by Jimmy Fallon
Thank you
… office Christmas parties. In these times of economic stress and uncertainty, it’s important that employees can come together in a relaxed atmosphere and find out who’s the biggest slut in Accounting. (It’s Jessica.)
Thank you
… guy whose chair made a farting noise, for spending the next 20 minutes awkwardly shifting around trying to re-create the noise so people would know it was just the chair.
Thank you
… little kid who keeps pushing the button on the Dancing Santa Doll at the drugstore. Go ahead and just keep on pushing. I love hearing the electronic version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” over and over and over. Stop pushing the button for one second so I can tell you a secret: “Santa isn’t real!”
Thank you
… to the radiator next to my bed. The noises you make resound in my head. The gurgling, the knocking, the hissing, the clanging. The whistling, chortling, ringing, and banging—they wake me and plague me, such is the norm. But this ancient device keeps me toasty and warm.
Thank you
… guy who buys an entire outfit from one store. You clearly saw the mannequin and thought, That’s the one.
Thank you
… Christmas family newsletters that fill my day with useful information like “Great News: Carolyn got her braces off!” and “Great News: Aaron made the basketball team.” Here’s some news: “Nobody gives a shit!”
Thank you
… pizza box, for being impossible to dispose of. Thank you for not fitting inside any trash bag or trash can or trash chute ever built by humans, and thank you for popping open and spilling half-eaten crust on me whenever I try to throw you away.
Thank you
… people who give me homemade jam as a gift. What are we, Quakers? Exactly how much jam do you think I use? You know this is going to sit in my fridge for three years until I throw it out to make room for beer, right? Just checking.
Thank you
… “Yes, I Agree to the Terms and Conditions” box I have to click in order to install software. You know full well I didn’t actually read the terms and conditions. For all I know, I just agreed to become the new face of herpes. But I’m still gonna click you.
Thank you
… first week in January, for being the one week of the year when there are people at my gym who are fatter than I am.
Thank you
… New Year’s resolutions, for being like Las Vegas wedding vows: half-assed promises made by drunken idiots.
Thank you
… adult mittens, for allowing me to give people the finger without them knowing it.
Thank you
… snow angels, for being horizontal jumping jacks.
Thank you
… my checked luggage. I hear you enjoyed Puerto Rico this Christmas vacation.
Thank you
… people who show off their high school Spanish when pronouncing their order at a Mexican restaurant. The way you just said “fajita” made me feel like I was wandering the rustic streets of Guadalajara. But I’m not. I’m in a Taco Bell and you’re holding up the line, amigo.
Thank you
… tai chi, for being the perfect way to defend myself against an army of invisible slow-motion ninjas.
Thank you
… sliders, for tricking me into thinking you’re a perfectly appropriate appetizer. Would I like to start my meal with a regular-size hamburger? Of course not! But I WILL have six TINY hamburgers because that’s totally different. Thank you.
Thank you
… ponytails, for turning the backs of girls’ heads into horses’ butts.
Thank you
… horseradish, for being neither a radish nor of a horse. What you are is a liar food. (I’m looking at you, too, Grape Nuts.)
Thank you
… pen I just put in my mouth and started chewing on, for already having bite marks on you to remind me that, Oh yeah, you’re not my pen.
Thank you
… box of Valentine’s chocolates, for being like candy land mines. I was hoping for macadamia nut, but I guess I’ll have to settle for this thing that tastes like soup and oranges.
Thank you
… lasers, for being spelled with an s even though you’d be totally more badass if you were spelled with a z. Just sayin’.
Thank you
… people with sesquipedalophobia, which is the fear of long words. You picked the wrong thing to call your fear.
Thank you
… typewriters. What the hell, man?! You guys were cocky as hell all the way up to the ’80s. “Can’t do business without me! Good luck writing a novel without me around!” Now look at you… Bunch of obsolete sons of bitches sitting around like old metal turds. Click clack! Click clack! Yeah, right.
Thank you
… certain days when I can see the sun and the moon in the sky at the same time. You make me feel like I’m Luke Skywalker on his home planet of Tatooine, concerned about his aunt and uncle and restless for adventure.
Thank you
… sweater vests. You’re a great way to keep warm while telling your arms to go screw themselves.
Thank you
… fake drawer in my kitchen. Even though I’ve lived with you for ten years, you still manage to fake me out. Come on, fake drawer!
Thank you
… hangers, for being like floating plastic shoulders.
Thank you
… New York, for being the only city in America with enough tall buildings for Spider-Man to do his thing. Could you imagine if Peter Parker was born in Santa Fe, New Mexico? LAAAME!
Thank you
… yesterday, for being National Grammar Day. And sorry, Grandma, for the confusion.
Thank you
… person I’m walking behind who happens to be going in the exact same direction, for making me feel like I’m following you. And thank you, my decision to joke “I’m not following you,” for somehow not putting that person at ease.
Thank you
… receipts from Best Buy, for being unnecessarily long. “Hey, thanks for purchasing season four of Lost—here’s an entire rain forest.”
Thank you
… ESPN Classic, for being a really exciting channel to watch if you just came out of a coma.
Thank you
… the expression “with all due respect,” for letting me know when people are about to say something with zero respect.
Thank you
… urinals that inexplicably have ice in them. You know exactly what I’m looking for—a nice pee on the rocks. Next time, can I get a twist of lime in there, too? Maybe a salted rim? Thanks.
Thank you
… leaf blowers, for making me look like the world’s lamest Ghostbuster. I ain’t afraid of no leaves.
Thank you
… glass of water on my table last night at P. F. Chang’s, for rippling when an overweight man walked by. I know you weren’t TRYING to compare him to a dinosaur, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?
