A slangover (a term which I have just invented to celebrate the New Year) is basically just a hangover for sluts. A slangover is that fire and brimstone induced sashay back to consciousness on the day after New Years Eve when a slut not only feels the skullfucking headache from the it's-cool-I'm-just-in-my-twenties-so-I'm-not-an-alcoholic-yet shitshow from the previous night, but also feels that unsettling, mystery burn in their vagina, dickhole or butthole. Or throat? I guess? I've heard that.
Happy new year, sluts, and enjoy that shit. And on a side note, anyone who calls new years eve "NYE" is a fucking pube and should be annihilated. Fuck you. The only time those letters should be together is if you're taking about the science guy. Or, if you're abbreviating, "New York?! EW!!!" That's acceptable.
Fuck, I'm supposed to go there this summer. NYE!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Memory Lane Trip!
I am currently eating a delicious breakfast consisting of nothing and a bowl of whipped cream. I swear to God, you can take this bitch to the best seventeen-star restaurant in SoHorrible (see what I did there?) and I will eat the freshest of sushis and the most extravagant beef loins, and I STILL will be happy with a bowl of whipped cream. God made cows so that we could swirl air into their nips and spray whipped cream all over our tongues. It's so delish.
Anyway, I'm sitting here with my bowl of sex and watching RHWOOC. I missed these bitches. The poopiest color of fake tans, the fakest of the fake titties and, surprisingly, the least alcoholic messes of the Bravo TV family of alcoholic messes.
Speaking from experience, it's pretty hard to drink all day and not be at least kiiiiiiind of a mess. We know this from Gorilla Juice Giudice, Ramona Rabid Eyeballs Singer and the Glamorous Brandi Glanville. This may come as a surprise, but I'm actually not going to mention Kim Richards, because her drinking isn't very funny anymore. See? I have emotions or something. Good luck, Kim.
Anyway, these bitches are always holding a goddamn wine glass. Occasionally, I don't even think it's wine. Bitches walk around with wine glasses full of vodka with red food coloring all the time. I don't actually know if that's true, but what a good fucking idea. These bitches never seem to get drunk. They drink and they drink and they make subdued hand gestures so as not to drop their wines, and they just never get wasted! They still have their game on to make total assholes of each other and talk about what whores the other ladies are. It's fun too because they're literally all whores.
I miss these dumb trannies. But I have to say, even though I am a die hard Orange Country superfan, the original birth place of the Real Uneducated Golddiggers of America, these bitches have nothing, and I mean NOTHING on Adrienne Maloof's face. Nothing.
Nothing.
Anyway, I'm sitting here with my bowl of sex and watching RHWOOC. I missed these bitches. The poopiest color of fake tans, the fakest of the fake titties and, surprisingly, the least alcoholic messes of the Bravo TV family of alcoholic messes.
Speaking from experience, it's pretty hard to drink all day and not be at least kiiiiiiind of a mess. We know this from Gorilla Juice Giudice, Ramona Rabid Eyeballs Singer and the Glamorous Brandi Glanville. This may come as a surprise, but I'm actually not going to mention Kim Richards, because her drinking isn't very funny anymore. See? I have emotions or something. Good luck, Kim.
Anyway, these bitches are always holding a goddamn wine glass. Occasionally, I don't even think it's wine. Bitches walk around with wine glasses full of vodka with red food coloring all the time. I don't actually know if that's true, but what a good fucking idea. These bitches never seem to get drunk. They drink and they drink and they make subdued hand gestures so as not to drop their wines, and they just never get wasted! They still have their game on to make total assholes of each other and talk about what whores the other ladies are. It's fun too because they're literally all whores.
I miss these dumb trannies. But I have to say, even though I am a die hard Orange Country superfan, the original birth place of the Real Uneducated Golddiggers of America, these bitches have nothing, and I mean NOTHING on Adrienne Maloof's face. Nothing.
Nothing.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Poop In My Stocking, For All I Care
I think there is only one question on everybody's mind these days. Why the FUCK do people I don't even know keep asking me what I want for Christmas?!?!?!?!
Let me tell you a secret. If I am NEVER the one that contacts you first, or every time I see you I say, "Omg! How ARE you!?" It means I don't know you that well or I just don't fucking like you. And if that's the case, you can bet your Hanukkah bush that I have not and will not get you a present for ANY kind of holiday. Including your birthday.
I mean, let's be real. I don't even give presents to people I seriously love. I figured that just the fact that I don't consider you an asshole is a gift enough (Editor's note: you are an asshole).
So fuck it. I'm not getting you a present. End of story. BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!
Turns out, people I don't really know or like always end up being the queen whores of getting ME a present!
WHY!!!!!!!?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111
Well, I guess I don't really care why. The point is, people think I'm awesome and just love buying me shit.
If you fall into this category, here are some presents I will accept:
-a blank check
-a pony
-cake
-worldwide recognition of the Potato Famine as the number one most devastating historical tragedy
-a really nice toothbrush
-using science and/or magic, transform me into a baseball that Tim Lincecum will pitch with
-a gay president
-extermination of all spiders
-a contract signed in blood by every model in the world stating that he or she is never again allowed to talk about how "difficult" his or her job really is (side note: breach of contract is punishable by death)
I mean, all of these gifts would be wonderful but even ONE of these would make me soooo happy! My Christmas tree is waiting, bitches. Get it done.
Happy Kwanza.
Let me tell you a secret. If I am NEVER the one that contacts you first, or every time I see you I say, "Omg! How ARE you!?" It means I don't know you that well or I just don't fucking like you. And if that's the case, you can bet your Hanukkah bush that I have not and will not get you a present for ANY kind of holiday. Including your birthday.
I mean, let's be real. I don't even give presents to people I seriously love. I figured that just the fact that I don't consider you an asshole is a gift enough (Editor's note: you are an asshole).
So fuck it. I'm not getting you a present. End of story. BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!
Turns out, people I don't really know or like always end up being the queen whores of getting ME a present!
WHY!!!!!!!?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111
Well, I guess I don't really care why. The point is, people think I'm awesome and just love buying me shit.
If you fall into this category, here are some presents I will accept:
-a blank check
-a pony
-cake
-worldwide recognition of the Potato Famine as the number one most devastating historical tragedy
-a really nice toothbrush
-using science and/or magic, transform me into a baseball that Tim Lincecum will pitch with
-a gay president
-extermination of all spiders
-a contract signed in blood by every model in the world stating that he or she is never again allowed to talk about how "difficult" his or her job really is (side note: breach of contract is punishable by death)
I mean, all of these gifts would be wonderful but even ONE of these would make me soooo happy! My Christmas tree is waiting, bitches. Get it done.
Happy Kwanza.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Emotions
I have them. It hurts sometimes!
Haha, just kidding. I dgaf about feelings (especially yours).
I went to court today! It was actually pretty fun. I mean, I knew nothing bad would happen to me, because I'm awesome, and even though I'm a raging cunt on the inside, I have some kind of disgustingly charming face or something, because people tend to like me. Ha!
So I went in and basically didn't really think about my own case (it's too awesome to write on the internet, but just trust me, It's awesome) so I just watched all the other weirdos go up and talk to the judge before me. I felt like Lindsay Lohan! Except less hungover from redbull vodcoke (see what I did there?) and carpet munching. Everyone in the courtroom was basically an illegal Mexican who got in trouble for driving without a license.
SIDENOTE:
Did you know that you can literally get away with fucking ANYTHING as long as you pay??
NONE of these sucios had a motherfucking driver's license, spoke a word of English, NOR didn't buy all their clothes from WalMart (no judgement) (jk, FUCKTONS of judgement) and none of them had JACK SHIT HAPPEN TO THEM.
The judge was like, "Yo, pay 100 bucks and get the fuck out of here".
Are you serious. You don't need a fucking driver's license to drive!??!?!?
WHY THE FUCK DID I TAKE THE PERMIT TEST!!!!!!!!!!!?????????1111111111ELEVEN
Anyway, I forgot what I was even going to say after that because I'm so amazed at the glory of America.
Haha, just kidding. I dgaf about feelings (especially yours).
I went to court today! It was actually pretty fun. I mean, I knew nothing bad would happen to me, because I'm awesome, and even though I'm a raging cunt on the inside, I have some kind of disgustingly charming face or something, because people tend to like me. Ha!
So I went in and basically didn't really think about my own case (it's too awesome to write on the internet, but just trust me, It's awesome) so I just watched all the other weirdos go up and talk to the judge before me. I felt like Lindsay Lohan! Except less hungover from redbull vodcoke (see what I did there?) and carpet munching. Everyone in the courtroom was basically an illegal Mexican who got in trouble for driving without a license.
SIDENOTE:
Did you know that you can literally get away with fucking ANYTHING as long as you pay??
NONE of these sucios had a motherfucking driver's license, spoke a word of English, NOR didn't buy all their clothes from WalMart (no judgement) (jk, FUCKTONS of judgement) and none of them had JACK SHIT HAPPEN TO THEM.
The judge was like, "Yo, pay 100 bucks and get the fuck out of here".
Are you serious. You don't need a fucking driver's license to drive!??!?!?
WHY THE FUCK DID I TAKE THE PERMIT TEST!!!!!!!!!!!?????????1111111111ELEVEN
Anyway, I forgot what I was even going to say after that because I'm so amazed at the glory of America.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Dude.
Just found out that the word "deli" is short for "delicatessen" and not short for what I originally thought, "delicious".
FUCK.
THAT.
FUCK.
THAT.
Movie Night!
What's that? Why do I watch terrifying movies late at night by myself, you ask?
Because I'm a fucking IDIOT.
I am literally the dumbest bitch on the planet (proof of this: I originally wrote "dummest" then went back and fixed it ARE YOU SERIOUS??) Yes I am. GRAPENUTS I am so scared right now. But at this point, I'm about two movies into this marathon of blood-curdling, pain-reflex-feeling, absolutely-not-sexy-timing mindfuck of a movie marathon (yes, I know I said marathon twice, because I fucking meant to and also back the fuck off) and I'm so scared shitless I might as well just watch more and not shit my pants (haha get it because I'm shitless!)
Right now I'm watching Nosferatu to lighten the blow (awesome sidenote: the score to this movie makes me think of "My Little Pony") WHO'S SCARED NOW BITCH?? I am. I'm fucking scared.
I'm thinking about what a person thinks about as they sit down to write a screenplay scarier than the thought of drinking a gallon of vaginal discharge from some smelly lady's poon. Ha, I'm going to write a screenplay about that later. Anyway, if I were going to write a scary movie, it would probably be about a little girl. Because little girls are FUCKING TERRIFYING. Not little boys though. Because boys are cool and girls in general are just awful anyway.
So it would be about a little girl who is possessed by a demon or something and wanders around the town at night doing...well, something terrible. Like, turning the whole town's supply of drinking water into vaginal discharge!
Obviously I'm still on this vaginal discharge kick. Not sure why, but it looks like it's here to stay. You know what? That's just awful! Forget the demon possessed little girl. Here's my screenplay. We all wake up one morning and all the water in the world has become VAGINAL DISCHARGE!!!!!
That would be awesome because girls would all just be like, "Ehh, whatever. This is my life every day swimming around in my own panties." But all the guys would be FUCKING HORRIFIED. Their lives would forever be smothered by the evil vagina-spew that they try so hard to avoid, even though they are constantly putting their fucking faces right in the line of fire (and we love you for it).
Hilarious. I'm going to be famous.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Bad News
Turns out, the only person who reads this blog (mom and sometimes dad [it's fine, they're one person]) actually stopped reading it YEARS AGO.
The convo:
ME: Mom. Why haven't I been getting texts from you and/or dad that say things like, "Hi! You wrote a blog! Good for you! Love, Dad"? Oh, by the way, you reeeaaaaally don't need to sign off because I fucking know it's you because...well...that's how fucking cellphones work. CRAZY.
MOM: Oh, honey. I don't read your blog anymore. It's straight up disgusting.
That's love.
In other news, one of my roommates has explosive poop soup and I can hear it through the walls!
Sometimes I just feel so small and insignificant in this universe. Because, really, aren't we all just a hardened ball of pee in God's cat's litter box?
I think the real question here is: does God scoop us out himself? Or, does he have one of those automatic litter box robots that rakes us into bags?
Thanks for listening, no one.
The convo:
ME: Mom. Why haven't I been getting texts from you and/or dad that say things like, "Hi! You wrote a blog! Good for you! Love, Dad"? Oh, by the way, you reeeaaaaally don't need to sign off because I fucking know it's you because...well...that's how fucking cellphones work. CRAZY.
MOM: Oh, honey. I don't read your blog anymore. It's straight up disgusting.
That's love.
In other news, one of my roommates has explosive poop soup and I can hear it through the walls!
Sometimes I just feel so small and insignificant in this universe. Because, really, aren't we all just a hardened ball of pee in God's cat's litter box?
I think the real question here is: does God scoop us out himself? Or, does he have one of those automatic litter box robots that rakes us into bags?
Thanks for listening, no one.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
AND NOW
I will create a bedtime story (since it's bedtime) based only on objects I see around me RIGHT NOW. It's going to be awful.
