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  • Writer's pictureMr. Jamoke

Spicing Things Up

When I was 3 years old, I apparently pooped my pants in the Ikea ball pit. I caused quite the stir. The store had to shut down the entire children’s play area for nearly a week. In retrospect, this may have been the most strategically placed turd in mankind’s history. Maximum impact. Whatever teenager or adult failure was in charge of the play area no doubt had their month ruined. I can only imagine how long it takes to fish 1500 plastic balls out of a giant tub using a pool net and then refill it with new ones. Not to mention the hundreds of families that came in to buy crappy furniture and now had to lug their bored, whiny toddlers around the store for 3 hours.


As I grew up, I continued to keep myself entertained through random acts of obnoxiousness, hooliganism, and by ginning up social unrest. Why? Probably cause my buddies and I were bored. Things got especially rambunctious in Junior High after the school moved to block scheduling. C’mon now!! You make a 13-year-old boy sit through three, 90-minute blocks of Geometry, Science, and French and expect him not to lose it!? The first year that these buffoons implemented this “more efficient” scheduling system the principal’s office was packed all day, every day. Fist fights skyrocketed (one unfortunate soul actually got knocked out with his own trapper keeper), more food was thrown than consumed in the lunchroom, and our daily recess-time games of “smear the queer” and “wall ball” turned into outright melees. (For our readers under 30: STQ was in fact a real, common, and unfortunately titled game).


Now though, as a middle-aged adult, things are much more predictable and monotonous. Three hours into my workday today I lowered my forehead into my palm and shook my head: “God, I am sooooo bored!!! I really don’t want to be doing any of this.” That’s when I got to thinking and reminiscing about the above. Boredom isn’t a new thing by any means. What is new is that, as buttoned-up, responsible adults, we no longer find ways of stirring shit up and keeping things entertaining. It’s time for that to change. I spent the last 30 minutes of some useless meeting completely zoned out and tapped into my middle school brain to figure out how I can make my life more interesting:


(1) Soak a dozen paper towels in water at the bathroom sink, then start lobbing them into the stall of some unsuspecting, defenseless co-worker who happens to be pooping at that moment.

(2) Fold a piece of paper into a small V-shape until the folded edge is rock hard (a.k.a. “a wasp”), launch at co-workers I don’t like using a rubber band or hair ribbon.

(3) Procure two staple guns and find another equally stupid co-worker to a have a staple fight with.

(4) Concoct extremely bizarre rumor (thus, oddly credible) about a fellow co-worker and proliferate said rumor.

(5) Slap some diminutive coward’s soy latte out of his hand and then declare: “What are you gonna do about it?”

(6) Take my shirt off and then sprint toward the local park-freaks screaming and gesticulating wildly. Let’s turn the tables and see how YOU react you fuck.

(7) Start prank calling my readers on a regular basis

(8) Send flowers anonymously to a random neighbor couple with a note that says: “Thanks for the great sex” – sit back and watch the fireworks.

(9) Get stoned and shoplift clumsily from 7-11

(10) Instigate bar fight: “Hey bro, see that dude on the other side of the bar? He made a pass at your girl while you were in the bathroom. Squeezed her butt and said that she deserved to be with a REAL man.”


Enough! Enough of this adult bullshit.


Some of you all have been trying to fill the vacuum of excitement with overpriced dinner “experiences”. So, you had a fantastic risotto for $70 dollars? Oh my, there was even saffron in the Risotto! Wild, Wild stuff. You’re living on the edge for sure.


Some folks get all excited about home repair and start yapping to me about it. “Ya, I may tear down half of the drywall between the powder room and laundry room and make it into a shoe closet.” How about this, keep talking and I’ll do us both a favor. I’ll smash my head through said drywall, thus jumpstarting your project AND extricating myself from this brutal conversation.


Others circle trips on our calendar: “In August 2023, I’m gonna have fun!”.


Pathetic.


My advice to you: Channel your inner Jimbo Jones. I assure you, once you hear the paper towel juice splatter into your vulnerable colleague’s head, you’ll get a tingle down your spine and giggle for the rest of the week. Heck, you may even start a movement. Pretty soon your office will transition from a place where one’s spirit atrophies to an adrenaline-packed war zone of high-velocity, stinging staples and papers launched by soggy-haired, goggled co-workers. Each of whom is apparently, a fantastic lover.

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