Recently, while having a conversation on differences in currency between our two countries, I had a Canadian friend drop a little nugget of information on me . She casually mentioned that the Canadian one hundred dollar bill is scented like maple syrup. She slipped it in there as almost an afterthought between some other completely unrelated comments as if it were a totally normal thing to say.
Excuse me? Perhaps I misheard just now, because I could have sworn you just breezed past the claim that your $100 note smells like Aunt fucking Jemima and it doesn't seem like you were going to elaborate on that for me. Furthermore, the fact that we've been having this conversation about Canadian currency for several minutes and only NOW did it occur to you to mention this information is preposterous. If your money is the legal tender equivalent of fucking Smencils YOU LEAD WITH THAT.
In fact, if true, as a Canadian I'm pretty sure you are obligated to share that information immediately upon meeting anyone not from Canada. If that isn't one of the first three things you say to any non Canadian, you're not fulfilling your national duty.
"Nice to meet you. I'm from Ontario. Did you know that in my country we bake maple syrup smell into our fucking money like a bunch of lunatics?"
I'm a skeptical guy. Somebody says something batshit crazy like 'my money smells like waffles' and questions. are. raised. My first assumption was that she was having a laugh: Just tell the American our money smells like an Ihop and see if we can get him to tell that shit to other Americans so they all walk around telling each other that absurd piece of misinformation like a bunch of idiots, right?
However, when pressed, not only did she swear that she was not lying to me, she got like, four other Canadians to back her up. Still, I was dubious; Canada cant really have maple syrup money can they? Is there some sort of massive national conspiracy where the smell of their money is a clue to the location of the lost syrup mines of Manitoba. Somebody call Nicolas Cage and tell him I've got a case for him. I suspect Tim Horton's is behind it.
Realistically though, my knowledge of Canada more or less boils down to something that resembles this:
What I'm saying is I don't know shit about Canada so I've got no way to know what might be true and what might be a crazy lie. Thanks American education system.
I figured I'd do some research of my own and try getting answers from a source that was less likely to be trying to make a fool of me, so I took to google for some answers. And. . .
Well alright now we are getting somewhere. Google corroborates the claim. Apparently I was not being completely messed with. HOWEVER, further reading revealed things to be less cut and dry than expected. Apparently the issue is one around which some contention exists. The claim that the bill smells of maple syrup is not universally accepted. Some claim that it does while others claim it does not.
In fact, the issue was so widely discussed that the Bank of Canada had to make an official statement claiming that they had not added any type of scent to the bill.
Can we all just pause for a secondto appreciate the fact that somewhere in Canada, somebody that works for the agency in charge an entire country's money supply had to take time out of their day to make a statement about whether or not they had circulated fucking scratch and sniff money without telling anyone?
Satisfied that there was an issue of sufficient intrigue to warrant further investigation I knew that the only way I could put this issue to bed once and for all would be to get my hands on some Canadian money and sniff it for myself.
How does one go about getting their hands on 100 dollars worth of Canadian money, you ask? Really easily as it turns out in this modern age of technology. It used to be that if you were in the U.S and wanted to scrape together a bunch of Canadian currency you had to go to a hockey rink with a Zamboni, offer rides for a small fee and wait for them to come to you. Now you can just find a website where you give them American currency and they mail you Canadian Currency in return.
It took less than five minutes until 100 CAD was on it's way to my house in the mail.
They didn't have an option to allow you to pick your denominations, so I was a little worried I'd get a bunch of small bills. You've got to figure most of the people using this service are exchanging their currency because they need cash available for spending when they visit a different country, not because they are some asshole who heard Canada's money smells like a breakfast condiment and wants to know if it's true.
Two days later a package marked extremely urgent arrived on my doorstep. You're goddamn right it's extremely urgent Travelex, we're doing important work here.
I was right about the denomination thing. They sent me 100 dollars all in tens instead of a single 100 dollar note.
You know what though? It turns out it didn't matter that they didn't send me a $100. Every one of those ten dollar bills smelled like Maple. Fucking. Syrup.
