Thanks. And I really mean it

Thanks. And I really mean it

Strauss Home / Humor Channel / Bullz-Eye Home

Y'know, there are certain things in life we all tend to take for granted.

The air we breathe. 

A flower in bloom.

The garbage truck that comes every Tuesday morning unless Monday was a holiday so it comes on Wednesday morning instead.

Frankly, I think it's time to give credit where credit is due. And so today, I'd like to pay homage to those who have laid it all on the line and have brought such revolutionary ingenuity to the lives of men everywhere that they've each single-handedly made our time on earth better, simpler, and more complete. 

Just thinking about the accomplishments of these astounding men makes me want to shed a tear.

But that won't happen, for chrissakes. Crying is for pussies.


Oh Great One, we bow in awe to your remarkable creation.

Without you, men would be forced to resort to that most terrible of all terrible things. The Truth.

It was you, Oh Great One, who first recognized that the truth really does hurts. That we couldn't handle the truth. And that telling the truth, truth be told, meant you weren't fast enough in coming up with a really good lie.

Truth is, even as young men, we picked up the benefits of your hard work almost instinctively.

YOUR MOM: Who did this?

YOU: I don't know.

And today, who doesn't continue to use your genius to get out of any situation at a moment's notice?

YOUR WIFE: Who did this?

YOU: I don't know.

Truth is, your invention was so good, it actually spawned an entire family of products: The Big Lie, The Small Lie and, my personal favorite, The Little White Lie.

Truth is, sometimes it takes more work to lie than it does to actually tell the truth. Which unfortunately, can potentially lead to the most unimaginable event of all: The Found Out About Lie. Forcing you, of course, to lie about the lie you told about the thing you were lying about to begin with.

But therein lies the challenge of your greatness, my friend. For each and every situation in life offers yet another opportunity to hone our skills with your time-honored craft. In part to honor you. 

But mostly, to save our ass.

YOUR BOSS: Who did this?

YOU: I don't know.

Sir, you are an honored symbol of greatness. No matter who you are or where you live, if we shall ever cross paths one day, rest assured, I will grasp your hand, look you in the eye, and lie through my teeth.

Just to see if I could ever fool the Master. 


Somewhere he sits. Waiting for the next thing.

The man.

The man who assigned a case of beer 17 thin lines and two thick ones. The man who decided that a pair of jeans should get four thick lines separated by 11 thin ones followed by two medium ones.

The man who decided that your underwear is one line away from being a container of fish food. And that a small thick line separates a copy of the Bible and a toilet bowl cleanser.

The man who knows that men hate two things. Stores and waiting. 

And so, armed with nothing more than a good idea, a ruler, and a black magic marker, he formulated a brilliant plan to make the shopping experience more pleasant by making the shopping experience faster. A lot faster. 

You just hand them the thing. They scan the thing. You pay for the thing. They say goodbye.

He is the man. The Man.

Sir, we salute you. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Today we recognize your tireless dedication. Your ability to get us home more quickly so we can watch The Game. And your unparalleled ability to find unique and innovative linear combination.

You are the man. The Man. 

Without you, they'd still be checking the price of applesauce in aisle three. Without you, the line would be blurred between a poster of Britney Spears and a pair of tube socks. Without you, the mistake-ridden pricing of pimply-faced stock boys would forever go unnoticed.

Congratulations sir, on a job well done.

You, my friend, deserve a big fat scanning raise.


First, there was the guy who invented grass. 

Then came the guy who invented the idea that people should put grass in front of their house.

Then came the guy who invented the idea that people should not only put grass in front of their house, but that they also needed to cut it on a weekly basis. Which prompted some other guy to invent the lawnmower.

To summarize, there's the grass guy, the grass in front of the house guy, the cutting guy and the lawnmower guy. 

All of these guys should be shot. 

Not just wounded-shot. 

I mean family-wearing-black-and-crying-a lot-shot.

And I haven't even gotten to the guy who invented fertilizer.

Which is why I'm so honored to pay my respects to man's best friend: the kid down the street who cuts your grass for ten bucks.

Not to be confused with the kid down the street who loves Tekken, Limp Bizkit and the waist of his pants around his ankles. The kid I'm talking about is Everybody's All-American. He's smart. He's committed. And he's got a lawnmower that, if nothing else, isn't mine.

Because of you, young man, I can stay inside all summer and enjoy orgasmic blasts of air-conditioned splendor. 

Occasionally, while you work, I will even get up from my sofa just to watch your sweaty brow slice the necks off those annoying green blades. 

"Au revoir, Mr. Pathetic Strand of Grass. I hope you enjoyed your week on earth." 

Young sir, you're a fine example of the quality of today's youth. You've taken a tremendous burden off my shoulders. And you've made my spring, summer and fall far more palatable.

Kudos to your father's sperm.

If you ask me, you're worth twice the price. 

Which is saying a lot, considering I'm Jewish.

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