Once upon a time, there was a hideous wardrobe. The wardrobe looked just like any other wardrobe (except more hideous). But alas, it was not! This wardrobe was a very special wardrobe. Inside of it, there was a tiny man named Lusty McFaggins. He spoke only Spanish, which made no fucking sense, because he was a total ginge.
Lusty was a magical man. If a person were to stumble upon Lusty, he would have to grant that person three wishes. The first two wishes would come true without a hitch, leaving the wisher jumping for joy. The third wish, however, would always go horribly wrong. There was nothing Lusty could do about it.
For hundreds of years the wardrobe lay in a forest, half buried under layers of dirt and piles of shit from the woodland creatures shitting all over it. And so, Lusty slept away the days, hoping to one day be able to grant wishes again.
One day, a little boy named Hymenface was going to his grandmother's house. She was a walrus. It was her birthday and he was bringing her Vitamin Water Zero and a swivel chair that was missing a wheel. Luckily, for Hymenface, he was extremely handsome, so the fact that he gave the worst gifts EVER didn't really make people hate him. He was just too hot. He was like if all the dudes from Twilight were put into a blender with all the dudes from Step Up 2 The Streets (dance skills included) blended up and then baked into a cake with sugar and cream and frosted with cream cheese frosting and then covered in maple syrup and bacon, then served to you on a pile of money. So yeah. Hymenface had some game.
Anyway, I forgot what I was talking about. So Hymenface, the dancing vampire bacon-cake of sex, walked through the forest to bring his grandmother the walrus her gifts. Suddenly, his sexy shoe got stuck in a fat pile of shit.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he screamed. Hymenface was super dramatic and also hated shit.
He bent down to clean his shoes off with the handkerchief his girlfriend knitted for him just before she died of AIDS (because fuck it, I guess) and suddenly saw a brassy knob.
He turned the knob and sifted through piles of shit, which I guess he suddenly decided didn't bother him all that much, and opened up a little door.
A three foot tall piece of flaming hot ginge flew out of the wardrobe and landed on Hymenface's face.
"AAAHHHHH!!!!!!! GET OFF MY FACE PLEASE!!!!!!!" Hymenface was very polite and always said please, even if he was being homosexually attacked.
"SUCIO!!!!! EN MI BOCA!!!!!!" Lusty McFaggins was very hungry. Hymenface didn't speak Spanish.
"Bro, I swear to god. Get off of me or I swear on my grandmother's walrusy moustache I will taze you."
Lusty complied and climbed off of Hymenface.
"Thank you very much. Now grant me my wishes." (HOW DID HE KNOW ABOUT THAT?!?!? I don't give a shit I'm getting sick of writing this so I'm speeding this garbage along.)
Lusty McFaggins did his wish granting dance (which looked a lot like this fucking cuntrag godddd I love people)
"Right," said Hymenface, "I wish my girlfriend was still alive."
POOF! She appeared next to him.
"Cheerio!" she said. She was a dumb whore from England (duh, it's England) and her name was like, Tabitha or some awful shit. Hymenface didn't even know her name, he just liked fucking her because she was the only person that would never tell anyone how much he cried during sex.
"Great," he said. "Now, I wish my dick wasn't so messed up looking."
I forgot to mention that part. His dick was pretty much normal, except the tip of it looked like this.
So Lusty took care of that too. Tabitha was pretty relieved. Like...wow.
So then it was time for the third wish.
"I wish for world peace and such. Hop to!"
The ground began to shake. Then, Hymenface's dick exploded and in it's place grew a very angry old man. Hymenface screamed in horror. Tabitha's boobs fell off and in their place grew two yams. It doesn't sound that bad, but really think about it. Yams are a totally weird shape and it would suck to have them for tits.
Then the universe exploded and everyone was forced to spend the rest of eternity in hell listening to live versions of Matt & Kim songs while giving Ann Coulter a spray tan.
Barf.
Once upon a time, there was a hideous wardrobe. The wardrobe looked just like any other wardrobe (except more hideous). But alas, it was not! This wardrobe was a very special wardrobe. Inside of it, there was a tiny man named Lusty McFaggins. He spoke only Spanish, which made no fucking sense, because he was a total ginge.
Lusty was a magical man. If a person were to stumble upon Lusty, he would have to grant that person three wishes. The first two wishes would come true without a hitch, leaving the wisher jumping for joy. The third wish, however, would always go horribly wrong. There was nothing Lusty could do about it.
For hundreds of years the wardrobe lay in a forest, half buried under layers of dirt and piles of shit from the woodland creatures shitting all over it. And so, Lusty slept away the days, hoping to one day be able to grant wishes again.
One day, a little boy named Hymenface was going to his grandmother's house. She was a walrus. It was her birthday and he was bringing her Vitamin Water Zero and a swivel chair that was missing a wheel. Luckily, for Hymenface, he was extremely handsome, so the fact that he gave the worst gifts EVER didn't really make people hate him. He was just too hot. He was like if all the dudes from Twilight were put into a blender with all the dudes from Step Up 2 The Streets (dance skills included) blended up and then baked into a cake with sugar and cream and frosted with cream cheese frosting and then covered in maple syrup and bacon, then served to you on a pile of money. So yeah. Hymenface had some game.
Anyway, I forgot what I was talking about. So Hymenface, the dancing vampire bacon-cake of sex, walked through the forest to bring his grandmother the walrus her gifts. Suddenly, his sexy shoe got stuck in a fat pile of shit.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he screamed. Hymenface was super dramatic and also hated shit.
He bent down to clean his shoes off with the handkerchief his girlfriend knitted for him just before she died of AIDS (because fuck it, I guess) and suddenly saw a brassy knob.
He turned the knob and sifted through piles of shit, which I guess he suddenly decided didn't bother him all that much, and opened up a little door.
A three foot tall piece of flaming hot ginge flew out of the wardrobe and landed on Hymenface's face.
"AAAHHHHH!!!!!!! GET OFF MY FACE PLEASE!!!!!!!" Hymenface was very polite and always said please, even if he was being homosexually attacked.
"SUCIO!!!!! EN MI BOCA!!!!!!" Lusty McFaggins was very hungry. Hymenface didn't speak Spanish.
"Bro, I swear to god. Get off of me or I swear on my grandmother's walrusy moustache I will taze you."
Lusty complied and climbed off of Hymenface.
"Thank you very much. Now grant me my wishes." (HOW DID HE KNOW ABOUT THAT?!?!? I don't give a shit I'm getting sick of writing this so I'm speeding this garbage along.)
Lusty McFaggins did his wish granting dance (which looked a lot like this fucking cuntrag godddd I love people)
"Right," said Hymenface, "I wish my girlfriend was still alive."
POOF! She appeared next to him.
"Cheerio!" she said. She was a dumb whore from England (duh, it's England) and her name was like, Tabitha or some awful shit. Hymenface didn't even know her name, he just liked fucking her because she was the only person that would never tell anyone how much he cried during sex.
"Great," he said. "Now, I wish my dick wasn't so messed up looking."
I forgot to mention that part. His dick was pretty much normal, except the tip of it looked like this.
So Lusty took care of that too. Tabitha was pretty relieved. Like...wow.
So then it was time for the third wish.
"I wish for world peace and such. Hop to!"
The ground began to shake. Then, Hymenface's dick exploded and in it's place grew a very angry old man. Hymenface screamed in horror. Tabitha's boobs fell off and in their place grew two yams. It doesn't sound that bad, but really think about it. Yams are a totally weird shape and it would suck to have them for tits.
Then the universe exploded and everyone was forced to spend the rest of eternity in hell listening to live versions of Matt & Kim songs while giving Ann Coulter a spray tan.
Barf.
Here's Something
Writing a blog is too hard. And this isn't even a real blog. It doesn't have any useful information on it. So I would like to try and pick a theme for my blog!
Political? Can't do it. Politics are way too hilarious right now. The jokes write themselves, so it's a waste of time for anyone to try to make jokes about them.
Food? Fuck that. I'm tired of blogs that are like, "Hey!! Want to eat like a fucking pig and never gain weight? Here are some disgusting recipes for brownies and pie with no calories and they take days to make!"
Like, are you joking? I'm reading a blog about losing weight by eating, so obviously I'm a lazy fuck who can't even be bothered to work out once in a while. Do you really think I'm going to slave over a hot stove just to make some nasty wheat germ muffins that taste like dick, when the grocery store down the street is filled with glorious boxes of Entenmann's factory made fudgepies?? No!
Then there are the food blogs written by anorexic chicks who pretend they eat a shit ton when they really don't. They put up pictures of fat homemade pizzas and blondie bars and they're like, "Hehe! Be careful if you make this recipe, I totally couldn't stop myself and ate the whole thinglol!!" They didn't. But they tell you that so that you'll eat it and be fat and disgusting and they're still Skeletor and you're like DAAAAMN YOU HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?? Well, they're not eating. Fatty.
Music? Can't do it. Every time I find good music, I never tell people about it. It's mine.
So I guess this blog can't be anything but what it is. What is it? Fuck off.
Political? Can't do it. Politics are way too hilarious right now. The jokes write themselves, so it's a waste of time for anyone to try to make jokes about them.
Food? Fuck that. I'm tired of blogs that are like, "Hey!! Want to eat like a fucking pig and never gain weight? Here are some disgusting recipes for brownies and pie with no calories and they take days to make!"
Like, are you joking? I'm reading a blog about losing weight by eating, so obviously I'm a lazy fuck who can't even be bothered to work out once in a while. Do you really think I'm going to slave over a hot stove just to make some nasty wheat germ muffins that taste like dick, when the grocery store down the street is filled with glorious boxes of Entenmann's factory made fudgepies?? No!
Then there are the food blogs written by anorexic chicks who pretend they eat a shit ton when they really don't. They put up pictures of fat homemade pizzas and blondie bars and they're like, "Hehe! Be careful if you make this recipe, I totally couldn't stop myself and ate the whole thinglol!!" They didn't. But they tell you that so that you'll eat it and be fat and disgusting and they're still Skeletor and you're like DAAAAMN YOU HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?? Well, they're not eating. Fatty.
Music? Can't do it. Every time I find good music, I never tell people about it. It's mine.
So I guess this blog can't be anything but what it is. What is it? Fuck off.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
VIVA VIETNAM
Ho. Ly. SHIT.
Yesterday was the best day of my life. No, it wasn't because everyone in Manhattan turned into pillars of salt (damn you, Lot's nameless wife, for giving me false hope!) It was because every single customer that came into my place of business was from fucking Vietnam. Those ladies know how to hustle a bitch!
Well, not really. I mean, they hustle their tits off, but it doesn't really do any good because everything they say is batshit insane. Example!
There was a sign in the front of the store that said, "All sale items an additional 30% off!" FABULOUS. But leave it to these bitches to read the sign as, "EVERYTHING FOR FREE, LOOT THIS SHIT LIKE THE VIKINGS YOU ARE!"
The Vietnamese Hustlers come in and grab pants and shirts from all over the place and then they come up to me and our conversation goes as follows:
VH: You give dis me I take fo free!
ME: Um, that's not even what the sale is...
VH: Okay, buy one get one free!
ME: No, ma'am. If it's already on sale, then it's 30% off-
VH: Okay, you do for me 70!
ME: Ma'am, it's 30-
VH: Okay, but this has hole! You do 50% off!
ME: Ma'am, that hole is for your arm-
VH: NO!!! BIG HOLE!! SEE???
ME: -it's called a sleeve-
VH: Okay, no problem, you do sale I take fo free.
Now, remember, everything the Vietnamese Hustler said is going to sound kind of like this. But not totally, because that guy is starting to whip up some Indian cab driver shit into that accent cake mix and it is not sounding super delicious. But that's the basic idea.
The reason I love these ladies is because they hustle and hustle and try to rip buttons off and get zippers stuck all in the name of a good bargain. But in the end, we never give in, and these bitches drop so much fucking money anyway it's like it never even mattered if it was on sale or not.
Keep shopping, ladies.
Yesterday was the best day of my life. No, it wasn't because everyone in Manhattan turned into pillars of salt (damn you, Lot's nameless wife, for giving me false hope!) It was because every single customer that came into my place of business was from fucking Vietnam. Those ladies know how to hustle a bitch!
Well, not really. I mean, they hustle their tits off, but it doesn't really do any good because everything they say is batshit insane. Example!
There was a sign in the front of the store that said, "All sale items an additional 30% off!" FABULOUS. But leave it to these bitches to read the sign as, "EVERYTHING FOR FREE, LOOT THIS SHIT LIKE THE VIKINGS YOU ARE!"
The Vietnamese Hustlers come in and grab pants and shirts from all over the place and then they come up to me and our conversation goes as follows:
VH: You give dis me I take fo free!
ME: Um, that's not even what the sale is...
VH: Okay, buy one get one free!
ME: No, ma'am. If it's already on sale, then it's 30% off-
VH: Okay, you do for me 70!
ME: Ma'am, it's 30-
VH: Okay, but this has hole! You do 50% off!
ME: Ma'am, that hole is for your arm-
VH: NO!!! BIG HOLE!! SEE???
