Stuff Weird People Like

It has been said that there is no such thing as a stupid question. I beg to differ. Consider the following scenarios:

SCENARIO 1

You are at a restaurant with a group of people. The waiter has just finished reciting the specials, and asks if anyone has any questions. The answer that everyone is hoping for here is, “no,” so you can go ahead and place your order. But unfortunately you are dining with someone weird who likes to ask questions, so it goes something like this:

Waiter: So, does anyone have any questions?

Weird Diner: What’s the tomato soup like?

Waiter: Well, it’s a soup. Made from tomatoes.

Weird Diner: Is it hot?

Waiter: Yes, we do heat the soup.

Weird Diner: No, I mean: is it spicy?

Waiter: No, it’s fairly mild. I think you’d like it.

Weird Diner: Okay…I’ll have to think about it.

Waiter: Well, if there are no other questions…

Weird Diner: If I order the Baked Scrod, can I get it without breadcrumbs?

Waiter: Certainly!

Weird Diner: And can I get french fries instead of the baked potato?

Waiter: Yup!

Weird Diner: And could I get a salad instead of the mixed vegetables?

Waiter: Sure…

Weird Diner: But is the fish fresh? They say you should only order fish on Friday, and this is Wednesday.

Waiter: I’m sure it’s very fresh. Would you like to place your order now?

Weird Diner: Well…would it be possible to substitute chicken for the scrod?

Waiter: Um…I think so…I’ll just go check on that.

The waiter deliberately does not return for twenty minutes, hoping that the Weird Diner and the rest of your group will be too hungry to ask any more annoying questions. Unfortunately, the opposite occurs. The Weird Diner spends the time looking at the menu and thinking up even more questions. Facing starvation, you are ultimately forced to kill the Weird Diner.

SCENARIO 2

You are in a college American Literature class. The instructor has just wrapped up an excruciatingly dull lecture on Nathaniel Hawthorne. During the lecture, time has slowed, then seemingly stopped completely. Several students around you have dozed off. You yourself fell into a comatose state, left your body, and traveled at the speed of light down a long tunnel toward a bright light. After the Nathaniel Hawthorne lecture, you welcomed death, but The Light made you return to your body.

The professor asks if anyone has any questions. With the lecture apparently over, you silently thank God and gather your things to leave. But unfortunately you have someone weird in your class. Someone who likes to ask questions.

The weird student spends a full five minutes asking a question. Something about how Hawthorne’s transcendentalist beliefs affected his relationship with Ralph Waldo Emerson — it’s so convoluted that no one can really follow it. Except for the professor, who nods attentively and then spends fifteen minutes answering the question. By then you have fallen back into a coma and returned to the tunnel and The Light. Thankfully, this time The Light lets you stay.

SCENARIO 3

Two soldiers are disarming an unexploded bomb. One soldier is a staff sergeant with years of experience disarming unexploded ordnance. The other is a weird soldier who likes to ask a lot of questions.

Sergeant: Hold this blue wire.

Weird Soldier: The light blue wire or the dark blue wire?

Sergeant: This one! The one I’m holding, you idiot!

Weird Soldier: Well, you don’t have to shout!

Sergeant: Okay, I need you to be very quiet now.

Weird Soldier: How come?

Sergeant: Because I need to hear that humming sound.

Weird Soldier: What humming sound? I can’t hear anything!

Sergeant: The humming sound in the bomb! Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to cut the red wire. If the humming sound stops after I cut the red wire, the bomb is disarmed and we’re all set. If the humming sound doesn’t stop after I cut the red wire, we have exactly 20 seconds until the bomb detonates.

Weird Soldier: Do you mean the dark red wire or the light red wire?

Sergeant: This one! The one I’m holding! Look, just shut up and pass me the wire cutter.

Weird Soldier: I still can’t hear the humming sound.

Sergeant: YOU don’t have to hear anything! You just need to shut up so I can cut the red wire. Is that clear?

Weird Soldier: Sure!

Sergeant: Okay, here goes!

Weird Soldier: Did you cut the wire?