I went to everyone at work and made them sniff that money for confirmation that I wasn't imagining the scent. The unanimous opinion was that the bills had a distinctly maple syrup scent, even when I refused to tell people what they were supposed to be sniffing for.
(Side note, I appreciate that my coworkers trust me enough that I walked up to them with a fistful of weird looking money, thrust it at them and went "Sniff this" and they didn't hesitate)
The fact that Canadian money actually smells like syrup is perfection. It's like the people in Charge of Canada got together and were like, "Well everybody already expects us to be a bunch of hockey loving snow people who ride to work on moose so, fuck it let's just make the money smell like Maple Syrup, sing Oh Canada while we do some curling and call it a day.
The equivalent to maple scented Canadian money would be if America had a meeting and decided that from now on all of our money was going to be covered in cheese, deep fried and smell like bald eagles.
Though, when you think about it, that would probably be an improvement considering our money currently smells like a damp playboy you found in the woods when you were twelve and is about as sanitary as washing your hands then using a shoebox full of cholera to dry your hands. Honestly it's a wonder we don't all have a permanent case of pink eye. Canada is clearly winning the contest over who has cooler money.
Canada is clearly onto something with this whole scented money thing; the rest of the world should follow their lead and every country should scent their currency with an iconic aroma of their nation: You'd have pizza scented Euros in Italy, Curry scented rupees in India, and North Korea could have won that smell like oppression, it would be great.
When all is said and done, I think important work has been done here today. The true scientific mind is not satisfied with mere hearsay or secondhand assurances when it comes to pursuit of the truth. Did Magellan not circumnavigate the globe in order to prove conclusively that the earth was round? Did Sir Issac Newton not (probably) throw and drop a bunch of shit to study it and develop his laws of motion? Do I not get a bunch of Canadian Money in the mail and smell it? Thanks to these acts of science the mysteries of the world around us become unveiled. The earth is round, physics has set laws, Canadian money smells like syrup. All in a days work.
Now I just have to figure out what to do with $100 dollars worth of plastic money that smells like breakfast and I can't spend in my country.
One of Walt Disney World's Parks, Epcot features something called the World Showcase. The World Showcase makes up the back half of the Epcot park and is a big loop which circles a lagoon and features eleven individual stops, each themed after a different country. Each stop contains buildings which have been given facades resembling classical architecture from their respective countries which contain shops, restaurants, shows and even some rides themed around the culture of the area.
Specifically, one thing you can get at each of the World Showcase's eleven stops is an alcoholic drink or cocktail native to that country. Because this is America, and when we are presented with anything even remotely resembling a gauntlet of culturally stereotypical bullshit and drinking, we roll up our sleeves and get ready to represent ourselves poorly to people of other nationalities, an immensely popular custom known as Drinking Around the World exists.
Drinking Around the World is a time honored tradition where you go to Epcot and attempt to get one drink at all 11 countries in sequence within a single day.
The last time I was at Disney world I was maybe 17 and thus not old enough to participate in the challenge unlike my cousin, who at the time was also underage, but managed to get a beer at the Germany portion of the showcase by hitting on the native speaking server in fluent German. Though only technically a drink at one stop, he was at least participating in the spirit of the occasion by doing something which objectively speaking is morally questionable but is kind of awesome. Returning as an adult I decided it was time to undergo my rite of passage as an obnoxious American, and get tremendously drunk at Epcot on overpriced culturally thematic alcohol. I was going to drink around the world so that my wife could photograph it and I could write about it later.
Thus Druncot 2017 was born.
It was at the very first stop of the day that I discovered I had made several key mistakes in my drinking around the world preparations.
- Mistake number one: I had gotten so used to paying for everything with the braclet they give you to charge things to your room that I had neglected to bring my wallet to the park that day. If I wanted to even attempt this, I was now going to have to force my wife to buy my booze for me like a delinquent teenager. Not off to a great start
- Mistake number B: By the time we finished with the various other Epcot attractions and got to the World Showcase it was already 3:30pm and we only had until 6:00pm until our dinner reservation, meaning due to poor planning, I had inadvertently given myself about two hours to complete all 11 stops before we had to start walking to get to dinner.