ME: -it's called a sleeve-
VH: Okay, no problem, you do sale I take fo free.
Now, remember, everything the Vietnamese Hustler said is going to sound kind of like this. But not totally, because that guy is starting to whip up some Indian cab driver shit into that accent cake mix and it is not sounding super delicious. But that's the basic idea.
The reason I love these ladies is because they hustle and hustle and try to rip buttons off and get zippers stuck all in the name of a good bargain. But in the end, we never give in, and these bitches drop so much fucking money anyway it's like it never even mattered if it was on sale or not.
Keep shopping, ladies.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Having A Bad Day?
Sucks. But I'm not, so naturally I'm partaking in my favorite activity, laughing at stupid famous people. And now I'm going to try to answer this age-old question: "Why the FUCK do these people wear this shit!?" Here goes.
My only guess is that this bitch is the spokesperson for In N Out's new clothing line. Ronald McDonald has a new trick to rub his chicken nuggets.
Here's Christina Aguilera at an event to raise awareness about Vaginal Rabies, a new strain of rabies that causes vaginas to attack dicks. The dress she's wearing, besides being ugly as fuck, is made out of Trojan Battle Condoms, a new kind of condom which protects your dick from rabid vaginas.
One of my most favorite dumb whores, obviously on her way to a beach funeral.
She looks fine to me.
Here's Jennifer Love Hewitt bravely raising awareness for adults with severe brain damage. Something she does every single day. Because, according to this picture, she has it.
At first I thought this was a picture of the half digested chicken bone my cat threw up last night. But apparently it's Leann Rimes, seen here doing her best impression of a baby bald eagle that hatched out of its egg too soon and has a life of struggles, social banishment by other eagles and prosthetic wings to look forward to. Also, her face is ugly.
Actually, Bret Michaels looks pretty hot here.
Anyway, people are fucking idiots.
Just Got A Flu Shot
My fucking arm hurts!!! Anyway, I was just thinking about how bad I feel for people who have like, horrible sex things. I don't mean like, having a small dick. You can make up for that in other ways (just kidding, you can't). I mean like, if your vagina is fucking hideous. Or if your balls smell like a homeless guy's makeshift potty (his pants). That's just fucking terrible. And there's nothing you can do!
That's all.
That's all.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Serious Things
Seriously. I can go for days hating on all the good-for-nothing turds in this world and throwing around the fuck word like a cheerleader at a football sex party, but sometimes I like to be serious.
A lot of terrible things happen in this world. In fact, I'm just going to go ahead and say that 99% of everything that happens in this world is a terrible thing. 1% of the things are made up of pretty good shit that makes life worth living.
If you think about it, life is really just one big endurance test. Each day is just another brick in the wall of shit that God has created for us all. And when we finally get to the end of the road, we find that it's really just a circle jerk of ancient fucks sitting in their wheelchairs cackling about who made it through and who pussied out along the way.
I know that doesn't sound like the most exciting place to end up, but it is what it is. I just hope that everyone who reads my blog (mom) will remember that it's okay to have moments where you fucking hate life. Because life is literally the worst thing in the world. Now that you know this, you can just look forward to that 1% of sweetness that helps you keep your shit together.
Now get that smile back on your face and go listen to some Radiohead and keep telling yourself that their new album isn't absolute horse shit.
A lot of terrible things happen in this world. In fact, I'm just going to go ahead and say that 99% of everything that happens in this world is a terrible thing. 1% of the things are made up of pretty good shit that makes life worth living.
If you think about it, life is really just one big endurance test. Each day is just another brick in the wall of shit that God has created for us all. And when we finally get to the end of the road, we find that it's really just a circle jerk of ancient fucks sitting in their wheelchairs cackling about who made it through and who pussied out along the way.
I know that doesn't sound like the most exciting place to end up, but it is what it is. I just hope that everyone who reads my blog (mom) will remember that it's okay to have moments where you fucking hate life. Because life is literally the worst thing in the world. Now that you know this, you can just look forward to that 1% of sweetness that helps you keep your shit together.
Now get that smile back on your face and go listen to some Radiohead and keep telling yourself that their new album isn't absolute horse shit.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Where the FUCK Is My iPod Charger?!
So annoying.
Anyway, I've been pretty hard on NYC for a while, and there are definitely a lot of other things that I hate just as much, so I'd like to talk about some of them.
One of my roommates is freaking out because there's a raccoon on the porch. SHUT THE FUCK UP. Raccoons are fucking everywhere. OH MY GOD he just fucking knocked on my door to tell me about it. Shut the fuck up. Oh my GOD he's still talking about it to everyone else! I hate him.
I hate foreign people that speak English but pretend they don't. I fucking know you do...
I hate people that hate cats. There is no fucking reason to hate cats. Unless you're a big stupid cat-hating fuck. Cats know you hate them and they can see ghosts and don't think they can't ask the ghosts to fuck with you. They can, and you're about to get fucked with by ghosts. Cats are not only the greatest pets ever, but they are also fucking Satanic freaks and they'll fucking kill you.
I hate people that took a foreign language in high school, and list it in their Facebooks as one of the languages they speak. You fucking suck at that language and you probably suck at English so shut the fuck up.
I fucking hate Hummers and if you drive one your soul is a swamp full of burning hags that also drive Hummers. This means that the souls of those hags are also swamps full of burning hags who have the same kinds of souls. Get it? Your fucking soul is an infinite swamp of burning hags that goes on and on forever so basically you are fucking terrible.
I hate it when you're doing laundry and your dad comes in and he's like, "What the fuck are you doing here!??! Go away!!!" and then you have to leave and your laundry is still in the fucking washing machine.
I hate it when you're hungry as fuck but not eating is so in right now so you can't eat.
I hate it when people with hideous makeup offer to do your make up and you so badly want to say, "If I wanted to look like a teen mom stripper working the graveyard shift at Sizzler I would just ask a person who actually is all of those things to do it for me." But that would be "mean" so you just say, "Omg makeup looks so bad on me lol you don't have to." And then you have to laugh and smile and pretend that you don't actually want to punch this bitch so hard that the frozen shrimps at Sizzler fall out of their shells.
I'm all out of hate at the moment (jk, I'm just bored of doing this) so I'm going to go watch Patti Stanger fuck the souls out of Jews and gay people. She probably hates black people too but I don't think I'm allowed to say "black people" on the internet.
Anyway, I've been pretty hard on NYC for a while, and there are definitely a lot of other things that I hate just as much, so I'd like to talk about some of them.
One of my roommates is freaking out because there's a raccoon on the porch. SHUT THE FUCK UP. Raccoons are fucking everywhere. OH MY GOD he just fucking knocked on my door to tell me about it. Shut the fuck up. Oh my GOD he's still talking about it to everyone else! I hate him.
I hate foreign people that speak English but pretend they don't. I fucking know you do...
I hate people that hate cats. There is no fucking reason to hate cats. Unless you're a big stupid cat-hating fuck. Cats know you hate them and they can see ghosts and don't think they can't ask the ghosts to fuck with you. They can, and you're about to get fucked with by ghosts. Cats are not only the greatest pets ever, but they are also fucking Satanic freaks and they'll fucking kill you.
I hate people that took a foreign language in high school, and list it in their Facebooks as one of the languages they speak. You fucking suck at that language and you probably suck at English so shut the fuck up.
I fucking hate Hummers and if you drive one your soul is a swamp full of burning hags that also drive Hummers. This means that the souls of those hags are also swamps full of burning hags who have the same kinds of souls. Get it? Your fucking soul is an infinite swamp of burning hags that goes on and on forever so basically you are fucking terrible.
I hate it when you're doing laundry and your dad comes in and he's like, "What the fuck are you doing here!??! Go away!!!" and then you have to leave and your laundry is still in the fucking washing machine.
I hate it when you're hungry as fuck but not eating is so in right now so you can't eat.
I hate it when people with hideous makeup offer to do your make up and you so badly want to say, "If I wanted to look like a teen mom stripper working the graveyard shift at Sizzler I would just ask a person who actually is all of those things to do it for me." But that would be "mean" so you just say, "Omg makeup looks so bad on me lol you don't have to." And then you have to laugh and smile and pretend that you don't actually want to punch this bitch so hard that the frozen shrimps at Sizzler fall out of their shells.
I'm all out of hate at the moment (jk, I'm just bored of doing this) so I'm going to go watch Patti Stanger fuck the souls out of Jews and gay people. She probably hates black people too but I don't think I'm allowed to say "black people" on the internet.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
A List of Wonderful Things!
Let's make a list! Here are some wonderful things:
When you walk up to a group of people talking shit, and there's a 50/50 chance they'll stop talking, which means they're talking about your fucking annoying ass, or they'll be like, "OMG LISTEN TO THIIIIISSSSSS!!!!!" which means it's about someone else, and the latter happens.
When you quit your job without any warning, and they send you $400 in the mail.
When you don't have an iPhone, and don't want an iPhone, and everyone's like "OMGGG iPHONE 5!!!!!!!!!!!! JESUS GOD IT'S FINALLY HEEEERE JERK OFF!!!!!" but really it's just the iPhone 4S (who the fuck even knows what that means) and you're like bahahahahhaaa!!!!!
When you smoke cigarettes sometimes, but some people are actually addicted to them, but you're not, and they're like, I FUCKING HATE BEING ADDICTED TO THIS!!!!!! and you're like haha same. But you're not.
When you're driving and someone cuts you off and your road rage skyrockets and you're like FUCK NOOOO!!!!!!!!!! but then you pass them and see that they're actually just some super zoned-out old asian lady and you're like, awwww it's fine.
When you're in love with some guy and his girlfriend is ugly as hell.
When you're on an airplane and the turbulence is fucking out of control and everyone is freaking out and you sit there hella calm and then suddenly you stand up and raise your hands and yell, NOW YOU ALL BELONG TO MEEEE!!!!!!! I've never actually done that, but it would be so fucked up.
When someone super pretty tells you that you're super pretty, but you know they're only saying it because they want you to say it to them, and you just say, "Thank you" and walk away.
Haha, I got a littler happier just thinking about that one.
In conclusion, I'm a total cunt. Good day.
When you walk up to a group of people talking shit, and there's a 50/50 chance they'll stop talking, which means they're talking about your fucking annoying ass, or they'll be like, "OMG LISTEN TO THIIIIISSSSSS!!!!!" which means it's about someone else, and the latter happens.
When you quit your job without any warning, and they send you $400 in the mail.
When you don't have an iPhone, and don't want an iPhone, and everyone's like "OMGGG iPHONE 5!!!!!!!!!!!! JESUS GOD IT'S FINALLY HEEEERE JERK OFF!!!!!" but really it's just the iPhone 4S (who the fuck even knows what that means) and you're like bahahahahhaaa!!!!!
When you smoke cigarettes sometimes, but some people are actually addicted to them, but you're not, and they're like, I FUCKING HATE BEING ADDICTED TO THIS!!!!!! and you're like haha same. But you're not.
When you're driving and someone cuts you off and your road rage skyrockets and you're like FUCK NOOOO!!!!!!!!!! but then you pass them and see that they're actually just some super zoned-out old asian lady and you're like, awwww it's fine.
When you're in love with some guy and his girlfriend is ugly as hell.
When you're on an airplane and the turbulence is fucking out of control and everyone is freaking out and you sit there hella calm and then suddenly you stand up and raise your hands and yell, NOW YOU ALL BELONG TO MEEEE!!!!!!! I've never actually done that, but it would be so fucked up.
When someone super pretty tells you that you're super pretty, but you know they're only saying it because they want you to say it to them, and you just say, "Thank you" and walk away.
Haha, I got a littler happier just thinking about that one.
In conclusion, I'm a total cunt. Good day.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Not Having It, EVERYWHERE
I'm really just not having it. I mean, let's be real. NYC is full of androgynous fucktwats, and Cali just straight up isn't. (sidenote: whenever I say good things about California, I am in no way speaking for LA. Fuck everyone and everything in that hellhole of an excuse for a disgusting shitbag of a city full of stupid fucking cunts.) But Cali does have a deep dark secret that I have never noticed before.
When you live in a place like NYC, where the weather is an absolute shitshow and the people are absolute bags of shit, your life just sucks in general. Everything that happens is a fucking inconvenience when your entire life is just one big bad mood. In NYC, when you walk into a Starbucks, and there are other people in line, your inner monologue goes, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!" But you reeeaaally need that $8 cheese plate that wouldn't even feed a fucking rat because everyone is a fucking supermodel and you can't eat too much because if you have anything on your body besides bone shadows, you're a fat freak and no one will be your "friend". I say "friend" because everyone in NYC is such a goddamn asshole, there are no such things as friends. Fuck it.
In Cali, bad vibes and drama just don't exist. But humans were not created to survive solely on unicorn farts, rainbow morphine centaurs and leprechaun pubes (aka: where happiness comes from). Humans need to get pissed off and feel fucking angry sometimes. So, in Cali, because anger doesn't exist, we gotta create it. Hot chicks (which is every girl in Cali) know their lives are going to be super easy because they are so hot. So they develop an inner slutbag and fuck everyone. Then they get upset about it and say they feel used and abused and don't trust dudes. Dudes who are born ugly (which is a lot of dudes in Cali) know they are ugly, and generally don't really care, but they only try to fuck hot girls. Obviously the girls say, "FUUUUCK NO!!!!! HAHAHaHAHHA!!!!!!!!!!" and then the guys feel like turds. Well, they are turds, but now they feel like turds.