Sergeant: YES! Now, SHUT UP! I can’t tell if it’s humming or not!

Weird Soldier: Well, I can’t tell either. But I couldn’t hear it to begin with! Can you hear it?

Sergeant: NO!!! NOW SHUT UP!!!

Weird Soldier: I still can’t hear it! Can you hear it? Do you think we should start running now?

[At this point the bomb explodes, killing them both instantly.]

If any of this sounds familiar, you might want to ask yourself this question: “Am I asking too many questions?” If they answer is, “yes,” you might want to tone it down a notch or two. Because you might be asking too many questions. And you just might be WEIRD.

Auto racing (also known as automobile racing, motor racing, or car racing) is a motorsport involving racing cars. — Wikipedia

Thank goodness for Wikipedia! Now that we’ve gotten that explanation out of the way, let’s move on.

For shame!

Environmentally, auto racing is a disaster. It’s not so much the fossil fuels burned during the race as it is the massive carbon footprint of one hundred thousand fans driving to watch a typical NASCAR race. What would Al Gore say? Okay, who cares what Al Gore would say, but I think you see the point.

Then there’s the race itself. I assume it’s pretty exciting if you’re a driver, and you have to avoid collisions while tailgating other cars at 200-plus miles per hour. And I guess it’s probably exciting to be on a pit crew, if you think it’s exciting to change tires really, really quickly.

But  for the fans? You’re basically sitting there in the hot sun watching cars go around a track again and again and again and again. Up to 500 times. In the same direction. Even with the addition of beer consumption, this gets old after a while.

Now you're talking!

That’s why racing fans secretly hope for the one thing the drivers fear the most: a crash. A really BIG crash, with multiple cars flipping end-over-end, smashing into walls, smashing into each other, flaming wreckage and human body parts flying everywhere, with loose wheels rocketing into the crowd, fatally injuring spectators. We’re talking about a chain reaction apocalypse of death and destruction that doesn’t stop until the track runs red and black with spilled blood and motor oil. Then you’ve got yourself a race!

Along those lines, here are a few suggestions to make auto racing more interesting:

• Make the cars race while towing campers filled with explosives.
• Have half of the cars go around the track in one direction, and the other half of the cars go around the track in the opposite direction. You’d still have the usual excitement of competitive racing, but with the added challenge of avoiding high-speed head-on collisions.
• Put all of the bathrooms in the center of the race track. Access to the bathrooms would be via crosswalks across the track — without pedestrian lights. And give away free beer.
• Organize a cross-country race in which drivers get points for killing pedestrians. Wait, I think someone may have thought of that one already…

Then there’s drag racing, which does not involve men in women’s clothing, although I suppose it could, but which is a motorsport in which two vehicles race side by side for a short distance. Then at the end a little parachute pops out of the back of each car, which is just adorable. There are no turns, so the steering doesn’t seem to be too much of a challenge. The only thing the drivers have to avoid is stepping on the gas too quickly, which would cause the car’s wheels to spin and smoke rather than gain traction. This seems like something anyone could pick up pretty quickly. And for the fans? Well, I guess you have to really like the smell of burning rubber, or the sound of the engines, or the cute little parachutes, or the way the cars go straight down the track. Again and again.

To conclude, please don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against auto racing or racing fans. I’m not like those elitist snobs who think people who like auto racing are all inbred, low-life, white trash, tobacco-chewing, beer-guzzling, K-mart shopping, trailer park rednecks. I would never say that, especially since a lot of racing fans own guns. But I do think you’re a little WEIRD.

Okay, racing may not be ALL bad...

It has been said that one sure sign of insanity is writing letters to the editor. This is absolutely true. If you write letters to the editor, you are at the very least weird, and quite probably mentally disturbed.

Weird people write letters to the editor for a wide variety of reasons, including:

• Uncontrollable, anal-retentive self-righteousness.
• To compensate for low self-esteem.
• As a desperate plea for attention.
• Because the voices in their head tell them to.