- Mistake number the third one: Apparently it is quite traditional for challengers to the World Showcase to accessorize for the event. There were dozens of groups there wearing matching shirts that said things like "Drink, Drank, Drunk" or "Bippidy Boppidy Booze" on them. I did not come into this event with the coordination or pre-preparation of these other people. While they had a color matched support team of co-participants all I had was one disapproving wife that was annoyed she had to buy my drinks for me.
It was at this point that a decision would have to be made. Realistically, I had come with no I.D, had given myself about a third of the time I should have, and was woefully unprepared in the insufferable t-shirt department. The smart thing to do would be to just write it off as a poor job planning and enjoy the rest of the day at Epcot as normal rather than spend a ton of money and likely make myself sick. It really made the most logical sense to just forget the whole thing.
Fuck it; frozen strawberry margarita in Mexico and we're of to the races.
I got massive brain freeze because they don't allow you to ride the Three Caballeros boat ride with a full beverage for some reason and I had to chug the last 2/3 of it.
A the second stop, Norway, I came to the conclusion that due to how short a time period I was trying to cram this world tour into, volume might become an issue. It was going to get real gross if I had to drink something around 12oz of liquid at every single stop. To conserve space, I decided to get a shot. Because I'm smart like fox.
This was a liquor from Norway called Linie Aquavit. I saw it described as being similar to vodka. I clearly am no type of expert on alcohol but it was urine yellow, tasted like eggnog and went down like fire which is distinctly noting like vodka in my experience. Considering that it's a drink for people who live in longhouses and are vikings* I guess it was fine.
*I know nothing about Norway
In China, I had a Tsing Tao beer. Tsing Tao I believe is Chinese for "Tastes like generic beer". That was culturally insensitive and I apologize. The fact that I'm an unsophisticated piece of shit doesn't mean I should be disrespectful to the language.
(The beer was mediocre though)
Up next was Germany. By this point I was starting to feel the first three hit me. I was feeling pretty good, but doing the math and realizing I'd only made it about a third of the way through I was starting to get a little worried that I'd misjudged how much time I was going to need to make it through all 11 stops.
Still more concerned with the volume of liquid I was putting into myself rather than the alcohol content (because I'm smart). I decided to get a shot here too. We were on a schedule here people. Mix those alcohols up in the stomach and get a move on.
This was some sort of honey flavored bourbon from Germany and it might have been the best of the drinks I got that day. I got too drunk to remember to write it down so I could look it up later though.
Ah, Italy, the home of my people. I do of course use that phrase loosely, unless they open an exhibit in the world showcase for the People's Republic of New Jersey this is as close as I'm going to get.
You know what is a great follow up to mixing a bunch of different beer and liquor in your stomach over the course of an hour? Sangria. They had nothing but wine at the drink pavilion in Italy and I hate wine, so I settled for wine Jr. I don't know if it was the alcohol I'd already consumed continuing to hit me, the addition of more alcohol, or the infusion of yet a third ingredient in the devil's mixture I'd already put into my system, but things started to go off the rails in Italy.
First, I waited about ten minutes to get in and take a picture in what I think was supposed to be a glamorous pose, sprawled lavishly across the base of this fountain of Neptune. The result, as you can see looks more like I'm the worlds shittiest mime, pretending to fall in slow motion into the fountain while also drinking something that tastes like dish water. After that I decided that I was getting too drunk and needed to soak up some of that alcohol. Positive that it was well known that cannoli are the best absorbents of alcohol to help slow the decline into ruin I insisted on getting one in order to do damage control, I guess?
It was a good cannoli, though ineffective.
America. Land of the free, home of the Atlanta Braves and producer of some of the shittiest shit beers on the planet. By the time we reached America, the halfway mark for the World Showcase I was in rough shape. I had consumed a margarita, two shots, a beer and a glass of sangria between the hours of 3:30 and 4:45 and was nearing a tipping point.