People in Cali are just always looking for ways to fuck themselves over so they can complain about something. Because, let's face it, living in Cali, there's no fucking shit to complain about. NYC, on the other hand, is it's own layer of Hell. Satan runs the show and everyone is a miserable bitch until the day they die.
In conclusion: I have a dilemma. Do I stay in Cali with the artificial drama and continue to be bombarded by fucked up fake titties? Or, do I go back to NYC, the evil whore of all evil whores and go back to a life full of hatred and motherfucking hipster fuckbag fuckholes and hate my fucking life which is continuously raped by sadness and pain?
Haha! Fuck! This isn't actually a dilemma.
When you live in a place like NYC, where the weather is an absolute shitshow and the people are absolute bags of shit, your life just sucks in general. Everything that happens is a fucking inconvenience when your entire life is just one big bad mood. In NYC, when you walk into a Starbucks, and there are other people in line, your inner monologue goes, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!" But you reeeaaally need that $8 cheese plate that wouldn't even feed a fucking rat because everyone is a fucking supermodel and you can't eat too much because if you have anything on your body besides bone shadows, you're a fat freak and no one will be your "friend". I say "friend" because everyone in NYC is such a goddamn asshole, there are no such things as friends. Fuck it.
In Cali, bad vibes and drama just don't exist. But humans were not created to survive solely on unicorn farts, rainbow morphine centaurs and leprechaun pubes (aka: where happiness comes from). Humans need to get pissed off and feel fucking angry sometimes. So, in Cali, because anger doesn't exist, we gotta create it. Hot chicks (which is every girl in Cali) know their lives are going to be super easy because they are so hot. So they develop an inner slutbag and fuck everyone. Then they get upset about it and say they feel used and abused and don't trust dudes. Dudes who are born ugly (which is a lot of dudes in Cali) know they are ugly, and generally don't really care, but they only try to fuck hot girls. Obviously the girls say, "FUUUUCK NO!!!!! HAHAHaHAHHA!!!!!!!!!!" and then the guys feel like turds. Well, they are turds, but now they feel like turds.
People in Cali are just always looking for ways to fuck themselves over so they can complain about something. Because, let's face it, living in Cali, there's no fucking shit to complain about. NYC, on the other hand, is it's own layer of Hell. Satan runs the show and everyone is a miserable bitch until the day they die.
In conclusion: I have a dilemma. Do I stay in Cali with the artificial drama and continue to be bombarded by fucked up fake titties? Or, do I go back to NYC, the evil whore of all evil whores and go back to a life full of hatred and motherfucking hipster fuckbag fuckholes and hate my fucking life which is continuously raped by sadness and pain?
Haha! Fuck! This isn't actually a dilemma.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Dumb Whores
Dumb whores have a special place in my heart. They can't help it. Dumb whores are born dumb. And, honestly, would you really want them to be any other way?
If there isn't a dumb whore at a party, then who's going to be the topless mess asking the water polo team if it's bad that her vagina is TOO tight?
You are.
You know when your guy friends are laughing hysterically about that wasted dumb whore who gave their friend the blow job from hell and barfed on his dick?
Well, who would have done that if dumb whores weren't around?
That's right. You.
Dumb whores protect us from committing faux pas such as these, and many, many more. We have to give dumb whores the respect they deserve. They don't give a shit about ruining their reputations. In fact, dumb whores come straight out of the womb with reputations that resemble something I imagine to look a lot like if Rack Em Willie had a baby with a possum and that baby eventually grew up to become one of those toothless, morbidly obese, toaster strudel-brained fucks on 'Hoarders'.
Dumb whores, I salute you.
You make me look awesome.
If there isn't a dumb whore at a party, then who's going to be the topless mess asking the water polo team if it's bad that her vagina is TOO tight?
You are.
You know when your guy friends are laughing hysterically about that wasted dumb whore who gave their friend the blow job from hell and barfed on his dick?
Well, who would have done that if dumb whores weren't around?
That's right. You.
Dumb whores protect us from committing faux pas such as these, and many, many more. We have to give dumb whores the respect they deserve. They don't give a shit about ruining their reputations. In fact, dumb whores come straight out of the womb with reputations that resemble something I imagine to look a lot like if Rack Em Willie had a baby with a possum and that baby eventually grew up to become one of those toothless, morbidly obese, toaster strudel-brained fucks on 'Hoarders'.
Dumb whores, I salute you.
You make me look awesome.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
I'm Bloggin!
I haven't blogged in a long time. If you really must know why, it's because I was in a pretty crazy accident and I've been in the hospital for a couple weeks. I'm starting to go through physical therapy to regain the use of my legs. It's a slow and painful process but I'm awesome so I'm sure it will get better.
Haha! Not really, but why the fuck does it matter because no one reads this. And I already know I'm going to hell so shut the fuck up.
I was watching Chelsea Lately the other night. That bitch is seriously the most hungover, drunk-faced, evil bitch from hell and she's closer to death than your great grandparents that are still alive for no fucking reason.
I don't care if bitches drink everyday. I really don't. But don't just get wasted, throw a few NOT FUNNY insults at innocent people and call yourself a fucking comedian. Comedy is a sacred art. In fact, it is the only form of art that actually gets off on having people fuck with it. Fuck around with a Hasselblad and call yourself a photographer?
FUCK NO!
You'll get handlebar-mustache-raped by every hipster photojournalist in the world faster than you can say, "Your girlfriend is anorexic and dresses like a lesbian paperboy and is fucking HIDEOUS in the face, but I guess you don't notice because she lets you fuck her in the ass because she has such fucking low self-esteem!"
Jesus christ. Everyone in Brooklyn should seriously die. Unless I like you. You know who you are. And some of you probably think I like you and I really hate you. Haha!
Anyways...
Comedy is a true art form that should be fucked with on the daily. Comedy is when a parent films their fucked up child and exploits the video tape on Youtube, no doubt forever ruining their child's life.
Comedy is when two douchefuck fratboys give an old hobo vodka and film him acting like a fucking idiot and then make a website out of it. It's fucked up, yes, but I know those guys are going to a special room in hell where they'll eternally have their buttholes fondled by their own grandmas, so I feel like I can give them a break while they're still alive.
Comedy is when somebody farts. I'm sticking to that for the rest of my life.
However, there are some ways to fuck with comedy that is NOT OKAY, DAWG.
Example:
Chelsea Handler is a piece of shit, unfunny old leather handbag. She sits on her ass in that ugly set they call a talk show and fumblemouths all of her unfunny lines written on flashcards because she's too drunk to fucking talk, then she proceeds to make fun of the other people on the show, who are about seventeenfuckillion times funnier than she is, and her fucking retard audience laughs because she scares the shit out of them.
Chelser Handler is a piece of shit that needs to either kill herself, or sew up her vagina and get the FUCK off TV. TV is my best friend in the whole fucking world, and if you get on it and do nothing but bitch about how funny you are flap your disgusting, used-and-abused labia flags all over my face, I have no use for you and I feel like trapping you into a hot air balloon filled with twenty Rick Santorums and-
Holy shit. I just had a seizure because that last part is actually the most fucked up thing I've ever imagined...
So now that we've figured out where all my worst enemies go when they die, I think I'm ready to stop writing.
Haha! Not really, but why the fuck does it matter because no one reads this. And I already know I'm going to hell so shut the fuck up.
I was watching Chelsea Lately the other night. That bitch is seriously the most hungover, drunk-faced, evil bitch from hell and she's closer to death than your great grandparents that are still alive for no fucking reason.
I don't care if bitches drink everyday. I really don't. But don't just get wasted, throw a few NOT FUNNY insults at innocent people and call yourself a fucking comedian. Comedy is a sacred art. In fact, it is the only form of art that actually gets off on having people fuck with it. Fuck around with a Hasselblad and call yourself a photographer?
FUCK NO!
You'll get handlebar-mustache-raped by every hipster photojournalist in the world faster than you can say, "Your girlfriend is anorexic and dresses like a lesbian paperboy and is fucking HIDEOUS in the face, but I guess you don't notice because she lets you fuck her in the ass because she has such fucking low self-esteem!"
Jesus christ. Everyone in Brooklyn should seriously die. Unless I like you. You know who you are. And some of you probably think I like you and I really hate you. Haha!
Anyways...
Comedy is a true art form that should be fucked with on the daily. Comedy is when a parent films their fucked up child and exploits the video tape on Youtube, no doubt forever ruining their child's life.
Comedy is when two douchefuck fratboys give an old hobo vodka and film him acting like a fucking idiot and then make a website out of it. It's fucked up, yes, but I know those guys are going to a special room in hell where they'll eternally have their buttholes fondled by their own grandmas, so I feel like I can give them a break while they're still alive.
Comedy is when somebody farts. I'm sticking to that for the rest of my life.
However, there are some ways to fuck with comedy that is NOT OKAY, DAWG.
Example:
Chelsea Handler is a piece of shit, unfunny old leather handbag. She sits on her ass in that ugly set they call a talk show and fumblemouths all of her unfunny lines written on flashcards because she's too drunk to fucking talk, then she proceeds to make fun of the other people on the show, who are about seventeenfuckillion times funnier than she is, and her fucking retard audience laughs because she scares the shit out of them.
Chelser Handler is a piece of shit that needs to either kill herself, or sew up her vagina and get the FUCK off TV. TV is my best friend in the whole fucking world, and if you get on it and do nothing but bitch about how funny you are flap your disgusting, used-and-abused labia flags all over my face, I have no use for you and I feel like trapping you into a hot air balloon filled with twenty Rick Santorums and-
Holy shit. I just had a seizure because that last part is actually the most fucked up thing I've ever imagined...
So now that we've figured out where all my worst enemies go when they die, I think I'm ready to stop writing.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS!!!!!!!
There was a fucking earthquake in New York?!?!??!?!?!
EAT MY SHIT NYC!!!!!!!! I'VE BEEN FEELING EARTHQUAKES SINCE I WAS IN THE WOMB!!!!!! (Literally. I was in my mother's stomach during the earthquake of 1989. FEEL SORRY FOR MY FETUS) Not really. I turned out fine (sorta). But listen. Everyone in fucking NYC needs a reality check about how much they suck.
NYC fucking sucks. Anyone who knows me knows that I am the greatest fucking bitch in the world. NYC sucked that shit out of me!! NYC made me feel like a freak and I am so not a freak! Feel an earthquake, bitches!!
You know what I'M feeling while YOU'RE feeling earthquakes!??!?!
SEX WITH THE GIANTS!!!!!
Not really. I guarantee that all of them are smart enough not to even touch me. I'm too awesome so I'm keeping my shit to myself because I wouldn't want my amazingness to derail their winning-
OH WAIT. NOT REALLY. FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!
Is this post all about how I'm truly upset about the Giants current suck streak?
Yup.
EAT MY SHIT NYC!!!!!!!! I'VE BEEN FEELING EARTHQUAKES SINCE I WAS IN THE WOMB!!!!!! (Literally. I was in my mother's stomach during the earthquake of 1989. FEEL SORRY FOR MY FETUS) Not really. I turned out fine (sorta). But listen. Everyone in fucking NYC needs a reality check about how much they suck.
NYC fucking sucks. Anyone who knows me knows that I am the greatest fucking bitch in the world. NYC sucked that shit out of me!! NYC made me feel like a freak and I am so not a freak! Feel an earthquake, bitches!!
You know what I'M feeling while YOU'RE feeling earthquakes!??!?!
SEX WITH THE GIANTS!!!!!
Not really. I guarantee that all of them are smart enough not to even touch me. I'm too awesome so I'm keeping my shit to myself because I wouldn't want my amazingness to derail their winning-
OH WAIT. NOT REALLY. FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!
Is this post all about how I'm truly upset about the Giants current suck streak?
Yup.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Are You Fucking Joking Me?
Last night was literally the worst night of my life! Which means it was the worst night of YOUR life because you fucking love me and live your weird lives vicariously through me. I'll give you the rundown:
First, I can't use the water in my house. Remember those hot mexicans I told you about? Well, they're not fucking here to hang out with me. They are actually real plumbers and they're doing real plumber shit on the decrepit pipes of my home. Awful.
Second, these sexy plumbers dug a hole in the wall of my basement. I guess because they thought the raccoons would crawl in and plumb the pipes for them. Raccoons are known to be excellent plumbers. Don't believe me? Stick a raccoon in your toilet. See what happens. I'm not making any promises, but something will definitely happen.
So I'm already fucking annoyed that I can't partake in any kind of waterplay, and then my fucking cat decided to craw out the raccoon hole and prance around the neighborhood like this. I ran all over the neighborhood looking for her to no avail. I thought MAAAAAAAAAAAYBE she came home so she could watch me come in looking sad and laugh at me like the spiteful cat bitch she is. And she was.
Bitch!!!
