Historically, the audiophiles had a point. Back in the day, LP records sounded dramatically better than cassette tapes to anyone who ever listened to them back to back on the same stereo. For twenty years or more, it was semi-appropriate for the audiophiles to scoff in disgust at your crappy-ass tape collection. Your ridiculous rewinding and fast forwarding nonsense.

Then compact disks came along and changed the game. 99.9999% of the general public immediately decided that CDs were superior to all previous recording technologies in every conceivable way and never looked back. Suddenly, the audiophiles were confronted with the possibility that their 30-crate collection of records might actually be obsolete. Totally worthless. Seeing their numbers dwindling rapidly, the hardcore audiophiles dug in and insisted that vinyl sounds sharper than CDs at the highest and lowest frequencies (recognizable to the ears of certain dogs and rodents). Everyone else was eventually assimilated. Of course, the great irony is that after all that bickering between the vinyl people and the tape people, and then the vinyl people and the CD people, MP3s eventually came along and obliterated them all, making it cool to listen to crappy-sounding music again. Hooray! Freedom!

Dude, it’s cool to appreciate fine acoustics and all that. We get it, already. Just try not to be such a dick about it. Yes, we understand that you can hear the difference between CDs and MP3 if you listen to them on an excellent stereo. Well, someone can, anyway. Bats, maybe. But probably not you. And, if we’re being honest, your stereo really isn’t as nice as you think it is anyway.

Don’t miss the larger point: some people couldn’t possibly care less. Some people just want a stream of random Lady Gaga tunes pumped into their heads through a variety of different devices from sunup to sundown, whether they’re vacuuming the house or driving to the store or engaging in mixed martial arts fights. Believe me–when you’re trying to escape a Kimura arm lock before your opponent explodes your elbow in the wrong direction, the last thing you’re worried about is the rip rate of the bootleg concert MP3s you’re listening to.

And that’s OK, dude.

Learning one’s role in everyday existence is more complicated, but dramatically more practical. While the exact roles people are meant to play in life vary widely, many of them boil down to this simple, essential responsibility:

Don’t fuck this up.

That’s it. That’s all you have to do. We’re not expecting you to do anything fancy. Just stay out of the way, please and thank you. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable and don’t fucking touch anything. Or take care of some of the simple shit, so the people doing the fancy shit don’t have to.

In sports, they call this ‘playing within yourself.’ It means you resisted the temptation to snatch the ball from your team’s best player, dribble straight down the lane into the teeth of the defense, fake a pull-up jumper, dribble the ball off the side of your foot and right to the defense, who…oh wait…they flub it! And now you’re ripping it from their astonished fingers and driving straight to the rim!!! You put up a shot…!!!

And then Mutombo casually rejects your poor-ass attempt into the upper deck.

Not everyone needs to be Kobe Bryant. Only one out of five of you does. It’s OK for one guy–you, for example, to play the part of the slow, little white dude with his toes on the three point line, calling for the ball while Kobe goes 360 to the rim. Even Kobe needs decoys.

And he isn’t the only one. There are plenty of fancy people out there. Prime ministers and dukes and rich guys who went to Duke. And yet, for every President, there are 100 federal agents employed to shadow his or her every move. These guys are essentially professional thugs, and yet they serve as important a service to most governments as the folks who write the laws.

People are sometimes disappointed to learn that the essential point of them is to resist the temptation to get more involved and blow the whole thing. That they exist to stand over there while grown folks solve big boy problems over here. There is no reason to find this role insulting. While it may seem depressingly simple and mundane, many people fail to fulfill it satisfactorily, leaving everyone the worse off.

For example, if your role in the bank heist is to stand at this door and shoot anyone who comes through it, that’s really all the team needs from you in order to be successful. The rest has already been figured out for you. I don’t care if your name is Bruce Fucking Willis, dude. You just need to shut the fuck right up and stand your ass at this fuckin door until someone tells you otherwise.

Please and thank you.

I am often asked: “How does heaven know if I’ve been good or bad?” This is actually a good question. Here’s how it works:

When you’re born here on earth, you are assigned a clerk in heaven. The clerk is responsible for observing your words and deeds and documenting your conduct, measuring your decisions against the rubric of the Gods, which, truth to tell, you have no access to before the final evaluation that occurs shortly after your death. If you snuff around lunchtime and your clerk blows off work that afternoon to go get laid or meet some buds for brews at Heavenly’s, he may not finish feeding the last of your data into the big machine until some time the next morning. Then it takes the machine itself, even with its other-worldly processing power, another hour or so to appraise every decision and value judgment you’ve ever made, both individually and in combination with all the rest before spitting out the little card with your fateful evaluation written on it:

v

So, you might ask, how could you be fortunate enough to make it into heaven, the eternal playland, and then get stuck with a crappy mindless job like Clerk? Another good question.

