I’d Rather Hulu and Dew [Friday Thoughts With TeeCoZee]
Good Moleman to you. Today, part four of our series of the agonizing pain in which I live every day. It’s Friday, December 18, Two Thousand and Fifteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 46˚ & bland and somewhere, somebody is lifting weights, wondering if it’s even working at all, if anybody notices, if, if, if anybody remembers it’s his birthday. I do, but I’m too busy tonight to go to Dave & Busters. Wait, no I’m not. Don’t tell him that. I’m actually really busy. I have some things on my mind…
– This week, I’ve seen a lot of people perform ballsy tasks on their respective Xtreme Sportz vessels. There was a guy going against traffic full-speed on a Razr Scooter [who surely did a 900˚ Pop Shove-It over a Volkswagon]. Traffic was backed up for blocks because there was a girl learning how to skateboard in the middle of the street. A biker was going the wrong way down a One-Way and almost hit a tourist. He turned to yell, “watch where you’re go–” and hit a parked car. There was a guy on rollerblades slam dunking a basketball from the top of the Empire State Building and then grinded all the way down. It’s clear that Xtreme Spotz has taken over this modest city! What’s next? Parkour?!? [Wait, it’s spelled Parkour?!? I’ve been calling it Par Core. As in, hardcore parring. Whatever parring is.]
– I’ve been trying to stay off Tinder lately, because
I scraped the bottom of the barrel, basically broke the app and realized that my standards are way too high I need to focus on me. Whenever I do “log on”, I see more and more girls that want to “Netflix and Chill”. Well, yeah, naturally. When couples get bored, they used to just hang out and flip channels together. I guess “Netflix and Chill” is the modern way of doing that. But really, get the fugg out. This shouldn’t be suggested for the first date, maybe the tenth or eleventh. Do women have that low of standards now or are they just supremely lazy?
What bothers me the most is that they have brand loyalty to Netflix. Netflix is garbage! What’re we gonna watch? Gone In Sixty Seconds? Goon? Veggie Tales? Get yer head out of your ass! There’s much better options out there! A few minutes ago, I saw somebody suggest that I “Amazon Prime and Dine” her. Now That’s What’s Up™! Progress, at least. That way, we have millions of movies and TV Shows at our fingertips. They may have rental fees, but screw it, I’m on a “date”[?]! But I don’t like eating in front of strangers, so I have a new suggestion. Hulu and Brew? No pressure, just a beer or two, and some Hulu, which is clearly the champion of streaming services. Don’t drink? Hulu and Dew! Everybody likes Mountain Dew! Right? Right? HBO Go and Pho? There are so many better suggestions out there! Due to their lack of creativity, I’ve been swiping left to everyone that suggests Netflix and Chill.
[Mumbles into my ear]
Netflix and Chill means SEX?!?!? NO! COME ON! Why didn’t anybody tell me this?!?!?
– This week’s Letter From Coze goes out to Tinder:
I made a huge mistake. Please reset all of my left swipes. I’ll give you 20 bucks.
– This week’s edition of Ad Nauseous is brought to you by Oscar Health Insurance:
Because nothing says Health Insurance like a guy taking a picture of his wang. Most insurance ads have old people and hugging families. This one has a cartoon Brett Favre sending dick pics to God knows who. Coming from somebody that has never photographed his johnson, I don’t know what kind of sick joy he is getting out of this. Then again, I do have a weird rash on my leg. Maybe he does, too? Man, I would like to take a picture of my weird rash and send it to my doctor. I don’t even have a doctor! Emblem Health dropped him like a bad habit. Maybe it’s time I drop Emblem like a bad habit. I’ve spent $4,264 this year on nothing. No doctor visits, no immunization, no drugs, nothing. With Oscar, I only have to spend $1500 a year and I get to sext my doctor! I’d be a fool to not switch to Oscar!
[I think this is the first time an Ad Nauseous subject actually sold me. Good job, Oscar. But seriously, the hell is wrong with your marketing people?!?]
– I’m in the process of slowly becoming an adult. I switched to a more realistic health care plan, I figured out sex slang, I’ve grown weary to death-defying teenagers and I even got a replacement birth certificate! To clarify, it’s been missing for the last 2 years and I’ve been too lazy to get it replaced. After paying $60 bucks, it came to my house in a timely manner. And it came with a dark secret. As it turns out, I’ve been spelling my Dad’s middle name wrong this entire time. I thought it was Laverne. We all thought it was Laverne. It made sense. Laverne is an actual name. He was with Shirley. He was…uhh…Laverne & Shirley. But according to the state of Michigan and Shiawassee County, my father’s middle name is LaVern.
My entire world was rattled. Everything I thought I knew about my dad was wrong. Who in the hell is LaVern, and what is his intentions? What makes LaVern tick? Did I know and love LaVern all along? It’s not that the extra letter matters at all, but when I mentally visualize his full name, it’s now suddenly different. And that’s something that really messes your memory up over time. It’s like the Bearenstain Bears conspiracy. Maybe his middle name used to be Laverne, but some time traveling buttmunch [not me] decided to put an end to that. He wanted to make it more French. I’m just waiting for the day when I pull out my ID and it says my middle name is Patrique.
– Some kids were playing football on a basketball court across the street, which already sounds like too dumb of a story to start. The ball was grossly overthrown and I made a ridiculous Odell Bryant Tron III catch. The kids were mildly impressed and then it was my time to shine. I gripped the life out of the ball, cranked my arm back and launched a spiral that couldn’t even clear the fence. As a last-ditch effort to save face, I yelled to them, “Your ball is flat as hell! Call me when you get a pump!” and walked away. It wasn’t until someone behind me ran across the street to give them the ball that I felt like an incredible prick. They didn’t care whether or not I could throw a 50 yard hail mary, they just wanted their ball back. And I did nothing close to that. Let that be a lesson: if you ever catch a football out of the blue, keep it and run away. It’s their fault for overthrowing in the first place.
Try this trick over the weekend: Make a kid cry using your words.
Have a taunting weekend, everyone!