Here is an actual letter to the editor that appeared in the September, 2009 issue of National Geographic magazine, in reference to an article about the Arctic oil rush:

“Your article mentioned that Barrow, Alaska is the northernmost town in North America. Aren’t Sachs Harbour, Resolute, and Grise Ford, Canada, all located farther north than Barrow? I’ve seen these places described as hamlets, but I don’t know if they are officially towns, villages, or something else. Is this just an issue of semantics?”

For the love of God, WHO CARES? Okay, maybe the people who live in Sachs Harbour, Resolute, or Grise Ford could possibly bring themselves to care about this issue, but the person who wrote this letter lives in New York, and is therefore completely insane. And apparently so are the editors at National Geographic, who not only published this madman’s letter to begin with, but also saw fit to research, compose, and publish the following response:

The communities mentioned are so small they are not considered towns. Sachs Harbour and Grise Ford, for example, have populations of only about a hundred residents each.

Whew, thanks for clearing that up — now I can sleep at night! However, I don’t think the National Geographic editors are really helping this person with that type of response. I would have gone with something more along the lines of this:

The communities mentioned are most likely figments of your imagination. This is not so much an issue of semantics, but has more to do with obsessive compulsive disorder and delusional thinking — yours. We would also like to point out that you live in New York, not Alaska. There are lots and lots of things to see and do in New York. We suggest that you try to get out more often, stop spending so much time thinking about Alaska, and we strongly urge you to seek professional help. And if you ever say anything about Barrow again, we will come to your apartment and beat you to within an inch of your life.

The deranged people who write letters to the editor do so with the deluded expectation that other people will think they are:

• Intelligent and well-read.
• Attentive to detail.
• Someone important others should listen to.
• A well-rounded, mature, erudite commentator.

But in reality, most people think someone who writes a letter to the editor is:

• A pretentious, elitist egomaniac.
• A hyper-critical, anal-retentive harpy.
• A pompous blowhard who should be completely ignored.
• A raving lunatic who is probably dangerous.

So there you have it. If you absolutely feel you must write a letter to the editor, don’t say we didn’t warn you. And please — get some help!

Even weirder than people who like to go fishing are people who like to watch television programs about fishing, such as The American Sportsman. The cruel thing about this program was that people seemed to have fun and actually catch fish, neither of which happens in real life.

Check out my rod.

The American Sportsman was a television series hosted by Curt Gowdy. Each week, Curt would take a celebrity hunting or fishing, and a film crew would record the action.

Here is an excerpt from an episode that featured Gowdy on a fly fishing trip to a remote lake in Montana with celebrity guest Andy Griffith:

Curt Gowdy: Just look at this lake.

Andy Griffith: Yup, it sure is a fine lake. Yessir, just fine.

Curt Gowdy: And it’s really remote…no one around for miles. Nice and private…

Andy Griffith (glancing nervously at Curt): Yup, I guess it’s quiet alright…

Curt Gowdy (briefly touching Andy’s leg): I hope I get a big one today!

Andy Griffith (looking more closely at Curt): You mean a fish, right? A big fish?

Curt Gowdy: Oh, sure! But do you want to know the real reason they call this “fly fishing”?

Andy Griffith: I just remembered…I have to leave. Right now.

The American Sportsman is off the air, but now we have TV shows about commercial fishermen, such as Deadliest Catch and Swords: Life on the Line.

"It's really hard to catch fish with these plastic tubs. Can't we get some nets or something?"

In this type of show, a group of foul-mouthed, blue collar scalawags attempts to catch fish in some of the most dangerous waters on the planet — waters so dangerous that even fish try to avoid them. The shifts are long, the work is difficult, and the language is very colorful. Here is an excerpt from Deadliest Catch: All This for Fish Sticks?:

Captain (on the PA): WATCH THE CRANE!!! WATCH OUT FOR THE $#!!%@ CRANE, YOU *$#@!!s!

Crewman 1: What the @#%$#!? is he #$#!!*& talking about?!

Crewman 2: If you weren’t a &%&!!! rookie you’d know, you stupid @#$%%#!!!!

Captain: THE CRANE!!! THE %$##*&!! CRANE!!! ARE YOU ALL #&*^#!!! BLIND??!!!

