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As I walked briskly down a mostly empty street in Manhattan at midnight, I approached a homeless man laying on the sidewalk in front of a church. I maintained my hustled stride and greeted him with a genuine but hurried “hey buddy, how are you tonight?” His response made me smile. “Slow down” he said, “you already know how to dance.”

I was exiting my local grocery store on Friday afternoon when I was approached by two small, adorable girl scouts selling cookies. “Buy a box?” they implored. “It’s for a good cause!” It dawned on me that not only could I not reach my wallet due to the heavy 30 pack of Coors Light in my arms, but I had also overdrawn my account to purchase said case. No thanks, little girls, I thought. For I have instead elected to spend my disposable income on liquid self-esteem, voluntary memory loss and a one-way ticket to hell. So I put my head down and rushed, wordlessly, to my car. And I’m not sorry. It was an awesome weekend.

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I was editing a friend’s story where he compared some chick he hooked up with to a whiny little girl. Naturally, I wanted to include a video that showcased a little girl throwing a temper tantrum. So off to YouTube I went. “Kids throwing fits,” “Little girls screaming why,” and “Girl throws a nasty tantrum” were included in my search phrases. Then I stumbled upon something special. It was a video of the chubbiest child I’ve ever seen singing a song. If you watch closely, you’ll notice that he looks like a midget wearing a chubby kid suit… because there is no way a kid like this really exists. It just can’t be.