Clerking, as you probably suspected, is a suck-ass temp job in heaven. It’s essentially busy work some poor souls sign up to do while their friends are hanging out at Paradise beach or staging endless, infinitely large videogame wars. Like similar positions here on earth, you don’t see a lot of Rhodes scholars signing up for temp jobs in heaven. Consequently, these positions tend to get filled by a lot of nice (former) folks who aren’t particularly bright. Or ex-good people who surf the HeavenNet all day while they’re supposed to be making sure your earthly data feeds are uploading correctly. Or the souls of good people who end up quitting their post halfway through your life.

How do they get people to take shitty jobs in heaven? Good question.

As it turns out, if you’re willing to work in heaven, whether it’s a couple hours a week or a couple decades a millennium, you can arrange to have a second death. Another funeral, more crying, the whole nine. From there, you ascend to an even more amazing eternal heaven designed specially for heaven’s retirees and other particularly noble souls.

Better start eating your vegetables.

And few things are less American. In the United States, the only thing that would prevent running with the bulls from resulting in numerous immediate, concurrent class action lawsuits is the fact that Americans are far too sensible and wimpy to actually participate in such a damn fool spectacle.

I recommend running with the bulls at least once in your life, especially if you’re a thrill seeker or have a high pain tolerance. Actually…exactly once. You’ll also want to make sure that somebody videotapes you so that you can prove to people later that you actually did it. Running with the bulls is the kind of thing that’s reasonably cool on its own, but improves dramatically in the retelling.

It is also important that you videotape your experience in case you end up getting gored. If you’re going to earn yourself an auxiliary orifice, there’s no sense in being the only one to see it. Millions of folks who lack the courage/stupidity to follow in your unfortunate footsteps will undoubtedly want an opportunity to laugh at you on YouTube.

Fortunately, there are strategies you can employ to avoid the complications that come with being passionate about things you have no control over.

First of all, you should probably set that drink down. Alcohol only complicates things. Every thing, actually. This proves out in the data time and time again. One drink leads to two, and two drinks eventually leads to random acts of senseless idiocy. This is why ‘drunk and disorderly’ are like the ‘chocolate and peanut butter’ of crime.

Secondly, you should attempt another fundamental, long-term change to your lifestyle. We all know that few things in life are more annoying than other people, but not everyone realizes that they could lower their blood pressure and otherwise dramatically reduce the ill effects of routine human interaction just by lowering their expectations of others. You’re all gonna fuck things up from time to time, so it’s worth learning how to cut people some slack. Try not to get overly upset with general buffoonery. It’s not this guy’s fault, for example, that he was born an idiot. If someone must be blamed, get mad at his drunken, irresponsible, semi-idiotic parents for encumbering the world with his helpless ass.

Besides…being brilliant is not necessarily the point of certain people.

One way to release yourself from the baggage of others is to understand that most people behave completely differently when they’re at work. You should keep the two thems mentally distinct, because sometimes your sweetest, nicest neighbor goes to work and becomes a miserable cockbag for eight hours or so to every person he comes in contact with. Try not to blame the actual flesh and blood him for how the cartoon version of him behaves at work. Don’t take shit personally and don’t get worked up over beefs the cartoon version of him may develop with the cartoon version of you.

Other tactics may also prove handy in your pursuit of indifference. For example, avoid listening to Led Zeppelin. Or AC/DC, the White Stripes or anything else that might trigger a frenzied air guitar shredfest. This behavior, while cathartic, is decidedly not dispassionate and is frequently considered inappropriate.

Another approach that seems stupid but proves effective more often than not is the adoption of a mantra. It may sound flaky as shit, but finding a simple credo to live by has helped many of my clients avoid the trappings of post-modern lunacy. Not just saying the words, but truly living the attitude. Something like:

‘Who cares?’

Seriously. Who does? Look at all these people………could any of them give the slightest fuck…? Of course not! So why do you? Why are you making it your problem? Almost everything in life will go on either way, dude. And as we’ve seen, not everyone needs to care. Not all the time, anyway. So, the next time you find your blood boiling and the passion stirring in your breast, just remember:

Who cares?
Who       cares…?
Who             cares……?
Who                   cares………?

