run by capitalist corporate conglomerates who's aim is far from fulfilling the dream of an unknown and unrefined American entertainer but rather seizing the many opportunities to con millions and millions of Americans into giving them more than a few dollars. I know. It epitomizes the darkness of American voyeurism also known as reality television which falsely exhibits yadda yadda yadda, whatever. I know.

Putting Sanjaya in the top 12 was a pretty good joke though. LMAO. But you need to stop, ok? It's getting out of hand. You sent Gina home tonight. What. The. Freak? Are you high? Do you know what you're getting yourself into? Yeah, I hate the system as much as you do, blah blah blah, but you can't win. He'll never make the top 3, Simon won't quit, and you won't burn this behemoth corporate machine to the ground. It's futile.

However, you will kick yourself in your posterior when you find yourself watching commercials for Sanjaya's major label debut album which I know you're not going to buy, and he's gonna be promoting his US tour with billboards across the country which will stare you in the face while you fight traffic during your 75 minute commute to the city, giving you plenty of time to regret ever giving United States corporate media the idea that for one slight moment you actually wanted to put money in their pockets via a spokesman like Sanjaya. He'll also be on the walls of your 13 year old daughter's bedroom beckoning them to buy his promotional merchandise, which in the end will come out of your pockets. You like his voice? Your daughters will be blasting it out of their stereo. You don't know what your getting yourself into.

Anyways, in the end, I don't care about the results so much. It is what it is, and it's not like I'm gonna buy the new Jordan Sparks record or anything. Did any of you buy William Hung's CD? No. Nobody did. It doesn't matter. I'll still watch it. Ironically, I think I like it because this whole thing embodies everything that is wrong with America in the first place, and that is that millions of people are willing to spend money calling in fake votes for a fake singer. You think it's funny now? Just wait till Sanjaya makes more money in a week than you've made your entire blue collar life.

And I'm still mad. Gina was freaking cool.

Mad California Wishes,

Arnold Stovall

I've got a theory...

Ok, I'm not an english major anymore. I think that's pretty obvious when you read my gramattically askew blogs. Irregardless, I did take an english class in high school once. At 7:35 a.m everyday of my senior year I'd walk into Mr. Wallach's class ten minutes late for a bit of a reminder that english really, really is not that much fun to talk about. Which is why Mr. Wallach usually would joke around and tell us that if we wanted to be happy in life, we should just do meth and get it artificially. And most of my friends who do meth are pretty happy, you know... no job, no apartment, no rent, no school... no problem.

I did learn a few things about the english language though. I did pretty well in my english classes... I graduated, didn't I? I remember we had a french kid in our french class, who was getting a D. A real life Frenchie was getting a D in Madame Kamei's french class!!! Sounds a bit retarded, I know, so we asked him what's up with the suckiness, and he was like, "well, what grade do you guys get in English?"

Well played, Frenchie. Well played.

Seriously, we've been speaking English for a while, and I think it's working out for us. The average American has a vocabulary of about 20,000 words. That's a lot. I think there are about that many grammatical rules too. It's something so complicated and ridiculous that unless you grew up learning it, why start now? No one else who comes here to America seems to want to speak it. Well, don't worry, cause in just a few years, it's going to get much easier.

Every time you use the f-word, it pushes a word out of your vocabulary.

Seriously. Think about it, the f-word is like some kind of a grammatical wild card, or trump. Its like the skeleton key of the english language. It's pretty much a synonym for every single word ever used, ever. It can be used as a noun, a verb, adjective, interjection, conjunction, whatever you want. You can substitute it for any word in the english language and sadly, the average 4th grader will know exactly what you're talking about. And if South Park has any truth in it, which it totally does, they'll probably say it right back to you. If you say it to a fourth grader though, pity yourself.

So every time you use the f-word, you've decreased your vocabulary slightly. It's like that Homer Simpson quote: "Everytime I learn something new, it pushes something old out!"

You ever seen Papa Roach live? The singer's pretty much got 3 words in his vocabulary. And two of em are papa and roach.

I know we've all seen A Christmas Story. Classic of American film. 100% brilliance. No one is going to wash our mouths out with soap if you say it. This isn't an attack on anyone so don't be offended, I think it's hilarious. It aint no thing. I just hope we don't become a society of Homer Simpsons... "Marge, where's that.... .... metal.... dealie...... ... you use to ... dig...food...?"

Don't believe me? Go back to high school and ask any kid who doesn't have his hair combed what they're going to do after school. And take count. You'll only need one hand.

I've got a theory.

