We women, with our sumptuous breasts and our shapely hips, have to be funny in order literally to survive. Our curves render us useless for just about anything except cracking wise and quip-firing. Sometimes our breasts are so big that we actually can’t move; we have no choice but to sit very still in one place and come up with joke after joke. Sometimes—though rare—our hips are so wide, that we physically cannot fit through the exit door of the comedy club that our office co-workers dragged us to after happy hour. So the only option available to us is to stay inside the comedy club, absorbing comedy act after comedy act, and in so doing, completing the full transformation from comedy student to comedy master.
For example, If you are a vegan health food fanatic and you invite me over for an especially cooked for me dinner and proudly present me with a plate of fried chicken, hog maws, chittlins, greens, and candied yams, you cannot cry foul when I jump up from the table and shout, “Listen here white devil. You are a racist piece of shit. Now, Get your ass up and go get me some fucking Tupperware so I can wrap this delicious shit up and get the fuck away from your racist ass.
5. I cook with bacon and bacon grease. That’s nothing new. Your being a vegetarian doesn’t change the fact that stuffing without bacon is like egg salad without eggs. Even the green bean casserole has a little bacon grease in it. That’s why it tastes so good. Not eating bacon is just not natural. And as far as being healthy… look at me. I’ve outlived almost everyone I know.
6. Salad at Thanksgiving is a waste of space.
“Nothing beats autumn in New England,” said His Excellency, the Duke of Fall, who began the day swaddled in a warm flannel blanket, gazing out the window at the golden-hued landscape, as is his custom this time of year. “Everywhere the leaves are changing and the temperature is starting to drop off. You can smell it in the air.”
Don’t get me wrong. I think I’m awesome. I’m pretty tall for an Asian guy. For a Vietnamese guy I’m like Paul fucking Bunyan. I love Karaoke. I’m a decent wage earner, considering that I’m neither a doctor, lawyer, banker, nor YouTube sensation. I used to drive a Toyota.
But there’s problems that make me a non-option for self-dating. Like the whole patriarchy thing. And my middle class striving. And my small hands. And my being from a country with a long history of colonization and rape from foreign powers that colors nearly every aspect of my socialization.
Drink a caffeinated Diet Coke before the debate starts because your job as a political blogger requires you to live-Tweet it. After the debate, attempt to negate the stimulating effects of the Diet Coke by mixing some gin with Snapple, drinking it in one gulp, and lying very still in bed.
I know these are masterpieces, and you’re supposed to let their brilliance wash over you while you contemplate their significance, but I really couldn’t make myself stand there for more than a few seconds,” said museum-goer Vernon Bailey, admitting he spent more time reading the placards describing each painting than he did looking at the art itself.