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!

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.

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!

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!

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.

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!

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.