OK, so a long time ago I was feeling a little bit nostalgic and went to visit my old elementary school. Mind you, this was when I was in 7th grade. I was like 40 pounds overweight, wore the same 3 shirts repeatedly and my favorite music was the mega man theme song. I remember being generally aware that I just wasn't cool. I know that most of you that had the... priviledge(?) of going to high school with me are probably noding your heads. Yeah. I remember being pretty cool in 2nd grade. But since then, not so much.

Ok, so I went back to my elementary school to visit my old 5th grade teacher, Mr. Richwood, and they were having some kind of chess tournament. I walk in, and it's like I'm some kind of celebrity. I used to be in that same club, so everyone remembered me. These kids were the typical nerdy chess-lovin socially-awkward geeks, and I was the coolest, most popular person in the room.

By Default.

Even groups of losers have the cool one. Er, relatively cool, at least. It's like, the person is still a geek, but in that groups sphere of existance, he's the coolest guy ever.

Ryan Seacrest, I'm looking in your direction.

Ok, so you're on a show which is really popular. Reality shows are all the rage and American Idol really entertains people. It gives the average dude the opportunity to get on a stage and impress millions of people. And it also gives the average dude the opportunity to get on a stage and show millions of people why they will always live broke and alone. People are going to watch this show even in spite of the host.

Ok, so you have Paula Abdul. She's great. She had that song... the one back in the 90's, like, it had that wolf in the music video... I think that was her. Yeah, she's great.

There's also Randy Jackson, Paula's sidekick, and probably the only reason that Simon is alive, since Paula seriously wants Simon grilled for lunch. Not the poster boy for American Idol, certainly. He actually is pretty cool, because he's a bass player. But I've got a theory on bass players that I'll tell you later.

And Simon. The most hated man in America. The only time President Bush ever gets nervous about his own safety is when Simon is in town for DC auditions. We'll call him the villain of the show. Paula gets 1st dibs on killing him, she called shotgun on that, but pretty much everyone else in America is in line for a shot.

So, Ryan. You're quite busy nowadays I can imagine. You've got American Idol, a radio show, a new years special, and a show on the E! channel. Good for you. I'd trade places with you in a second. I just wanted you to know that you have all this because you're the best looking loser on the most watched telivision show in the world. It could have been Tom Arnold.

I've got a theory.

Girls. I've almost got you figured out. I'm pretty close. And I'm paranoid. You see, I watch a lot of 24. A lot of 24. Anyone who's seen that show knows what I'm talking about. Whenever a character that isn't Jack Bauer stumbles upon some new information, leaked names, or they find out they know something crucial, they usually have less than an hour before they get a sniper shot to the back or something. It's ALWAYS something. I think the average character on 24 has a lifespan of like, 4 hours. Maybe a little less. So I'm watching my back.

Girls. You're all weird. I know we're weird too. We may eat over the sink and gross you out in a million different ways, but you... I dunno.

The comfort factor of your clothes is directly inverted to the ugliness of your outfit. Seriously. The more comfortable your outfit, the uglier it gets. I finally figured out a practical application for algebra, as this can be expressed in a simple equation:

Ugliness = Comfort to the power of x.

I dont even have to justify that with any kind of explanation, because we all know that it's ture. But check this out anyways. Sweatpants. Bleh. I've actually seen a few of you leave your house in these things!!! Brandi, I'm looking in your direction. I know they're comfortable, especially when they're brand new. I've worn them a few times myself. But I'm not 7 years old anymore. Picture it!! They got big ol' baggy thighs, and tight elastic ankles. Do you see what I see? They're like non-shiny hammer pants. And MC Hammer was way cool back in the 2nd grade, but listen. They are not the brand new hotness.

Exhibit B: Pirate pants. I know I've beaten this to death before, so let's just leave it at this. If you wear pirate pants, then go to Safeway and pillage me some ramen. Ahoy.

Next up: Overalls. There's nothing really wrong with overalls per se. My niece Karen looks adorable in overalls. She's absolutely precious. She also wears diapers, because she's like 14 months old. I think if you wear overalls, youd better be delivering my newspaper.

And then there are turtlenecks. Very snug. Very cozy. And very very ugly. Holy cow. And let's not forget coats and shirts with shoulder pads, toe socks, gigantic parkas with fur hoods, or anything you used to wear while running track.

Combine any of these fashion faux pas with Ugg boots, and youve got a very comfortable girl who looks absolutely hilarious.