By tipping point I am not referring to a physical limitation of my body to consume alcohol, I mean a point at which I would no longer be able to maintain the composure to pass off as a sober, casual attendee of a theme park where people bring their small children. I don't condone dangerous binge drinking, I was never going to drink an amount I felt was unsafe, but we were in Disney goddamn World, I also don't condone drinking to a point where you become a sloppy piece of shit that everyone around you has to deal with. Especially when there are about twenty four year olds who just saw Donald Duck for the first time and don't need that shit ruined for them by some idiot stumbling past yelling in a bad version of the accent native to whatever country he just came from.
Perhaps it was fate that interceded on my behalf that day, because as it would turn out, one of the kiosks at America was closed; the kiosk that sold a selection of craft beers from breweries around the country. This, meant that my only option for drink in America was Coors Lite. Coors lite is to beer as a bunch of pool noodles tied together with shoelaces is to a high end speedboat: Sure it's technically in the same category but the only situation in which you choose one over the other is if the alternative is that you die at sea.
I may have decided to try and go for a few more stops, if anything even remotely enjoyable had been available at America, but that Coors Lite defeated me. There was no way I'd make it to the end with only one more hour to go and retain enough composure not to become an embarrassment to myself and my poor wife who was dutifully putting up with all of this like a trooper.
That trash water drained me of any remaining resolve I had to continue the Druncot challenge, much as I imagine it drains millions of other Americans of their ambitions on a daily basis. The unrivaled shittiness of that Coors had me asking "What's the point?" Indeed, what was the point of anything? If beer could be this terrible, was there really anything right in the world? Probably not.
And so, after six stops on the World Showcase, Druncot 2k17 came to an unsatisfying and anticlimactic end.
While my shot at Druncot glory may have been cut down in it's prime by poor planning and the ability of the good people at Coors to make and distribute the worst beer known to humans, it just means that for the future, I'll be armed with the lessons learned in my first attempt.
Some day I will return to Disney World as a Magnificent Conqueror and on that day I shall write another shitty blog post about it.
Because I feel like it should be included; The above was done for fun, and written about in a joking manner, but at no point would I have allowed myself to go beyond a limit where I would have put myself or someone else in danger.
The entire reason I stopped in America was that it would have been irresponsible to continue on just for the sake of having a complete adventure to write about later. I stopped well within my limit for conducting myself appropriately and I would never condone anyone doing something unsafe.
In short, alcohol is for people who can handle themselves like adults. Don't be an asshole.
While we were at Disney I somehow found myself signed up for an interactive scavenger hunt as part of the new Avatar themed section of Animal Kingdom that they opened up. This scavenger hunt was orchestrated through Facebook messenger by an auto-responder bot that was going to donate ten bucks to a conservation cause of my choosing if I participated.
Never one to turn down a good old fashioned ten bucks, I figured cheating the system while we ate lunch in the park was a worthwhile use of my time. Let it not be said that I didn't get a free ten bucks when it was offered to me. In the immortal words of Lemony Snicket; 'free', dear readers, is a word which here means in exchange for access to my personal information which was promptly turned around and sold to advertisers for a small profit.
I they're going to sell all my internet habits to an advertiser I figured I could just beat the system, pretend I was finding all of the stuff they wanted me to find and get them to adopt a South American Tree Frog in my name or something.
I'm not entirely comfortable that this chatbot has the ability to lie but it's 2017, I'm no robotist. Fitagami Bangarang clearly didn't feel comfortable admitting she was a computer program to me, who am I to call her out?
Challenge accepted Fluttershy Baccarat. And by challenge accepted I mean I'm not going looking for your weird wicker art project. I'm going to use my superior human abilities of deciet to make you think I found it and donate that sweet sweet ten bucks for orphaned sea urchines or whatever.
Clever girl. Demanding proof of my successful scavenging and or hunting. Spoiler alert I didn't actually go find the thing you wanted me to find.
