This article was inspired by SheWonHeWon.com, a new photoblog where you vote for who got the short end of the stick in a relationship. Check it out!

The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss. Read the full story

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Can I talk to you for five minutes about traffic?  Far as I can tell, traffic jams are pretty much the worst thing happening in the world.  I watch the news, I listen to podcasts, I occasionally read one of the free USA Todays at Chick-Fil-A.  I know what’s going on out there.  Nature is warming itself.  There are gunfights raging in some of the dustier parts of the globe.  There’s the whole “Africa” situation.  The world’s got problems, no doubt.  But for the life of me I can’t think of a single place on the planet less enjoyable than the eastbound 210 Freeway at 5:30pm on a Wednesday.

Okay, so maybe that’s a little extreme.  Obviously there are worse places in the world than an American freeway at rush hour.  (The back seat on a Greyhound bus comes to mind.)  Can we at least agree that traffic is the most annoying thing in the world?  And yes, I’m putting it above Wanda Sykes, rainy weekends, and middle schoolers in a movie theater.

To say traffic is one of my pet peeves would be like saying that civil liberties were one of Stalin’s pet peeves or that George W. Bush “annoyed” some political science professors.  I hate traffic.  It makes me crazy.  No matter how much I brace for it or plan my trip to account for it, I always end up losing my freaking mind.  I gesture and curse, I rant and rave, I call down fire from heaven.  I go nuts.

I don’t like feeling this way.  The occasional longwinded rant notwithstanding, I consider myself a fairly even-tempered guy.  I’m not prone to fits of rage and I don’t often ponder the ways my temperament might be improved by an automatic weapon.  Traffic makes me do these things.  But why?  Why have six short months in Los Angeles (aka The Julliard School for traffic jams of promise) transformed me from Jeffrey Lebowski into a ball of rage who is perhaps only days away from (a) some serious stomach ulcers and/or (b) pleading guilty to vehicular homicide?  I have some theories. Read the full story

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By: Kurt Luchs

“What a piece of work is a man!” said Shakespeare; and while it’s possible he was merely gazing into the mirror and feeling his own biceps, he was probably referring to the human mind. A mysterious thing, the mind. One man discovers the principle of electromagnetic anti-gravitational polarity, and wins a Nobel Prize. Another one owns and operates a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise. Perhaps it is the same man wearing a different suit, but in that case he is moonlighting and should declare his second source of income (the Nobel Committee).

The point is, few students of the mind have any inkling of its innermost workings, particularly at the subconscious, or street-level. One who did during the first half of the 20th century was Dr. Aloysius Gilbert, dream researcher and founder of the Gilbert Institute for Advanced and Gruesome Studies, which has given hope to so many. Dr. Gilbert was originally a follower of Freud, till one day Freud noticed he was being followed, and spun around suddenly to confront him.

“Just what are you looking at, eh?”

“The back of your head,” replied Gilbert, with the candor that was his genius. Freud was so moved by his frankness that he immediately rubbed out a lit cigar on the young man’s bald spot. The two became fast friends, remaining inseparable throughout the next 30 minutes, until they broke intellectually over who would pay for the cigar. Afterward, Gilbert credited Freud with teaching him “everything there is to know about eczema, and then some,” and how to get big laughs at parties by impersonating a meerkat.

He soon had a flourishing psychoanalytic practice in Vienna — one so lucrative, in fact, that his wife Grimelda could never comprehend why he persisted in renting himself out as a cuspidor on weekends (poverty had been his close companion during childhood, although when the two met later at a class reunion they hardly recognized each other).

But in treating thousands of refried psyches he sometimes resorted to methods that were, like those of Colonel Kurtz, “unsound.” One former patient charged that, under hypnosis, he had made her don a little sailor suit to “do the hokey pokey.” Worse, none of the respectable journals would publish his papers on dreams, forcing him to send his feverish theories to the only outlet open to him, Scatology Today, where the following cases and comments by Dr. Gilbert first appeared. These are the pivotal works which, in their collective unconsciousness and their intuitive grasp of dream symbology, Carl Jung declared “every bit as profound as the lyrics to ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’” Read the full story

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Shower Sing-a-long Radio – this station will explore artists and songs that display the musical trait of being the song “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias on a continuous loop.  Once a week, a different song will be played that also demonstrates musical qualities like mild rhythmic syncopation, smooth lyrics, a Latin dance style, and unfettered awesomeness.  More often than not that song will be Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” although all songs featuring a prominent falsetto – most notably The Darkness’ “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” – will be accepted.

