Trash Tuesday: Chord Headphones and Journaling

They say to get to heaven, you’ve gotta walk through a little hell.

That’s why God got airpods. He is chillin listening to Spotify walking through that dumpster fire. God calls them his Air Gods and only listens to Creed and the ‘(Dixie) Chicks. Hell is just Richard Nixon and Satan and Jeffrey Epstein splitting chord headphone earbuds trying to finish a 2-hour Barstool podcast.

More on Headphones

I stick to the chord headphones when I’m walking through a city. No one fucks with the guy who still has chord headphones. Only one of the headphone ears works, the other one has exposed copper wiring and knots. He’s behind the times, a misanthrope, a has been. He’s a maniacal train rider who crosses cars in motion and performs for loose cash. What’s in that bag he’s always carrying? That guy is a hardened pseudo-criminal with a tote bag.

He’s definitely been robbed before. If you don’t wanna look like a prime target don’t wear airpods and a peacoat. Get yourself a man who can afford both and rob his ass.

Old jokes that bombed:

The main way I save money and don’t worry about getting robbed is by not upgrading any of the technological devices in my life. My Macbook Pro is from 2009. My iPhone is a 6s from 2014. My TV is a 20 inch Panasonic. When they’re at 1% battery, which they always are, I say things like “looks like were both on our last leg, old friend” and we all pass out simultaneously. I don’t upgrade anything until the new model is double the version of my current model. I’m holding out for the iPhone 12s squared.

It’s been three plus years since I wrote that. Epilogue – I caved for an 11 pro and a 13 pro mini iPhone. The ’09 MacBook Pro died in 2021. I’ve been robbed twice in New Orleans and Baltimore and scammed in New York. Since I clearly wasn’t taking my own advice, I’ve returned to an unstealable iPhone 8. I love it.

Unbleached Enriched White Flour

I was known by the nickname “cracker” at the mostly white camp I attended in New Hampshire for 7 years. I got this nickname after the “Cracker Relay” (it was 1999) where each camper who could swim in the younger cabins ate a saltine cracker when they were up in the relay before they could race to the other side of the lake. To get an edge while my team was trailing, I dipped my saltine in the lake and popped it in my mouth. The heroic comeback victory earned me the title of biggest cracker in a very crackery camp. The head cracker in charge. I became a snack food kingpin. My cabin was called the Ritz.

Open Source Journal

Life for me was pretty good growing up. Around 7th grade, I started hitting my journal pretty hard. After all, these are just open-source journal entries. A lot of journal entries started like this:

Dear Journal,

Things are pretty tough. Mom and Dad are bringing up that party from the 1970’s again. The one where Grandma threw the spoon at aunt Sue. Sounds like they might really sell the beach house this time. So many good memories there. Like the time our lemonade stand made $7.50 and we had enough to buy two black raspberry ice cream cones at the Pharmacy counter. And Sue brought us old beers from the garage and I had one. Beer tastes like old strawberries.

Confrontations with Relatives 

With Thanksgiving in the books, you probably are safe from your relatives for the forseeable future. That doesn’t mean you can’t be overprepared the next time you’re single and you run into Aunt Sue cause she’s in town for her work conference.

Sue: Why are you still single? How long has it been now?
Me:  I fuck with the apps
Sue: oh, like eHarmony?
Me: well, Sue, my favorite one is called pancake. Its for pansexuals, but I’m mostly doing hinge.
Me: Got any light beers?

Here’s to keeping things bottled up. Don’t express those feelings, blog about them! No one will ever see!

-Hack Jowens

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