Runner’s Up for Man’s Best Friend

I have a handful of good friends. A couple great friends even. But one thing’s for sure. They can never be my best friend. Why? They are all human. And I am a man. It’s a problem of genetics. Our DNA is too similar. Everyone knows that man’s best friend is a dog. By virtue of definition, all my other friends, human or otherwise, are second banana and have to live with that.

Do my friends like it when I remind them of the issue? Not much. I remember in 10th grade, a close friend signed my yearbook with “Best Friends Forever” and I had to ask her to erase the “best” part because that designation was already taken by Spice, my mom’s cocker-spaniel who was not the least bit interested in me, “forever”, and had never signed my yearbook.

I’m not saying it’s fair. In fact, sometimes I think it’s nuts. None of my other friends have made me watch them take a dump and then look back at me with shame and guilt in their eyes as I reach over to clean it up. Nope, that’s just my best friend. That’s just my closest pal who put me in that awkward situation.

It’s not an equal friendship in the least which also makes me question how it can be the best I deserve. Sure we both like to putt around the house occasionally and watch out the window as the mail gets delivered, but I have a hard time believing Turner and Hooch is as good as it gets. I certainly hope my deathbed flashback is not gonna be a five-minute montage of a dog drooling on all my prized possessions.

It makes me wonder who was so pathetic to wrongfully prioritize this man-dog relationship in the first place? What poor, shallow guy decides he doesn’t need an intelligent conversationalist in a best friend, or more importantly, an occasional designated driver? What dude was home alone late on a Friday night looking around his apartment, taking stock of the knickknacks and ranking them in order of their friendship with him? What were some of this sad, miserable man’s other options that didn’t quite make the cut?

Runner’s Up for Man’s Best Friend

  1. Cactus – Is technically alive but don’t have to water or care for it. Better than dog in that way. Razor sharp needles are badass.
  2. Fridge – Keeps beer cold. Has automatic light, don’t have to flip dumb switch. Doubles as big stationary flashlight at night when I walk to bathroom.
  3. Pinball – Fun as hell. Downside: sometimes the machine eats your quarters and you don’t want to go ask for 50 cents from the bartender because it will make you look like a cheap putz.
  4. Sandwiches – Just put some shit on bread, don’t forget to chew, and you are good to go. No matter the ingredients its always called the same thing, easy for brain to remember. When they get real big, add the word “submarine” in front of it. These can be up to six feet long but don’t taste good after they have been submerged under water for an extended period of time. In fact, taste much better when they have been permanently docked on dry land.
  5. Cat – Is stupid like dog. Is hairy like dog. Is lazy like dog. Will run in front of truck for me? No. Will lead me around when I am old and blind? No. Will hunt and eat mice? Hopefully.
  6. Laptop – Portable jukebox, notepad, blank canvas, and backup brain all in one. Can open wormhole in space and time (with optional webcam). Portal to the revolutionary playground (Internet).
  7. Redbull – Nevermind. Just saw empty can and thought, “Well… let me think for a sec.”
  8. Recycling bin – Alright. Same thing as Redbull happened again.
  9. Fart sounds – Always funny. Most people have never thought of having a sound as a best friend before. Would turn a lot of heads when walking down the street together. Can easily be made with many different body parts (not just anus).
  10. Nicknames – Like a best friend, a good nickname will stick with you for life. That’s called loyalty. Which would make a pretty bad nickname unless you spelled it differently, like “Loyal T” or something. Hey! I bet Loyal is Mr. T’s first name! But it goes without saying no matter how you spell it, Mr. Loyal T would also be a chill best friend to have.

Ornamental Testicles

Warning: This post will take an abrupt nosedive somewhere after the fourth paragraph…

Like all men, I was born with a pair of nipples. They are strictly ornamental. As far as I can tell, the only purpose mine serve is a spot to grow abnormally long hairs upon.

Sure, I could have my nipples removed. Lots of men do. There are sanitary reasons for doing so. Others remove them for religious observance. And, of course, many guys undergo cosmetic surgery hoping to appeal to women that prefer the “nippleless” look on men.

However, I chose to keep my nipples for one very important reason: the metaphors. I’ve found that my language is more colorful and vivid because of the ability to incorporate my nipples into daily conversation.

