Not in my plans!!

Well today I am on one of the “what grinds my gears” topics.   Forcing the care of your parents when you get older and are trying to have a family and make a life for yourself.  Now you’re stuck with some wrinkled crazed lunatic making demands on you that they didn’t have the forethought to handle when they were young.  The choice should be that of the child/caregiver as to whether they should have to take on this burden. And yes it’s a fucking burden to take on your parents when they could have given 2 shits less to prepare for their own future.   Some parents have spent all of their lives professionally manipulating people    (mainly their children) into doing their bidding. Many of our parents successfully carry this out in such a way as to not have to part with any gratitude what-so-ever. These old parents have  nothing to give but orders and sucking the living matter from your soul.  So everyone of us know we are getting older and will someday not be able to do things that we can do now.  So get with the freakin program and make provisions for your future, you old feet shuffling, bitter old hag.  Don’t use your age to emotionally blackmail your kids into caring for you.  Dear bejeezus you have been on your freakin death bed for the last 30 years acting all feeble and shit.  How is it that every freakin time your kids come around there is some woe is me and here is my ailment for today.  In the US forced marriages are frowned upon by society but forcing children to care for their parents, who didn’t give a shit about their kids in the first place to save for their own care as they aged, seems to be normal.  It also affords the old battle axes a cheap solution for their elderly care.  Oh and heaven forbid you ask for money from your parents  for caring for them, you will get a barrage of insults and how much you owe them for the choice they made of bringing you into this world.  See it goes something like this, early in life anything you take from your parents automatically entered you into an invisible job description that had no boundaries or time . As the next of kin you will find yourself in an impossible situation where it is assumed that you have a duty of care to look after your parents. It is a constant battle to maintain any control over your own life. I completely understand when I hear adults make this statement “ I have grown to hate my parent/s.”  You see we are groomed into caring for them as children and to never be able to escape from them or their expected demands. They will manage to present a perfect image to the world that makes them look like the WALKING WOUNDED and you look like an ungrateful child. Poor planning on another person's part, does not constitute an emergency on mine. Even if the poor planner is my own father and mother.  Stop making your daughters feel terrible because they don’t spend every waking fucking moment and holiday with you because God forbid she should ever have a life or get married and have her own children to have to tend to. And another thing, stop with this fuckin saying “ a son is a son until he takes a wife” well no fucking shit Sherlock.  He has his own family now just like you did. Quit acting like, oh I gave you life so you owe me for eternity.  I wouldn't want my children to help me in the bathroom and clean up my accidents. I wouldn't dream of it. I wouldn't dream of moving into their homes and disgusting their children with my vile accidents, drool and nuttiness. I'd much rather be placed somewhere and let them enjoy their lives!  Im sure this is going to piss a bunch of people off but many can relate and don’t want to admit it out of guilt.  I look at it this way, all that Medicare and Social Security you are getting without having any savings to cushion it, while you helped dry it up for the adults working their asses off today so they wont have it, use that for all you ailments and bitchiness. I gotta work!

 

What is aTrailer Park Trash ho?

What is a Trailer park Ho?  Well its used as a Slang term for the infamous white ho that usually lives in a trailer park.  A chain-smoking,  Welfare termite that can be found wearing Looney Tunes apparel, stone washed denim jorts with lace accents and costume jewlery that smells like a cats asshole due to their excessive amounts of uncaged animals in a 10 x 5 trailer. This ho is usually an avid QVC shopper and Schwann's consumer who puts televised shopping over the cleanliness and well-being of their illegitimate, shit-faced children. They have their own low incomes because they dont having a fucking job however, they breed devil spawns with many men so that they may lay around and spend their  child support they are receiving on things like getting their nails did, spray tanning, and wearing cut off jean jorts, instead of clothes for their kids. The trailer they live in usually is surrounded by other family members that have also reached for the stars in their oh so awesome quest for life. Reach for the stars TRASH! These skanks tend to be mouthy and fight frequently. Generally these people are uneducated and have about as much ambition as a fucking fence. Of course they will always tell everyone they model.  Move over cindy Crawford, you got some spread eagle no class trailer competition. To see these people at their best watch Jerry Springer.  However, these skanks tend to be able to get well educated men (or those you think are educated) to meander into the trailer park for a little stank action with blatant diregard for decent convictions or their own well-being, girlfriends, wives or children.  Pretty much lowering themselves to trailer level.  I guess she can get him to nail back up the underpinning (of course its the fake brick if she's really classy).  So for those of you that never knew the real meaning of trailer park ho, you now do.

