Feature Article

Random Acts of Ismael IV

by Ismael Manzano


         Well, it’s that time once again, that time when my employers demand another highly popular feature article from me.  In keeping with tradition, I will do my best to comply and offer you, my loyal fan, moments worth of giggles and thought-provoking insight sure to shatter your grip on reality, have you questioning the origins of the universe, and smashing your skulls into brick walls with awe and madness—I do it all the time, and it hasn’t hurt us none.  Well, without further interruptions, I bring for your amusement, the fourth installment of Ismael’s random acts.

     I have a dream.  A dream of a play on Broadway, where everyone but the lead actor knows that the play is actually a musical and he doesn’t find out until he is out there in front of everyone and the other actors start singing the lines they talked out during rehearsal. 

     The companies that make pregnancy tests are all run by men.  It’s true.  Think about it for a moment.  These geniuses have frightened, anxious, soon-to-be mothers paying money for the ability to piss on a stick.  And women don’t just do it once, they usually piss on a stick, freak out, buy another piss-stick, repeat the process, ask their friends to look at the piss-stick and see what it tells them, and then they run to the doctor use his piss-stick to confirm what the other two piss-sticks already told them.  I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds like a lot of work to find out something that you’re bound to find out in a few months anyway—patience, women.  Guys have the right idea; guys will piss on anything for fun, and we don’t need to pay for it.  Well, maybe R. Kelly’s paying for it, but that’s another story. 

     Once for Halloween, I dressed in drag, and I have to admit, I looked pretty damn good.  I’m still straight and all, it’s just…well, I looked really good—I mean…Scarlett Johansson is really hot!!...and David Duchovny.

     Can someone tell me what the *$$@ is the point of bomb testing, other than a bunch of anal old farts wanting to blow things up.  The bomb goes off, it’s not like they can put it back together and use it again. 

     Jim Belushi and Steven Segal now look exactly alike.  I’m just saying.

     Listen to people passing each other on the street one day.  Just listen.  You’ll hear some interesting things.  For one thing, most people don’t actually hear what the person they’re talking to is saying when they greet them.  One such conversation went as followed: “Hey man, how are you doing?” “Nothing much, whatcha been up too?” “I’m fine.  You?”  “No problem, talk to ya’ later.”  I’m not joking.  I actually heard that. 

     According to the Bible, the first woman was made from the rib of the first man—not a fair exchange.  I want my rib back! I’ll trade one Adam’s apple for a decent rib.

     Fellas, try an experiment for me.  Let your hair and your beard grow for a couple of months.  Then, come into work one day and make sure everyone sees you.  Throughout the day, slowly shave or cut a significant chuck of hair from either your face or your head.  See how long it takes for anyone to notice.  But be warned, this experiment may result in you losing any sense of importance you may have had at work.  I was bald as a baby and clean shaven and the most the pinheads at work could manage to notice was that my glasses were dirty. 

     Okay, that was an exaggeration!  Fine, you caught me!  It’s not easy coming up with these jokes all the time!  Sometimes you have to exaggerate the truth to get the laugh, okay.  Sue me if you’re so upset!

     I think it’s about time I addressed a certain issue that you—YOU—my one loyal reader has been dying—or maybe just occasionally thinking about in passing while you’re bored out of your mind waiting on the DMV line because they can’t come up with a way to process everyone quicker.  I mean, come on!  They can send people to the moon, tell what size your *#*# is by taking a sample of DNA, but ask someone to come up with an efficient way to get you in an out of the Department of Motor Vehicles and all of a sudden, it’s like “Whoa, what do you think this is, the thirtieth century?”  What was I saying?  Oh yeah—to ask.  What’s my stance on homosexuals?  I know I make jokes about them, but, to be fair, I make jokes about everyone and everything.  For example—your momma’s a dirty slut.  See.  I don’t actually know your mother.  I have no idea if she’s dirty or clean, if she charges for her services or gives it away for free.  My jokes are just fun, meant to be enjoyed by everyone—like your mamma. 

      But seriously—your momma—my official platform on homosexuals is this: I turned myself on in that dress.  Let your perverted mind wrap itself around that one for a while—like your momma. 

Related Article:  Random Acts of Ismael

                          Random Acts of Ismael II

                          Random Acts of Ismael III

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