But (and this is the worst part) when I realized she was missing and ran out to find her, I had fucking oil in a pan on the stove. I came home to find the most horrifying fireworks show I've ever seen taking place right in my kitchen.
I literally felt like Larry David in EVERY FUCKING EPISODE OF CURB.
Basically, nothing good happened last night. I'm over it. Well, actually, that's not fair. There was one good thing. During the oil fireworks, a drop of oil landed on an asshole wasp that had probably come in through the raccoon hole. While I was cleaning the mess in my beloved parents kitchen, I was happy to stumble upon the charred corpse of an evil wasp. Fucking asshole.
Friday, August 19, 2011
It's One of Those Days
Today is a beautiful day. But it's tainted with pain! This is the kind of day when you stare out your glorious window and the sun is shining and everything is covered with rainbows and leprechaun beards and unicorn sharts, but at the same time you're listening to Evanescence and cutting yourself.
Summer in California is over and I just got here. Everyone is gone! Obviously none of my friends like me. Except one of my friends but she decided to get gum surgery and now she's messed up on horse tranquilizers. Well, friends, I fucking hate all of you too. So I'm going to make another list. This one is a list of ways you can tell if your friends are trying to give you the "STOP FUCKING COMING TO OUR PARTIES, BITCH" nudge. If you've ever been in any of these situations, stop fucking going to their parties, bitch.
-You say to a friend, "Hey dude, where's the party at tonight?" and your friend responds by stabbing himself in the throat and yelling, "THE HOSPITAL!!!!!!"
-You offer to be the designated driver, and your friends all laugh and said they'd rather get a DUI than hang out in a car with you.
-You and your friends are having a bonfire at the beach and as you're roasting your marshmallows, your whole body goes up in flames. As you scream for help, your friends laugh and squirt lighter fluid all over you. Once they finish watching you burn and you're finally dead, they roast weenies over your charred, flaming corpse.
-Your friends throw a party for you and as you walk into the room they shoot you in the face.
-If one of your friends is the first to pass out at a party, everyone writes on his or her face. If you pass out, they put you in a crate, nail it shut and throw it in the ocean.
-You see your friend at the grocery store and say, "Hey, dude! How's it going?" and he begins to vomit uncontrollably.
-Your dad grounded you right before prom. He was voted prom king.
-On Halloween, you dressed up as Ron Weasley. Your friends dressed up as you being raped.
Basically just get the hint. Stay the fuck inside and eat some cookie dough.
Summer in California is over and I just got here. Everyone is gone! Obviously none of my friends like me. Except one of my friends but she decided to get gum surgery and now she's messed up on horse tranquilizers. Well, friends, I fucking hate all of you too. So I'm going to make another list. This one is a list of ways you can tell if your friends are trying to give you the "STOP FUCKING COMING TO OUR PARTIES, BITCH" nudge. If you've ever been in any of these situations, stop fucking going to their parties, bitch.
-You say to a friend, "Hey dude, where's the party at tonight?" and your friend responds by stabbing himself in the throat and yelling, "THE HOSPITAL!!!!!!"
-You offer to be the designated driver, and your friends all laugh and said they'd rather get a DUI than hang out in a car with you.
-You and your friends are having a bonfire at the beach and as you're roasting your marshmallows, your whole body goes up in flames. As you scream for help, your friends laugh and squirt lighter fluid all over you. Once they finish watching you burn and you're finally dead, they roast weenies over your charred, flaming corpse.
-Your friends throw a party for you and as you walk into the room they shoot you in the face.
-If one of your friends is the first to pass out at a party, everyone writes on his or her face. If you pass out, they put you in a crate, nail it shut and throw it in the ocean.
-You see your friend at the grocery store and say, "Hey, dude! How's it going?" and he begins to vomit uncontrollably.
-Your dad grounded you right before prom. He was voted prom king.
-On Halloween, you dressed up as Ron Weasley. Your friends dressed up as you being raped.
Basically just get the hint. Stay the fuck inside and eat some cookie dough.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Let's Get Something Straight
Some of you are concerned about the fact that my blog is about how much I am not having it with NYC, yet I no longer live there.
Well, first of all, if you even read my fucking blog, you'd know that I talk about whatever the fuck I want.
But don't worry! I still fucking hate New York. That will never change. New York will forever hold a dead, rotten spot right at the center of my black heart. The never-ending stream of douchecunts, fucktwits, lesbian men, coked-out strippers, heroin people, happy homeless folk, violent homeless folk, assdonkey hipster couples pushing baby strollers filled with baby when they obviously have no fucking right to raise a child when they can't even dress themselves like respectable people and instead look like this (sidenote: if you look like that, please fucking jump off a bridge- no one will miss you).
The moral of this story is: Yes, I no longer live in New York. This does not mean I can't still hate it. And I promise you from here on out that you never have to worry about me becoming less hateful of something just because it is far away. I'm a grudge-holding, evil bitch from hell and I literally hate everything. My hate will always be here for you to lean on.
Haha! If you found any comfort in that whatsoever then you are even more fucked up than I am.
Well, first of all, if you even read my fucking blog, you'd know that I talk about whatever the fuck I want.
But don't worry! I still fucking hate New York. That will never change. New York will forever hold a dead, rotten spot right at the center of my black heart. The never-ending stream of douchecunts, fucktwits, lesbian men, coked-out strippers, heroin people, happy homeless folk, violent homeless folk, assdonkey hipster couples pushing baby strollers filled with baby when they obviously have no fucking right to raise a child when they can't even dress themselves like respectable people and instead look like this (sidenote: if you look like that, please fucking jump off a bridge- no one will miss you).
The moral of this story is: Yes, I no longer live in New York. This does not mean I can't still hate it. And I promise you from here on out that you never have to worry about me becoming less hateful of something just because it is far away. I'm a grudge-holding, evil bitch from hell and I literally hate everything. My hate will always be here for you to lean on.
Haha! If you found any comfort in that whatsoever then you are even more fucked up than I am.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Am I An Asshole?
That question isn't for me. I already know I'm not an asshole. I'm the best bitch in the world. That question is for you, because you might not be as confident in your unassholeness as I am. I've compiled a list of things I believe make a person a severe asshole. If any of the following bitch traits pertain to you, then congratulations. Go fuck yourself.
You have worn a Juicy sweatsuit that was all the same color.
You have worn a Juicy sweatsuit.
You roll your Uggs down so the sheep side shows.
You wore Uggs with your Juicy sweatsuit.
You have a truck.
There is a flag on your truck.
Your truck has wheels as high as my tits.
You tried to have sex with me in the back of it.
Someone makes a joke and then you repeat it because it's just as funny when you say it.
You have the remote and you're supposed to fast forward through the commercials, but you keep seeing ones you like and stopping it and forcing everyone to watch them. If you like commercials, you're just an asshole. Straight up.
You graduated from high school over two years ago and you still go say hi to your old teachers when you're in town. THEY DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER YOU.
You think it's cute when you look stupid. It's not. You're stupid.
You have bangs. Nobody looks good with bangs. You don't have "a great face for bangs".
Then again, if you're an asshole, I guess you automatically have a great face for bangs.
You're a girl and you wear a hat.
You're a boy and you wear a hat that isn't a baseball cap.
You're under 50 and you have a moustache.
You have any kind of facial hair that isn't considered "normal". I don't even know you and I know you look horrible.
Your hair is currently blonde and you weren't born blonde. If you weren't born a blonde then stay the fuck away from blonde hair.
Same goes with red hair.
You read books on public transportation. I know you're not actually reading. Fuck you.
Your glasses have round frames. Give me a fucking break.
Do I really have to mention fixed gear bikes?
Yeah. I do. If you ride one, you might as well kill yourself now. Or a car will kill you. Or I will kill you.
You're a boy and you wear tank tops.
You're a boy and you wear shorts above the knee.
You're a boy and you wear Toms.
You're a boy and you wear these.
You wear suits with Converse. That wasn't even cool when it was cool.
You wear black nail polish.
You cry in public, then when someone asks you if you're okay, you pretend you didn't realize anyone noticed and say, "Oh, sorry, no, no, I'm fine. Thanks." Then you try to stop crying and act strong. Go fuck yourself. Strong people don't cry in public.
I can't do this anymore. I suddenly want to kill everyone I know.
You have worn a Juicy sweatsuit that was all the same color.
You have worn a Juicy sweatsuit.
You roll your Uggs down so the sheep side shows.
You wore Uggs with your Juicy sweatsuit.
You have a truck.
There is a flag on your truck.
Your truck has wheels as high as my tits.
You tried to have sex with me in the back of it.
Someone makes a joke and then you repeat it because it's just as funny when you say it.
You have the remote and you're supposed to fast forward through the commercials, but you keep seeing ones you like and stopping it and forcing everyone to watch them. If you like commercials, you're just an asshole. Straight up.
You graduated from high school over two years ago and you still go say hi to your old teachers when you're in town. THEY DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER YOU.
You think it's cute when you look stupid. It's not. You're stupid.
You have bangs. Nobody looks good with bangs. You don't have "a great face for bangs".
Then again, if you're an asshole, I guess you automatically have a great face for bangs.
You're a girl and you wear a hat.
You're a boy and you wear a hat that isn't a baseball cap.
You're under 50 and you have a moustache.
You have any kind of facial hair that isn't considered "normal". I don't even know you and I know you look horrible.
Your hair is currently blonde and you weren't born blonde. If you weren't born a blonde then stay the fuck away from blonde hair.
Same goes with red hair.
You read books on public transportation. I know you're not actually reading. Fuck you.
Your glasses have round frames. Give me a fucking break.
Do I really have to mention fixed gear bikes?
Yeah. I do. If you ride one, you might as well kill yourself now. Or a car will kill you. Or I will kill you.
You're a boy and you wear tank tops.
You're a boy and you wear shorts above the knee.
You're a boy and you wear Toms.
You're a boy and you wear these.
You wear suits with Converse. That wasn't even cool when it was cool.
You wear black nail polish.
You cry in public, then when someone asks you if you're okay, you pretend you didn't realize anyone noticed and say, "Oh, sorry, no, no, I'm fine. Thanks." Then you try to stop crying and act strong. Go fuck yourself. Strong people don't cry in public.
I can't do this anymore. I suddenly want to kill everyone I know.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
LEAVE MY BRAIN ALOOOOONE!!!!!
I keep going to the gym and seeing totally hot guys (haha, I go to the gym) and I am always about to walk over and start stretching my butt in their eyeballs when suddenly I realize it's some freaky dude from high school who decided to ditch the eyeliner, the "ironic" (not) Hello Kitty pants and the mannish, blue-haired girlfriend who wears pajama pants to school with Etnies and socks with ice cream cones on them.
Yeah. You know that guy exists.
Anyway, I find this incredibly RUDE. If you're going to become hot, you should wear a sign on your head that says, "ATTENTION BITCHES: Do not be fooled by my good looks. I am a fucking creep."
Now I'm going to have to carry around those signs and staple them to the next hot ex-goth nutbag fuckwit I see at the gym.
STOP MESSING WITH ME.
Yeah. You know that guy exists.
Anyway, I find this incredibly RUDE. If you're going to become hot, you should wear a sign on your head that says, "ATTENTION BITCHES: Do not be fooled by my good looks. I am a fucking creep."
Now I'm going to have to carry around those signs and staple them to the next hot ex-goth nutbag fuckwit I see at the gym.
STOP MESSING WITH ME.
Annoying
I've been in California for almost a week now, and I'm annoyed.
No one is rude, no disgusting hobos yell at me for having bangin tits and, most disappointing, the gutters are NOT littered with Georgi bottles.
In fact, I don't even think they make Georgi on the west coast.
DAMN. SHAME.
What's the point of waking up every morning if your nostrils don't burst into flames upon exiting your apartment with the sweet hot lava smells of Georgi? Since the hobos in New York have no teeth, they have no barrier to keep that angelic smell trapped in their mouths. Oh well.
I'm also disappointed because the sidewalk doesn't smell like baked urine over here. There are no dog poop landmines waiting to explode on some asshole hipster's shoes. Preferably ones that look like this.
I have to stop now because looking at that picture made me want to kill myself.
No one is rude, no disgusting hobos yell at me for having bangin tits and, most disappointing, the gutters are NOT littered with Georgi bottles.
In fact, I don't even think they make Georgi on the west coast.
DAMN. SHAME.
What's the point of waking up every morning if your nostrils don't burst into flames upon exiting your apartment with the sweet hot lava smells of Georgi? Since the hobos in New York have no teeth, they have no barrier to keep that angelic smell trapped in their mouths. Oh well.
I'm also disappointed because the sidewalk doesn't smell like baked urine over here. There are no dog poop landmines waiting to explode on some asshole hipster's shoes. Preferably ones that look like this.
I have to stop now because looking at that picture made me want to kill myself.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
NOT HAVING IT
DUANE READE ON THE CORNER OF 42nd AND LEXINGTON.
You are so effing small that I can't go through the aisles without getting caught behind a marginally fat and incredibly slow fat/slow person. You have eight cashier places and only have two cashiers at the most. They aren't nice, either.
