Things I Laugh At #4: Out-of-Placement

Well, it's basically a miracle that seeing two turkeys walking down a street somehow managed not to ruin my entire day.

If one of them had been a chicken or something I would have lost it though.

Right now here is my dilemma: there is really nothing to say about this situation. I can't even bring myself to attempt some sort of cute little comment about how it's not even Thanksgiving yet, which is what I imagine such a situation generally calls for, even though jokes about Thanksgiving are never funny. And that particular joke (the turkey joke) is so morbid that it not only makes me actively not laugh, it makes me enraged.

Or, "It enrages me," as a normal person would say.

Unfortunately, this does not end with turkeys. Day to day, one encounters plenty of other things that feel desperately out of place: trapezoid-reared moms shopping at Abercrombie and Fitch, honest Americans drinking beer at the White House, New York bus stop ads telling boys to eat broccoli and respect women (what?).

A while ago, I took a business trip to Arkansas with a German co-worker. We both arrived in suits -- mine mall-quality but presentable, his devastatingly European -- and discovered that everyone we were meeting with was in jeans. The head guy even wore a plaid shirt. If you think we thought they looked ridiculous, we didn't. We thought we looked ridiculous, because we did, and they knew we knew, too.

Luckily, I was too busy marveling at how out-of-place my German co-worker seemed -- before that trip, I don't think he even believed in "Arkansas" -- to worry about myself.

And I say this is lucky, because the only thing worse than seeing something out of place is realizing that you yourself is what's out of place. If you've ever had the misfortune of going to a Great Gatsby-themed party, you know what I'm talking about. Amidst all the fake pearls and suggestively shaped hats, you find yourself horribly indecisive about whether to laugh and laugh uncontrollably or just shoot yourself summarily between the eyes.

If anyone at the party has actually read Great Gatsby, chances are you are better off with the latter.

And what kills me (ha - but I should know better) is that these problems have such an easy fix. Books should stay in the library; beer should stay in Germany; Germans should stay out of Arkansas. Everyone should stay out of Abercrombie and Fitch.

Boys should respect women, obviously. And broccoli has nothing to do with it. Are you retarded?

Finally, turkeys should spend less time on the street, and more time in my freezer. This is as close to a Thanksgiving joke as I will allow myself to get. At least until Thanksgiving.

"Oho, something about cranberry sauce! Oho, it's can-shaped!" No, seriously. This is why I'm done.