FCN Classic: Q&A with curious guys

FCN is always open to answering your questions. We'll put our team of highly trained delinquents on any problem, query or concern that crosses your mind, and even a few that don’t. Below, we have a series of questions from curious guys who never quite got a satisfactory answer from other humor blogs.

Question: Why is it that middle age people often joke about their age but generally old folks never touch the subject?
~Joseph, Omaha, KS.

Answer: The same reason any joke gets old (pun intended). When a person starts getting on in his years and realizes the grave isn’t in the too distant future, he tries to hide his fear by making jokes. The jokes don’t make them any younger; they just help relieve the pressure of their coming demise. Then, as that eternal phone call in the horizontal telephone booth becomes as eminent as a Democrat’s tax increase, the joke stops being funny. It’s probably still funny to you, Joseph, because you are a young guy with many good years ahead of you. Realize these old codgers have intense pressure to stop making age jokes; whenever they are at the country club and let rip with a “boy, these legs just don’t want to walk anymore” line, they are greeted with horrified stares. Sometimes those jokes can cause the management to suspend the membership of a truly egregious joker. So generally really old people stay quiet about their age.

Question: Why do most married couples engage in all sorts of really intimate behaviors including mouth to mouth kissing but insist on using their own toothbrush?
~ Ike, Carbondale, Ill.

Answer: Cooties. It really is a shame, too, since using the same toothbrush can be a great way to get closer as a married couple. Can you imagine the romance in gathering around the bathroom sink and removing each other’s plaque with the same utensil? Mutual brushing, as this practice is called by people in the therapy industry, is a great way to help couples who are on the rocks get realigned.

Question: Why is it that the more expensive a piece of clothing is, the more quickly it wears out?
~ Blythe, San Francisco, CA.

Answer: You know Blythe, that really hasn’t been our experience. A 2-3 dollar shirt (the bottom end of our price range) usually tends to be pretty flimsy, while a really expensive 10-15 dollar garment tends to last a lot longer. You can also wear the more expensive shirt for greater intervals between washing. At all the stores we shop, you get your money’s worth.

Question: Why is it that people stare at me when I wear white socks with dark clothes and shoes?
~ Trevor, Colorado Springs, CO.

Answer: That’s a question that has bugged us a lot, too. We honestly don’t have an answer, but we picked your question to highlight a major injustice in today’s fashion. We’re white, we wear white undershirts, have white bellies, etc. But for some reason, society says we have to wear dark socks. This stipulation totally destroys any individualism we might otherwise be able to express and turns us into dark clothed, zero imagination zombies. This much we do know: people stare because they have been ingrained with the lie that white socks are taboo. The average person is scolded by his mother when only a prepubertal babe and scared into believing that white is somehow morally wrong. When they see free spirits like us choosing not to be tied down by color distinctions, that whole episode of their lives is reopened and they are forced to relive their painful maternal rejection. Sympathy for others is about the only reason we can think of to avoid white socks.

Question: With all the craze over paternity tests, why don’t curious kids insist on maternity examinations as well?
~ Richard, Anaheim, CA.

Answer: All it takes is one look at the Maury or Jerry Springer shows to notice that no one questions maternity these days. They should though. Anyone who doubts their paternal lineage should reserve similar suspicion for their mother. Think about it: any woman with a paunch could claim to be the mom. It wouldn’t be that hard either; the devious woman would sneak the biological mom a significant cash amount and then jump into the delivery bed and pretend to be in pain. The substitution wouldn’t even have to be devious; all babies look alike at birth and with the myriad of mistakes hospitals make, parents really don’t know that the kids they take home are really theirs. Few are willing to admit this fear and most try to cover it by cooing “oh, s/he looks so much like you” to their spouse. Instead of these common-place “you are not the father!” routines, shows like Maury and Springer’s should bring in kids who don’t think their mom really is. That’d mix things up a bit.

As always, if you have a question for our FCN staff, feel free to email it us. That’s funnyclassnotes – at – gmail – dot – com.

