If I ever break down and buy a television, it will be for two reasons: Weeds and Real Time With Bill Maher. The latter features a segment known as ‘New Rules’, in which Mr. Maher (or Billy, as I like to call him when we’re philosophizing together) pokes fun at various current events and the lesser-evolved portions of society while making the rest of us feel like we’re smarter than everyone else for being in on the joke. Sort of.
To avoid copyright/trademark infringement, let’s call the following ‘Britt’s Laws’. Feel free to add your own as comments.
Britt’s Law:
If you are lame enough to play Guitar Hero or Rock Band instead of learning an actual instrument AND you possess offspring, you must allow them to play with you. I heard my mom’s neighbor “perform” the entire Michael Jackson catalogue in one sitting. When his young’n entered the room seeking father-son time, this Dad of the Year shouted at his kid to “get out!” One of the most enjoyable parts about parenthood (I’m assuming) is that you get to “play” again – coloring books, G.I. Joes, and yes, goddamn Guitar Hero – but the catch is that you must play like a kid WITH your kid. Fucking douchebag.
Britt’s Law:
All “pet-friendly” apartments and condos must come equipped with an actual yard for dogs to do their business in, as well as a communal pooper-scooper. It’s awesome that people are now obligated to clean up after their animals, but this plastic bag phenomenon has got to GO. Ninety percent of those baggies have little rips and tears, which means the people who use them to snatch up their puppy’s poo are potentially getting their hands dirty. Not cool! These are people I love! I am dying to get a dog, but as someone who will be living in the city on and off for the rest of her life, I will refrain from owning a pet if it means having to close my fist around a hot, wet, steaming pile of dog turds. Metal pooper-scooper + dog yard = Happy Britt.
Britt’s Law:
If you are a passenger on an itty-bitty connector jet flying only ten thousand feet above the ground and thereby subjected to ungodly amounts of turbulence, you get a complimentary bottle of Valium. And if you have even a fraction of Jewish genetics, you get TWO bottles of Valium.
Britt’s Law:
No published material shall be exempt from the sometimes-necessary rewrite. The Bible – much like the U.S. Constitution – is one of those high-and-mighty objects of fear that people love to thump, but few truly follow. If you need to live by a book of mythology in order to refrain from robbing, raping, and murdering your fellow man, then by all means! For those of us who relish our free will and discern how to act and how NOT to act by use of common sense, this blurb is irrelevant, but there are loads of sheeple out there who need to be told what to do by a shepherd in order to “behave”. In this case, one of us “thinkers” needs to update The Book of God. Even best-sellers require the occasional rewrite, spawning multiple editions and improved philosophies. Example: with the plethora of gay and lesbian friends I’ve had throughout my life, I reject ANYTHING that encourages discrimination against them or other citizens of humanity. Since most “followers” seem to interpret the Bible however they see fit anyway, why not go through the whole damn thing with a red pen? After all, what’s that saying? “Editing is next to godliness”? Something like that.
Britt’s Law:
Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it in. Many of us at The Neave seem to delight in making fun of other people for our own entertainment…which means that we have to accept and even expect that every now and again, someone will make fun of us, too. Let the games begin, betches.
Author: Britt Warner