Of course, little slogans and shit are cool and all, but no mantra ever uttered will help in the slightest once reason breaks down and chaos rules the day. At such times, the only weapon against despair and insanity is alcohol. In fact, the more shit pisses you off, the more you should probably drink. And quite likely do. There will be days that get so crazy that the only sensible thing left to do is to spend the night chugging beer through a funnel.

Fuck it. You’ve accomplished enough today. Try again tomorrow.

Though it doesn’t have an official opening date, skin season typically begins within a week or two of Memorial Day, provided you live in a temperate climate and your government isn’t completely corrupt, retarded and overrun by religious lunatics. It comes faster and harder to coastal areas, but as long as your town isn’t totally fucked up, skin season will eventually make its way to you. Year after year. *fist bump*

The season tends to start suddenly and unofficially while you’re focused on something else and minding your own business. Like when you’re getting snacks at the Wawa and some random ten walks through the door in a sleeveless belly shirt.

God………………………d a m n .

The toned thighs. The flat abs. The supple buttocks. Sheesus.

Looks like skin season snuck up on you again.

At that moment, as you find yourself standing there watching this smokin hot chick or that hunky young stud pay for gas, you are officially freed, mentally and otherwise, from another brutal winter of toil and cold and suffering and hardship and pain and struggle and all the rest of the fucking bullshit you’ve just suffered through. Welcome to summertime.

Holy            s h i z z . . . !

Please don’t pretend that you didn’t notice that. Of course you did. And not just because you’re a guy. Women note the opening of skin season, too–they just don’t need to announce it to everyone. In fact, they’ll often try to not notice, but they do, nonetheless. They can’t not notice. It is hardcoded into their wetware.

(We should admit aloud at this point, in the interests of full disclosure, that skin season is not a universal good. For one thing, with skin comes cellulite. This makes the season a mixed blessing in countries like mine that value the Chicken McNugget more than life itself. Also, if you live in a non-temperate climate and know nothing of snow or winter, skin season is pretty much year round. This will cause you to take it for granted, which is especially unfortunate since this is one of the only natural or economic advantages you have over your cooler climate peers.)

Lest you struggle with any moral dilemma or associated guilt, understand that it’s OK to celebrate the advent of this annual holiday season. Maintaining an appreciation for talented skin is actually good for you. It strengthens your heart and puts lead in your pencil. Furthermore, looking-and-not-touching is disrespectful to no one, and results in no one being taken advantage of. In fact, this time of year is literally good for us all. Think about it–if you looked that incredibly fucking goddamn hot naked, it would hurt your skin (literally injure it) to be confined for the duration of the long winter months in sweaters and pants and all the related nonsense. Fuck that. Skin like that is meant for sharing.

So we are obliged to clink our glasses together and thank you, random philanthropic stranger. Thanks, random mint hottie. Clearly, you’re aware of the fact that your outfit has rendered you mentally naked, and obviously you’re cool with that. And we’re totally cool with that, too. In fact, if you see no reason for clothing to cover even your primary genitalia, well…we don’t either. We’ll even give you a pass for not having the sense or the credit-worthiness to pay at the pump.

The key to a successful first date is to convince the object of your interest that you are smart and funny, caring and nurturing, generous and responsible. Moreover, that you have high earning potential and good paternal instincts. That you like to cry at movies and so forth. Of course, only a tiny fraction of men actually possess more than a couple of these qualities, so the first date is more often than not an exercise in constructing a reasonably believable pseudo-you in your date’s mind. A…better you. Fortunately, there are many good strategies for achieving this effect. Most of them will require you to think instinctually about what to do in a given situation…and then do the exact opposite thing. In fact, the more awkward you feel on the first date, the more likely you are to make a good impression. Make this your governing principle and it will serve you well.