In N' Out

When the clock strikes noon at General Mills, the employees disappear faster than Winona Rider with an armful of stolen purses. It's as if a fire alarm is sounded throughout the factory and even the conveyor belts sense that operations will have to be put on hold for a time while personal mastication needs are satisfied. We become Maslow's ants and focus on our hunger needs to the exclusion of our financial ones.

I am more than a little proud to say that I am no different. Lunchtime is an almost sacred rite and bringing face to food, while always a priority, becomes an obsession at twelve noon.

One particular lunch break in the not too distant past, I was hungry but distracted as I ran over an old woman who works in the factory office on my way out the door. That morning, I had been thinking about my diet and wondering if regular visits to In n' Out Burger constituted good eating. I had frequented that fine burger establishment every one of the last three days and, while the thought of an Animal-Style Double-Double with a Flying Dutchman chaser was appetizing, I figured I owed my body better.

I wanted something healthy, something green, so I hopped into my car and sped down my town's main thoroughfare, scanning restaurant titles for the anti-burger.

As I drove, I pensed. Without the steady blare of General Mill's quality control operations to plague my thinking, my thoughts were actually fairly lucid. I thought about the elderly woman I had run over and the merits of spending hours a day in a smelly cereal factory. I considered the recent Cabinent shakeup in Japan and then, tired of thinking, I tuned into VH1 and relaxed to the gentle thump-thump of the latest pop hit.

Before I knew it, I was at a restaurant. I stepped out of my car and walked forward, my mind still thump-thumping. Then, just as I was about to step through the doors of the establishment and into the air conditioned comfort of modern dining, I glanced at the name of the restaurant: In N' Out Burger.

I couldn't believe it. The car had practically driven me here of its own accord. I had made no conscious decision to come here - in fact my thoughts were about health and alternatives the whole time - but here I was nonetheless.

At first I was mildly upset that fate and destiny had denied me the opportunity to have a healthy meal, but I wasn't about to let fate ruin a good time.

I went to the counter and ordered a 4x4 burger, fries, a Flying Dutchman, diet coke and, after the main course, a vanilla shake (see right, click for enlarged image). I wasn't especially hungry, but In N' Out has a way of making room for itself.

My food came quickly and smelled of rich salts and heavy fats. I found a place to sit and thanked God quickly for his providence and direction. Then I lit into the food, enjoying each bite as an original delicacy, despite the fact that this was my fourth time this week eating from the limited In N' Out menu.

I was just stuffing the last bites of the 4 x 4 into my mouth and beginning to eye the lightly crisped fries when a the violent tones of a car alarm cut the air. Everyone in the restaurant heard the noise and the gentleman sitting to my immediate left made a cynical comment about modern gadgetry.

Everyone expected the alarm to subside quickly, but just the opposite happened. The noise continued with the throbbing regularity of the pop song I had just heard in my car.

I looked around the restaurant to locate the car's owner and saw an elderly gentleman who couldn't have been younger than sixty fiddling with his car keys and pointing them out the window toward a Toyota Tundra that looked new enough to have an anti-theft alarm.

The elderly gentleman fumbled and fiddled with his keys for some time, making facial expressions like John Belushi and generally looking defeated by technology. Then, tired of the window, he moved to the door and began clicking at his unresponsive car from beneath the fan that keeps the warm air out.

An In N' Out employee approached the man and asked if he wanted any assistance. I am not sure of the man's exact reply, but it was obviously negative and harsh.

The man's wife vocalized her support, announcing to everyone within earshot that the car was new and that he would "have to get used to the alarm." I thought her choice of words was comically poor, but said nothing.

Between us, the sound got annoying really fast. With the door open, one had to speak exceptionally loudly to be heard above the din and, although I was more focused on face stuffing than conversation, the sound was beginning to give me a headache.

It was about five minutes between when the alarm began to sound and when I left In N' Out to return to work, but the alarm was going full bore the entire time. I think I can be fairly confident when I assert that that is one car that will not be stolen. Or maybe it will, just to halt the alarm.