Crewman 1: Your girlfriend didn’t think I was a rookie last Saturday night, you #$*&&!!!

Crewman 2: Oh yeah? Well, I hear your mother eats fish sticks!

Captain: CRANE!!! C-R-A-N-E !!! THE #@%$#!!!&! CRANE!!!!!!!!

[The crane falls on Crewman 1 and Crewman 2, killing them both instantly]

Captain: OH, GREAT!!! NOW WE GOTTA GET A NEW #$$@%&!! CRANE!!!

There’s certainly nothing wrong with watching other people catch fish. Some people even think that fishing should be an Olympic sport. Then again, some people think pole dancing should be an Olympic sport. And some people like to watch television shows about fishing. That doesn’t make them wrong, but it does make them WEIRD.

Not all weird people like to fish, but you have to be pretty weird to actually like fishing.

"If you boys get your lines tangled again, I swear I'll kill both of you."

When I was a boy, my Dad used to take us fishing. Getting ready for a fishing trip usually involved an extended search to find the fishing poles, fishing licenses, tackle boxes, bait, lures, bobbers, weights, oars or paddles, life jackets, nets, creels, etc.

Screaming would ensue when things could not be found, or worse, when things were found broken. But eventually we would get all the stuff together and make it to a pond or lake.

Once there, the first order of business was to bait your hook. This involved reaching into a coffee can full of fetid manure, grabbing a squirming night-crawler, and repeatedly impaling it on a barbed hook. The worm would writhe ever more frantically with each penetration of the hook, which made the process even more difficult and horrifying. Dear God, just end it, the worm seemed to scream silently. Please just end it.

I know what some of you are thinking: it was just a worm. It wasn’t a kitten, or a puppy, or a fluffy baby chick. But I was still killing an innocent creature with my bare hands, then flinging it into the water, maimed and half-dead, in the hopes of catching and killing another innocent creature. It would have helped if I really needed the fish in order to survive. In that case I could have said to the worms or the fish, “I am truly sorry, but you must die that I may live.” But unfortunately that was not the case. We were fishing just for the sheer fun of it.

What would usually happen next was absolutely nothing. This is the core activity involved with fishing — sitting and doing absolutely nothing for long periods of time. As the hours wore on, delusional thinking would set in, resulting in sensory hallucinations such as false “nibbles.” Maybe if we moved over there, we’d have better luck. I bet you’re right! Let’s go! Let’s do something.

And when a fish was eventually caught, it was usually the wrong type of fish. Too many bones, and not enough meat. An unwanted fish. Or too small — an illegal fish. We’ll just throw it back. But first there was the matter of removing the hook, which was usually firmly lodged halfway down the fish’s digestive tract. Pass me the pliers! After a few minutes of twisting — and sickening crunching noises — the hook would finally come out (along with a couple of internal organs), and the fish would be released to endure the last few hours of its life with intense suffering and pain. Be free, little one, be free!

Bon Appetite!

But sometimes we would catch the right type of fish. When that happened, you got to take the fish home and “clean” it. This involved cutting the fish’s head off, slitting its belly open, and pulling out its internal organs. Then you were ready to enjoy a fish dinner!

After all that, somehow I couldn’t eat the fish. I couldn’t even stand the smell while it was cooking. That did not go over well with the family, but I just could not bring myself to eat it. It could have been psychological, I guess.

So that’s my story. But here are just some of the reasons YOU are weird if you like fishing:

• You like doing things that are boring and frustrating.
• You like to spend several hours preparing to doing absolutely nothing constructive for several more hours.
• You like to talk about bait and lures.
• You have a hat with a bunch of fishing crap stuck in it.
• You like to say, “lunker.”
• You like to read fishing magazines.
• You suffer from “rod envy.”
• You like to watch other people go fishing on television.
• There are several back issues of Outdoor Life in your bathroom.
• You like torturing, killing, and butchering innocent creatures.
• You may have the potential to become a serial killer.

That’s about it for now! For all you weird fishermen out there, I leave you with this, which definitely never, ever happens in real life:

This absolutely never happens in real life.