5 Awesome Things You Can’t Really Justify Doing

There are hundreds of things that we do that have no rational explanation. Humans are fickle and confusing creatures. Sometimes, though, there are things we do or use on a regular basis that we really wouldn’t be able to logically explain if someone pointed them out to us. Here are a few things that I, and many other people, do all too often that we’d be hard pressed to justify.

1. Eating Donuts


I suppose donuts technically have calories and carbohydrates that you need to live. Technically. Are donuts the most nutritionally awful food in the world? They might be. I mean, they’re just sugar bread fried in oil and coated with sugar stickies. Sure, they’re about as nutritionally valuable as cake or cookies, but at least those have symbolic meaning. Cake celebrates birthdays and weddings, and cookies are how our mothers teach us the meaning of love. The only thing donuts symbolize is that you’ve given up on your day before it’s even begun.

2. Swearing


Some people would probably argue that vulgarity serves a certain linguistic purpose, but I think even the most prolific potty mouth will admit that it doesn’t really add much value to a conversation other than just general entertainment. You can’t say them around your parents (unless you have THOSE parents) and you can’t yell them in public, unless you’re drunk, an asshole, or both. I obviously love my profanity. As Ralphie said about his father, “He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master.” That’s my goal for my life, but I can’t really articulate why I love it so fucking much.

3. Owning Automatic Weapons


Before all you gun nuts go off on me in the comments, let me clarify once again, this column is about awesome things. I like guns. I own guns. If I had a large amount of property out in the country, I’d probably own a few fully automatic guns that the government wouldn’t need to know about. But there’s no real reason to own automatic weapons. The zombies won’t be here for a while, and shooting them from far away with a deer rifle will be way more effective than running in and mowing them down. The only thing an assault rifle does for you is destroy a lot more target area, and even more of your wallet.

4. Appreciating Your Own Farts


Every guy does it, and every guy who says he doesn’t is a fucking liar. There’s literally no way to explain why. Farts smell terrible. Objectively awful. When someone else lets one rip, normal dudes don’t go sniffing around for it, but when it comes to our own, we can’t stay away. Maybe it’s just male curiosity. Who knows. Every night, without fail, I cut the cheese under the covers and go in for a whiff. Now, I understand that there’s some debate on the best method for this. I know a lot of guys duck under the covers for the dutch oven. I’m not about that life. I lift up my comforter, drop it, and let it waft the scent to me. I’m efficient like that.

Girls, I have no explanation for you. We’re gross.

5. Getting Drunk


Drinking booze has all kinds of positive social outcomes. It loosens us up, makes us friendlier, more likely to laugh, and just generally more fun. If you’re feeling shitty, you can get buzzy and laugh at your absurd problems. If you’re celebrating, it’ll take your happiness even higher. But getting shitfaced has basically no purpose. No one ever woke up from blacking out to find he or she had done something good. I’ve never stumbled into my bathroom and realized that blackout Knox cleaned the shower. I’ve tried writing columns and scripts while hammered before. They turn out as gibberish, or oddly angry about something inconsequential. Even worse, you’re losing bits of your memory. What’s the point of having a great time at a party if you don’t remember any of it? We still sometimes accidentally over serve ourselves, and we end up with silly pictures and funny stories.

I guess what I’m really saying with all of these is that while I can’t really justify any of them with logic, I still refuse to stop doing or loving them.

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Randall J. Knox

Randall J. Knox (known colloquially to his friends as "Knox") left his native Texas a few years ago, and moved to Los Angeles in his '03 Buick Regal named LeRoi to write movies with his jackass college buddies. His favorite things in life include bourbon that's above his pay grade, mix CDs, and Kevin Costner films. He isn't sure what "dad jeans" are exactly, but he knows he wants a pair.

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