Awkward Encounters of the Third Kind

Have you ever found yourself in a conversation with someone you haven’t seen in a while and out of the blue, the person tells you about someone that died. Like:

“Heyy, Steve, long time no see, man. How’s it going?”

“Hey, Dave. Can’t complain. I got a good job, been with my girl for over a year now, all’s good.”

“Right on, man. I’m glad to hear it.”

“My grandmother died last month, so not everything has been good.”

And you’re just like, ughhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well that fucking sucks. But we all tend to have the same response when someone else mentions the death of a friend or family member, and we always say: “Oh. I’m so sorry.” Every once in a while the person will respond to that aggressively and say, “Why? You didn’t kill her.” Which immediately puts you on the defensive but you can’t get mad because you’re still talking about his dead grandma. But seriously, who the fuck says that? Are you suggesting that I am capable of killing someone? And if I had killed her, what kind of sociopathic shit would it be for me to just casually walk up to you and apologize for killing your grandma. “Hey, sorry about Nanna.”

“You should be sorry! You fucking shot her in the face!”

“Yeah. That’s why I said sorry. Christ, why don’t you freak out about it.”


But anyway, so we instinctively say: “Oh. I’m so sorry.” But you’re not. Unless you knew the person well, you don’t really give a shit. What you really want to say is: Well, this is awkward. I don’t want to be a dick, but while we’re on the topic of death, you totally just killed this conversation. I was just about to tell you about this big-titted slut I hooked up with at the bar last night, but that seems to be a little crass, now. Fuck.

The worst part about it is after we say sorry and there’s that awkward moment of silence or acknowledgement, we then go and ask the dumbest, most rhetorical question possible: “How are you doing? Are you OK?” What the hell is anybody supposed to say in response to that? (very excited and happy) “Couldn’t be better. I fuckin hated that bitch. Always pinching my cheek and ruffling my hair. Left me a bunch of money, too, so that’s pretty sweet. May she now rest in peace.”


You know what annoys me? When a person dies and no matter what, someone says, “may he rest in peace.” Rest in peace suggests that the person’s life was tough and chaotic, but that’s not always the case. Not everyone works for a living. I had a friend of mine die recently (wait for reaction from audience). No, no, it’s fine. He served absolutely no purpose in this world. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the guy, but he was the laziest and luckiest motherfucker I ever met. First off, he was rich. And not like, live in a big house and wear preppy clothes rich; I mean never have to work a day in his life, have maids that clean up after him, oblivious to what living a real life actually means, rich. He spent every day since he graduated from high school in his own, separate wing of his parents’ mansion playing video games, listening to music, and giving girls free coke in return for blowjobs. Dude drank, smoked weed, took ecstasy, acid, and blew mounds of coke on a regular basis. Died in his sleep at age 28. Cardiac arrest. Doctors said he didn’t feel a thing. So when I was at his wake and his mother put her hand on his cold dead shoulder and said: “may he now rest in peace,” I was like… “NOW?!? May he NOW rest in peace? That’s all the fucker did his whole life! Do you know how peaceful blowjobs are?” I felt bad after that because clearly, she will never know how peaceful blowjobs are since she’s the one doing all the work.


Isn’t it funny how felatio is referred to as a blow-JOB, but cunnilingus is never called a lick-JOB. Think about the diction here, women give handjobs and blowjobs; men finger and eat out. I know what you’re thinking ladies: it’s a job so we should get paid! Just remember, even if you did get paid, you’d only get 75% of what gay guys would get.


Anway, back to my dead buddy. What his epitaph should have read was, “Lazy cocksucker should have exercised more.” All he had to do was go for a run every once in a while instead of lying around on his wrap-around sofa, and he’d still be blowin coke off of some skank’s tits right now. So you know, the moral of the story is: reserve the “rest in peace” thing for those who deserve it.


My parents caught me high once. I came home and they were watching TV and I was all fucked up. I mean I didn’t even know what was going on, I just stood in the living room doorway with my mouth open, shoving chips into it, crumbs falling all over the floor, a little drool coming down my chin, trying to figure out what was on the television and oblivious to the fact that my parents were both staring at me, watching me shove my fingers into my mouth and sucking the salt off like it was the greatest thing in the world (mimic sucking on fingers in an exaggerated way). When I realized they were both looking at me, and I saw the looks on their faces, I knew I was busted, but I was so high that I just started laughing hysterically. My parents had very different reactions to this. After a few seconds of me standing there laughing like an idiot, my dad walked straight up to me so his face was right in mine, which was not helping me keep a straight face, and he started sniffing like a hound dog (mimic). He looked at me after he got a good scent and whispered in this angry, clenched-jaw tone, “Are you on dope, right now?” Now, when he said this, I was caught between two very opposite emotions: one was fear. My dad hates drugs and thinks that all drugs: weed, crack, heroin…are all the same, so even though I was just stoned and did’t drive that night, I was as bad as a meth head. I knew he was pissed and I was terrified that he was going to knock my ass out. On the other hand, I already had a case of the giggles so when he asked me if I was on dope I almost lost my shit. I was so high I was laughing with fear. The ONLY time you can laugh with fear is when you are REALLY high. Have you ever broke out laughing during a really scary horror movie? If you  So there I was, emotionally confused and unable to say anything with my dad so close to my face I could smell the nachos on his breath. Of course, it smelled delicious but I managed to hold back from asking him if I could have some. Then he said, “You better smarten up because if I ever catch you like this again, I will take care of the few brain cells you have left in that empty head.” And that’s what fathers do: they scare and intimidate to keep you from doing stupid shit. But notice how he didn’t say, “don’t ever do this again.” It wasn’t an ultimatum, I mean it was a threat, but it was also kind of a dare, you know, “IF I ever CATCH you again…” I read between the lines. My dad wasn’t telling me not to do dumb shit, he was saying don’t get CAUGHT doing dumb shit. So thanks, Dad. I took your advice and smartened up and over the past ten years you haven’t caught me high once. And I was high plenty of time. I’m high right now! (to the audience) Didn’t notice, right? Yeah…smart.


My mom had a very different reaction. Parents are funny like that – it’s like they subconsciously play good cop/bad cop. My dad was always bad cop. But it’s not just with punishment. Kids know they can manipulate their parents, so when they don’t get the answer they want from one parent, they go to the other one to get what they want. In the education world, we call that splitting, and if you know any married couple you know that turning them against each other is easier than convincing a fat kid that cake frosting makes you smarter (mimic a fat kid stuffing his face with icing). So my mom, who sat quietly as my dad threatened to knock my head off, told me to sit down then very calmly and very gently said, “Well I feel dumb. I just thought you were a bit tipsy from drinking and had bad allergies.”


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