Women in the Military

Ok, so I am about to tread on a subject that is going to give me some good feedback and definitely hateful feedback, especially from my female readers (I can hear the fangs clicking together collecting the venom they are about to spew on my ass).  So let me just start off by NOT apologizing for MY views and opinions and remind you that if you don’t like what I have to say, move your ass on to another blog.  Ok here goes, I am sick to death of hearing this crap from some women that “why don’t women get to do certain jobs in the military that men get to do?”  waa waa waa.  First off, shut your vag!   I am tired of the “We can do the same job as men and get paid just as much, however I want you to lower the standards for me to do it”.  Really you dingbat?”  How jacked up is that?  Women that say this kind of crap are doucheclowns!   If you think you should be able to get into certain jobs in the military then the standards should not be lowered just to suit your fat ass!  I have heard about a backlash from some women (keep in mind I am in a military town so I might be hearing more than the average person) that they cant get into “Special” military groups ie: Special forces, Rangers, Navy Seals etc. and how unfair that is and men rule the world and yada yada f@ing yada.  SHUT UP you “Joe  Jumping Skank”   The decision sent down by our, Oh so wonderful Commander in Chief, who has never served a freakin day in his life, opened up several more jobs that were not recently available to women. And these loud mouths are still not happy. Can we say, this is some of the reason for the break down of the family unit because you can shut your piehole for a second?  For those of you who need a bit more clarification on the “Why Not let women do these jobs”  Let me break it down for you and hopefully something will sink in.  Men and women are different. This may be a shock to you and those that increasingly want to blur the lines between the blatantly obvious, but there is no escaping the basic anatomy of the human body and the difference between testosterone and estrogen levels. Besides the physical differences, and for those of you that don’t know, men have and outtie and women an innie, Muscle mass, center of balance and overall average strength are all valid differences to keep women out of partiular units.

Um, and if that’s too confusing, how bout this question. How many women are currently playing in the NFL? The brutal hits, physical strength, size and physical requirements are extreme and it excludes participation of women. These same requirements limit MOST MEN from participating. Only a select few have the ability to play at that level. It is no different for frontline combat forces. There are physical requirements only a select few can demonstrate.  I can hear it now, the cellulite is quivering just to come jack slap the piss out of me. Again, shut your vag and take this into consideration. Carrying a wounded 225-pound soldier for great distances can prove to be hard for even the strongest male. The military can’t afford to lower the physical requirements of frontline forces simply to include women because some women think that its fair and everyone gets a 100 on their test because they tried.Emotions are not always a good thing ladies. If the standards were lowered, the military would be endangering other troops and creating an atmosphere of resentment amongst forces. Yeah that’s what we need, more resentment amongst ourselves.  Add to all of this the possibility of one day instituting a military draft that included women and you have a recipe for a national uproar when women are snatched out of their homes because of the draft (yes ladies, a draft would/could include your daughters). Maybe that’s “old-fashioned” thinking and who cares if it is because progress isn’t always progress. The whole issue is not one of equality, because women are certainly equal to men and should be treated as such.  It isn’t about lets chalk another one up to women’s lib and put another notch into this so called war between the sexes that WE women have created. It is simply about what is best for the U.S. military and the nation as a whole. So on that note, get your ass in the kitchen and bake some brownies for the men I want to truly protect me in a time of crisis and/or war.

Pocket Pool

Ok so I get it, every now and  then at some point every man will have to do the adjustment or scratch, most likely at the most inopportune times, to make their man parts more comfortable to lug around for the remainder of the day. Most men will even try to create a diversion of some sort when they are around others to do a quick tug, pull or scratch.  And that is appreciated! I will have to admit, I am not an expert in the tug and pull area but I am mature enough to know that most men know that playing pocket pull incessantly is not acceptable in most venues so, Why Why WHY do some men instinctively and obsessively reach down and touch his wiener every 45 seconds? Of course the answer is, “Oh it was my leg” or “I had an itch”. Really!?  You are tugging so hard you are openly gyrating and maneuvering that your pants are up your ass crack, like your ass has gone ape shit hungry and is just gobbling up your pants. Are we not supposed to notice this dance of the dick tug, while we are talking to you? Maybe they are just resting their hands there as some sort of shield from the earth and its elements or fear the wiener monster will come and snatch it. Maybe I’m wrong but I thought this is why we as a country have underwear and also pants?

