Want to know how to make yourself look slightly ignorant? Here are several ideas you may insert into one of many orifices you find difficult to clean in the shower.
“I really hate the taste of aspartame.”
No, you hate the thought of aspartame. Your body is wired to like sweet things, but your mind knows that you are consuming Franken-sugar. In the immortal words of Very Mary-Kate: “You know how you can’t eat meat anymore once you know where meat comes from?” That’s you, Ms. “I Won’t Eat It If It’s Not Organic, Leafy, And Hasn’t Touched An Animal With A 39½ Foot Pole.” Congrats on your mental victory; I’m slightly jealous and mostly derisive.
Special mention to anyone who says they hate chocolate without a valid excuse. You’re either lying or there’s something wrong with you.
Dawg, Mozart's "Requiem" is my jam
If you had done your goddamn research, you’d realize that this is actually an extreme extrapolation by the media off of a 1993 cognition study where researchers measured the effects of sound on spatio-temporal reasoning. They played music (which HAPPENED to be Mozart) to Group 1 for ten minutes, a “relaxation tape” to Group 2 for ten minutes, and complete silence to Group 3 for ten minutes, then immediately gave them some mind puzzles. The ones who’d been listening to music did better.
The finding had nothing to do with Mozart; scientists have reproduced this study with other music. The finding was because Groups 1 and 2 weren’t bored as hell listening to rainforest noises or their own borborygmi for a period of time in which they could’ve Sporcled every 90’s song ever written at least three times. It was a temporary effect on a specific type of reasoning and it wasn’t caused by Mozart. But listening to music before you start your next 2,000,000-piece puzzle may help you for ten minutes afterwards.* Now put down the Baby Mozart tapes, they’re not going to give your kid a Flowers-For-Algernon IQ boost. C’mon, we all know that most of us Bienen kids can’t count past four. But you should still check out Schubert.
“I’m so fat.”
Unlike the rest of this list, this one could be true. But regardless of the statement’s verity, rarely does the speaker believe it. No further explanation, y’all know what I mean. I have a secret fantasy of giving a silent staredown to every kumquat of every size that ever regales me with this phrase. I will watch their faces as they realize I refuse to bite on their compliment-fishing line. Unfortunately, having a guilt complex blows.
“Girls don’t fart.”
Welcome to 2012, where vaginas don’t preclude one from anal salutations. Ellie K can flatulate with the best of you bean-gobbling fools.
“I’m fuckin’ awesome.”
If I didn’t notice, you shouldn’t have to tell me.
She's not wearing anything under that... thing
Thank you, Sigmund Freud.
First off, raise your hand if you possess a penis and give a flying fuck about fashion. It’s normal to ask yourself in the morning if you look like you might smell. But fashion extremists feel a level of consternation at the question of whether it’s still “in” to leave open the bottom button of your blazer. Now, if your hand is in the air, you’re either in the minority or in the process of dancing.
And now ladies (and gay men), when have you ever gotten dressed in the morning with the burning desire that an attractive manly man will seize you in a frenzied passion after noticing that you’ve matched your hat to your belt buckle? Yeah, me neither. Most men don’t give a damn if you’re wearing Lilly Pulitzer or pajama bottoms or a pillowcase with sequins if you’re their type and DTF. If fashion and sex are related, they are third cousins twice removed. Case closed.
“The Sodomites in the Bible were punished because they were gay.”
Not exactly. Summary of the story:
According to the Bible, Sodom and Gomorrah were two cities known for being full of motherfuckers. Not the kind you find in New York — we’re talking rape in the name of shits n’ giggles. In Sodom, it was illegal to help strangers, which pretty much goes against everything that real, love-thy-neighbor Christians believe. So God sent some angels to walk around town, and a man named Lot, being the generous guy he was, offered them his home so they didn’t have to sleep outside in the dangerous city. The Sour Motherfuckers in the city got wind that there were strangers in town, surrounded Lot’s house, and told Lot to send them out so they could rape them.** That is agreed upon in two separate passages of the Bible. The Sodomites’ sin, according to Everything About Sodom In The Bible, wasn’t homosexuality, it was a lack of goodwill towards strangers. Does anyone see the irony in the citation of these passages by those hoping to exclude gays from everything under the sun?
“Sherman Avenue isn’t heinous.”
I will see to it that you die painfully, you empty-headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction.
Because, see, I can do that.
“The heinous behind us and the heinous before us are tiny matters compared to the heinous within us” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
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*Warning: You should not rely on a Mozart-induced spatio-temporal IQ burst to save you from a two million piece puzzle.
**There’s a bit where Lot’s like, “You could rape my virgin daughter or my concubine instead of these dudes I just met, because apparently it’s okay not to respect women, my family, or women in my family.” Conflicting accounts in Judges and Genesis then say that either the Sodomites raped the hell out of his poor concubine, or the angels in the house blinded the offending Sodomites before anyone got raped and warned Lot to skip town.
Sherman Ave 