Here are some other guidelines to consider whenever you want to make a first date experience more successful:

Prepare for Success
Piss poor planning prevents proper performance. No one plans to fail, but many guys are either too stupid or too lazy to properly plan for the possibility that a date will end up a raging success, thereby ensuring it won’t. To give yourself the greatest possible chance of having a memorable evening, you’ll have to begin behaving contrary to your true nature before you even leave the house. To start with, you’ll have to clean your place. At least a little. At least the bathroom, dude. Seriously. Nothing quashes the amorous inclinations of a young woman quite as hard as using your bathroom and discovering that your toilet has reached puberty. It’s probably not in you to clean anything properly, but you’ve at least got to wipe that thing down with a damp rag, you nasty fucker.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the only prep work you need to do. Women are dramatically less likely to get naked in your presence if they see any evidence that you’ve already seen naked women before. This means you’ll need to put your porn collection away. Also, what’s up with those bikini model posters on your wall? What are you…14? Take those fucking things down already. In fact, you should probably replace them immediately with some Monet prints, which will give her the false impression that you’re a sensitive guy.

Lastly, take all the briefs out of your underwear drawer and burn them. Actually, no. Save a pair or two for pickup basketball and wall ball games, but destroy all evidence of the others immediately. You’ll wonder what the point of boxers could possibly be the first time you scissors your nuts between your legs or have to peel the scrotal bat wings off your upper thighs, but press on, brother. The fact is that boxers have nothing at all to do with male comfort and everything to do with female comfort. Dude, have you ever actually looked at yourself in your tighty-whiteys? Nothing reminds a woman of her father more than you standing in front of her looking like…that, which is, of course, the single worst time for those thoughts to creep in.

What to Wear on a First Date
Dressing properly can be one of the trickiest aspects of first date preparation. If that comes as a surprise, you’re probably one of the 97% of guys who never think about what they’re wearing, in which case it’s going to be even trickier.

In a nutshell, you want to look good……but not too good. You’ll never get away with a simple t-shirt and Velcro sneakers, for example, but a cummerbund or sometimes even just a tie only show that you’re trying too hard. Try to give the impression that you’ve hurriedly and accidentally selected an outfit that happens to look reasonably good on you. But not too good. Like you just rolled out of bed in a pressed, button-down shirt and fashionable, understated slacks, for example.

If you pay attention to the details, the big things will take care of themselves. Details like always wearing dress socks, unless you’re wearing shorts, in which case never wearing dress socks. Or never wearing a hat. Unless you’re balding, in which case always wearing a hat. (Speaking of which—be careful when selecting a hat. You’re not going to pull of the fedora, for example, unless you’re also wearing a suit. And your name is Frank Sinatra.)

How to Behave on a First Date
First of all, say as little as possible. Just sit still and be quiet. The more you say, the more likely you are to say the wrong thing, and by impersonating a deaf mute, you give your date a chance to convince herself that you’re mysterious. Or at least a good listener. You’ll have nights in your life when a date will lure you into a sense of comfort and familiarity. You’ll find her so easy-going and her company so enjoyable that you’ll be tempted to share a glimpse of what you’re really like. This is incredibly dangerous, and you must be very wary of such women.

Many women like to feel respected and taken care of. To support this impression, you should open doors for them and push in their chairs when they sit. You should stand when they leave the room and take similar actions that you’ve never done before and have no intention of repeating once she decides that you’re a gentleman and agrees to sleep with you. Of course, in this century, many women guard their independence and self-reliance religiously, in which case you should under no circumstances do any of these things for them. Many a 21st century woman would rather you fart in her face than push in her chair, so this is either a great or a terrible strategy. Unfortunately, you won’t know which is which until you’ve tried them, so be careful.

Above all, you should be courteous and respectful at all times. Unless, of course, she’s into jerks, in which case you shouldn’t be. If she’s the kind that likes jerks, try to ignore her as much as possible. Don’t open a door for her even when her hands are full of things you’re not helping her carry. Look for creative ways to be inconsiderate. I must warn you that it will be difficult to gauge ahead of time which of these strategies is the great one and which one is fucking terrible, since no Homo sapiens woman has ever admitted to liking jerks. They just do, some of them. Instinctually.

Speaking of women, it’s generally a good idea to avoid your mother as a topic of conversation, lest your date get any impression that you’re a mama’s boy or your mom is a controlling cunt. Or worse. Or…if your date turns out to be deeply family oriented, you probably shouldn’t stop talking about your delightful mother.

Where to Go on a First Date
Any destination can be a winner if you act charismatic and disarm your date with an infectious smile. Of course, you won’t pull either of these things off, so it’s probably best if you stick to a traditional destination.