Honestly, all I'm doing right now is looking around the Ohlone College library where I'm typing this and describing the girls I see. Do you ever notice though that when a girl dresses to impress she can't walk right cause her 3 inch heels, super tight pants and the Kleenex shes using for a shirt kind of impede her gracefulness?

Look, I'm really not that superficial. I dont think that girls were put on this earth as eye candy or anything. And I'm certainly not going to be featured on House of Style if they ever bring it back from the dead. Who do we blame for all of this horrible awfulness? I blame guys. We're just plain jerks. So I apologize! I don't think that a girl needs to defy laws of physics to look hot, but they dont have to look like they gave up on life just to be comfortable either. I feel for ya, I'd hate to be a girl and have go through the hassle of shopping for presentable clothes cause unless you work Sunset strip or Las Vegas Blvd, it's hard to find an outfit.

And if it's any consolation, consider this equation for guys: Guys minus girls = Useless times retarded times pathetic all to the power of infinity.

I've got a theory.

I really need some people to understand this. I'm on to something. Seriously. I mostly just need a few specific people to understand. My boss, and my parents. Everyone else, meh.

Listen. The day doesn't start until you wake up.

Do you remember how horrible Christmas was as a kid? It was awful. The holiday itself was kinda nice, commercialism aside. But when you're 7, it doesn't matter anyways. That IS Christmas. The worst part? Christmas eve, right before bed. Oh man. It was horrible. My parents would get me all wound up by letting my open one single present. So I usually grabbed what I imagined would be the best present ever. The one with the biggest box. So here we are, 9:00 at night... which for a kid is more like 1 or 2 in the morning with the inflation of time correlated with age.. and I get some kind of awesome toy. And what, I'm just expected to go to bed now? Great. I'm having this anxiety attack just thinking of the loot I'm gonna get from Santa, I'm all wound up from this kickin toy I just got, and I'm supposed to go to bed and sleep it off huh? I always figured I'd just wait till Santa drops everything off, and just go downstairs right away. Cause once it's in my stocking, or my name is on the present, it's fair game. It doesn't matter if I get em before bed or after I wake up.

But Santa follows a really good rule for people my age.

See, Santa makes everyone go to sleep before he shows up. So if you stay up all night, he's not coming. Christmas day doesn't start until you wake up in the morning. That time in limbo between midnight and whenever you go to bed is technically still Christmas eve.

No, for reals. This is a great idea. The day can't start until you've gone to bed. It can't. Its still the day before. If I could just get my boss and my parents to subscribe to Santa's methodology. Think about it!!

Yesterday Nick Chivers threw a party. Just for the heck of it, you know, since his parents were gone. Although we were observing that he got his hilarious misdemeanor embezzlemnet charges dropped like I dropped sugar from my diet. But, since it was Dave's birthday, we ended up celebrating Dave that night. So I show up at 11. Technically, according to "rules" and crap, his birthday ended at midnight. So after midnight, people are like, hey he's not the birthday boy anymore. Its not 420 anymore. Its like sayin, HEY! Dave. You're not special anymore. You were special 5 minutes ago, but a hand on a clock shifted slightly, and well, frankly, you're just one of us now.

Lame.

As if life doesn't move fast enough, dudes. Slow down! What is the freakin rush to get to the next day? Its gonna come anyways! Don't rush it. It just means I have to get up and go to school, ok? Don't remind me.

I've got a theory...

Ok, so I'm probably gonna tread some thin ice on this blog. I've got it written up complete in my noggin, I just don't know if the translation into words will do it justice and make it seem less offensive. I hope I don't offend anyone. Actually, I don't really care. I'll try not to. Actually, I can't promise I'll try. But I'll try to try.

Girls. What is it with these people?? You know, I do think of girls as people in there own right. And in many ways... they are. However, sometimes you just have to wonder. Its just these little things in life where you wonder if maybe you're about to get punk'd. I swear, one of these days Ashton Kutcher is going to come out, probably on Oprah or something, jump up on a couch and we'll all kinda understand what's going on.

I think that girls are secretly cold blooded reptiles.

Seriously. Cold blooded.

I mean this in the most literal way. They're very warm, loving, caring creatures. They're incredible. They complete our lives, they're beautiful, they do pretty much run society, and they have hearts of gold. Except these golden hearts are pumping out cold blood.

You know how you'll be chillin with a girl, watching a movie or something. You're inside, you're out of the sun, cuddling together, so you reach over like a P.I.M.P and take her hand, and somehow manage to find the slab of ice that must have fallen out of the sky, like we get here in Oakland. And then you realize its her hand!!