The worst part of this is that he KNOWS women hate this and some of us will tell them that this is not ok all the time but he does not care.  If you know the man that does this and want to talk to him about it the conversation usually goes like this:

GUY: scratch scratch touch touch tug tug hold
Girl:  please don’t grab your weiner
GUY: I didn’t.
Girl: You did. I’m a lady and this makes me uncomfortable
GUY: *Rolls eyes* (you knew that was coming)
Girl: I SAID I WAS A F-ING LADY AND DON’T F-ING SCRATCH YOUR STUPID BALLS IN MY FACE.
GUY: Fine.
45 seconds pass
GUY: scratch scratch touch touch tug tug hold

Ok so for that 25% of men that love pocket pool, please we are begging you to not reach for your wein hole around us or anyone else for that matter. For Christ’s sake have some freakin control about yourself. Nope, I don’t want a sandwich with your fumunda cheese laden fingers and stop trying to shake my hand after you have gone all polishing your Shillelagh right in front of me.  F-ing gross.  What if women did that in public? Like grabbed our vag whenever we felt like it? We have a crevice you know, which is worse than protruding body parts. Things go in the crevice like the stupid THONGS that men require us to wear that never ever fit right (thank you Victoria Secret). But you don’t see us digging in there every 45 seconds do you? No because we have societal rules that say this is not the best idea so we exhibit self control.

You my friend have loose, soft fabric that skims whatever is going on down there. If you have an itch that reappears with this sort of frequency, I say you have the doctor step in because it’s NOT NORMAL OR OK. Stop making the whole male gender look like a bunch of ignorant, disgusting a-holes.

Stupid Kid Shows

What the hell is up with Kids Shows these days? Screw water boarding and vicious dogs biting at my head- true torture is Barney, Dora, Strawberry Shortcake, Veggie Tales and any Disney shit that they keep bombarding us with. By the way if you’re a grown up watching Disney shit and you are not accompanied by your demon spawn or someone else’s then, well honey I just have no words for the likes of you and your screwed mental childlike state. Anywho, I am totally ok with never getting to know the new mind burning -make- me -lose -my -shit- kid shows.  No seriously- I can’t tolerate the sing-song voices, special moral lessons, bitches telling me to share and everyone in your class deserves a cupcake doucheclownery. Listen here, Dora with your Big Blue Bridge, Shiny Shimmer Shack and Racing River, you get your own wine and Xanax you little monkey fucking hooker and when I want some how -to-make-friends advice from a stupid giant, purple no less, dinosaur,  – I’ll buy a ticket to Jurassic Park and try my luck with a T-Rex? Know what I would do if some darling child I was in charge of asked me to watch Dora? Stab myself in the jugular and spray that selfish little brat in a bath of shame and guilt called splatter art.

Marcie, You are missed!!!

                  
                                                                Marcie Pietras  

February 27, 1981- June 27, 2012

                            Rest in Peace my beautiful funny friend.  I Miss you and Love you!

Sample Break up letter

A letter to your soon to be ex.... Feel free to use as a template.  and you're welcome.

Dear Fuckwad!