You are the only place I can use my credit card that isn't a Starfucks (I refuse) and yet you still make me late to all my appointments with your evil ways!
I hate you. I'll see you tomorrow. Good day, Sir.
You are so effing small that I can't go through the aisles without getting caught behind a marginally fat and incredibly slow fat/slow person. You have eight cashier places and only have two cashiers at the most. They aren't nice, either.
You are the only place I can use my credit card that isn't a Starfucks (I refuse) and yet you still make me late to all my appointments with your evil ways!
I hate you. I'll see you tomorrow. Good day, Sir.
Things You Should Know
Spaghetti is the best food in the world but you look disgusting eating it. Only eat spaghetti alone.
You're not cute when you're drunk. You only think you are.
When your mom makes a sex joke, you can say, "Mom! Gross!" When your dad makes a sex joke, leave the room. Now.
Make great friends and then never hang out with them. That way, they'll never figure out that they actually hate you.
On a first date, you should ONLY eat Indian food, Mexican food or fast food. That way, you'll definitely get diarrhea and have to leave suddenly and that way, you won't have sex with him and he won't think you're a slut.
If you actually take that advice to avoid having sex on the first date, then you are definitely a slut and he will find out and break up with your slut face.
Never buy clothes that you "hope" to fit into someday. You never will. You're fat.
Never give people flowers. Then they have to waste their time filling a vase with water and putting them in it and when they die (the flowers, not the person, idiot) they have to deal with them which is even more fucking annoying because the flowers get all dry and crumble all over the place and the person has to deal with that too. Basically, if you give someone flowers, you're really just giving them future chores and that person will forever think of you as fucking annoying.
Cats are better than dogs so shut the fuck up.
'Don't ask, don't tell' makes no fucking sense. War is the gayest thing ever and if you go to war you're gay.
Milkshakes are the best. The aftermath is the worst.
If you're still pissed about the Holocaust and you weren't even there, shut the fuck up.
On that note, I'm going to get a milkshake. Goodbye.
You're not cute when you're drunk. You only think you are.
When your mom makes a sex joke, you can say, "Mom! Gross!" When your dad makes a sex joke, leave the room. Now.
Make great friends and then never hang out with them. That way, they'll never figure out that they actually hate you.
On a first date, you should ONLY eat Indian food, Mexican food or fast food. That way, you'll definitely get diarrhea and have to leave suddenly and that way, you won't have sex with him and he won't think you're a slut.
If you actually take that advice to avoid having sex on the first date, then you are definitely a slut and he will find out and break up with your slut face.
Never buy clothes that you "hope" to fit into someday. You never will. You're fat.
Never give people flowers. Then they have to waste their time filling a vase with water and putting them in it and when they die (the flowers, not the person, idiot) they have to deal with them which is even more fucking annoying because the flowers get all dry and crumble all over the place and the person has to deal with that too. Basically, if you give someone flowers, you're really just giving them future chores and that person will forever think of you as fucking annoying.
Cats are better than dogs so shut the fuck up.
'Don't ask, don't tell' makes no fucking sense. War is the gayest thing ever and if you go to war you're gay.
Milkshakes are the best. The aftermath is the worst.
If you're still pissed about the Holocaust and you weren't even there, shut the fuck up.
On that note, I'm going to get a milkshake. Goodbye.
Sky Drama
UGH! I have to go on a crosscountry flight at 7am tomorrow. With my cat. Feel bad for me! And also, don't sit next to me. That means I automatically hate you.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Let's Talk About Sex
Just kidding. Sex is gross.
Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about successful people. The truth about them is, none of them are any better at anything than anyone else. Take me, for example. I'm a genius at everything, and I'm not even famous.
Now, you might try to say it's because I'm lazy, and the successful people work hard to get where they are.
But that's because you're a dumb bitch so shut the fuck up!
There is only one reason some people are successful and some people are not. Let's start by spelling out the word success. I just did, but here it is again. S-U-C-C-E-S-S.
There are some words you can make out of that word.
SUE
SUES
USE
USES
CUE
CUES
CUSS
And if there are more, then guess what, no there aren't because I know everything.
But you know which words are absolutely NOT in there?
BODY. ODOR.
That's right bitches! The one thing keeping you from becoming successful is that stank ass stank that follows you around and hides in your armpits, underboobs, fupas, neckflaps, back rolls, knee dimples-
Holy shit. Some people are disgusting.
Anyway, the moral of this Shakespearean tragedy is that some of us are born with the most unfortunate of misfortunes. We just fucking smell bad.
AND SO:
To all you other talented smelly freaks out there, just stop trying. No one is going to fucking hire you for anything you want to do. So put on your Sunday best and go sit in the bathtub with a meatball sub and keep telling yourself how great you are, because no one else is ever going to, you smelly douchebag!
Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about successful people. The truth about them is, none of them are any better at anything than anyone else. Take me, for example. I'm a genius at everything, and I'm not even famous.
Now, you might try to say it's because I'm lazy, and the successful people work hard to get where they are.
But that's because you're a dumb bitch so shut the fuck up!
There is only one reason some people are successful and some people are not. Let's start by spelling out the word success. I just did, but here it is again. S-U-C-C-E-S-S.
There are some words you can make out of that word.
SUE
SUES
USE
USES
CUE
CUES
CUSS
And if there are more, then guess what, no there aren't because I know everything.
But you know which words are absolutely NOT in there?
BODY. ODOR.
That's right bitches! The one thing keeping you from becoming successful is that stank ass stank that follows you around and hides in your armpits, underboobs, fupas, neckflaps, back rolls, knee dimples-
Holy shit. Some people are disgusting.
Anyway, the moral of this Shakespearean tragedy is that some of us are born with the most unfortunate of misfortunes. We just fucking smell bad.
AND SO:
To all you other talented smelly freaks out there, just stop trying. No one is going to fucking hire you for anything you want to do. So put on your Sunday best and go sit in the bathtub with a meatball sub and keep telling yourself how great you are, because no one else is ever going to, you smelly douchebag!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
This might be my last post for a while...
...because it's going to take a long fucking time for me to stop laughing at this.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
NYC's Exclusive Nightlife!!!!
Is FUCKING OFFENSIVE. I'm sorry. I'm a cute ass bitch. The bitches I chill with are cute ass bitches. Isn't the point of having an exclusive night club that you only have to let in cute ass bitches? Apparently not!
Okay, I'll admit to the fact that the places we tried to get into last night were very exclusive, and we def didn't have tickets or connections or the tainted reputations of Mischa Barton's gonorrheafied cellulite, but we are HOT! And, if nothing else:
Last night, I was working a fucking FIERCE side-boob.
I know you see and hear about examples of side-boob and you're like, yeah, whatever. But let me tell you, my side-boob was fucking IN YOUR FACE. You could see EVERYTHING! The line where the boob ends and the rib cage begins, the faint blue veins that means you're gonna be a great mom (trust me, that's what that means) basically everything but the nips. And I might have brought those out too, had I been let into the goddamn Boom Boom Room!
But fuck the Standard. No one wants to be in there anyway. The real party was in the cab on my way home. It was a pretty exclusive party. The only people invited were me, the cab driver and my giant falafel-stuffed pita pocket.
I believe that the word 'falafel' was invented because the first person who ever ate it had his mouth full and was trying to warn his friends by saying, "My farts smell awful!" But with his mouth full, he could only say, "Fart awful!" which sounded like, "FALAFEL!!!!!!!!!" His friends said, "OH, falafel?? That's what it's called!" And in that instant, they became heroes and invented a word for the drunk world's most popular food!
Unfortunately, those heroes died almost instantly, because falafel farts are literally toxic. So for the sake of humanity, please eat falafel alone!
Okay, I'll admit to the fact that the places we tried to get into last night were very exclusive, and we def didn't have tickets or connections or the tainted reputations of Mischa Barton's gonorrheafied cellulite, but we are HOT! And, if nothing else:
Last night, I was working a fucking FIERCE side-boob.
I know you see and hear about examples of side-boob and you're like, yeah, whatever. But let me tell you, my side-boob was fucking IN YOUR FACE. You could see EVERYTHING! The line where the boob ends and the rib cage begins, the faint blue veins that means you're gonna be a great mom (trust me, that's what that means) basically everything but the nips. And I might have brought those out too, had I been let into the goddamn Boom Boom Room!
But fuck the Standard. No one wants to be in there anyway. The real party was in the cab on my way home. It was a pretty exclusive party. The only people invited were me, the cab driver and my giant falafel-stuffed pita pocket.
I believe that the word 'falafel' was invented because the first person who ever ate it had his mouth full and was trying to warn his friends by saying, "My farts smell awful!" But with his mouth full, he could only say, "Fart awful!" which sounded like, "FALAFEL!!!!!!!!!" His friends said, "OH, falafel?? That's what it's called!" And in that instant, they became heroes and invented a word for the drunk world's most popular food!
Unfortunately, those heroes died almost instantly, because falafel farts are literally toxic. So for the sake of humanity, please eat falafel alone!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
I'm Bored
I'm going to talk about some things that I love so much why don't I marry it.
I love cheese and broccoli. I usually eat them together, but I could deal with them separate. But let me ask you this: could the black guy from 'The Thing' be any more black?
I love how in horror movies, some terrifying fucking ghost will suddenly appear in front of a person and the person totally freaks out, but then the ghost disappears and the person is like, "Whew, must have been my imagination! I'm just gonna keep walking through this fucking abandoned hospital!" whereas any of us normal people would be shitting our pants in the loony bin for the rest of our lives.
I love being better at things than other people, but pretending like I don't notice.
I love Sigourney Weaver.
I fucking love farting, and if you don't, you're lying.
I love being drunk enough at a party to sit down with some bitch you hate and talk about all your feelings and come to the conclusion that you two should have been best friends a long time ago. Then wake up the next morning and go, "HAHA what a fucking bitch!"
I love how when you get to college, you realize that teachers actually don't know what the fuck they're talking about, and everything they teach you comes from some book that would take you 10 minutes to read.
I love how some people think 'Donnie Darko' actually has a point.
I love guys with big noses. The bigger your nose, the more fucked up shit you can do to me and I still won't be mad.
I know I love the 'Harry Potter' books, but I don't remember jack-shit about them.
I love how crash dieting totally works, and the awesome attention you get when you do it.
I love how most naturally gorgeous dudes look fucking hideous with facial hair, but they refuse to shave it because they think it makes them look manly, and I guess that means they'd rather be a fucking hideous man than a gorgeous dude. No, wait...I fucking hate that.
I love how every time rich people do something, it's not cool anymore.
I love how any documentary is considered amazing, even if it doesn't make any fucking sense, as long as it scares the shit out of people.
I love fugly guys with Jewfros.
I always, always will.
And on that note, I'm pretty much out of things I love. Goodnight!
I love cheese and broccoli. I usually eat them together, but I could deal with them separate. But let me ask you this: could the black guy from 'The Thing' be any more black?
I love how in horror movies, some terrifying fucking ghost will suddenly appear in front of a person and the person totally freaks out, but then the ghost disappears and the person is like, "Whew, must have been my imagination! I'm just gonna keep walking through this fucking abandoned hospital!" whereas any of us normal people would be shitting our pants in the loony bin for the rest of our lives.
I love being better at things than other people, but pretending like I don't notice.
I love Sigourney Weaver.
I fucking love farting, and if you don't, you're lying.
I love being drunk enough at a party to sit down with some bitch you hate and talk about all your feelings and come to the conclusion that you two should have been best friends a long time ago. Then wake up the next morning and go, "HAHA what a fucking bitch!"
I love how when you get to college, you realize that teachers actually don't know what the fuck they're talking about, and everything they teach you comes from some book that would take you 10 minutes to read.
I love how some people think 'Donnie Darko' actually has a point.
I love guys with big noses. The bigger your nose, the more fucked up shit you can do to me and I still won't be mad.
I know I love the 'Harry Potter' books, but I don't remember jack-shit about them.
I love how crash dieting totally works, and the awesome attention you get when you do it.
I love how most naturally gorgeous dudes look fucking hideous with facial hair, but they refuse to shave it because they think it makes them look manly, and I guess that means they'd rather be a fucking hideous man than a gorgeous dude. No, wait...I fucking hate that.
I love how every time rich people do something, it's not cool anymore.
I love how any documentary is considered amazing, even if it doesn't make any fucking sense, as long as it scares the shit out of people.
I love fugly guys with Jewfros.
I always, always will.
And on that note, I'm pretty much out of things I love. Goodnight!
Why Moving Is Stressful
Moving is stressful for a lot of reasons. My main reason being that EVERYTHING stresses me out. However, the move I have in front of me is SERIOUSLY stressing me out due to one main factor which I have never dealt with before.
Cat. Travel.
You know when you get on an airplane and the lady with the screaming baby sits down right behind you? I'M GOING TO BE THAT BABY LADY. Except my furry cat friend could yowl the dirty diapers off any bald baby friend. She yowls at me if she doesn't have enough food. She yowls if she doesn't have enough water. She yowls if I take too long to pee. She yowls if I miss a spot with my Swiffer Wet Jet. She yowls if I USE my Swiffer Wet Jet!
BITCH. YOWLS.
