I pride myself on a great handshake.
It’s the physical signature and we use it every time we meet a new person. It’s the best opportunity for a good first impression.
That’s why whenever I meet new people, I try to crush their hand.
Just destroy it. I don’t stop squeezing until I see them their face melt from a smile to a “What the hell are you doing?” look. I want them to know I can annihilate them at any time, and be thankful every day I choose not to do so.
Is that a bit extreme? Experts (me) say maybe, but not likely.
I live alone, I’m unmarried, and I live in a town with no friends, which leaves me plenty of valuable time to waste in obscure hobbies, such as trying to crush the hands of strangers and coming up with names for my new podcast.
To answer your question, the podcast will just be me speaking directly into a cheap mic I bought from a dying Best Buy and most of the sound will be dead air, broken up with bits of me talking about shows I used to watch when I was a 90’s kid and live-reads of Stamps.com ads.
By the way, this blog is sponsored by Stamps.com. Why waste time going to the post office once a year for the stamps you never use when you can pay for a service that lets you pay for stamps.
Shaking hands can also be a dangerous venture, capable of throwing off your entire day. If the hand shaking does go off the rails, like all things in my life, it is always the fault of the other person.
That’s all you can say in this situation. It’s similar to going to your Catholic grade school’s Halloween party and putting your hand through the cardboard “mystery box” to feel only cold spaghetti.
Spoiler alert: All the items in the mystery box are cold spaghetti. Sister Terri doesn’t want to waste food on “Satan’s birthday”, but since the front office forced her to throw a Halloween party and not show the children a slideshow of people eating sulfur in hell, she was forced to throw something together.
“This country,” Sister murmurs to herself as she sees children laughing instead of crying about eternal damnation.
This is the handshake equivalent to a spit in the face. I don’t care about you or anything you’re about to say, this handshake says.
Elderly people give this handshake, and everyone just accepts their disrespect and passes it off as “weak strength due to their advanced age.” But I know the truth. I know their game. Due to boredom from retirement, they get their kicks from thumbing their uncomfortably unwiped noses at younger people.
I crush their hands the hardest. No respect for me? Then no mercy for you, Ruth.
Quick draw McGraw
What better way to tell people, “I’m a prick” than grabbing someone’s hand way too early, forcing the other person to shake their crumpled pile of fingers as though that were their intention all along.
Handshakes are like dancing, one person leads, another follows, and it can be a nice experience if you’re both on the same page.
But if someone is taking the role “moron”, then the experience can be as awkward as your Catholic grade school’s eighth grade cotillion, when you’re forced to box dance for 45 minutes and pretend that you’re not profusely sweating in your hand-me-down sport coat.
One of the worst hand-shakers is the guy who never lets go of your hand and continues to talk as though he’s not being a big weirdo creep. You don’t want to let on that you’re uncomfortable, so after you realize he’s not letting go, you put your grip back into the handshake and the two of you engage in a 25 minute handshake.
Meet the worst of the worst hand-shakers—the fist bump guy. He’s almost always a youth pastor visiting your Catholic grade school, and with him he carries the Bible, a guitar, and a lack of awareness at what a cringe-inducing monster he is.
“Hey there, dudes and dudettes. Who’s up for a little jam about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,” he asks to a dead silent classroom of eighth graders. But then he says “we’re in for a gay ol’ time,” and the room erupts with laughter.
If someone hits you with a fist bump, hit them back with a fist bump to their face.