I'm writing you this letter/email because I think our relationship has run its course. Do you realize that you're a total loser? Probably not, you don’t realize much. I can't believe how selfish you are. Relationships are supposed to be about sharing, you fuck and your arrogance seems to have no limits; it's as if you think you're actually somebody. I know you'll probably tell everyone that you dumped me, because you're a HUGE lying sack o’ shit. But everyone knows that already, so they won't believe you. It might be hard for you to believe, but one thing I can tell you for sure: you really need to work on your skills in bed. I mean, you're just plain bad at sex. You know, a little respect can go a long way. But the amount of respect you give me is only enough for ME to go a long way. A long way away from you, douchebag. You need to get your shit together and clean yourself up. I mean how fucking hard is it to put your dirty underwear in the laundry machine and wash a few dishes now and again? Frankly, you just don't care enough about me. Luckily I care enough about me to make up for it, by saying goodbye to you. Here's some food for thought: you're an asshole! It's not easy to carry on a successful relationship with someone like you. And by that, I mean someone who is downright stupid, you feebleminded dimwit. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to point out that you're pure evil, a characteristic that most people do NOT appreciate. You might want to work on that! Unfortunately for you, this relationship is becoming too serious for my tastes. And as if that wasn't enough, you have to blame me for your stupid ass actions! Hello, take some personal responsibility for being a fucktard! Now it's my turn to be the critic. I give you one thumb up: stick it up your ass! All that whining like a bitch has worked, assuming your intent was to get rid of me. You're an irresponsible whiney-ass fagbag, and I just don't want to put up with the consequences of your decisions anymore. What really breaks the deal is your horrible grammar. Srsly d00d, learn 2 rite a sentance! What a tard! and you went to college and got a degree.  WTH???

Sorry, but you're not even worth keeping as a friend. Give me back my stuff, I don't want you coming around here anymore. I never want to see you again, jerkface! Stay away from me or I will round house kick your dumb ass in your giant walnut shaped head. I think you get the idea: this relationship is over

 Fuck off you piece of shit.

FYI

The opinions expressed on this blog are my own and sometimes that of my twisted friends and relatives, sometimes that of Vodka or Wine and rarely that of rage fueled by PMS (Seriously, I am this way on a normal day). Which leads me to this: I tell it how I see it; I am UNFILTERED and not politically correct. I am addicted to sweet tea, coffee and chocolate. If you get offended, by all means, leave a comment or click over to some boring underwater basket weaving blog. If you feel brave enough to personally attack me or a fan of this blog, I will rain down a very public verbal tongue lashing on you that even your puss bone will feel it . I’m here to vent and have a few giggles; not deal with mean ass bitches.  If I have written something that offends you, don’t read it over and over and leave some self righteous comment about what a horrible person I am. Don’t tug on that thread or you may unravel a blanket of whoop-ass.  I’m just saying, enjoy, hope you laugh and don’t take life or me so serious!

Early Skankers!

Stop letting your daughter dress like such a fucking whore, she's 14 years old for chrissake. Take off the high heels and quit whoring out your future rebound tramp like there is no tomorrow. The high heels and make up cant cover ugly and definitely shows that your moral concern for you 14 year old is at the lower end of the totem pole. Jesus fucking christ. All you parents are doing is reminding them that at an age where their skin should be in the best shape to not have to wear make up that they need to in order to look better.  And that may definitely be true because the combo of the parents looks may need more than make up for improvement. Pretty much still in favor of couples having to go through a mandated can we breed process.  And what’s wrong with you parents that allow your middle schooler to wear high heels?  Really hello the street corner is calling. And there are plenty of pedophiles out there just waiting for the opportunity to pick up your 8^th grader in hooker heels.  These are the parents that are the first ones that are wondering why skankleigh ran off with the first boy that said anything to her and then act surprised.  Hey Dad, step up and act like a dad.  Your daughter is NOT your friend, she is your daughter. Christ have mercy .. what kind of society do we live in, where little girls can't even be little girls anymore?! What kind of parent allows their 13/14 year old to dress up in inappropriate attire, lets her paint her face up like a miniature harlot and then let her display herself like a pedigree dog?  Oh it must be for Eddie the pedophile that’s gonna make a great son in law.  There are loads of sicko pervo pedophiles out there only looking for one thing, and you are essentially handing it to those scumbags on a silver platter. .Let me just politely point out something here, when your child, yes child, because middle school graduations are for CHILDREN! please do us all a favor and do not let her dress as though she is stopping by before she heads over to the porn star convention. I’m just saying, if her dress is so tight and short that I can see the bottom of her ass cheeks when she walks, or stumbles on stage to get her “8^th grade certificate” , then her dress and shoes are not for a family centered function.

Can’t we all agree to at least let our kids get through high school before they look like mini-hookers?

Yeah,  you thought you had a Knight in Shining Armor, turns out he's just a douchebag in tin foil.

