Tom Oatmeal

A Blog About Intercourse from a guy who doesn't get nervous about intercourse like his friend Ricky does.

114 notes

Official Lyrics to “Indianapolis Jones”    Dun da-dun dun, dun da-dunnnnnn Dun da-dun dun!  Dun da-DUN DUN DUN! Dun da-dun dun!  Dun da-DUNNNNNN! Dun da-da dun! da-da dun! da-da dun! da-daaa dun da-dun! (*Repeat until he’s done whipping people)

Official Lyrics to “Indianapolis Jones”   

Dun da-dun dun, dun da-dunnnnnn

Dun da-dun dun!  Dun da-DUN DUN DUN!

Dun da-dun dun!  Dun da-DUNNNNNN!

Dun da-da dun!

da-da dun!

da-da dun!

da-daaa dun da-dun!

(*Repeat until he’s done whipping people)

127 notes

If you get the job managing the Raisinet factory, you don’t spend the first week holed up your office, going over the numbers.   They’ll eat you alive. Get right to it.  Call a meeting and when you’re sure that everyone is gathered around, pop a handful of the raisinets in your mouth and suck the chocolate off aggressively, so that your face turns red and your head shakes.  Let them be afraid. Spit the bare raisins out in your hand and hold them up. “You call these raisins!?” Everyone is too ashamed to answer and they stare at the floor.  Then you hold up a box of Sun-Maid raisins. “I want you to call this woman and tell her we’re buying her raisin farm or her raisin trees or whatever plant makes the raisins.” Some guy raises his hand.  “You want us to call that cartoon woman on the box?  I don’t think she’s a real person.” “Find her.” Then another hand goes up.  It’s a guy in overalls. “Yes?” “Are we still going to make those ones that are just little globs of chocolate?  You know, the ones where there’s no raisin inside because of a mechanical error?” You roll your eyes at the group. “Is he always this stupid?” The employees laugh.  Then you laugh.  Everything is going to be fine under your leadership.   And the answer is, “Yes. We are still going to make the little chocolately non-raisin ones too because they taste good and they compliment the instances where you have too much raisin in your mouth.”  The End.

If you get the job managing the Raisinet factory, you don’t spend the first week holed up your office, going over the numbers.   They’ll eat you alive.

Get right to it.  Call a meeting and when you’re sure that everyone is gathered around, pop a handful of the raisinets in your mouth and suck the chocolate off aggressively, so that your face turns red and your head shakes.  Let them be afraid.

Spit the bare raisins out in your hand and hold them up.

“You call these raisins!?”

Everyone is too ashamed to answer and they stare at the floor.  Then you hold up a box of Sun-Maid raisins.

“I want you to call this woman and tell her we’re buying her raisin farm or her raisin trees or whatever plant makes the raisins.”

Some guy raises his hand.  “You want us to call that cartoon woman on the box?  I don’t think she’s a real person.”

“Find her.”

Then another hand goes up.  It’s a guy in overalls.

“Yes?”

“Are we still going to make those ones that are just little globs of chocolate?  You know, the ones where there’s no raisin inside because of a mechanical error?”

You roll your eyes at the group.

“Is he always this stupid?”

The employees laugh.  Then you laugh.  Everything is going to be fine under your leadership.   And the answer is, “Yes. We are still going to make the little chocolately non-raisin ones too because they taste good and they compliment the instances where you have too much raisin in your mouth.” 

The End.

238 notes

coketalk: I’m in such an ugly mood that I’ve taken to trolling the comments section of my own goddamn website. This is bad, right? Ugh. I’m sure it’s fine.  I think you only need to be worried if you create a fictional commenter based on another facet of your personality for the sole purpose of waging war against what you consider to be the best version of yourself.  I just go for a jog when that happens.

coketalk:

I’m in such an ugly mood that I’ve taken to trolling the comments section of my own goddamn website. This is bad, right? Ugh.

I’m sure it’s fine.  I think you only need to be worried if you create a fictional commenter based on another facet of your personality for the sole purpose of waging war against what you consider to be the best version of yourself.  I just go for a jog when that happens.