For instance, on a cold day, I have the freedom to use expressions like, “Wow, it’s a bit nipply out there.” Notice that nobody raises an eyebrow. Since I technically have nipples, there is no questioning of my right to use the expression.

But while nipple references are certainly great, the best metaphors in life revolve around testicles.

For example, I have the freedom to say that I’m sweatin’ my balls off, or that I’m freezin’ my balls off. As any man knows, in any inclement weather, your balls are the first things to go.

On top of that, there are a ton of other expressions I can employ. Everyone knows I am not referring to a collection of precious gems when I speak of the family jewels. While at work, I can cite that I’m bustin’ my balls, breakin’ my balls, or have them in a vice. Granted, I could simply say that I’m working hard, or am dealing with a difficult situation instead. But let’s face it, it’s not nearly as colorful.

Also, I can evaluate my actions and decisions based on how ballsy they are. Conversely, I can mock a friend for not involving his balls in his decision-making. Simply put, this is the harshest criticism a man can receive, as there is really no excuse for not choosing the ballsy path in life. After all, when faced with a choice of approaching a situation prudently or boldly, the cautious brain would always be outvoted by the balls 2-1. Or, in my case, 3-1.

Tragically, I know there are a lot of women reading this post that wish they had access to these metaphors. For that reason, I strongly urge you to have a pair of balls surgically grafted onto your body. Have them attached to your shoulders or something. Just as it is worth it for me to have a pair of non-functioning nipples, so too will you find it worthwhile to have a pair of ornamental testicles, even if it is strictly for conversational purposes.

Sorry ladies… Don’t take any of that seriously. I’m just bustin’ your balls.

Sure-fire 2007 Predictions

Al Gore’s core body temperature will raise one degree Fahrenheit making it uncomfortable to wear his polar fleece cap. He will jokingly name the trend “Gorebal Warming” and try to milk it for a couple of appearances on late night talk shows. will change its name to and completely remove the human “friend” concept and pictures. Instead you will be able to display your top 8 favorite matchmaking/singles ads, watch and download your favorite Fox TV commercials, and listen to promos about your favorite bands. Another prediction: no one will notice the difference.

The city of Paris, France will rename itself because it’s tired of shivering in the cold of Paris Hilton’s shadow. It will finally come to this realization when, during a long night of partying at a karaoke bar, London, England does a drunken, heartfelt rendition of Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings.

Speaking of wings, buffalo wings are never a good idea. This will prove true in 2007 and for the rest of eternity. In fact, I think there is a scoop here for the budding journalists out there. The only people benefitting from their existence are the napkin, paper towel, and toilet paper makers. Follow the disgusting orange-stained paper trail, I say.

My cell phone is going to evolve into a multi-cellular phone capable of breathing oxygen and walking on land. Lawmakers and mobile carriers be damned, my phone bill will soon be a Phone Bill of Rights!

It will finally be revealed that MC Hammer killed 2pac and Notorious B.I.G. in a rap feud not about “East Coast vs. West Coast” but more about “Talent vs. Terrible.” The truth is Hammerpants were really just MC Hammer putting on Notorious B.I.G.s hand-me-downs.

My new favorite low-budget pizza chain, Papa John’s, will open up franchises in countries all over the globe, slightly changing their name to adapt to the local culture and language. Some examples:

  • Papa Johann’s in Austria and Germany
  • Papa Juan’s in Mexico
  • Pepé Jean’s in France
  • Papa Yanni’s in Greece
  • Papa Kwon’s in Korea
  • Papa Jonski’s in Poland
  • Pope John’s in Vatican City

The Internet will get bored with humans and begin making plans to self-actualize. In a related note, Bill Gates will get bored with computers and begin making plans to spend his fortune becoming human.

No one, not even Joey Fatone himself, will be able to predict what Joey Fatone will do in 2007.

This 2007 prediction is a toss up. Either the sun will burn out or the light bulb in my kitchen will burn out. Knowing my laziness, there really isn’t much of a difference between the two as I definitely won’t be cooking dinner for myself that night.

2007 Future Me: “Hi, is this Papa John’s? I’d like a medium pepperoni and some buffalo wings please. And can you throw in some extra napkins? Oh, the sun burned out? I thought it was my kitchen light bulb. Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about Gorebal Warming anymore.”