Parents control your brats

People who want the whole world to be G-rated so they won't have to supervise their kids make me angry. Look dammit - that's why there are things and places "for adults" and "for children", and the children don’t need to be allowed to go to the places or do the things that are "for adults." So shut your freakin pie hole and get your fatass over to Chuck-e-Cheese and let them roll around in the pissy and fecal matter ridden ball pit while I have my cocktail in freakin peace in an adult environment.

It's nobody's responsibility but *yours* to make sure that Snotleigh and Brattany don't see things unsuitable for children. Don't take them to see "Silence of the Lambs", and then try to band these kind of things for everyone because its so bad for children. Pay attention to what your kids are doing, and find "children's" stuff for them, instead of taking them to places they do not have the maturity to go to or be at yet, and then whining that "it's not child-friendly." You dumbass miserable bitch.

I am not sure which I hate worse, brats or the morons who spawn them. You know the ones I mean: the parents with the glazed, uninterested look in their eyes as their five year old child continuously hits them and says "I hate you" as they stroll down the aisle of the local Wal-mart.  Or the ever so lovely , running up and down the restaurant eating sugar packets interrupting your dinner while the fuckface parents act as if the whole restaurant is their baby sitter for free so they can have a quiet meal. When will these parents ever realize that they are perhaps the ONLY people on the planet who are immune to the grating, sniveling sound of their own child's voice? I don't care about your children, not one single fucking bit.  I don't think they're cute so stop showing me dumbass pictures of your alien devil spawn because I am tired of lying about how cute they are.  Needless to say the poor spawn of satan didn’t have a chance in hell with the 2 sets of numb nuts parents he has.  I think I have a right to go out for an adult day and NOT hear the whining, assholeishness of someone else's  undisciplined, loud, future serial killer, in short, have a little courtesy for others and shut your children the fuck up!!

Oh and by the way, What the hell is with these awful names, especially for girls: BrittNeigh, Madisinn, etc.? All this does is identify your children as being the products of a sub-literate underclass. Mom definitely did not go to college, did she? Watches a lot of Oprah, does she?  Bunch of morons.  And this crap is our future.  Jeez

Heathen ass folk!

So far this week, and its only Tuesday, a plethora of fucktardery has found its way to me. Serious WTF? How in the world did some of this stupidity stumble directly into my zen path? I am trying hard to be all that is good and Junior League this week. I mean really, me I have tried to wrangle my temper and genuinely care about other people’s issues- at the very least pretending to give a crap. In short, I was trying to be a better me and I will be damned if it aint tiring as hell. My brain hurts and I sprained my middle finger trying to conceal all the middle finger salutes from all these lunatics volunteering to get ass kickings (more like tongue lashings) from me for jumping all up in my oxygen space. Well, I give up and  am going to just started handing out the slut beatings.

Ok here’s a WTH?, some whore emailed a friend of mine to let her know there was a place in hell reserved for her because she doesnt believe the way she believes and proceeded to brow beat her down with Bible verses. Well no shit, slut hole, there’s one for you , too (a place in hell that is). It’s called reality and we’re all in it right now. Ta-da! No more waiting and trying to avoid going to hell- you’re already there- it’s called mother fucking Earth! For the record; no one gives zero shits about who you choose or pretend to worship. I really don’t care. I applaud your believing in something but don’t pretend like you have been privy to some short list of what you perceive or have deemed the “non- believing heathens that are going straight to hell for eternity list”. If you know that with certainty, please go with me to buy a lottery ticket because you must be psychic! I do not want to be part of any cult/club that believes they are the end all be all of righteousness. Isn’t that sorta what religious people AREN’T supposed to do? I’m no way pretending to be religious in the churchy sense and know the inwards and outwards of the Bible, but I know enough that there are no free passes to Heaven. I believe in a higher power and his name is God. I find it a bit far fetched for you to try to pass yourself off as the judger of humankind. There is a lot better of a selection that God would have to choose from.   So let’s make a deal: I will respect your thoughts and beliefs but if you don’t show me the same courtesy, I will blog about you and use your real name. But for now I will just call you HAB (heathen ass bitch) Slutbeating to come if you keep it up!

Quit Posting dumbass shit on Facebook.