Fisty Barberra was not going to let me bullshit my way out of finding that prop. My mere human brain was no match for her synthetic powers of deduction. The only thing left to do was to come clean and hope she didn't call down an orbital strike to vaporize me for my deception.
Ok, I'll admit things went a little off the rails at the end there. At least I still got my 10 bucks.
I think we can all agree that my master stroke of AI trickery was worth it in the end. Looks like I've single handedly saved the coral reefs. You're welcome ecologists of the world. Your welcome.
I love the new game mode, but boy if you wanted to see anything but Junkrat and Genji mains you went to the wrong place. Hope you like getting killed over and over again by a bomb that wasn't even aimed at you from halfway across the map.
Where do you go on vacation when you are a grown man with maturity of a seven year old? That's right, you go to the happiest goddamn place on Earth. Disney World.
Disney World is a pretty polarizing place in my experience. Either you completely buy into the whole schtick they are selling, or you don't. If, like me, the Disney thing works for you, as soon as you set foot in the resort you instantly become a little kid again and your childhood comes to life before your eyes. If it doesn't, Disney is like the DMV banged commercialism and their offspring is 27,000 acres of standing in line for hours on end in 114 degree weather while having your wallet gouged by a cartoon mouse.
Like I said; whatever corporate sorcery Disney has woven into the fabric of every aspect of that place, it locks on like a homing missile to the one bright spot in the deep dark parts of my otherwise cold, dead adult heart and pumps me full of molten nostalgia. We walked into that park on the first day at exactly the right moment for a full on parade to come cavalcading down the street as if it had been put on just for us. Standing in the midst of that parade and looking at that statue of Walt Disney and Mickey holding hands I got legitimately emotional. A thousand goddamn strangers in the street around me and I'm trying to pull it together so some poor six year old girl doesn't forever associate Mickey Mouse with a grown man crying at a fucking statue.
You know what though? Coming from a person who thinks parades are the worst form of entertainment invented by mankind, that parade was fucking magical and I'm glad we saw it.
The next four days were spent park hopping, going on rides, eating ice cream shaped like Mickey and generally doing all the things you do at Disney. Here's the highlight reel in picture form:
It's a small world. Famous for being complete shit and sort of culturally insensitive. A ride that literally everyone rides ironically when they come to Disney. A ride that is in fact kept running by Disney ironically at this point. A ride that my father-in-law fell asleep on when in 1995 when a four your old Emily made him ride it over and over again. In keeping with tradition I grabbed a quick nap while sailing through the darkness as a hoard of terrifying child robots screamed a song at us.
Another Classic, Pirates of the Caribbean. I am, apparently in the midst of some sort of deep, intellectual contemplation at the moment this picture was taken. But more importantly, look at that photogenic son of a bitch in the row be hind us. Kid just got on the ride all by himself, and took his fucking class picture for next school year in the middle of a boat ride through a dark tunnel full of animatronic pirates.
They have a system where you scan a RFID bracelet and automatically get sent your pictures. The lighting on this ride must have been weird, because if you look closely, the picture I was sent of Emily and I riding the Buzz Lightyear ride looks a lot like an asian man and his two small daughters. Weird.
We ate at a restaurant called Be Our Guest on the first night. It's a restaurant in the Magic Kingdom themed around Beauty and the Beast. This is my wife's favorite Disney movie of all time, thus dining here was a requirement of our visit. We had to make the reservation for this place four months in advance because it's so popular.
Turns out there is a reason it's so popular. It's spectacular. You walk in to the dining room of this place and it's like you're in the movie. My wife cried a little bit. They nailed it so hard with this place I was surprised a candlestick with a corny french accent didn't take our order. Everything about the dining experience at this place was spot on, right down to the complimentary "grey stuff" they gave us for dessert because we were celebrating our Anniversary, which was in fact, delicious.
No big deal, nothing to see here, just a a bunch of fucking Stormtroopers marching through the streets.