Sick, dude. Girls hands and feet are always freezing cold. Doesn't matter where you are, what time it is, or what. Freezing cold, all the time. Seriously, its like they have to absorb heat from the sun to retain energy for their day, which could explain tanning, sunbathing, and extreme grumpiness during cold cloudy winter months.

Dude, think about it. Cold blooded creatures are much more active in warm climates than cooler climates. So when it gets cold here in California, you know, like mid 50's, girls throw on their parkas, scarfs, hats, mittens, and that awful skirt and fuzzy ugg boot combo, and then sit down while we serve them hot chocolate, so they can conserve their body energy. But in the summer, it's always shorts, a shirt and flip flops and these girls are all over the freakin' place. They've got energy to spare. We can't keep up with em. I'm telling you the truth!! It's because cold blooded reptiles take the temperature of their surroundings.

Oh, and check this out. Cold blooded creatures turn most of their food energy directly into body mass. And girls always tell me that when they eat chocolate or sweets it goes straight to their hips, thighs, or derierre. How much more proof do you need?

How about this: It's a well known fact that women don't sweat. They don't cool down through water evaporation like us humans. Women "glow." Hmm, which is interesting cause cold blooded reptiles don't sweat either!! They cool off by seaking shade, opening their mouth and changing their skin color. Kinda like how girls like to cool down after they start glowing by lying under an umbrella and open their mouths to eat the grapes we feed them. Or by runnin their mouths non stop. Maybe that's why girls tend to talk alot sometimes. They're not just talking. They're sweating!!! And they warm up by lying in the sun. So every time I got to the beach, girls are always tanning, soaking in the sun's energy while they can so they can save it for later. Meanwhile, the guys are running around in the sand sweatin it up.

Like mammals. That's why you call us dogs and pigs I'm assuming. And that's probably why we refer to some of you as snakes. And it could explain why you all love turtles so much.

We're animals. And you're reptiles.

And we love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss much!!!

I've got a theory...

A while ago I had a pretty close call. A little too close for my comfort. I'm a bit edgy right now just thinkin about it, so please bear with me. I really hope all of this comes out right.

I almost bought myself a Gwen Stefani sweater. Seriously. It was within my grasp. I thought it'd actually be pretty cool. Its GWEN! Girls would love it. I'm pretty sure that girls are more attracted to her than guys are, at least the girls that I know. You know those myspace surveys that ask like, hey if you were to hook up with someone of the same sex, who would it be? Gwen Stefani. Sometimes Angelina Jolie, but she sucks.

So this sweater is in my hands, and I pause, compose myself and start to think rationally. 40 dollars. Fourty dollars. 4000 pennies. That could be construed as a lot of money to some. Some people I know haven't made that much money in 6 months. To others, myself included, it really isn't that big of a dip into our financial pockets. Its just fourty bucks. Not a big deal when you consider my behemoth truck takes almost 60 dollars to fill up. And do you know what I use pretty much all of my gas to do?

To drive to work. Uhm, I'll think about that later.

So, I hold in my hands a 40 dollar sweater. I picture myself being the envy of all these girls wearing their idol on my chest. I can picture the compliments, the self-esteem boosts, and I eventually make a decision. I'm in. So I sling it on my shoulder and turn around to walk to the cashier. I remind myself that its no big deal, its just 40 dollars, which at my pay rate is about 3 hours of work.

Wait a tick... what? 3 hours? Three hours!!! Whoa. Hold on. 3 hours of work. One eighth of my day overall. One third of an entire day's earnings. 3 hours?!?! That's 3 hours of in front of Lexus, parking a plethora of cars, driving someone to Milpitas, and probably about 45 minutes of pure stress when I have like 10 things to do all at once. It happens a few times a day. So sometimes I'm craming like, 4 hours of work into three hours. THREE HOURS!! Thats alot of customer service there. What if part of those three hours was spent seaching for parked cars on a huge lot in the pouring rain? I might have had a punk customer trying to scam the dealership over a scratch on his SC430 convertible that we didn't cause. And I was probably cold, incredibly hungry and really tired from another long night playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

Three hours?!?! I don't think I can afford this stupid sweater. Time really is money. Its not money the way Nick Chivers is money. It's not money like Barry Zito of the A's is money either. Its actual money. Hard earned money. When you think of money in terms of time, things can get really expensive. We're gettin ripped off all over the place here. I don't have that kind of skrill to throw around.

And in hindsight, I think that sweater was kinda gay.