Karaoke Night Radio – this station will explore artists and songs that have musical qualities similar to Sweet Caroline, Don’t Stop Believing, and The Piano Man (i.e. major key tonality, basic rock song structure, use of ambient synth, ubiquitous reference in pop-culture, and easy to read lyrics).  All songs will be reinterpreted by intoxicated dock workers.  A white person will occasionally perform an ironic, self-referential cover of a song with southern rap influences or a prominent banjo part. Read the full story

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It’s Christmas week.  Here at TTM, Christmas week means three things: (1) Conor is creeping around the Michigan Ave ice rink reeking of Pall Malls and sunflower seeds, (2) Kent’s tongue is stuck to a stop sign somewhere in Cleveland, and (3) no one’s writing anything.  Enjoy these treasures from beneath last year’s tree and have yourself a Merry Christmas.

My plan this afternoon was to write a painfully hilarious, staggeringly brilliant article that laid bare the frivolity of the Midwestern ethos through the symbolic milieu of stop sign right-of-way etiquette.  It would have been sweet, trust me.  Unfortunately for all of us, I was trying to write this post at the same Starbucks that a pair of local high schoolers had selected as the location for their breakup conversation.

I got as far as “If there’s one thing the Third World does right, it’s…” when I realized that any attempts at coherent thinking were futile.  Not wanting to waste my time or my vanilla latte, I will instead be describing for you the details of this star-crossed couple’s conversation and we shall see what universal truths we can extract from this unfolding human drama. Read the full story

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It’s Christmas week.  Here at TTM, Christmas week means three things: (1) Conor is creeping around the Michigan Ave ice rink reeking of Pall Malls and sunflower seeds, (2) Kent’s tongue is stuck to a stop sign somewhere in Cleveland, and (3) no one’s writing anything.  Enjoy these treasures from beneath last year’s tree and have yourself a Merry Christmas.

Christmas comes but once a year, now it’s here, now it’s here. Christmas comes but once a year, tra la la la la. The arrival of the holiday season brings with it that most venerable of American institutions– the mall Santa Claus. After enjoying decades of favorable public opinion, the mall Santa Claus has recently taken a severe lashing in popularity as the checkered details of the trade emerge. The Santas owe their collective misfortune in large measure to charges of degeneracy, perversion, financial scandals, a string of tragic Tim Allen films (largely associated with cash-mongering), degeneracy, and, increasingly, perversion.

But who are these oafish imposters? The Talking Mirror spoke with mall Santas across the country in an effort to uncover the lives behind the laps. In the process, we learned more than just the current state of the mall Santa Claus. We learned about the state of the economy, the nature of addiction, and maybe, just maybe, a little something about ourselves. Due to space restrictions, and the proclivity of most Santas for profane and offensive language, we have decided to print only one interview. However, one should be sufficient as each mall Santa is, at his core, identical to all the rest. Read the full story

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In keeping with a storied Talking Mirror tradition dating back to November of 2008 we have decided to re-print the one Thanksgiving themed article in our arsenal.  Doing this not only makes us appear festive and “aware of the outside world” it also prevents us from having to do any actual work.  Also, only like eleven people read it last time so no one should be that upset.  Eat.  Imbibe.  Enjoy.  Happy Thanksgiving from The Talking Mirror.

By: A Turkey

Man, it is starting to get really warm in here, and this slick butter all over me is just making things worse. The metal grate doesn’t help either. Who just turned the light on? Ooh that stings the eyes. Something is happening.  Wait, who are you? What is that probe in your hand? Cease and desist I say! 200 degrees? What are you referring to? Don’t close that door!

Darkness again. Sweet Christmas it is getting quite sweltering. It feels as though my muscles are hardening and becoming crisp and buttery. What purpose does this lather serve? I see you out there human child, answer my questions! Open this door at once; it is growing unbearable inside this contraption.

Something smells delicious. Goodness it is scorching! When will the door be opened so I can leave this infernal sauna? The light returns! What is this metallic foil? It shines like the glow of a million suns! Blasted woman, keep the child’s hands away from me. I have seen what he does to the Teddy Bear, and I shall not permit such gropery.