278 notes

At dinner, my wife Diane told me that Deb and Gary were going to stop by for drinks later and that it might be nice to put out one of the good candles. “Oh?” I said.  “Which ones are Deb and Gary?” “They’re our next door neighbors.” “Are they?” “I thought it might be nice to light one of the Yankee candles.” “Isn’t that a little excessive?” I asked.  “It’s not like we’re sleeping with them.  At least.  It’s not like I’m sleeping with them.” I eyed my wife suspiciously, but she remained focused on her dinner. “I just thought we’d light it for a little while,” she said. “And then what is our excuse for blowing it out?” I asked.  “When the time comes, what do we tell them?  How do we extinguish the candle in a way that seems casual and good-natured?” “I don’t know.” “What?” “I said I don’t know.  I guess I didn’t think of that.” “You never do, Diane.  It’s a miracle we’re not sleeping on the streets.” We ate in silence for the next five minutes as my mind worked towards a possible compromise.  I wasn’t a monster. “Describe their breathing habits,” I said.  “Are they excitable?  Do they breath heavily?” “Forget it,” said Diane.  “I don’t even care at this point.” “I just don’t want them breathing up our expensive candles!”  “I said forget it.” A week later, there was a fire in the locker where I kept the candles.  They melted together into one, gigantic candle.  It was too horrible to look at and so I had the firefighters put the candle into a garbage bag so I didn’t have to see the damage. We buried it in the backyard.  Diane cried, but it was a dry cry.  There were no tears and I asked her about it. “I guess I’m all cried out,” said Diane. “I had a medical procedure,” I said, as I shoveled the last of the dirt onto the candle.  “Where if my heart stops beating, I explode.  I’m a human bomb.” It wasn’t true, but if my suspicions were correct and it was Diane who had destroyed the candles, then I knew that I was next.  I needed to buy some time until I could investigate the depth of my wife’s lies, starting with these supposed “neighbors.” That night, from their closet, I watched uncomfortably as Deb and Gary made love in their bed.  I had broken in to look for other proof and I guess they kind of surprised me. “Okay.  Well I guess the part about neighbors was real,” I thought.  “Well played, Diane.” THE END.

At dinner, my wife Diane told me that Deb and Gary were going to stop by for drinks later and that it might be nice to put out one of the good candles.

“Oh?” I said.  “Which ones are Deb and Gary?”

“They’re our next door neighbors.”

“Are they?”

“I thought it might be nice to light one of the Yankee candles.”

“Isn’t that a little excessive?” I asked.  “It’s not like we’re sleeping with them.  At least.  It’s not like I’m sleeping with them.”

I eyed my wife suspiciously, but she remained focused on her dinner.

“I just thought we’d light it for a little while,” she said.

“And then what is our excuse for blowing it out?” I asked.  “When the time comes, what do we tell them?  How do we extinguish the candle in a way that seems casual and good-natured?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t know.  I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“You never do, Diane.  It’s a miracle we’re not sleeping on the streets.”

We ate in silence for the next five minutes as my mind worked towards a possible compromise.  I wasn’t a monster.

“Describe their breathing habits,” I said.  “Are they excitable?  Do they breath heavily?”

“Forget it,” said Diane.  “I don’t even care at this point.”

“I just don’t want them breathing up our expensive candles!” 

“I said forget it.”

A week later, there was a fire in the locker where I kept the candles.  They melted together into one, gigantic candle.  It was too horrible to look at and so I had the firefighters put the candle into a garbage bag so I didn’t have to see the damage.

We buried it in the backyard.  Diane cried, but it was a dry cry.  There were no tears and I asked her about it.

“I guess I’m all cried out,” said Diane.

“I had a medical procedure,” I said, as I shoveled the last of the dirt onto the candle.  “Where if my heart stops beating, I explode.  I’m a human bomb.”