1999 was an epic year for music. Not quite as perfect and signifigant as 1994, which was the year that crappy music ended and good music started... but for many people, that year can be summed up in 2 words. Britney Spears. A girl with a message. And a powerful one at that. Everyone who makes music has a message which is personified in its lyrics, its art, and its delivery. Sometimes its profound, and sometimes... not so much. Even Blink 182 had a message. Lil' John, probably the most powerful man in the world right now has a message too. But Britney. I like to think of her as an artist. Maybe even a poet....

Email my heart!!

It was pretty much the anthem for the year 1999. Seriously.

Ok, so sometimes music doesn't say much. It always says something, but alot of times its like that guy in your anthropology class that just wont shut up about who created the universe and put man on the earth. I'm not gonna disagree with what he's sayin besides the fact that you're in ANTHROPOLOGY stupid!! They just keep runnin their mouth all day long and well, sometimes you just wanna smack em.

Sometimes people talk, and I wonder why they talk.

Anyways, so about messages. Hardcore bands are pretty much the only people in music today with something signifigant to say. You watch a hardcore band, and the lead singer talks for about 10 minutes about the next song they're about to play, you know. The singers pacing back and forth across the stage, short on breath and ranting something like"this song is about making your own choices. Its about not letting people hold you down, and letting society's problems become your own. Its about your own life, your own rules. Its about everything that they wont tell you, and everything they don't want you to know. Its about freedom." And after about half their alloted set time, they play a blistering 25 second song. And you know what the message comes out as? I can only describe it in this one word.

Throat.

I love hardcore music. I respect the ideals, the lifestyle, the positive attitudes, the scene, the music, the ethics and the great bands that it has givin the world. Forget about fashion core, mall hardcore, and all that crap. Its kids making music for kids, and its pretty much the only music today that has something signifigant to say. The lyrics are positive, and the energy is incredible. Its like a brotherhood. Not to say that music with a message about how girls are evil or whatever isn't good music. I like most of those bands too.

I just think its hilarious that it takes 10 minutes to introduce a 30 second song with no real lyrics.

I've got a theory.

After a hard day's work yesterday, you can imagine that I was pretty tired. Yes. Hard work. Lexus. Parking cars. Driving luxury sedans. Tips. Hard. Work. Yes.

More than likely it was because I stayed up until 3 in the morning playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Ok, so after this epic day of poppin caps and parking cars, I ended up at my homeboy Stevo's house. I'm sittin on his couch watching The History of White Men in America, which is hilarious. It’s the only thing I've ever seen that's more honest than Chris Rock and funnier than Undercover Brother. Anyways, I'm having trouble getting comfy cause there’s a definite grove in the couch, a grove caused by steady routine of one said person lounging on the couch for hours, maybe even days. You had to be a certain size and sit in a specific slouch to be able to fill the groove, and I didn't. I probably messed up the groove a little, and so they're gonna have to sit there for a while to re-mold that groove. Sorry dude. And it reminded me of something...

Everything about life can somehow be related to a Simpsons episode.

Dude, I don't know how many times I will make a Simpsons reference in response to an occurrence in my everyday life. I think I probably do it more than I say the word dude. Dude, do you realize how many times that is? A lot. Dude.

Even mundane details about our day can be referenced to something hilarious on the Simpsons. Just think of anything... our morning routines, the way we drive, school, work, church, neighbors, love, hate, revenge... anything. Anything that you can think of, you can think of a funny moment from the Simpsons. I defy you to come up with something that isn't.

I find myself quoting the Simpsons a lot in response to some parallel in my life. And it does two things. It unites and equalizes me with the people that get it. One of us makes a Simpsons reference, and we both laugh. There's some eye contact and more laughter as we are reminded not only of that one reference, but we both mentally can replay all the jokes from that episode concurrently and laugh at that too. And our day is that much better. We're friends now. We may not know each other, and we may never see each other again, but we do know this: We both have incredible taste. There’s this understanding that we're both trying to make the world a better place. Imagine the possibilities! President George Bush is meeting with a foreign diplomat of some kind. The meeting is tense and there’s an obvious lack of progress. Well, if some kind of danish is served and someone's all like, "mmm, danish..." and they both laugh... well freak, let’s get President Bush some danishes!

It also alienates you from people who don't watch the Simpsons. Because they have no idea what you're talking about. You know the look that they give you, that weird shifty, "I'm not sure if this guy is retarded… he must be at least a little brain-dead" kind of look. Which is great, because you don't need people like that in your life anyways. They just take up empty space and make for awkward silences when you should be jovial and happy. They all just kind of take the fun out of living life.