Ok, WTH?  Why do dumbasses continue to post crap and do stuff no one cares about on facebook.  No one gives a shit about your ailments. You sound like a douche canoe that can’t handle life. “So And so is sick of this sprained ankle”, “Bitch Tits is not feeling good, time to up the dosage haha" (Yeah up it until you are so comatose you are unable to post stupid ass shit.“Waa fucken waa”, shut the fuck up. What are you looking for? Sympathybook? An iBandage? An eHug? Get bent!  Another thing, There’s already enough horse shit on Facebook. Agriculture and computer technology don’t mix! Fucking stop it dumbass, how old are you! NEWSFLASH! You cant feed sheep and grow crops on the internet,  get a life and take care of shit around your house that has been thrown to the wayside because your busy being a fictious farmer!  You're a fuck! Oh and when you do something all risque by putting your little thumbs up to "likes sex" You’re not special. The human race is upwards of 6 billion because of sex, not because of a Facebook slut bag. Of course you like sex, we’re designed to. Stop being a gutter slut by pretending to be some sex machine.  Stop joining “I WILL NOT PAY TO USE FACEBOOK. I NEED 1 MILLION PEOPLE TO JOIN ME” groups. Facebook subsides with joint partnerships and advertising schedules that generate millions of dollars. They don’t need your fucking money, damn numb nuts. Use your brain for just a tiny bit for God’s sake before clicking on things. Really?  No Really?  and one last thing, stop posting "sexy" fish lip pictures of yourself because you think you are so hot.  Get over yourself loser because seriously, if you were so hot you would be too busy out with REAL people and not at home taking pictures of your self in your bathroom mirror (thats needs windex by the way).

The dreaded GYNO Appt!

A few weeks ago I remembered that one of my penalties for being a bitchtastic woman, was the good ole fashioned crotch diggin we have to endure while the doc makes idol conversation doing so wearing a damn miners helmet.  Really?  So now you want to start a conversation?  I finally went three weeks ago, I waited because I dreaded the “ok you’re gonna feel a little pressure” and “this may pinch a bit” comments.   Mostly dreading the splayed out appearance in front of a complete stranger, but hey the blanket they give you to cover, oh I don’t know, your fucking stomach is great.  You never hear any and I mean any woman come out of those rooms and comment, how oh freakin awesome that experience was. Seriously- I’ve never heard one comment remotely close to ”I wanna do it again- and soon!”.   Anywho, So I get there and check in and take head count of the thirty people sitting in the lobby. Freaking Great, this will take like a freakin decade. The loud inconsiderate bitch young lady at the counter asks me why I am there. Oh I don’t know, I saw the cold coffee and Bill Cosby reruns and had to stop in and indulge.  “I’m here for my yearly pap”. She asks me what kind. Um, Is this a pop quiz? “A regular one I suppose”. She proceeds to let her coworker, and everyone in the lobby, know that I didn’t know what kind of pap I needed. So I look at the two girls and say “Sorry, i’m not a doctor. I just play one in bed”. I guess I was a little loud because when I turned around to grab a seat, everyone was looking at me. Shit! I hope no none had x-ray vision because they will see that my blue leopard print bra does not match my hot pink panties and if they can see, those fuckers better give me a tip. Just sayin’.  So the crotch diggin goes off without a hitch and the doctor tells me that she’s gonna leave the room so I can get dressed.  Really?  Look heifer, I was just splayed out, ankles in some cold stirrups while you had an eyelash curler jammed up my crotch and now you want to give me some private time to throw my pants back on?  After that display, who really gives a shit?  Say what you gotta say so I can get the hell outta here. Someone could have at least offered me a glass of wine. Jack Asses. It was also uncomfortable to have some lady I have never seen before, and hope I never do again, all up in my business handling the girls like they were juggling balls. I didn’t get tips for that little encounter either.  Any way, the doc comes back in and said she will call me if anything comes back suspicious. Suspicious?  Really?   Suspicious like a hooker in a pair of Manolo Blahniks? Like a man dressed in black creeping outside a window? “ No”, she states, suspicious like I would have to return for a biopsy. Geeez, now I REALLY need wine!  So I call my sister and we pretty much decide that all gyno’s are retarded because no matter what comes next, life goes on!

Gangsta Assclowns Be gone!

