Tom Oatmeal

delbertshoopman: The first time I met Ned I was dressed like a...

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 21:31:46 -0800

The first time I met Ned I was dressed like a girl scout and he had a vest on. When we shook hands & said our names we both said “Oh, so you’re ________!”… Then from that point on we entered each others lives at the most random of times- sharing drinks, stories, and laughter at each stop. We’ve passed like ships in the night this last year… but I always know that his ship is at sea waiting for the next deck drink as I pass in the light.

BUY HIS BOOKS, NED IS A GOOD DUDE.

Order now.

I have written two books, and you can order than now. They’re printed in Moleskine type journals and look amazing; also, handmade in Brooklyn. Very big thanks to Amanda White and everyone at 8-Bit for making this happen. Please reblog and spread the word!
With love,

N

(via: nedhepburn)

Congratulations, Ned! I’ve never met Ned, but we’ve communicated through an email program and it went well every time. I have met Delbert Shoopman and he is awesome. It’s nice to know that these guys meet up from time to time. You have to get out there and socialize every so often or else you forget how. You forget proper greetings and you just run up to complete strangers and say, “Hey! Look at this map!” And they think you mean treasure map, but it’s just a map of Nevada that you picked up at a rest station.

My wife, Diane told me that Barb’s husband, Denny had left a...

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 14:14:00 -0800

My wife, Diane told me that Barb’s husband, Denny had left a trail of Hershey’s kisses from the front door of his house to the bedroom.

“So it was a nice little surprise when Barb got home from work,” said Diane.

“Sounds insane,” I said. “She’s lucky to be alive.”

“Well I thought it was romantic.”

I sighed and continued rubbing my temples. My head hurt. I imagined crushing Tylenol, sawing open the top part of my skull and then sprinkling the Tylenol directly onto my brain.

“What was at the end of the trail?”

“Well, Denny was, probably.”

“Like a chocolate mold of Denny?”

“No, probably just real Denny,” said Diane. She sounded tired.

“Seems like it should have been a big, Denny-sized chocolate bar. Otherwise, why all of the fuss with the little candies? The correlation is puzzling.”

“I don’t know.”

As my wife ate breakfast, I thought about chocolates and decided that I hated Hershey’s kisses. They were a trick to get people to pay for foil instead of actual chocolate.

“Do you know what I hate, Diane?”

“I’d rather not hear.”

“I hate Hershey’s kisses. I think they are a trick to get people to pay for foil instead of actual chocolate.”

THE END.

The NFL's First Satanist Quarterback

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 10:30:00 -0800

The NFL's First Satanist Quarterback:

I wrote an article for my friend, Justin Halpern’s new humor website. Check it out here. You don’t have to, but man oh man, I sure would be grateful. Come on, please?

Justin is hilarious and can be followed at @justin_halpern.

Official Lyrics to “Indianapolis Jones” Dun...

Sun, 22 Jan 2012 12:11:00 -0800

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-daaa dun da-dun!

(*Repeat until he’s done whipping people)

suburbanmike: TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT Suburban Dialogue With...

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 14:57:34 -0800

suburbanmike:

TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT

Suburban Dialogue

With Special Guest DJ
David Futernick of Holy Soul

Nice! It will be good to get back out there. I just finished sewing a dress shirt inside of a sweater and then sewing that to a pair of pants so now I can just put on the single garment. I certainly have no excuses now! See you there!

nedhepburn: Shit People Say About Shit People Say. Nick wins.

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 12:51:30 -0800

nedhepburn:

Shit People Say About Shit People Say.

Nick wins.

Ahhh…to be magically whisked away to the airport!

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 11:16:00 -0800

Ahhh…to be magically whisked away to the airport!

If you get the job managing the Raisinet factory, you don’t...

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 17:47:00 -0800

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.

coketalk: I’m in such an ugly mood that I’ve taken to trolling...

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 12:50:02 -0800

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.

At dinner, my wife Diane told me that Deb and Gary were going to...

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 11:39:00 -0800

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.

pic of urself?

Sat, 07 Jan 2012 19:40:00 -0800

Tom, what do you look for in a girlfriend?

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 15:47:36 -0800

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.

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

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 13:28:40 -0800

“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.

How did you celebrate New Years Eve?

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 17:19:39 -0800

I stayed at home and grilled shrimp with a glaze that I made from butter, dark rum, brown sugar, and some other crap. It was delicious. A ghost came to visit me in the night, presumably to lecture me on the pitfalls of living such an empty and solitary life, but I was too tired to be whisked away on a journey through my past, present, and future and so we agreed to try it another time.

“Come on baby! Let me come on out of the cold for a...

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 17:03:50 -0800

“Come on baby! Let me come on out of the cold for a minute!”

-Lounge Singin’ GuyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyYEAH!

What worried me about my basket was that the items were large...

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 10:03:00 -0800

What worried me about my basket was that the items were large enough to take up all of the space and then some. A couple of cans were actually balancing on top of a cereal box that was sticking out of the basket. But it was fifteen items. I knew it for a fact because I counted them. But did the other customers know? Probably not. Fools.

In my fantasy, the guy behind me says, “Hey! It’s fifteen items or less, buddy. Wrong line!”

And then I go, “Yeah? Well let’s see what I have here!”

And then I place each item from my basket onto the conveyor belt, counting them one by one in a patronizing tone. Sure enough, it’s fifteen.

Why not dream big? They’re selling calculators by the gum! I take a calculator off the peg and stare at the humbled naysayer as I throw it into the pile.

