THE ACADEMY AWARRDDDSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

I didn't watch. Anyways, I've been thinking a whole lot about nothing. Isn't it weird when that happens? A whole week or twelve go by and not much pops into your head besides images of cats riding ponies or other fucking adorable shit.

Since I have nothing on my mind (besides this) I'm going to make a list.

Top 5 Hobos In My Life:

5.  The Georgi connoisseur that lived in front of Key Foods in Brooklyn. I give him credit for challenging   me to take a look at my life after I ran into him at the liquor store and realized we had similar taste.

4.  The guy that lived in front of the Merc before it burned down. He and my mom were on a first name basis. That's why my mom is better than your mom.

3.  The bald lady that lives at the mall. I can always count on her to be there. Because she's always there. I also want to give a shout-out to the giant suitcase she carries with her. I don't know what she's got in there but I know it sure as hell ain't clothes because she's never changed hers. I like to think it's full of fingers. No one's in particular. Just a nice bag of fingers. Well, okay, I'm hoping the fingers belong to the dumb bitches that fuck around with my emotions all day at work. I like to think that when they leave my store in a whirlwind of haggling fuckery, Baldyanne (possibly not her real name) jumps out from around the corner (where she lives) and takes their precious pointer finger! Never again will they point at the specks of off-color velour and use their nails to rip off buttons to try to get a discount! NO MORE FINGERS IN MY FACE FOR NOT GIVING YOU A FULL REFUND BECAUSE I CAN SMELL YOUR VAGINA JUICE ON THE PANTS YOU HAVE OBVIOUSLY BEEN WEARING FOR FIVE YEARS!!!!!!!!

2.  Punchy McGee. Also not a real name, but if you read this blog you know who that is.

1.  The coveted number one spot is awarded to none other than...

The Piss Witch!!!

I've smelled a great deal of piss in my life, but never any quite as toxic and mixed with wet dog and Georgi vomit as that of the Piss Witch.

The Piss Witch lives in Starbucks (for the most part) and spends her time sitting at the table behind the sugar counter, beating everyone in the head with odor waves of piss as they fill their drinks with sugar and milk. Once she is finished doing that, and is also finished with the conversation she's been having WITH HERSELF, she gets up and rummages through the trash, finding whatever the fuck is in their besides sugar wrappers, stirrer sticks and leftover dry-heaves of those who smell the piss. I've left a few dry-heaves in that trash can myself in the past, but lately I have realized that the experience can be a learning one.

Piss is a lot like a fine wine. Catch a whiff, and you immediately know what it is. However, upon a more in depth sniff (and possibly a taste, for all you sucio golden showering fucks out there) the piss can tell quite a story. Hints of fruit, pine and Hep C slowly twist their way into your nostrils, allowing your brain to decipher and fully appreciate the exotic piss.

Jk. The bitch smells like piss piss PISS.

Btdubs, I don't usually say the word "piss". I much prefer "pee" because it sounds cute and I love peas.

However, when I smelled this woman, only one thing came to my mind...

So It's Been A Few Days

I'm a lazy bitch. What do you want from me?

I'd like to talk for a moment about bicycles. A bicycle is a practical invention that allows humans and carnival animals to glide from point a to point b with ease and agility.

THAT'S ALL THEY FUCKING ARE.

To all you bicycling fucks out there, this may come as a shock right to your asshole, but when you dress up in your neon condom suit and mount your steed, YOU DO NOT HAVE THE POWER.

You bicyclists better stop acting like your asses own the road. Because NEWS FLASH:

I am in a car. I hit you, you die. My life goes on. Yours is over.

I do happen to have an adorable little anecdote for this situation.

A few weeks ago, I was driving in my car (something a normal person with normal clothing would do) when a gaggle of gaywads (I never use that word but the alliteration was too awesome) came "cycling" down the street, joyously preparing to cut me off.

Little did those fucktwats know, when I see the "SHARE THE ROAD" sign, I take that to mean, Yeah! You bikefuckers! Your bikes can't take up the whole road and you WILL share it with me, nutsacks!

So I said to myself, fuck it, those shiteaters are still a good deal of road away from me. I can make my turn without hitting any of them.

And I did.

But not before one of them yelled from his metal donkey, "Nice move, asshole!"

Well, I appreciate a good rude comment, but not from someone riding a motorcycle's retarded, inbred sister.

I said, "It would have been nicer if I'd hit you!"

This made the neon popsicle angry. He flipped me off and said, "Whatever, man!"

What.

A.

Pussy.

The best part?

As another one of the Cycling Cindys passed me by, he shouted to me, wind whipping his helmet hair, "That was actually a pretty good burn!"

And they were gone.

I'll never forget that pussy that tried to be a dick to me. I'll also never forget the one cool guy that ever rode a bike, and acknowledged that his friend was a pussy.

Other than that, if you get your fashion advice from Yo Gabba Gabba and don't have the balls to drive a car, get the fuck out of my way. Because I will share the road with you. I'll share the road with you so hard, you'll become part of the fucking road.

Pedal on, pussies. Pedal on.

Uncomfortable Moments This Week

This week has been full of uncomfortable moments, which is awesome because everyone knows I get off on awkward.

First one. I went to the bank to open a savings account. I've been getting way too much money since I started at the new corner, and I was getting kind of tired of storing it in my sideboob (papercuts) so I needed a place to put it all.

I sat down and the teller is like, "Um, ma'am, you have some seriously bad credit. We can't open an account for you."

Bitch. Please.

How can I have bad credit if I've never even had good credit? I've never had credit period so I know it can't be bad. Like sex. It can't be bad if it's never been good. And AIDS. If you've never had AIDS and you get it, then you just have AIDS. You can't get it and be like, "OMG I have the worst AIDS!" How would you know? You've never had good AIDS so shut the fuck up.

Anyway, I gave the teller my best "wanna find out if these teeth could rip your dick off?" smile and assured him that there was no way I could have bad credit.

He looked over his papers and laughed. He said, "OMG I'm sorry, I was looking at the credit report of the lady I was helping before you! Bitch had some bad credit LOL!" We both had a good laugh. Our laugh was especially good because the lady he had just helped was still standing right next to us looking for her keys or something. Awesome.

Another uncomfortable thing that happened this week was that I got all my tax returns done and I'm about to get a fuck ton of money. Just kidding, that's not uncomfortable, I'm just rich as shit.

I am tired of writing now. I am sorry.