“The art of conversation is dead” is a phrase you tend to read/hear a lot if you enjoy op-eds in the paper (so old people) or hang out with the sort of insufferable human beings who order red wine with a cheeseburger. Order a beer or shut up, you heathen. It’s a widely held view among these particular brand of curmudgeons and it is, quite frankly, fucking stupid. If people like that are clever as they think, they might realize conversation only seems “dead” because nobody wants to talk to them. Because they are pretentious twats.

Go back to your opera box, you pompous dingus.

Yes, we may live in a culture where some people are actually speaking and writing in the texting vernacular. And there are lots of folks out there who can become so absorbed in their personal electronics that they fail to notice and stop a murder by handgun on a crowded train. Of course, those were Californians, a sect of humanity bred for self-absorption like purebred show dogs. They look pretty, but can barely function as living creatures. But still, valid points. But not the only point. And, most importantly, not my point.

Native Californians photographed moments before they all crashed their cars into each other during a light drizzle.

Sure, there are shitheels and morons out there. Everywhere, really. Probably one you can reach out and touch from where you’re sitting as you read this. Go on, touch a moron. It’s fun. They won’t notice. But even with the smorgasbord of failure we see every day, most people are just fine at having a chat with other human beings. Granted, not everyone may speak with the kind of grandiose vocabulary of, say, a P. D. Montgomery, but no one should be looked down on for the way they speak so long as their point is clear and idea worth discussing. Besides, if he’s so fucking smart how come he’s never beaten me at Scrabble?

Suck it, nerd.

However, for some people the hardest part of conversation may be just starting one. What to say? How to start an open and friendly dialogue with a fellow human being? Where should I put my hands? In my pockets? In their’s? Not everyone is lucky enough to have the casual confidence through lack of self-awareness of Eric, or the straight up not-give-a-fuckness of pretty much every other writer on our staff. Those people are cowards. And probably aesthetically unpleasant. Being the upstanding believer in noblesse oblige (neither of those words are admissible in Scrabble), I will take time out of my “busy” “schedule” to provide some of you more awkward and/or ugly readers with great ways to break the ice. So just pick one of these, turn to the nearest stranger, and open that yap of yours. You’ll be conversifying with a new friend in no time flat!

Paul’s Patented Patent-Pending Icebreakers (TM)

“What do you suppose ever happened to the metric system?”

“Do you have a water-bed? What’s in it?”

“Are you doing anything Saturday night? Because I heard Tommy Moon and his old band, August Rock, which broke up in 1981, will be playing a gig at The Living Room (154 Ludlow St.) as part of this year’s CBGB Festival. 8:00pm, tickets are $10 at the door.”

“Let’s play ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill.’ Executive, Legislative, and Judicial. Go.”

Fuck. Because it looks kinda like a boob.

“Oh, I’m sorry I just touched you. I thought you were a moron and the internet told me to do that.”

“So, how are your wife and my kids?”

“It’s kinda weird that Diana Nyad raised money for Hurricane Sandy victims by swimming, considering 40 of the 117 people who died in the storm drowned, right?”

“Can I get your fingerprints for a sec?”

“He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord.”

No church for you, George C. Scott.

“Do you ever wonder if there’s a dead body inside your water-bed?”

“Government shut down? More like government shut up!”

“Did you know that, while Sergeant William Carney was the first African-American to carry out battlefield actions that would earn him the Medal of Honor (during the July 18th, 1863 assault on Fort Wagner), he was not given the award until 1900, and, therefore, was not the first African-American to actually receive the medal? That was Seaman Robert Blake, who was awarded it on April 16th, 1864 for his actions aboard the USS Marblehead in the Stono River on December 25th, 1863. You didn’t know that? Why not? Is it because you’re racist?”

“Do you think it’s wrong to eat your own clone?”

“Join me in the kitchen, won’t you?”

“Hump decade, amirite?”

“Do you think people who don’t go to the August Rock show this Saturday are super-evil terrorists who hate all things good, or just the regular kind of terrorists?”

“Somebody pooped.”

“What the hell does noblesse oblige mean?”

“Do you think this polyp is colon cancer or some sort of intestinal coral reef forming?”

If you see any reef sharks or tassled scorpionfish, it’s probably coral.

“Did you hear Ariel Castro may not have committed suicide in prison, but rather erred while attempting autoerotic asphyxiation?”

“May I borrow your belt? I read about something in the news today that I must try.”

“Let’s go find a moron we can touch.”

“You’re not allergic, are you? You let me worry about ‘to what.’ Just answer the question.”

“Kwame Kilpatrick was sentenced to 28 years in prison. What does ‘Kwame’ mean?”

“Kwa, me?” would have been a great opening line for the defense.

“How many kidneys is too many?”

“Did you know that, while aboard the USS Marblehead, Robert Blake was serving as steward to Lieutenant Commander Richard Meade, the nephew of General George Meade, who led the Union Army at Gettysburg? Why not? Are you still racist?”

“Am I pronouncing ‘Tagalog’ incorrectly?”

“Where to, sport?”

“My dentist told me it was too late to stop the transformation, but what the fuck does he know about lycanthropy?”

Dr. Lobo, DDS.

“Did you hear that Diana Nyad raised money for Hurricane Sandy by attempting autoerotic asphyxiation? I saw it on the news.”

“Most people think my underpants are on backwards, but my genitals are actually in the back.”

“Can you see me? The ghost said only somebody who’s about to die can see me.”

“They’re coming for you, you know.”

Do you hear that?

Well, you should be all set to wow anyone you meet with your mad debating skillz, as the kids say (I don’t know what I’m typing anymore). So go out tonight, or this weekend, or to The Living Room at 8pm on Saturday, and be the kind of person people like to meet with my patented patent pending icebreakers. And remember, if you ever get to a point where your conversation partner falls silent, whether because you outwitted them, confused them, or put a new piece of duct tape over their mouth, just repeat the timeless words that Gunnery Sergeant Poe, my old instructor at Officer Candidate School, would say to us when we were at a loss for words:

“SAY SOMETHING, BITCH!”