Tower of terror is one of my favorites, though I don't believe Emily cared for it. The empty seat next to that guy in red was a lady who noped right the fuck out of there about two seconds before the ride because she got too scared.
On our second night we ate at T-Rex, which Emily picked out out of a sense of fairness. I believe her thinking was if I she got to eat in the princess ballroom of her childhood favorite movie and experience the magic of seeing Beauty and the Beast come to life in front of her eyes we should probably go to a restaurant for children full of robot dinosaurs and sound effects for my benefit. Altruistic dino-themed reservation making aside, apparently her ability to tolerate me does have limits. Limits such as when I get a 14 dollar beverage served in a fun glass that you get to keep afterwards.
That picture just about sums up what it's like to be married to me, I think. You can really see the years being drained off her life in this photo.
Epcot is where we got the second best ride photo of the trip while riding Test Track. A ride where you rumble around in a little car and then they fire you at 60mph around a loop.
The greatness of this picture has nothing to do with either of us, but rather because of that lady in the row behind us seriously not giving a shit about anything.
This may be the record for the least amount of fucks given while on a roller coaster moving at sixty miles an hour. Is she not enjoying her time at Disney World? Does she professionally drive those land vehicles that break the sound barrier and thus is not impressed by this ride? Is she just having absolutely none of whatever that white girl is doing in the seat next to her? Who knows? All I know is that when there are fucks to be given, this woman is fresh out.
An unfortunate naming cooncidence I guess.
$32,000 crustal model of Cinderella's castle anyone? And speaking of Cinderella. We ate at the restaurant in that castle. . .
. . . where they force you to take a picture with Cinderella herself before you can go in. Which is fine if you're a family with children but super weird and uncomfortable if you are two adults there by yourselves.
The interlocked arms was Cinderella's idea by the way.
The inside of the restaurant was cool and the food was good, except the schtick at this place is that throughout the meal all sorts of Disney princesses come out to a bunch of fanfare and spend the meal going from table to table interacting with the guests. Personally I found it extremely difficult to focus on eating or having a conversation with my wife while constantly worried that I was going to get ambushed by fucking Snow White the moment I put a hunk of steak in my mouth.
I mentioned the picture of She Who Gives No Fucks on test track was the second best photo of the trip. I've saved the best for last; An example of the diametric opposite of not giving a shit while on a roller coaster. This is in fact the perfect embodiment of giving all of the shits. This is a ride called Everest in the Animal Kingdom which we rode in a torrential downpour so bad you couldn't even lift your head during the outdoor portions of the roller coaster because the rain hitting you in the eyeballs at 150mph was so brutal.
A combination of terror at the roller coaster and the hilarity of how goddamn hard it was raining broke my wife and gave me the greatest gift I could have received at Disney.
We need to have a chat, people writing internet comments.
On behalf of many good and decent citizens out there in the world, I would like to take a moment and educate you on a fun little punctuation tool called the ellipsis. Why, you ask? Well to put it simply it's because you're using it so fucking wrong it makes the rest of us want to go to your house and smash your keyboard over your hands until there is nothing left of either but a pulpy soup of letter keys and metacarpals.
The insult to people who weren't raised by jackals that is ellipsis use in internet commenting has gone on long enough. You don't need to put 8 dots after every complaint about millennials you cobble together under an article about avocado toast you didn't actually read, Sharon, you heinous shrew. They are called commas and periods, fucking learn when to use them.
I am not claiming my mastery over the written English language is impeccable, I'm like 80% certain I misused a comma before the name Sharon in a paragraph belittling a hypothetical woman for not using punctuation correctly. However, I do make at least a marginal attempt not to type like I'm slipping in and out of a coma between every sentence and want the reader to experience what that feels like through my use of punctuation. I don't think it's too much to ask that others do the same.
