With the reigns to the world gripping a smoke

The other morning, I got slimed in my eye when some red headed redneck shouted a racial slur at my cabbie, then proceeded to spit at the cab. Somehow, his disgusting ball of spittle made it through the three inch crack of my window and landed square in my right eye. Unfortunately, my cabbie didn't want to back over his cracker ass then ship him to Pakistan like I suggested, so I cleaned out my eye and we drove off. All morning, I've been researching whether low intelligence can be transmitted through saliva, although the evidence I've found seems to suggest that I'll probably just wind up with hepatitis.

Other than that, I'm listening to Electrelane wondering why offices bother staying open the day before Thanksgiving. No one is around, and the only thing that seems to get done is mass emails telling people to have a nice Thanksgiving, complete with a little smiling emoticon. I fucking hate emoticons and LOL. All of this abbreviated, feel-good language reminds me of peppy high school yearbook signers who used to embellish their messages with things like BFF (Best Friends Forever) and LYLAS (Love Ya Like A Sister). If adult emoticon freaks tapped into these memories, they would realize that BFF didn't actually ensure that people would remain best friends forever, and would therefore realize that their email probably won't make the recipient LOL.

Instead of sending emoticon-filled messages, I've been surfing the Seventeen Magazine website today. A friend who was staying at my apartment for some time was a Cosmo subscriber. Since she hasn't yet changed her address, I've been flipping through the pages of the magazine, and am now convinced that its editors must think that all women are indeed retarded. One section with tips on "conversation starters" when talking to men actually suggested the following:

Tell him you like his jeans, then ask him what brand they are. This will surely lead to him asking you what your favorite brand of jeans is, and will provide an entry into further conversation.

The only situation I could foresee whereby a straight boy would be interested in the brand of jeans I was wearing would be if manufacturers invented a pair that gave blowjobs or had breasts tucked inside the back pockets. The funny thing is that there's not much difference between the text of Cosmo (supposedly for adult women) and Seventeen (supposedly for teens). Both have advice columns with similar tones and text on similar topics ("how to deal with his ex"), beauty tips and "celebrity" interviews. Even the "holiday fashion" spreads are incredibly similar, which makes one wonder whether editors are trying to make teen girls dress like women or make women dress like teen girls.