I can't even imagine how she's going to be on an airplane. And I know I'm going to be sitting next to the morbidly obesist, grouchiest, cat allergiest, serial killiest, child pornographist dude on the entire plane! He'll punch out the window and shove me and my cat through it! We'll have to hang out on the wing with that freak from the Twilight Zone. And I bet he's allergic to cats too!
Pros about travelling with my cat?
She's not Mel Gibson.
That's pretty much all I got. But at this point, I figure it can go two ways. Either we'll make it work, or, as Gordon Ramsay says, "YOU FUCKING DONKEY!" which doesn't describe how cat traveling will go, but that's what the giant serial killing child pornographer will be yelling right before I have a tea party with the airplane wing yeti.
Cats, man.
Cat. Travel.
You know when you get on an airplane and the lady with the screaming baby sits down right behind you? I'M GOING TO BE THAT BABY LADY. Except my furry cat friend could yowl the dirty diapers off any bald baby friend. She yowls at me if she doesn't have enough food. She yowls if she doesn't have enough water. She yowls if I take too long to pee. She yowls if I miss a spot with my Swiffer Wet Jet. She yowls if I USE my Swiffer Wet Jet!
BITCH. YOWLS.
I can't even imagine how she's going to be on an airplane. And I know I'm going to be sitting next to the morbidly obesist, grouchiest, cat allergiest, serial killiest, child pornographist dude on the entire plane! He'll punch out the window and shove me and my cat through it! We'll have to hang out on the wing with that freak from the Twilight Zone. And I bet he's allergic to cats too!
Pros about travelling with my cat?
She's not Mel Gibson.
That's pretty much all I got. But at this point, I figure it can go two ways. Either we'll make it work, or, as Gordon Ramsay says, "YOU FUCKING DONKEY!" which doesn't describe how cat traveling will go, but that's what the giant serial killing child pornographer will be yelling right before I have a tea party with the airplane wing yeti.
Cats, man.
Things I Have Done And Wonder If Anyone Else Has Done
I was sitting here pondering some things I have done in the past. Like, as a young child. I don't think they're that weird, but whatever. Check out this list and decide if you're a fucking weirdo too!
Some Things I Have Done:
- farted while looking at my butt in the mirror, to find out if you can see farts
- got a really bad cut, and then smeared the blood all over my face and took pictures of myself
- decided that since peeling dry Elmer's glue off my hand is so much fun, I should cover my whole arm in superglue because that would be SUPER fun
- played rape with Barbies
- played rape with Beanie Babies
- played rape with miscellaneous stuffed animals/figurines/dolls
- was read "The Little Match Girl" by my kindergarten teacher and decided I wanted to be just like her, so waited til my parents went to bed and put on a really thin nightgown and spent the night on the sidewalk with a box of matches pretending to be dead
- played rape with The Sims
- told kids on the playground that if they didn't do what I said, monsters would eat their families (it always worked!)
- ate chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream every morning for breakfast and never got fat
- locked this kid in a closet and left for like, 20 minutes, then came back and let him out and told him I saved his life
- knocked this kid out with a shovel and cut off his eyelids (haha! not really)
I can't think of anything else right now. I'm sure there are other things. I was the coolest kid!
Some Things I Have Done:
- farted while looking at my butt in the mirror, to find out if you can see farts
- got a really bad cut, and then smeared the blood all over my face and took pictures of myself
- decided that since peeling dry Elmer's glue off my hand is so much fun, I should cover my whole arm in superglue because that would be SUPER fun
- played rape with Barbies
- played rape with Beanie Babies
- played rape with miscellaneous stuffed animals/figurines/dolls
- was read "The Little Match Girl" by my kindergarten teacher and decided I wanted to be just like her, so waited til my parents went to bed and put on a really thin nightgown and spent the night on the sidewalk with a box of matches pretending to be dead
- played rape with The Sims
- told kids on the playground that if they didn't do what I said, monsters would eat their families (it always worked!)
- ate chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream every morning for breakfast and never got fat
- locked this kid in a closet and left for like, 20 minutes, then came back and let him out and told him I saved his life
- knocked this kid out with a shovel and cut off his eyelids (haha! not really)
I can't think of anything else right now. I'm sure there are other things. I was the coolest kid!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Magic of NYC!
Can only be enjoyed if you're rich. Luckily, if you are confused or unsure about whether or not you are rich, I have created a test for you to take! Just answer 'yes' or 'no' to the following questions and by the end you will know if you are rich or not (by NYC standards).
NYC RICH TEST:
1. Do you have a dishwasher?
2. Do you have a toaster oven?
3. Do you have more than one bathroom?
4. Do you take cabs?
5. Do you eat regularly?
6. Can you name "The Four B's" and, if so, do you ever go to any?
7. Do you get your makeup done at the mall and then actually buy some of it?
8. Do you wear things like belts and hats when it isn't necessary?
9. Do you have more than one pair of sunglasses?
10. Do you go to shows?
11. Do you go to the movies?
12. If you do something with someone, do you ever offer to pay?
13. Do you have a dog?
14. Do all of your dishes match?
15. Do you have art on the walls?
16. Do you have a TV?
17. Does it have cable?
18. When it rains, does it get on you?
19. Do you recycle?
20. Do you get haircuts?
21. Are you taking this test and thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not poor"?
Now that you have answered yes or no to the questions, here's how you can determine whether or not you are rich (by NYC standards):
If you answered 'YES' to any of the above questions, congratulations. You're rich! Go buy something.
However, if you only answered 'YES' to 18, then you're poor. Watch out for that rain.
NYC RICH TEST:
1. Do you have a dishwasher?
2. Do you have a toaster oven?
3. Do you have more than one bathroom?
4. Do you take cabs?
5. Do you eat regularly?
6. Can you name "The Four B's" and, if so, do you ever go to any?
7. Do you get your makeup done at the mall and then actually buy some of it?
8. Do you wear things like belts and hats when it isn't necessary?
9. Do you have more than one pair of sunglasses?
10. Do you go to shows?
11. Do you go to the movies?
12. If you do something with someone, do you ever offer to pay?
13. Do you have a dog?
14. Do all of your dishes match?
15. Do you have art on the walls?
16. Do you have a TV?
17. Does it have cable?
18. When it rains, does it get on you?
19. Do you recycle?
20. Do you get haircuts?
21. Are you taking this test and thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not poor"?
Now that you have answered yes or no to the questions, here's how you can determine whether or not you are rich (by NYC standards):
If you answered 'YES' to any of the above questions, congratulations. You're rich! Go buy something.
However, if you only answered 'YES' to 18, then you're poor. Watch out for that rain.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Deep Things
I'm feeling very full of thoughts right now. Like, how come no matter how long I wait, I always burn my tongue on hot drinks?
How come when I eat Mexican food with other people, I'm always the only one that ends up farting?
And, probably most importantly, why do all actors and actresses right now look exactly the same?
All the men look like fancy ladyboys, and the girls all look like Barbies. Not because they're particularly pretty, but because they have those plastic, dead-behind-the-eyes look. Like the Kardashians and...coma people.
I'm just sad, I suppose. I miss the times when only really beautiful people could become famous. If you can be born looking like Miley Cyrus and still succeed in the entertainment on no talent, then...why even try?
Why even try?
How come when I eat Mexican food with other people, I'm always the only one that ends up farting?
And, probably most importantly, why do all actors and actresses right now look exactly the same?
All the men look like fancy ladyboys, and the girls all look like Barbies. Not because they're particularly pretty, but because they have those plastic, dead-behind-the-eyes look. Like the Kardashians and...coma people.
I'm just sad, I suppose. I miss the times when only really beautiful people could become famous. If you can be born looking like Miley Cyrus and still succeed in the entertainment on no talent, then...why even try?
Why even try?
Monday, July 18, 2011
JK
I'm not fucking busy at all, but I just told this bitch how much cheese I ate and she was all, "WHAT??"
A Great Way to Start the Day!
Today I woke up feeling fat. So for breakfast, I ate one of those ass cheek size balls of mozzarella cheese. That was at like...9am (Eastern Time, or as I like to call it Theseventhlayerofhell Time, because it's so fucking hot over here on the east side that I'm worried everyone's going to start getting yeast infections [I'm kidding! I only get yeast infections from antibiotics unprotected sex{what?}]).
Math problems aside, I ate the cheese and now my day is looking pretty bleak. I can't really move because of said cheese, and the farting is making me really undesirable company for anyone (not true, my cat loves it). I think the only thing I can do is sit here by the fan and watch Hell's Kitchen. I love that show because it's the only show I've ever found on TV where every single assdouche actually gets their dick handed to them! There is none of that "getting away with shit" like they do on ANTM or Project Runway. I can't stand it when fuckheads get away with their fuckheadery!
Anyway, I'm pretty busy now, so I have to go.
Math problems aside, I ate the cheese and now my day is looking pretty bleak. I can't really move because of said cheese, and the farting is making me really undesirable company for anyone (not true, my cat loves it). I think the only thing I can do is sit here by the fan and watch Hell's Kitchen. I love that show because it's the only show I've ever found on TV where every single assdouche actually gets their dick handed to them! There is none of that "getting away with shit" like they do on ANTM or Project Runway. I can't stand it when fuckheads get away with their fuckheadery!
Anyway, I'm pretty busy now, so I have to go.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
You Know...
No, but her voice actually does remind me of things that make me happy. For instance, my own voice! She speaks like I did when I was in kindergarten and I wanted to make the annoying kids cry. To be honest, I don't remember any of the shit I used to say to make the kids cry. But they do!
One bitch claims that I told her Frankenstein lived in the sandbox. First of all, who the fuck would be scared by that? Frankenstein isn't scary. He doesn't do anything. All he wants is to be loved. Second of all, the sandbox is fucking boring. Only assholes play in sandboxes. If I really did this, I would have said something way cooler. Like, Ed Gein lives in the sandbox and he's going to skin you alive and wear you like a pair of overalls! (It was the 90's)
Another bitch says that I tied her to a chair and told her that I killed her parents. First of all:
That's fucked up.
I'm a crazy bitch, but I'm not a serial killer. Unless you're a fucking centipede. FUCK CENTIPEDES.
But no. I mean, I probably did tie her to a chair, but it was probably to keep her from acting a damn fool! I had no tolerance for foolery when I was a child, and I usually tried to prevent other children from fooling. Tying them to chairs, locking them in closets, etc. Hey, if it keeps one less fool in my life, I'm happy!
I guess the point of this post is that I was the coolest kid ever.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Fun Times
I had the best fucking time tonight. I went to my all time favorite bar, with all my best friends. And there was a big surprise! There was live music and dancing!!
Excitement! So everyone was having an absolute mind-fuck of a good time and screaming and yelling and fuckingoodtimesman!
Except for the fact that almost everything I just said is a morbidly obese LIE.
First of all, this bar is not my favorite bar. I actually regard it about the same as I would regard a dingleberry hanging off the butthole of a vulture that was eating my family. The anorexic manatees that end up going there are the Kings and Queens of the Kingdom of Fixedgearbikefuckeryland. They all have the silveriest of spoons hanging out of their mouths. The spoons were shoved into those mouths by the Angel Gabriel himself upon popping out of their divorce-rich moms, most likely in a holistic water birth in the middle of their sun-drenched Hamptons "sitting rooms" (whatever the fuck those are), while the midwife crooned excerpts from 'The Adventures of Tom Saywer' and 'A Clockwork Orange' (because those moms wanted their kids to be ready for whatever washed-up trend that might pop up in the future).
I forget what I was talking about. I don't know if any of that made sense.
Anyway, this stupid bar is behind my apartment and I can always hear the intelligent conversations wafting through the air.
"Hey, man. 'The Life Aquatic'."
"Seriously, dude."
"Hey guys, but also 'Fight Club' AND the soles of my shoes are made of wood."
"Whoooaaaaa, man. You went there."
"Fuckin' rebel, dude."
"Yo, doggs, is that a chick or a little boy?"
"Either way, let's all take turns fucking it."
But LUCKILY, on the other side of my apartment is the always faithful gas station. If I didn't have the heavenly gas fumes pirouetting into my nose, I might never get to sleep.
Excitement! So everyone was having an absolute mind-fuck of a good time and screaming and yelling and fuckingoodtimesman!
Except for the fact that almost everything I just said is a morbidly obese LIE.
First of all, this bar is not my favorite bar. I actually regard it about the same as I would regard a dingleberry hanging off the butthole of a vulture that was eating my family. The anorexic manatees that end up going there are the Kings and Queens of the Kingdom of Fixedgearbikefuckeryland. They all have the silveriest of spoons hanging out of their mouths. The spoons were shoved into those mouths by the Angel Gabriel himself upon popping out of their divorce-rich moms, most likely in a holistic water birth in the middle of their sun-drenched Hamptons "sitting rooms" (whatever the fuck those are), while the midwife crooned excerpts from 'The Adventures of Tom Saywer' and 'A Clockwork Orange' (because those moms wanted their kids to be ready for whatever washed-up trend that might pop up in the future).
I forget what I was talking about. I don't know if any of that made sense.
Anyway, this stupid bar is behind my apartment and I can always hear the intelligent conversations wafting through the air.