It wasn’t true, but if my suspicions were correct and it was Diane who had destroyed the candles, then I knew that I was next.  I needed to buy some time until I could investigate the depth of my wife’s lies, starting with these supposed “neighbors.”

That night, from their closet, I watched uncomfortably as Deb and Gary made love in their bed.  I had broken in to look for other proof and I guess they kind of surprised me.

“Okay.  Well I guess the part about neighbors was real,” I thought.  “Well played, Diane.”

THE END.

33 notes

Anonymous asked: Tom, what do you look for in a girlfriend?

Smart, funny, pretty and tolerant of the occasional impromptu jingle about general skills, old people who look angry, poor driving, mishaps, dogs who appear to be walking around alone like people, and “big moments” where someone is finally doing the thing that they’ve been practicing for so long.

515 notes

“Actually, why don’t you let this little old lady go first,” I said to the barista. “I’m forty,” said the little old lady. “Well I guess you just have that angry old lady face,” I said with a cheerful grin.  “It’s like when old people are just so exhausted by life that the default position of their face sort of turns into that permanent scowly face.  You know?” But she was done listening. After I got my coffee, a woman and her young son approached me. “It was really nice of you to let that woman go first,” she said. “Oh I’m no hero!” “I try to teach my son here about those kinds of manners.” I laughed and looked at the young boy. “Take my word for it, young friend.  You do nice things for other people and nice things happen to you.” I smiled again and took a sip of my coffee.  But the lid popped off and the scalding hot beverage splashed against my face and chest. I screamed.  “ARRRRRRGGHHHH…..FUCK!  FUCKING SHIT!  OW!” The boy and his mom recoiled in horror.  It was still burning.  I ran to the center of the mall and dove headfirst into the wishing well.  SPLASH! When I emerged, there were pennies stuck to my boiled skin.  I opened my eyes and saw a wall of wide-eyed children. “I’ve stolen your wishes!” I screamed.  “And I’m taking them to hell with me!” I ran out of the well and into the parking lot, where a minivan ran me over. “Does this mean my wish won’t come true?” a young boy asked his mother. She sighed and reached into her purse.  “I don’t know.  Probably not.  Here.  You might want to toss another one in there, just in case.” The young boy tried again, but his wish didn’t come true.  However, to be fair, it was a stupid, implausible wish.  A live dog that’s also a skateboard?  Come on, man.  You think the weight won’t be hard on his back? THE END.

“Actually, why don’t you let this little old lady go first,” I said to the barista.

“I’m forty,” said the little old lady.

“Well I guess you just have that angry old lady face,” I said with a cheerful grin.  “It’s like when old people are just so exhausted by life that the default position of their face sort of turns into that permanent scowly face.  You know?”

But she was done listening.

After I got my coffee, a woman and her young son approached me.

“It was really nice of you to let that woman go first,” she said.

“Oh I’m no hero!”

“I try to teach my son here about those kinds of manners.”

I laughed and looked at the young boy.

“Take my word for it, young friend.  You do nice things for other people and nice things happen to you.”

I smiled again and took a sip of my coffee.  But the lid popped off and the scalding hot beverage splashed against my face and chest.

I screamed.  “ARRRRRRGGHHHH…..FUCK!  FUCKING SHIT!  OW!”

The boy and his mom recoiled in horror.  It was still burning.  I ran to the center of the mall and dove headfirst into the wishing well.  SPLASH!

When I emerged, there were pennies stuck to my boiled skin.  I opened my eyes and saw a wall of wide-eyed children.

“I’ve stolen your wishes!” I screamed.  “And I’m taking them to hell with me!”

I ran out of the well and into the parking lot, where a minivan ran me over.

“Does this mean my wish won’t come true?” a young boy asked his mother.

She sighed and reached into her purse.  “I don’t know.  Probably not.  Here.  You might want to toss another one in there, just in case.”

The young boy tried again, but his wish didn’t come true.  However, to be fair, it was a stupid, implausible wish.  A live dog that’s also a skateboard?  Come on, man.  You think the weight won’t be hard on his back?

THE END.