In case you are not familiar with the terminology, an ellipsis looks like this: ". . ." Three dots each separated by a single space. There is a lovely source you can check out here, which explains in what some might describe as excruciating detail exactly what the ellipsis is and how it is used. The TLDR version is as follows:
The ellipses in it's formal use is a punctuation mark that is used to annotate where something has been omitted from a quote. The informal or colloquial use of an ellipsis is the one with which we are going to be concerning ourselves. It is used to indicate when a thought trails off before it is finished, or that there is otherwise some marked pause or hesitation which requires something with more punch than your standard comma provides. It's like the pause for dramatic effect mark.
Here is an example:
"Six ellipses in three sentences is worse than. . . UGH!"
What is it worse than, person being quoted? Hitler? Adult-onset chronic swamp ass? Nickleback? We don't know specifically because of how you appropriately trailed off, leaving your thought incomplete before changing gears, but goddamn if we don't understand the emotion of helpless frustration you are currently feeling over some pigeon-toed jackanapes not knowing how to write like a civilized human.
So! Now that we all understand how to appropriately apply ellipses to our everyday internet commentinglet's look at some examples of people who are single handedly responsible for ruining society for the rest of us.
Let's start with our friend from the beginning of the post, why don't we?
Perfect example of somebody who doesn't know what the fuck he is doing around a keyboard but isn't going to let that stop him from trying to make people feel bad on the internet.
Sir, you wrote four sentences and ended three of them with ellipses. Why? Were you trying to give the reader ample time to recover from each of your fucking burns before continuing on to the next one? Am I supposed to be like "OH FUCK A RON WHITE ONE LINER FROM 2004 THIS GUY JUST SLICED MY FUCKING NIPPLES OFF WITH HIS RAZOR SHARP WIT HOW CAN I EVEN CONTINUE READING. . . Oh, thank God, he's incorporated some convenient dots forcing my brain to take what feels like an inappropriately placed pause while reading his comme-OF FUCK MY WAFFLES JUST AS I WAS RECOVERING FROM THE FIRST ONE HE JUST HIT ME WITH SOME FORREST GODDAMN GUMP SOMEBODY GET A MOP BECAUSE I JUST SPILLED MY GIBBLETS ALL OVER THE FLOOR FROM THE INTENSITY OF THE GUT PUNCHERS THIS GUY IS THROWING OUT ONE AFTER ANOTHER."
The only guess I can take as to why people use ellipses this way is that they think it gives each sentence more gravitas, not understanding that all it does is make the reader think the author is slightly less literate than a fourth grader who only scored in the 20th percentile for not writing like a fucking asshole.
In fact, the only sentence this person DIDN'T end with an ellipsis in the comment above was the last one which is in fact the only one he fucking wrote where it would have made sense! Not only did he select that particular sentence as the only one that somehow didn't need drama dots added to it, he didn't punctuate it at all. There are nine periods in that sentence you corndog, you couldn't have spared one more for the end of your thought? You've failed me, guy who is apparently mad at a person or group of people he considers stupid. You've failed us all.
Alrighty, you used the correct form of 'their' so credit where credit is due, but I have a lot of problems with this next one. In no particular order:
- You shouldn't be allowed to make your profile picture a sweet adorable puppy and then start herniating yourself yelling about fake news and democrats, it's false advertising. I don't like being lulled into a false sense of security by that 10/10 good doggo only to get purple-nurpled by the fact that the comment appearing next to it was written by a butthole.
- Demwits is a pretty ok burn, but the fact that they emphasized it demWITS instead of DEMwits the way they should have ruined the wordplay. Like, the part of the word dimwit that you replaced with 'dem' from democrats is where you place the stress when you make the pun, get it together, we're trying to have a society over here.
- One of those ellipses has four dots instead of three because apparently they weren't satisfied butchering their comment with the use of poorly placed pauses, they had to be inconsistent about it.
While those are bad enough, I could overlook it all if it weren't for this part:
Let me explain why this is an abomination through use of a visual aid representing exactly what "...LOL..." would look like:
Take heed lest you too should ever be inclined to write . . . LOL . . . in the fucking middle of a thought and come off as if you were kicked in the head by an emu at a petting zoo when you were a child.