Thank you
… people who insist on showing off ultrasound pictures of your unborn children. Just so you know, all those pictures look exactly the same: like charcoal drawings of an alien. For all you know, doctors just give the exact same picture to everyone and say, “There it is! There’s your fetus!” And no one can ever tell the difference.
Thank you
… friend who loans me his jacket but doesn’t tell me the pockets are full of used tissues. Snot cool, buddy. Snot cool.
Thank you
… bathroom attendant who hands me a towel, for making me feel guilty that I don’t have a dollar to give you. And thank you, Me, for lying and saying that I’ll bring an extra dollar the next time. We both know I’m never coming back to this bathroom.
Thank you
… Me from three months ago, who promised to get in shape during the winter. You lying sack of shit. It’s 4:00 p.m.—put down the Cinnabo
n. (Next winter I swear I will.)
Thank you
… restaurants that advertise breakfast all day, for basically saying, “Try getting THIS at a place that isn’t terrible.”
Thank you
… people who say, “Wow, you’re really photogenic,” for not saying what you really mean: “Wow, you’re really ugly in person.”
Thank you
… softball, for being like baseball for women and drunks.
Thank you
… guy who feels it’s totally cool to fart and walk away. Listen, buddy, if you’re going to paint this picture, you’d better be prepared to stare at it for a while.
Thank you
… weather and traffic, for being the two things I can always talk about with old people.
Thank you
… pens at the ATM, for being attached to the deposit slip table by tiny chains. Don’t flatter yourselves—no one’s gonna steal you, you filthy germ sticks.
Thank you
… people who make me take my shoes off when I visit your house. I hope you enjoy your really, really, clean house where everybody feels uncomfortable and everything smells like feet.
Thank you
… Brookstone, for always coming up with new and innovative ways to make vibrators for people too embarrassed to buy them at sex stores.
Thank you
… Mother’s Day, for being exactly like Father’s Day, except with people actually giving a crap.
Thank you
… cotton candy, for making my grandmother’s hair look delicious.
Thank you
… socks with sandals, for being a look that proudly declares to the world, “The people I’m friends with now are the only people I ever want to be friends with.”
Thank you
… socks with sandals, for being a look that proudly declares to the world, “I’ve officially stopped trying.”
Thank you
… socks with sandals, for being a look that proudly declares to the world, “I left my fanny pack at home.”
Thank you
… mini-fridges, for making me feel like Shaq whenever I go to grab a yogurt.
Thank you
… roosters, for being nature’s way of saying, “Wake up, you lazy a-holes.”
Thank you
… beach season, for helping us identify the people in our community who are completely incapable of shame.
Thank you
… toys that are impossible to remove from their packaging because they’re secured with 36 twisty ties. It shouldn’t be easier to steal a car than it is to remove a toy truck from its packaging.
Thank you
… teddy bears, for being way less judgmental than real bears when I try to spoon with you.
Thank you
… millipedes, for being approximately ten times more awesome than centipedes.
Thank you
… man in Washington who accidentally shot himself in the testicles at the hardware store. “Welcome to Ace Hardware—the bolts are in Aisle 5, the nuts are splattered all over Aisle 7.”
Thank you
… graduations, for being a time when we come together and celebrate a bunch of kids who spent four long years getting at least a C–.
Thank you
… summer barbecues, for always featuring fun family games like horseshoes, croquet, and “Let’s see how many daiquiris Grandma can drink before she gets racist.”
Thank you
… fancy restaurant wine list, for providing me with plenty of notable choices to ignore while I look for the second-least-expensive bottle on the menu.
Thank you
… driver’s license photo, for reminding me that there was at least one moment in my life when I looked exactly like a homeless serial killer.
Thank you
… gym that I go to. On the plus side, your treadmills have TVs on them. On the downside, your TVs have treadmills on them.
Thank you
… the YMCA, for officially changing your name to “the Y.” I can’t wait to hear the new hit song about you by the Village Person.
Thank you
… neighbors with swimming pools who put up signs that say, “We don’t swim in your toilet, don’t pee in our pool!” Pretty clever. But that’s not going to stop me.
Thank you
… Lifetime Achievement Awards, for being a nice way of saying, “We think you’re about to die.”
Thank you
… 2:30 in the morning, for always being the first sign that tomorrow’s gonna suck.
Thank you
… guy at a urinal who reaches over to shake my hand with one hand while continuing your business with the other. Life is short, buddy, but it ain’t that short.
Thank you
… the term outstanding debt, for making it sound like it’s awesome to owe people money.
Thank you
… hand sanitizer pumps in public restrooms, for supplying me with 90 percent of the germs I’m trying to kill.
Thank you
… alligators, for not being crocodiles—but also for being crocodiles as far as I’m concerned.
Thank you
… thesaurus, for bettering my vocabulary. No, “enhancing” my vocabulary. Nay, “aggrandizing” my vocabulary. Yes, “aggrandizing”—that’s the one.
Thank you
… friend getting married four thousand miles away, for making me feel bad that I’m not spending three thousand dollars to attend your wedding. I’ll make you a deal: I’ll go, but if you ever get divorced, you have to pay me three thousand dollars.
Thank you
… oscillating fans, for being soooo good, then not so good, then soooo good, then not so good, then soooo good.
Thank you
… smoothies, for being fat people’s way of saying, “I’m drinking a milkshake, but I don’t want to call it that.”
Thank you
… Cool Ranch Doritos, for being so delicious that I almost forget you make my breath smell like dragon barf for seven hours after I eat you.
Thank you
… knife and fork, for keeping spoon in check. He made a move on my pasta last night, but you guys were there to show him what’s what.
Thank you