Dinner can be a great way to spend a date, for example, but only if the food and service are good and several other factors beyond your control align in your favor. It will also require restraint on your part, since it won’t be appropriate for you to eat like a frenzied tiger shark. In fact, you may want to practice chewing, using a napkin and other social dining conventions a couple times at home prior to a dinner date, since you’re probably used to just rolling your eyes back and tearing off giant chunks of meat. Also, it can be helpful to (re)acquaint yourself with the knife and the spoon prior to the big night.

Though they remain a popular choice, movies often make for crappy dates, because they inhibit conversation and make it difficult for the two of you to share eye contact and flirt. For this reason, if it’s going to be a good date, it is inadvisable to spend the night at the movies. And for the same reason, if it’s going to be a bad date, you should absolutely go to the theater. Since you probably won’t know how the date is going to work out ahead of time, you’ll just have to start from an educated guess and hope for the best.

Concerts can be a memorable date destination. In fact, they can be some of the most memorable moments of your entire life. Of course, not all memories are good ones. It’s certainly possible, for example, that your date will become so enamored of the lead singer that you will seem like a distant door prize by comparison. Or perhaps the object of her misdirected affection will turn out to be the hippy with the wonder joints who parks in the same field as you. Furthermore, concerts can lead to dancing, and all dancing is best saved until after you’ve slept together at least twenty times. Just in case.

Active dates can be a novel and interesting means of getting to know someone. Going on a bike ride or meeting for tennis are excellent ways to reduce the amount of speaking you’ll have to do, which, as you know, is always preferable. There are ways you can help to make these experiences enjoyable for your date, too. These include not abandoning them as you pursue an imaginary Lance Armstrong and not pumping your fist and shouting “ha!” every time you score. An active date also gives you the opportunity to assess her figure in those skimpy workout clothes women wear. Of course, the skimpy clothes may be breathtakingly unflattering or she may choose not to wear the skimpy clothes at all, which can cause different kinds of anxiety. Also, there’s all the sweating and the smacking around of your untethered testicles and whatnot. And the possibility that she’ll kick your ass, which can be awkward for both of you.

How to End a First Date
So how does one effectively close? This is the key question. Up until now, your outing hasn’t gone much differently from the last time you went out with your buddy Larry, except that you weren’t holding Larry’s hand and paying attention to his feelings.

Like selling a house, you can’t really say you’ve actually dated someone until you sit down at the closing table and seal the deal, except that the table is more likely a couch or a bed. Or a taxi. Or an ice rink bathroom or whatever. It may surprise you to learn, since it is contrary to your manly instincts, that the first date close is typically more successful when it is a soft sell and involves at least a modicum of subtlety. Fortunately there are other successful approaches, since you likely think the combination of crocs and dress pants is subtle. Keep in mind that you only need a simple kiss to call it an official date. Anything more than that is just gravy. As long as you’ve followed or not followed all the above advice to a T, that stuff will come.

There are over a thousand documented ways to successfully kiss close, but they all have one thing in common. They all require you to disguise the fact that you’re shitting in your pants or otherwise feel like an inadequate idiot. You quite likely are, but this is no time to worry about that. Right now, you are the Lion King. You’re a pimp ass playa. At least until she turns her mouth away and presents you with the cheek. At which point, you should simply thank her for a delightful evening and expeditiously GTFO.

Like every other aspect of the evening, closing is about subverting your natural urges. There’s a chance that the kiss will go amazingly well and take long enough that you’ll be left to decide what to do with your hands. With any luck, one of your arms will be totally numb from being draped over her shoulders all night, but even one hand can get you into some kind of trouble or other. Be careful. This is dangerous territory. You’re up in the rarified mountain air now. Sometimes it is simply prudent to retreat to base camp and re-strategize your ascent plan. It is often in your best interests to thank your date, see her home safely, and go home to break off a hunk into a napkin. Then go review the game plan with your Sherpa buddies.

Then again, there will be times when you’re just minding your own business and your date will actually try to fuck you. This is exactly the kind of possibility few guys properly plan for. Think twice before accepting her invitation to have sex, as this may indicate that she has loose morals, genital piercings or worse. Then, after you’ve given it a proper second thought, accept her invitation and go have the time of your life. With condoms, of course. (Details, people.) Incidentally, if a (first) date ever results in direct genital contact, whether its you getting a tug or full-on porno-style sex on the kitchen counter, understand that you must call your date again within one week…or never, ever again.