I could go on for ages about how abusing ellipses in your internet commenting makes you sound like a half-assed Captain Kirk on a mission to boldly go where no one with at least a sixth grade reading level and any sense of self respect has gone before, but instead I'll leave you with what to me is the most perplexing question I find myself asking in all of this:
Why is it that you see ellipsis abuse used almost exclusively for the purpose of ranting about politics by far right people over 40 years of age?
I don't know if FOX news has some sort of weird subliminal messaging that makes people misuse punctuation but goddamn if it doesn't seem like 90% of the people I see do this are Gen X/ Baby Boomers typing their little fingers down to stumps, about liberal snowflakes beneath some Tomi Lahren video. Think about it. Have you ever seen this comment?
"The Large Hadron Collider is a marvel of science and technology.............. CERN is really pushing the boundaries of how we understand the universe around us.......who knows what we might learn........... from their research....Higgs Boson.....Amazing"
I certainly haven't. It seems like it's exclusively some red-in-the-face white person telling libtards to go fuck themselves beneath an article about how they made it legal to shoot endangered baby seals in the mouth because it will somehow help oil corporations oppress Native Americans or something. Always.
Hopefully we've all learned a little bit about how to use ellipses today and a whole lot about each other. Namely that there are a lot of us out there who are just the worst. Go forth now my children. Go forth and spread the gospel of being slightly less of a trash bag full of used bandaids. Do it for me.
Do it for us all........................................................................................
You put up with my bullshit. And for that, I love you.
Because it really is a lot of bullshit. Happy Anniversary.
Because of Google maps I keep having to have this conversation with people:
Me: We are going to drive up to [insert literally any place in the known universe that a person might drive to] this weekend for a family thing.
Other Person: Oh, that sounds like fun. What route do you usually take to get there? Do you go Hergleflergen road to route 324567890 and then take the turnpike over to. . . [insert the sound of blood rushing in my ears while all of space-time passes before me as the names of roads and directions are rattled off]
Me: . . .
Me: . . . . . . . . .
Me: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Here is the thing. Because of GPS I don't know how to get anywhere, I don't know the names of any roads and I don't know where anything is in relation to anything else. The problem is I don't know how to politely get out of the conversation with people over the age of 50 I keep having to have where they want to talk about driving directions and I have to employ every trick of conversational ninjitsu known to man to make it seem like I am following along instead of thinking about how full body sized hand driers would save a lot of time after a shower.
It's not like I can just hold up a hand and be like "Lemme stop you right there Todd. I haven't learned what exit I get off at on any highway since 2006. I'm going to put the name or address of my destination into my phone and then play a game of follow the colored line for the next two hours until I get to where I wanted to be. You trying to discuss route information with me is about as useful as explaining the best way to cook a steak to a militant vegan. Neither of us are getting anything out of the exchange and the more you talk the more I hate you."
Even worse is if someone has to give me directions somewhere and they don't have an actual address or searchable business name but just insist they can explain it to me. News flash buddy; you can't. After the first one or two turns into the directions I've given up hope of actually reaching the intended destination in any amount of reasonable time. God forbid they toss a cardinal direction in there. Oh, just drive over to Chestnut lane and head east? We'll tell my wife I loved her and that it's ok to remarry because I'm going to fucking die in the wilderness trying to find the location of this christening.
If GPS navigation were to disappear forever while I was on a car trip out of state I've come to terms with the fact that I'd just have to start a new life in Kenton Delaware and hope everyone I've ever known or loved is happy without me back home. I'm basically the personification of how technology has ruined my generation and made us all completely worthless as adult humans and I'm fine with that, but the anxiety of having to fake my way through conversations about directions might be giving me an ulcer. Either I have to wait it out until everyone born born before 1965 dies or I've got to figure out a strategy to get out of discussions about 'what the best way to get around the city at rush hour' is that doesn't involve actually learning where I'm going.
If anyone out there has any ideas please contact me. I am open to ideas involving smoke bombs and strategically hidden trapdoors.