“Tell you what,” I say like a total jerk. “This one’s on me.”

Everyone in line laughs, including this really attractive woman who is also incredibly smart, but not so smart that she’s automatically repelled by mediocrity. In fact, maybe she finds it enticing. The intangibles. Kind of like when you coax a stray dog into a shopping center after they refuse to let you return something because they think you opened it.

“That’s sixteen items,” says the checker, snapping me out of my second daydream and back into the first.

And I think, “Oh no! The calculator!”

“Umm..I guess, uh… I’ll just leave the milk here,” I say.

On the walk home I try to justify leaving the milk behind. I think about how I heard that humans aren’t supposed to drink milk anyways. I think about how I’ve heard it’s bad for you.

But then I remember all of the cereal I have at home and my heart feels like it’s melting into my stomach.

“Well surprise, surprise!” I think to myself. “Real tough stuff back there.”

“Oh shut up!” I scream.

I think of kicking the fictional guy from the line. He has this condition where he dies after one kick.

THE END

The divorce had ruined me financially so if I was going to be...

Tue, 03 Jan 2012 13:51:14 -0800

The divorce had ruined me financially so if I was going to be the “cool dad,” I knew it was going to have to be achieved without the crutch of expensive gifts and fun activities. I would have to actually become a cool person.

“Someone who people feel naturally drawn to,” I explained to Dr. Glovings, my stuffed bear.

The opportunity presented itself the very next day when I arrived to pick my daughter up from school. She was standing with her friends on the curb and as I drove by, she waved. I smiled and waved back, but then I pretended that the brakes to the car weren’t working.

I rolled along with a look of panic on my face, just fake pumping those breaks. I could hear my daughter and her friends kind of freaking out and it was hard not to laugh. Then I realized that the brakes really weren’t working. I crashed into a tree and the car lit on fire. Then, I lit on fire when I was trying to escape the car.

The flames engulfed my entire body and so I began to stalk forward, blindly and in the direction of where I’d seen my daughter and her friends. I tried to be cool and act like nothing bad was happening.

“How was school?!” I screamed. “Do you feel like ice cream?”

I felt like ice cream. I also felt like water. Like, a big trashcan full of water. I was burning alive for Christ’s sakes.

There were screams all around me, but I continued to lurch forward until the police gunfire eventually made me lose my balance. Okay, fine, Mr. Cool Guy. It was more than losing my balance. I was dead before I hit the ground.

THE END.

My mom used to read us this story every year. ”The Little...

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 20:40:00 -0800

My mom used to read us this story every year. ”The Little Match Girl,” by Hans Christian Anderson. The ending always made us sad and my mom would tell us that if nobody on this earth loved you, you just died automatically. It was scary at the time, but now that we’re older, my siblings and I are very cognizant of population rates and know that it’s pretty hard to strike out THAT bad. But still, it’s a good reminder to get out there and network from time to time.

NeighborhoodEye

You don’t have to be a parent to understand the horror of...

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 06:52:00 -0800

You don’t have to be a parent to understand the horror of walking into a room to discover that the baby crawled out of his crib and onto that pottery wheel you forgot to turn off. And while the baby is spinning around and around, the dog is sitting there all calm, like a person, gently using his paws to fashion the baby’s soft cartilage head into something a little more modern. It might be the classic tale of bad parenting, but let’s see where the dog is going with this.

Imagine my surprise when the Two Pack rapping guy said that,...

Thu, 29 Dec 2011 11:47:00 -0800

Imagine my surprise when the Two Pack rapping guy said that, yes. I could participate in the white elephant gift exchange.

“Most of them voted against it,” said Two Pack. “But I’m the lead rapping guy and I said yes.”

“Well, thanks,” I said. “That’s super nice of you.”

Up until that moment, the event had been limited to rapping guys, backup rapping guys, hoes, and that one guy who dials a phone at the beginning of some of the rapping songs.

On the big day, Two Pack tore into my gift and didn’t say anything. He didn’t even touch it; just sort of balanced it on his thighs and stared at it, with his arms hanging limp to the sides.

“That’s a big book!” shouted one of the rapping guys.

The Two Pack rapping guy was silent. He didn’t even look at me.

“It’s a thesaurus,” I said nervously. “You know. In case you’re working on a rapping song and you get stuck on something.”

Nobody said a word. Even the hoes were silent, which was rare. The Two Pack rapper put the gift under his seat and then gestured to the rapping guy sitting in the chair next to him.

“Go,” said Two Pack.

The young rapping guy opened his gift and held it up proudly. Even though it was another gun, the fourth that night, it drew strong praise from everyone in the circle.

I watched them from the rooftop that night. They were walking to the parking lot with their gifts. Suddenly, the Two Pack rapper lifted the thesaurus and began thumbing through it in silly, theatrical motions.

I was too far away to make out what they were saying, but I could tell from smiles and light shaking of the surrounding rapping guys that they were laughing.

“Oh, no! He’s doing me!” I thought. “Two Pack is imitating ME!”

To witness an interaction from that kind of distance is to submit to something that stretches itself along the distance between light and sound. And though the sensory experience is still that of seeing sights and hearing sounds, taste might be a more accurate way to describe what transpired in that moment. Taste. The shock of the awakened sense. The flavor of something, changing, taking shape. The aftertaste.

I watched them laugh. They shook gleefully, bent back and doubled over, but it wasn’t until they were already starting to climb into their cars that the sound of their laughter reached the rooftop; a cruel confirmation that I’d blown it.

THE END.