"Hey, man. 'The Life Aquatic'."
"Seriously, dude."
"Hey guys, but also 'Fight Club' AND the soles of my shoes are made of wood."
"Whoooaaaaa, man. You went there."
"Fuckin' rebel, dude."
"Yo, doggs, is that a chick or a little boy?"
"Either way, let's all take turns fucking it."
But LUCKILY, on the other side of my apartment is the always faithful gas station. If I didn't have the heavenly gas fumes pirouetting into my nose, I might never get to sleep.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Key Foods
I love Key Foods. They have the best shit at the lowest prices. Fuck it. I buy all my shit there. But let me tell you something about the bitches that work there. THE BITCHES.
I swear on my life. There is no way to get out of that god forsaken place in less time than it takes to get a Vinnie's watermelon into Snooki's kooka. AKA FIVE HUNDRED YEARS (or longer).
Bitches take my shit, scan it, and then proceed to fuck it up somehow. They ALWAYS fuck that shit up. How fucking hard is it to scan a fucking box of pasta? Then they proceed to get SOOO confused. These bitches act like they never even graduated the womb. They're holding a single nectarine and they accidentally give me the price for fifty nectarines. They obviously need an override.
"Override."
No one responds.
"Override."
"Override."
"Override."
BITCH. Shut the fuck up! Fucking let me do it! No one can hear you! If you need a fucking override, you need to fucking yell it!!!! THIS IS A LARGE PLACE.
Every time I get up to the stupid check-out lane, those bitches seem to get in a fight with their boyfriends via text message and immediately leave the store. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! I need this nectarine and you are going to sell it to me! Every time I get up to the front of the line to get my shit sold to me, they lose their shit. I swear to God. Every single one of them is like Brittany Murphy in 8 Mile. But less cool!
I swear on my life. There is no way to get out of that god forsaken place in less time than it takes to get a Vinnie's watermelon into Snooki's kooka. AKA FIVE HUNDRED YEARS (or longer).
Bitches take my shit, scan it, and then proceed to fuck it up somehow. They ALWAYS fuck that shit up. How fucking hard is it to scan a fucking box of pasta? Then they proceed to get SOOO confused. These bitches act like they never even graduated the womb. They're holding a single nectarine and they accidentally give me the price for fifty nectarines. They obviously need an override.
"Override."
No one responds.
"Override."
"Override."
"Override."
BITCH. Shut the fuck up! Fucking let me do it! No one can hear you! If you need a fucking override, you need to fucking yell it!!!! THIS IS A LARGE PLACE.
Every time I get up to the stupid check-out lane, those bitches seem to get in a fight with their boyfriends via text message and immediately leave the store. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! I need this nectarine and you are going to sell it to me! Every time I get up to the front of the line to get my shit sold to me, they lose their shit. I swear to God. Every single one of them is like Brittany Murphy in 8 Mile. But less cool!
Bode-FUCK
I fucking hate bodegas. I always walk into them because all I need is toilet paper (I'm lactose intolerant) or a goddamn lollipop so I can look slutty but of COOUUURRSSSSSSEEE there is a $15 minimum for cards. NO, Mohammed and/or Guillermo, I do not want to spend fifteen dollars in your shitty bodega. By the way, your cat is walking around pooping on all the ramen packets.
Say you're going on a hot date with some sexual babe named Seth Moneybagsgoldsilverbergstein (note: Seth M. will pop up a lot and you should get to know him now because he is my dream Jew husband. He is an astronaut-zoo-keeper-massage-therapist who dabbles in attorneying and brain surgery) and you get your period. You need a tampon! Or a pad...if you were homeschooled and your name is Beth or something.
You go into a bodega walking like you shit your pants because you shoved some receipt you found in your purse into the pathway of your vagina's demon waterfall. Time is running out! All you want is a little pack of tampons (or pads, Beth). Five dollars! You put them on the counter and hand Rogelio your debit card.
FUCK NO!
Punjab is so not having it. He throws your debit card into your bloated period face and yells.
FIFTEEN DOLLA MINIMUM!
FINE, Eduardo, I'll also buy this fucking Dora the Explorer lunch box and this six pack of beer (because assdouche bodegas never have hard alcohol). Then Sancho gives you some douchey smile and runs your card, and it only takes him about five million years to print the receipt.
FINALLY, Ernesto gives you your shit and you prance your ass off to the fancy restaurant that Seth is def paying for. On the way, you do that classy ass thing where you make sure no ones looking and give yourself a tampon injection while trying to make it look like you're just itching your asshole.
So basically, I blame bodegas for forcing me to itch my asshole in public. But at least the hobos get off on it. They deserve something, I guess.
Say you're going on a hot date with some sexual babe named Seth Moneybagsgoldsilverbergstein (note: Seth M. will pop up a lot and you should get to know him now because he is my dream Jew husband. He is an astronaut-zoo-keeper-massage-therapist who dabbles in attorneying and brain surgery) and you get your period. You need a tampon! Or a pad...if you were homeschooled and your name is Beth or something.
You go into a bodega walking like you shit your pants because you shoved some receipt you found in your purse into the pathway of your vagina's demon waterfall. Time is running out! All you want is a little pack of tampons (or pads, Beth). Five dollars! You put them on the counter and hand Rogelio your debit card.
FUCK NO!
Punjab is so not having it. He throws your debit card into your bloated period face and yells.
FIFTEEN DOLLA MINIMUM!
FINE, Eduardo, I'll also buy this fucking Dora the Explorer lunch box and this six pack of beer (because assdouche bodegas never have hard alcohol). Then Sancho gives you some douchey smile and runs your card, and it only takes him about five million years to print the receipt.
FINALLY, Ernesto gives you your shit and you prance your ass off to the fancy restaurant that Seth is def paying for. On the way, you do that classy ass thing where you make sure no ones looking and give yourself a tampon injection while trying to make it look like you're just itching your asshole.
So basically, I blame bodegas for forcing me to itch my asshole in public. But at least the hobos get off on it. They deserve something, I guess.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Basketball Whores
I just started watching 'Basketball Wives'.
So. Adorable.
Old whores throwing drinks at each other and saying, "OMG", like, all the time. They all look like they went shopping at Forever 21's ghetto cousin, 4Eva Past Mah Prime.
The only thing I don't understand about the show is that none of these bitches seem to be married. Or, they are married, but they're half way through a hilarious divorce because their men cheated on them with Hispanic Athlete Groupies. The HAGs are all Miami cholas who say things like, "Don'teh chrow dat darty leathah bag a'me!!!!"
I love it. Dirty leather bags throwing dirty leather bags at each other.
So. Adorable.
Old whores throwing drinks at each other and saying, "OMG", like, all the time. They all look like they went shopping at Forever 21's ghetto cousin, 4Eva Past Mah Prime.
The only thing I don't understand about the show is that none of these bitches seem to be married. Or, they are married, but they're half way through a hilarious divorce because their men cheated on them with Hispanic Athlete Groupies. The HAGs are all Miami cholas who say things like, "Don'teh chrow dat darty leathah bag a'me!!!!"
I love it. Dirty leather bags throwing dirty leather bags at each other.
Mother Nature Is Punishing Us
Well, I finally met a bitch that's crazier than me. Her name is Mother Nature and her stage is summertime in New York. There are many reasons why this bitch could be punishing us. We allow slutty moms to murder their kids. We allow people to look like this. We allowed "Pretty Wild" to air on television (I think it's that last one).
Personally, I don't really mind flash lightning attacks or the air boiling like the depths of hell on a Monday (it's always Monday in hell), but this schizophrenic weather demon is really freaking out my cat. She's not the juiciest guido on the shore (failed attempt at thinking of something better than "sharpest tool in the shed") but I love her and it's not her fault that her brain is the size of a walnut.
Now she's prancing around my apartment yowling like Macaulay Culkin in "Party Monster", and ruining all my furniture...like Macaulay Culkin in "Party Monster". I'm about ready to Google "how to make chloroform"...
NO! I'd never.
Personally, I don't really mind flash lightning attacks or the air boiling like the depths of hell on a Monday (it's always Monday in hell), but this schizophrenic weather demon is really freaking out my cat. She's not the juiciest guido on the shore (failed attempt at thinking of something better than "sharpest tool in the shed") but I love her and it's not her fault that her brain is the size of a walnut.
Now she's prancing around my apartment yowling like Macaulay Culkin in "Party Monster", and ruining all my furniture...like Macaulay Culkin in "Party Monster". I'm about ready to Google "how to make chloroform"...
NO! I'd never.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
It's Fuckin' Hot
It's 80 degrees right now and it's only 9 am.
BITCH PLEASE.
If the beach wasn't an evil subway trek away, I would go. But I can't! I'm a princess. Princesses should never have to ride the subway. A princess like me should get picked up in a limo made of roses and angel tears. Waiting for me inside the limo would be my friend Prentice (who is a sexy black stallion but he's gay, but in this fantasy he is NOT gay and he wants my vag [and Prentice, if you ever read this just pretend you didn't]) Justin Bieber (don't worry about it) and Tim Lincecum.
So I'm a healthy girl. I want a gay guy, an underage baby and a pitcher that's missing a front tooth.
After the limo picks me up, we go to Coney Island and have some sex, and then all three of them present me with engagement rings. How can I choose???
Spoiler alert: I don't choose and I marry all of them.
BITCH PLEASE.
If the beach wasn't an evil subway trek away, I would go. But I can't! I'm a princess. Princesses should never have to ride the subway. A princess like me should get picked up in a limo made of roses and angel tears. Waiting for me inside the limo would be my friend Prentice (who is a sexy black stallion but he's gay, but in this fantasy he is NOT gay and he wants my vag [and Prentice, if you ever read this just pretend you didn't]) Justin Bieber (don't worry about it) and Tim Lincecum.
So I'm a healthy girl. I want a gay guy, an underage baby and a pitcher that's missing a front tooth.
After the limo picks me up, we go to Coney Island and have some sex, and then all three of them present me with engagement rings. How can I choose???
Spoiler alert: I don't choose and I marry all of them.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
I Love Cosmetology
I got my hair cut today. High Horse Salon is amaaaazing. I got my hair bleached, as well as a fabulous lesbian haircut. I got it done by Eric. He's quiet and sweet. He LOOKS like a hipster, but he doesn't ACT like a hipster, which I like. He taught me that the word "cosmetology" means doin' hair! I thought it was the study of comets and moons and whatnot. But anyway, he hooked me up with some hair.
Today was lovely. But I did have one bad run-in. This hispanic kid was sitting on his stoop as I was walking home from High Horse and as I walked by he said, "Miss, are you a virgin?" Awesome. I looked at him and said, "Absolutely, but not as badly as you." He didn't like that answer very much but what could I do? I'm a bleach blonde lesbian and I don't take shit from anyone. FTW!!!!!
Today was lovely. But I did have one bad run-in. This hispanic kid was sitting on his stoop as I was walking home from High Horse and as I walked by he said, "Miss, are you a virgin?" Awesome. I looked at him and said, "Absolutely, but not as badly as you." He didn't like that answer very much but what could I do? I'm a bleach blonde lesbian and I don't take shit from anyone. FTW!!!!!
An Abusive Relationship
New York City is a gender-confused mess full of hipsters and losers that have absolutely no idea what they believe in or who the shit they even are. Occasionally you'll find some winners, but they always live in a random hellhole off some sketchy train line that you never want to visit. NYC is kind of a bastard, but it's hard not to love it. We break up CONSTANTLY, but we're both so into the drama that we always get back together.
The other day, NYC punched me in the face. I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. I just laughed and walked away. My face still hurts, but I do have a black eye, which looks pretty awesome.
NYC is a shapeshifting demon and I never know what it's going to look like. On the day that it punched me in the face, it came at me in the shape of a cracky black lady outside Key Foods. She was wailing on about crack and how evil child services took her kids away even though she was OBVIOUSLY capable of taking care of them herself (I bet). She was cracking around right in front of the exit and I couldn't get out.
I wasn't having it.
I very kindly asked her to vacate ma space.
Bitch wasn't having it.
At this point, no one was having it, so with the strength of a lion and the swiftness of a cracked out eagle, she swung her crack-hungry fist right into the side of my face. Crack! (I had to)
I was pissed, but I don't know. Something about this place just makes my heart tap dance. I can't help it!
The other day, NYC punched me in the face. I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. I just laughed and walked away. My face still hurts, but I do have a black eye, which looks pretty awesome.
NYC is a shapeshifting demon and I never know what it's going to look like. On the day that it punched me in the face, it came at me in the shape of a cracky black lady outside Key Foods. She was wailing on about crack and how evil child services took her kids away even though she was OBVIOUSLY capable of taking care of them herself (I bet). She was cracking around right in front of the exit and I couldn't get out.
I wasn't having it.
I very kindly asked her to vacate ma space.
Bitch wasn't having it.
At this point, no one was having it, so with the strength of a lion and the swiftness of a cracked out eagle, she swung her crack-hungry fist right into the side of my face. Crack! (I had to)
I was pissed, but I don't know. Something about this place just makes my heart tap dance. I can't help it!
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