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Our Hobo Summer has begun

The old Armenian woman approached my dog and I as we were standing at a stoplight in Koreatown. She was around 4’6”, with a shape not unlike a shriveled raisin. Her thin arms swayed back and forth in the wind ever so slightly, like empty skin flapping in the breeze. She looked at my dog with what I assume was a permanent scowl, and asked what breed he was. We spoke about dogs for a full 30 seconds before the crazy started to come out.

“You have to be careful with the dog,” the woman said in her thick accent, pointing to the busy street. I assumed she was referring to the cars speeding past. Nope. She was pointing at the Korean people standing on the other side of the street. “This neighborhood is full of Chinese. Sometimes they eat dog. Sometimes they eat people, too.”

That’s how you know it’s summertime in Los Angeles: When a weird, racist 70-year-old Armenian woman the literal size of a tree stump warns you that the Chinese are going to eat your dog while you’re walking him. That’s how you know. The signs aren’t always exact. Sometimes it’s eating dogs, sometimes cats, once in a while it’s selling a person drugs and then eating that person, but the overall message remains the same: It’s time to grab a hot dog and a beer, and fire up the ol’ barbeque.

I’m going to chuck this bag of dog poo into the back of this pickup truck

My dog just dropped a deuce, and since local neighborhood folk are watching, I picked it up. This is why I like the winter better, when it gets dark earlier. Not only does darkness make picking up after my dog optional, but it also allows me to look into other people’s homes to see if their possessions are better than mine.

The nearest garbage can is all the way on the other side of the block, which is tedious. At that strenuous distance, the stank of this unwanted care package may permeate my clothing and disrupt other parts of my life. Fortunately, there’s an open bed pickup truck up ahead. That’s similar to a garbage can!

The truck is old and rusty, and there’s already a massive pile of dusty, oily garbage in the back. I’m willing to bet there’s at least seven other bags of dog poo hidden in it already. There has to be. I can’t be the only person who has ever thought of this. If a poo bag falls in a pickup truck and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound? Rest assured that it does, my friends. I’ve checked. Not to worry, though. No harm was done. If the truck owner is displeased, they can just throw it away. It’s not that difficult. I mean, there’s a garbage can just on the other side of this block. How selfish can they be?

A list of inappropriate gifts for my nephew

My nephew will be two years old in a few weeks. Now that he can talk, and is therefore able to inform others of how cheap I am, I have to start buying him good gifts instead of random garbage I found in a dumpster. I’ve compiled a list of 10 gifts for my brother and his wife to choose from. Please allow 6-8 weeks for processing. Shipping is not included, and will be billed later.

 
Stock options. Hey, guess what! I bought my nephew stock options! That’s why he hasn’t received a gift from me this year. It’s not because I’m a cheap douchebag and a liar. I bought him stock options that are in my name and that you cannot see except for this very generic receipt I’ve provided claiming I bought it. Which company? Oh, it’s stock in, um . . . Pump N’ Munch. It’s a brand of gas station in Minnesota and Wisconsin. Yep, once he turns 18, which is 16 years from now, I’ll transfer all the Pump N’ Munch stock into his name. Assuming, of course, that you remember any of this 16 years from now. Which you won’t. I hope.

A list of superheroes I hate

Thor
Fuck Thor. He isn’t even a superhero. He’s a character from Greek mythology. It’s like if Stan Lee announced a new superhero he thought up named Jesus Christ. Thor looks ridiculously dated and out of place, no matter the medium. The new Avengers movie is full of amazing special effects and futuristic costumes, and then Thor strolls in looking like something from a crappy renaissance fair.

So again, fuck Thor. He should be working at a gas station with the rest of the star athletes from my high school. Vision picked up his hammer anyway. He’s not a God anymore. Vision may look like Lieutenant Commander Data from Star Trek, but he’s a lot cooler than Thor.

Green Arrow/Hawkeye
Bows and arrows? Stop it. Stop being such a hipster, with your vintage weapons and environmentally friendly deaths. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor is a great premise, especially for modern times, so why not make Hawkeye and Green Arrow villains who restore the middle class by taking out the rich, one arrow at a time? I could root for a clever, stealthy executioner villain, unlike the current Hawkeye, who spent the entirety of the latest Avengers movie standing in the middle of battlefields, shooting goddamn arrows at goddamn super mutants. I can’t remember if Green Arrow is stealthy in his new soap opera on the CW network. I have yet to make it through an entire episode without fast-forwarding through all the feelings.

Beast
I love Beast. He’s physically strong but also sophisticated. Vicious one moment, a charming politician the next. Yet every time I see him, all I can think is “Boy, do I hate Kelsey Grammer.”

I’m not allowed to date Asian women

First of all, I’m white. That’s one strike against me. White guys always have a thing for Asian women. No matter what country I live in, no matter how many non-Asian women I date in my life, the mere act of me glancing at an Asian woman will produce eye rolls all around. It’s a thing.

Secondly, I live in Koreatown. Do you have any idea how douchey that seems? A white guy living in Koreatown and dating an Asian girl? That just can’t happen. I might as well be the creepy white guy in college who hangs with the foreign exchange students all day, pretending to teach them English. I don’t even have a preference when it comes to which races I date, yet to most, my situation couldn’t be more obvious if I started keeping anime charms attached to my cellphone.

Add to all this that I wear skinny jeans and have a pathetically amateurish hipster beard, and people are just going to start throwing things at me. And rightfully so. That’s strike three and four, and we’re only in the third paragraph of this column. If I were to start a band where I wrote catchy songs about Asian girls I was afraid to talk to, a wormhole might open and swallow me whole, forcing me into a parallel dimension with other people who are too obnoxious to function in the normal universe.