Maintaining a Winner’s Attitude
Try not to think of a first date as the beginning of a grueling journey. Try to see it as the possible beginning of the end of a grueling journey. By the time you make it to this point, you’ve likely invested three fuckloads of time and energy getting this far down the path, so try to enjoy yourself out there in the field. Find the perverse joy in even the most awkward bits. Hopefully, by either following or not following all the advice you’ve just received, you’ll find success on your voyage.

Now get going! She’s undoubtedly going to be late, but you have to be there on time or your whole night is fucked.

Then again, things could always be better. Unfortunately, they probably won’t be any time soon, so you should try to get your head around the distinct possibility that this is as good as it gets. If you spend your life waiting for the big wins, you’re not going to appreciate the tiny, incremental wins when they come along. Or the frequent ties.

Not every swing of the bat is going to be a home run. Sometimes, when you’re being overwhelmed, it’s OK to just foul a couple off. Stay alive and with luck you’ll end up getting hit by a pitch and awarded first base.

First base isn’t a bad place from which to ponder how things could be better.

Or worse.

When a collective act of breathtaking incompetence results in the devastation of nature or gratuitous human suffering, the public invariably calls for heads to roll. Throw out the bums and put the right people in charge! Everyone feels this way, but of course no one can agree on exactly who the right people are. This leads to bickering and posturing and political divisions and eventually things like Fox News.

And yes. Unfortunately heads do have to roll. All the excuses and contrition in the world can’t erase the culpability of epic assholery. Afterwards, it’s simply too late to make amends. I’m sure the folks whose heads will eventually roll have already made it clear to the ones who were responsible that it would have more appropriate for them to have been at their stations, properly trained and prepared, during the ill-fated well capping than to have been dialed in remotely from a bar or in the bathroom jerking off to pictures of mom. Or whatever the fuck else they could have possibly been doing in lieu of their actual responsibilities. Sadly, it’s too late for all that now. Just lean forward and place your chin in the guillotine there, sir. Please and thank you.

Going forward, who does one put in charge to make sure an oil company with tubes coursing through the entire earth, for example, doesn’t fuck up the whole world again? Opinions vary, of course, but you come to the 21st Century Manual for the correct answer, so here it is: The people to put in charge of capping and locking down scary and dangerous shit like underwater wells and nuclear plants and mines and shit like that are the people who design and build assembly lines for children’s toys. In our century, nothing is more secure than a package of action figures sitting on a store shelf.

If you’ve ever opened one of these contraptions, you know this to be true. You need to set aside half an hour for the job and bring a tool set that includes scissors, pliers and a screwdriver. You need a fresh trash bag to fill with all the tape, cardboard and plastic you’ll extract from the toy, because the resulting trash will consume three times as much space in a landfill as it did when it was originally packed. You can expect to find the action figures themselves, their vehicle and each of their various battle gadgets affixed to the packaging by at least one zip tie, engineered from a post-modern plastic that is 4,000 times stronger than steel. And then, of course, these individual ties are likely to be reinforced by a lattice of support ties.

Blown up to life size, we see that this fortress would sufficiently render He-Man and G.I. Joe immobile and out of the reach of their weaponry for thousands of years-the physically fit, crafty and pissed off heroes themselves, that is. It would seem like the toy versions of these warriors would be easier to secure. Nevertheless, it is exactly this kind of redundancy, fail-over and overkill that our mines and wells and bridges and shit are lacking in our times. Let’s face it-it is more difficult to unwrap a toy tank these days than it is to steal an actual tank. Hell, there’s one of those completely unguarded down there in the park right now!

Let’s give our most competent engineers something more important to do, shall we?

Despite many attempts to knock it from its pedestal, the king of ridiculous babyware remains the Diaper Genie, the grand wizard of useless products. For the uninitiated, this thing is basically just a fancy trash can that you put shitty diapers into. That’s really all it is. If you didn’t know better, the name might have led you to assume this device is somehow supernatural. Unfortunately, this is only the case if you’re the kind of person who would find a magic lamp, rub the side, score three wishes and then ask the resident genie for a way to store human feces in your house indefinitely.

Having a Diaper Genie in your house says one of two things about you. Either you were overenthusiastic the day you walked through the baby store, BING!ing all their cool shit with that little scanner thingee you used to register for the baby shower. Or it means that you’re comfortable living with poo.

When you find one of these contraptions in the house of a friend or neighbor, you can safely assume that excrement is a live-in guest at their home. For this reason, you should consider it more an act of kindness than a political statement if ever you find yourself surreptitiously bringing a few more guests to the party.

Happy crapping!