On Perfect Things Which Cannot Possibly Be Improved

Toilet paper. I'm just psyched that after the advent of two-ply, scientists decided to quit while they were ahead. Unlike garbage bags, someone had the good sense to say, "Able to wipe your ass with it? Check. Now how we doing on cancer?"





Flyswatter. It's got to be nice knowing that you're leaving this world at the hands of a machine designated specifically for your execution, instead some hastily rolled newspaper or magazine that got jerryrigged at the last minute. I'd probably pick old age/in the arms of a much younger lover as my method of final exit, but if it's going to be murder, at least have the respect to premeditate it, you know? I'm worth it.


Cupcakes. At some point, someone took the cake--already a near perfect machine in itself--and said, "There's got to be a way to reduce the cake:frosting ratio", and just like that, the world became a better place. I hope that person went on to live a rich and meaningful life, and didn't let that bitch Betty Crocker bogart all the dividends. On a side note, there is not a person in my life whom I would not gladly auction off in exchange for cupcakes.

Tetris. I can't beat Tetris. I can't even come close. And yet, every time I pick up my Gameboy, I make an attempt, then am made to feel like an idiot by the concept of placing shapes in a straight line. If ever I invented something that caused millions of people to feel stupider, I would feel like the king of the fucking world. On another side note, I'm not that good a person.




Chewing tobacco. Yeha, yeah, it's bad for you. You'll lose your tongue. I don't dip, but if you're someone that does, there is no more perfect delivery system than chewing tobacco. There's something to be said for a mind-altering substance that essentially does away with the middle men; unlike liquor, which must be fermented, distilled, bottled, and then most likely mixed with something to distract one from the fermenting, distilling, and bottling processes, with tobacco, what you see is what you get, and it's up to you to get it in your bloodstream the easiest way possible. It reduces men to the same running line of thought they had as two year olds: "Will it make you feel good? Put it in your mouth."

Pixie sticks. I don't know how this marketing meeting went, but I imagine the pitch was something like this: "You know how kids like sugar? Let's sell them sugar. See you guys Monday."





Track and field. Unlike most other sports, which get bogged down by complex sets of rules and explaining those complex sets of rules to your friends' lame girlfriends at the bar, track and field events break down sports to the most base elements:
a. Sprints- Run faster than that guy.
b. Discus- Throw this heavy thing farther than that guy.
c. Long jump- Jump further than that guy.
d. Pole vaulting- This one's a little complicated. Let's just replace it with bowling.

Greek mythology. There is no such thing as an anticlimactic ending to a Greek myth. No one gets the girl, or retires to the country, or lives on the street with his son in order to get a coveted job at an investment banking firm. Men eat their cildren, women have sex with swans, even the friggin dogs have three heads. Aesop was well and good with his talking animals and his morals, but when it comes to imparting lasting lessons on your little ones, the prospect of being tied to a rock to have their liver eaten out by an eagle on a nightly basis gets the job pretty well done.