The End of Bummer

The end of Bummer is a…er…bummer. It’s a bummer because now who are you going to look to to inject a little levity into life’s endless stream of args? Here’s an idea, why don’t you look to you?!?!?! You have the tools now, grasshopper, so go out there and make a joke to your own self about some guy flaking out on you or Mike Jackson dying (sidenote: that’s what Shell Terrific calls him) or your funputer giving up the ghost. Throw in a few extended metaphors that barely make any sense, sprinkle liberally with cool kid esoterica, and you’re all set. And if that’s not enough, go read Hipster Runoff or something. That guy’s a genius. So thanks to the tens of avid readers out there who laughed at our jokes and especially to the guest bloggers. Pax Americana, catch you guys in RL (real life). Not a bummer: finally, an actual photo of the bloggers (pictured).

Forgetting Your Blog’s Birthday

Forgetting your blog’s birthday is a bummer. It’s a bummer because even though it was a total accident, your blog is going to get all offended like “How could you??????” and is then going to hold a grudge until YOUR birthday comes around, at which point your blog will pretend to forget all about it, as a long-awaited, passive-aggressive punishment for your slip-up. And then, to get your blog back, you have to not get it a Christmas gift, or skip its art opening or something, which will prompt it to never again compliment your new haircut, or to blow off your house warming party or whatever, and on and on and on til infinity. Cool out unbummer: Blogs aren’t people, get a grip. Belated blog birthday un-bummer: Happy one year (on May 5) b-day, Bummer. Thanks for yielding tens of laughs for people Google image searching “minotaur” and “pink eye.”

Packing

Packing is a bummer. Packing most stuff is easy. Books: Put ‘em in a box. Clothes: Put ‘em in a bag. Multiple jars of cumin that you have even though you don’t recall making anything with cumin in this apartment, or ever: Put ‘em in the garbage. Packing doesn’t turn into a bummer until you’re down to the little things, like extra buttons and pens. How many pens do you think you have? Ok, quadruple that amount and that’s how many you actually have. Your floor is basically carpeted in pens right now, you just don’t notice anymore. How are you supposed to pack all these pens? Just put ‘em in a box, all loosey goosey? That seems slovenly. And what about things like coasters and playing cards? Any ideas? This is the kind of thing that pushes people over the edge. Hacky sack bummer: That’s not how you do it. (See pic).

Desperate Housewives*

Desperate Housewives is a bummer. Everyone knows pretty much all daytime TV is a bummer, but Desperate Housewives has got to be the worst. Rushing home from school to catch the beginning of the three hour marathon is pretty sad. It is even worse when you find yourself able to name all the characters and you actually got totally mad when Carlos went blind and even more mad when Edie hooked up with Orson. Um time to get a life? Sure you should be reading a biography of Einstein or doing math homework, but who can resist watching the original cougars of Wisteria Lane??? Answer: No one.

This guest bummer submitted by Taylor Somers, who is so freaking famous right now.

If you want to be as rich as T.S., send your bummers to totalbumout@gmail.com

Trip To The Eye Doctor

Trips to the eye doctor are a bummer. They’re a bummer because getting poked in the eye sucks. Plus what is it with optometrists making that shit so nerve wracking? Maybe if they made it more fun up in there (made the chairs shaped like race cars?), people would be more relaxed and less compelled to cheat on the one where you’re supposed to read the bottom line with one eye closed. Show me a man who doesn’t memorize the whole chart while he’s waiting for the doctor, and I’ll show you the kid who used to remind the teacher she forgot to give us weekend homework. Also, after being taunted about your impending blindness for 45 minutes it makes you really racist against people with good vision. By the time it’s all over you’re  like “fuck this, I’m gonna go hate crime a fighter pilot!” Also a bummer: “Dr. Jon” (pictured) looks like a jerk. Hilarious unbummer: using the word racist incorrectly.

“25 Things About Me” Facebook Fad

The “25 Things About Me” Facebook fad is a bummer. In case you’re unfamiliar with this trend, what’s happening is people (re: tools) are making these lists of 25 things about themselves that absolutely no one cares about and then tagging 25 other people who then make their own 95 Theses of poor grammar and unchecked narcissism and so on and so on ad infinitum until the sun becomes a white dwarf and the Internet freezes over. As a result, you get to learn a whole slew of CRUCIAL facts about your pals like ”14. The thing that I’m most afraid of is carrots ever since that time in high school that Kevin put one in a pocket of my book bag that I like never used and it rotted there” or “21. If I ruled the world I’d put all the puppies and kitties in a cage made of Twizzlers, except the cage would be a castle and no one would ever die.” Whoa people, slow down!  Don’t unleash your cool personalities all at once! Christian babe unbummer: damn, Martin Luther was foinnnnne!! (pictured)

Racist Babies

Racist babies are a bummer. They’re a bummer because they’re always toddling around finger painting swastikas on every surface in sight, and it’s like come on dudes, at least use paper, your racist mom is not the racist maid. On the other hand, it’s pretty practical to use your natural baldness to your advantage by becoming a skinhead, so kudos on that front. That way, if you turn out to be one of those kids that stays bald an unnaturally long time, you can be all “Whatever, I like it this way cause I’m a huge racist.” Spooky bummer: that racist baby’s dad looks like he’s about to climb into your soul.

2008

2008 was a bummer. Ho-leeeee shit was this a terrible year. It’s like someone threw good days in the garbage and replaced them with the worst day of your life times 365. 2008 was such a God-awful suckhole of a year that by this point minor disasters seem like the Fun Times Prize Patrol just showed up at your door with a fistful of balloons and a big check that entitles you to one identity theft, or one trip to the emergency room, and your spirit is so thoroughly broken that you’re like YES! THIS IS THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS! The only way to console yourself during the last desperate weeks of this black mark on the face of history is to realize that someday things will be so much worse than they are now that you’ll look back on these as the halcyon days. Optimism unbummer: You haven’t blown 2009 yet.

Overlooked For “Person Of The Year”

Being overlooked for Time magazine’s prestigious Person of the Year title is a bummer. It’s a bummer because, wtf dudes, 23 years in a row? It sort of makes sense to be bypassed for the first nine years of your life or so, because giving the title to a kid not even out of single digits would make the rest of humanity seethe with jealousy. But at this point you pretty much can’t help feeling like Peter O’Toole at the Oscars, getting passed up year after year for some lesser talent when you’re Lawrence of freaking Arabia for Christ’s sake. It especially burns if the guy they chose did something trivial like become the first black president when all the odds were against him. Compared to your accomplishments this year (not dying and paying your rent on time most months), that shit looks so corny.

Cost Of Saline Solution

The cost of saline solution is a bummer. Why does that junk cost $8 when it’s made of salt water, the world’s most plentiful resource? What burns the most is that basically everyone wears contacts these days, which means 100% of the population is getting fleeced by the mustache-twirling villains at Bausch & Lomb (pictured above). And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, cause, as you discovered the hard way, you can’t just “make your own,” unless you want to have to call in to work the next day because your home brew has wreaked a havoc on your eyes the likes of which has not been seen since the fire bombing of Dresden. That’s right, 250,000 casualties. Also a bummer: realizing you’re out of saline at like two in the morning.