What is that brush for? What are you lathering onto me? Oooh that feels rather pleasant. Could you funnel the runoff away from my unmentionable areas? I am talking to you! Do not close the door again! Ah! The darkness returns, and I remain trapped in this bathtub. Oh how this liquid invades me in unspeakable ways! Read the full story

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Have you ever stared at something and wanted it to fly? I know I have. Like last night after I got done slamming Irish Car Bombs down at the old watering hole… I stared at my car for about an hour trying to get it to fly. Damn thing wouldn’t budge!

Well guess what! That’s what this game is all about, apparently. You put our little headset on, and you get to make balls fly all over this game set. Hah, that sounds wrong… or right? Either way, it sounds like tons of fun to me. Stare at balls and make them jump all over the place. Not quite moving a car, but it’s a step in the right direction. And that direction, my friends, will cost you about a hundred bucks! Only at skymall!

Read the full story

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This article was published today by the good people over at The Big Jewel.  If you haven’t been to The Big Jewel yet, you should check them out by clicking here, or the link in our blogroll, or the other link at the bottom of this article.

Enjoy.

1) Do you have permission to leave the state?

2) It’s three p.m. on a Wednesday.  What are the chances you are too intoxicated to operate a forklift?

3) Please check any of the following that you own (should not be less than three):

• freeze-dried ice cream
• SpongeBob Band-Aids
• defibrillation paddles
• falsified foreign passports
• the book of Revelation (rest of Bible not necessary)
• ingredients for s’mores
• riot gear
• a panic room

4) Fill in the blank: There is literally nothing I wouldn’t do for my good friend, Kent.  Yes, I would give him (one/both/all) of my______________ if he asked for (it/them/her).

5) How many times have you read Kill It and Grill It: Ted and Shemane Nugent’s Guide to Preparing & Cooking Wild Game and Fish? (If you have not read it, please explain.)

6) Using the attached paper, describe in 500 words or less what “persistent, vegetative state” means to you.  As part of your answer, please address the following scenario:

A friend is knocked unconscious during a mountain biking accident.  His injuries are minimal and he will likely make a full recovery in a matter of hours.  That being said, he was recently fired and dumped on the same day and has been growing increasingly dissatisfied with the quality of his life.  Also, he has $23.00 and an Applebee’s gift card in his wallet.  Would this qualify as a “difficult end-of-life decision”?

7) Rate from 1 to 5 your comfort with executing the following tasks:

• Cardiopulmonary resuscitation
• Forging a prescription
• Performing gender reassignment surgery in a typically-stocked Western kitchen
• Cutting the crust off a grilled cheese sandwich
• Firing an automatic weapon while riding in a motorcycle sidecar
• Amphibious evacuation from a hostile beachhead
• Conferring the Roman Catholic Last Rites or “Anointing of the Sick” from memory

8.  Remember that episode in Band of Brothers that follows the medic around?  You know, the one where Easy Company is under heavy artillery fire and a bunch of guys get killed by shrapnel and flying pieces of exploded trees and what not?  Yeah, that one.  List at least three things you would have done differently to prevent unnecessary amputation or death…

Read the rest at http://www.thebigjewel.com/before-i-put-you-as-my-emergency-contact-there-are-some-things-i-need-to-know/

Popularity: 7% [?]

I’ve had a sort of writing dry spell lately. As my legions of TTM fans have likely noticed, I haven’t contributed a whole lot to the site lately. I have a new job, a girlfriend, and the meth empire for which TTM is actually a front. What can I say? Kent and I are entrepreneurs and we saw a lucrative opportunity. I’ll tell you what though, we offer the best customer service and if you O.D. on our product, we give you your money back!

I digress. The point is, I’ve been busy. The content on the site has been mostly driven by Kent and hilarious contributors. I receive a loud voicemail every other day from Kent that is almost entirely comprised of vulgarities and racial epithets that don’t apply to me. I’m sorry buddy, but you just can’t coerce hilarity out of someone. It has to come from inspiration.

And well, I found some inspiration the other day. The following is my commentary on a list from a website called “The Frisky” about what you should teach your sons about women. What kind of website has that kind of ridiculous name? Good question. It’s a site by women, for women. Anytime a woman writes something about how men work, what men think, or generally anything about men, you can almost guarantee that it’s completely wrong. This list is a decent example of that, although I do agree with some of what it says. The rest of it… well… You’ll see. Here it is. The list itself will be in bold, my comments will be in italics. Bon Appetit, gluttons.

Read the full story

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