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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.