Carpe Diem, for the Self-Centered

Craig’s Guide To Making Things Entertaining. For yourself.

There’s nothing more irritating than finding yourself in a situation which is beyond your control, and you are conscripted to remain there. You may have volunteered for it, or it was thrust upon you. Regardless of how the situation started, it spiraled into the oblivion of boredom, and you have become a potentially hopeless captive. I say “potentially hopeless” because you have options. And I am going to help you explore them by way of this guide. My examples will be discreet, but the principles applied can be used wherever and whenever you find yourself muttering “man, if this doesn’t pick up quick, I might have to stab someone in the neck.”

Situation one: The Strategic Planning Meeting.

This is a situation you’re in because you have risen to a position of authority wherever you ply your trade. You’re so high up, they want everyone at your level to stop actually doing work, and get together to ‘strategize’ some shit. We all know that these meetings are based on the best of intentions, but really, they’re just a venue for that douche balloon in Finance to ramble on-and-on about some new bullshit ‘initiative’ which will invariably involve either a) buying some of his cousin’s crash-happy software to ‘optimize’ something or other, b) ‘implementing’ a new ‘business process’ which will more than likely lead to nothing more than a bloated discretionary account for executive lunches, or c) the hiring of some ‘new talent’ to bring ‘fresh perspective’ to ‘current corporate practices’, which probably involves hiring the waitress from the titty-bar he was at the night before.

So you need not listen, unless you’re the one proposing such beneficial ‘initiatives’ in the name of strategization. Bring a notepad, black pen and a nice #2 pencil (WITH eraser, seeing as how you are not Picasso). First, while the Douche - we’ll call him Mr. Balloon (out of respect of course) - is rambling on about expenditure this, and streamlining that, you draw a detailed picture of your own genitals. Feel free to look down there every now and again, to make sure that you are sketching a reasonable representation. Honestly, it should be enough that you are appearing to be taking notes whilst adding cool shade to your baby maker, but not everyone is entertained so easy. If this fails to entertain you, then you may choose to take it up a level and write “smells like” just above your art, with an arrow pointing to your sketched naughty machine. Hold it up to the speaker, somewhat discreetly, and as soon as he sees it: pinch your nose, squint and start pointing at whoever is sitting next to you. If this fails to entertain, then you are an insensitive communist robot, and you’d probably enjoy his shpeel on ‘departmental best practices’ anyway, so don’t bother.

Situation two: The Baby Shower.

This is for everyone who is not directly involved with said shower. All the best friends and the mother should be all over this party like it was a… baby shower. I have no idea what would be more entertaining to them than that. Seriously. Ever been to one? It’s like an explosion of love and support that would make the Care Bears jealous. But if you’re one of the boyfriends, or a second-hand friend who was invited solely because you always buy people the coolest shit for birthdays (and it was assumed that your giving nature would transfer to a pre-person), then you may need to do some self-entertaining to get through.

Now for the record, I have never been to a baby shower that I was not honored to attend. All my friends' babies are amazing. Seriously. I don't mess around when it comes to my friends' babies. They really are special. That withstanding, I can still proceed because my imagination kicks much ass and I can totally see how these events would suck to an outsider. To my friends, I love all your babies, and I appreciate the invites (I like to buy the little tikes a SWING! Because swings are by far the coolest baby-thing on the market today. Or ever).

So you’re at the "Hooray Baby!" function, and you’re praying that the games would just speed up a bit. Or that you had a fifth of bourbon in your pocket. Or a stunt double. Whatever. You aren’t going anywhere for a LONG time, trust me, so you need to get comfortable with what you’ve got. And what you have is your sharp wit, some deep-seated animosity for mankind, and an impressive ability to accost random strangers. The assumption being: you don’t know very many people at this event. And even if you do, it won’t really matter.

Start talking like a baby. Just do it. Bah-bah-kee-kee-DO! You know the jibberish I’m talking about. That “hey-look-baby’s-learning-to-use-words!” shit. If anyone gets cranky about it, just tell them it’s what you always do at these things. Something of “a testament to the baby’s development” or some shit. Wander around, eat some cake, address some strangers, all the while talking like your head is still soft. But what you’re really going to do is pull what I like to call a “Kinney”. You see, there’s a shitty little cartoon floating around out there, way past its prime, where this one kid always gets killed. Well, he mumbles everything he says due to a hooded-coat which covers his mouth. Like a crappy caucasian version of Mush Mouth. And in the opening song for this cartoon, and pretty much whenever he ‘speaks’, the writers are actually muffling an unintelligible string of perverse obsenities, which is quite possibly the only redeeming quality of this steaming bowl-o-dick cartoon.

And you’re going to pull a “Kinney” by way of baby-talk. Your sounds will be a disjointed mix of blah-blah, but you’ll be telling strangers that you’d put money on their bondage habits. Tell the father that the baby is yours (even if you’re female, because how often do you get THAT kind of opportunity?). Tell someone that you will be the first one to get that baby high. Or that you plan to use the Michael Jackson Babysitting Techniques manual. Hell, tell them whatever you want. You have carte blanche goddamnit! Tell deep dark secrets about your sordid trips to Africa to star in Congolese Porn (one of the most popular searches to bring people to this site, I guarantee you). Tell them what you did to your little cousin at the pool that one time (you sicko). Discuss how you voted for Bush because you knew he would win anyway, but you always lie about it and claim you voted Green. Go for it! It’s all you! Whaa-whaa-bah-bah bitches! Sweeeeet!

Situation 3: Night in the Drunk Tank.

Now I’ve never been in there, and if I had, I would probably lie [brag] about it, so there’s no reason to front. But I’m pretty sure I would know all the people I could run into while there, and it is pretty easy to imagine that I would be hung-over (hello, I’m in a drunk tank) or blacked out, both of which I am familiar. So I feel qualified to speculate.

Blacked out is easy. It's self entertaining. Your body’s struggle to keep your liver from saying “man, fuck this shit” and calling it quits is more than enough drama to keep your comatose ass entertained. If your bid ends in sync with your ‘awakening’, then the stories people will tell you later about the peeing of the pants and the setting of the fires will entertain you for hours on end. Until you get the bills.

But if you’re still in there when you come to, and you’re without your standard forms of hung-over entertainment (greasy foods, cable television, sex-Jenga) then you’ll need this brief guide.

All the others in there with you are in similar situations, with a similar handicap. Some of them are potentially more seasoned than you at handling the one-two punch of jail time + hang-over. But you know what? They aren’t hardened criminals, they’re just drunken idiots. Like you! So get over your fears of incarceration and start a sing-a-long. The ones who are still drunk will sing with you, because (surprise) they’re still drunk! The ones who do not move are still blacked out, and they’ll be of no use to you. You must weed out the ones who are not singing and look pissed about how the rest of you are making a racket with your shitty rendition of The Flintstones Theme Song. Him. That’s the dude. He’s the guy you need to go make friends with. Because you’re going to entertain yourself by recommending that you both beat up that asshole in the corner who won’t stop singing that stupid-ass Flintstones song. Remember, this is about entertainment, not ethics or morality. Besides, you're in jail for breaking the law, it may be best that you leave your morals and ethics tucked away for the duration.

After you’re done with the hung-over beat-down, I suggest you take a nap. You'll probably need it after that workout. You’ll be fresh and ready to go when your sentence ends. Just make sure not to sing in your sleep, you hopeless drunk.

Poof.