No Strings Attached

I got into a little drum battle with a guy down at Hickeys yesterday afternoon. I can't say I won. But he was in college, so I forgive myself.

So it was one of those rare occasions where I was actually watching television, usually after I finish essays and papers and physics equations. You know I'm certainly not the sort of person who wastes his life in front of a TV all day (I prefer computers). Tuned over to Comedy Central, I was watching Carlos Mencia's show, laughing my ass off, when he pulled one of the worst jokes I've ever heard.

The plane that dropped the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. you know what they were called? "The Enola Gay." No joke. You know why? We wanted to let the Japanese know they were about to get boned in the ass.

Regardless, I was on the floor.

But his rather blunt banter has purpose to it. I don't know how Mr. Mencia seems to get away with the jokes he does, but he pulls them off so eloquently that it doesn't even matter how bad they are. Then again, he's just saying aloud the things we're all scared to say ourselves, because we think people will look down on us for being inconsiderate.

That's not fair.