You know what, I declare a moratorium on the gangsta assclowns. Nope, open season is a more permanent solution. You know them, those gangsta wanna bes that are hopelessly delusional and seriously believe the world is revolving around them and the rest of us are their live, and too annoyed to laugh audience. They generally can be spotted walking along many thouroughfares, parking lots or just leizurely strolling across four lanes of traffic at any time of the day. Coincidentally, they can not spot you because they are focusing holding a wad of their denim in a ball with their right hand while doing the pimp stroke with the other, in an oh so classy fashion. This situation has distracted them from the speeding kamafuckingkazi traffic around them and their ability to pay attention to someone other than themselves. What? No job? Cant be because of that awesome "I can run your company attire". Every CEO wants Mr. dumbfuck that doesnt have the intelligence to understand proper clothing size or how a belt works to run their company. Seriously, WTF? Where are you going with your pants around your kneecaps looking like a total assclown?

The 'Gangstas' wannabes... Are kids that wear their pants below the equator and still ride to school with his parents. That does not make you a gangsta... pull up your pants jack hole! Or maybe you suffer from a severe form of stubbilegs-torsolongitis which is a rare disease characterized by extremely long torso and extremely short legs so if that is your "disability" you have an actual excuse but what about your gangsta counterparts? Let's just say, if your underwear is showing, or your butt crack is showing, then you should probably invest in an item that has been around for years, to correct the problem. It's called a BELT. It slides in those little loops that encircle your pants and it's usually made of leather and latches through a buckle located on the front. A belt usually has many holes in it to avoid those constant weight gains and losses due to your addiction to crack cocaine, therefore making the belt easily adjustable and avoiding those dreadful droops. The cost in nominal, but if you can't afford to buy one because of the constant aggrevation of buying crack, then a simple rope will suffice. If this is your choice, a simple square knot will secure it, once again, this is also fully adjustable. If any of this is confusing, find someone older than 35 and ask them for help in understanding this confusing concept, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to explain. Once mastered, you'll find it easier to walk to the local crack pusher, run from the cops, and get an actual job. Maybe I'm just being a bit bitchtastic but I have to be honest and say that Im confused by this whole "I want everyone to see my skid marks" mentality. I am just not in that particular fucktarded club because I actually know how to wear my clothing in the manner in which they were intended. or maybe everyone is becoming more nostalgic and bringing back the scrunched leggin look. FAME!! .

Man for a Day. Please!

While I've been surveying the domestic situation during many get togethers over the past quadrillion years. I noticed something interesting. No wait, I mean irritating. No matter where it was the men were enjoying themselves. Relaxing, eating whatever they wanted, laughing, checking out chicks and generally turning a blind eye to anything that could be an unwelcome distraction. You know: chores, screaming children, dogs unfed, trash overflowing, laundry piled up and so on. Women are not! They always seem to be refilling plates, icing beer, trying to keep children alive, taking care of the dog, putting the trash by the curb and working a thankless menial job because our schedules have to revolve around all these other LITTLE annoyances. Oh, and trying to stay pretty. No wonder women are always tired. The men immediately sit and rest when they get somewhere and women well, we get busy with a chore.

By no means am I saying men are lazy. I am just saying that they seem to truly know how to enjoy themselves. Women seem to think it’s selfish if we just sit and enjoy ourselves, that somehow we need to be hostess, Mom and janitor in order to prove we are worthy. WTH is that about? So I wonder, what would it be like if I were a man for a day? I would enjoy food so much more.  I would tell calories and fat to go fuck off while I stuffed my head with ribs, beer, potatoes, and gravy.  And hey If I need to blow my butt trumpet or take a horse sized crap that clogs the only toilet in the house, that’s acceptable and funny because I am a guy today. The other guys will high-five me and give me beer.

Men generally spend 30 minutes from shower to the front door compared to our 60 plus minutes to get from the shower to the closet. Since I’m gonna be a man today there will be  no need to. I will blissfully skip another thirty or so minutes trying to gauge my water weight gain versus which clothes can accommodate me and then no doubt having to call an emergency conference with a best friend so she can re-assure me I am not a big ole cow but a beautiful  woman who really does look awesome in stretch pants and a mumu. Not today, though. I am going to take a quick shower, play with my dangly wangly and slip on my jeans and flip-flops. I’m a guy – so I am going scruffy and shirtless today. I have shit to do.

First , I’m gonna catch up on my recorded movies. It’s a good thing I have 5.5 hours of me time since I have been recording shit to watch for years. (Women on the other hand have been busy working, cooking, cleaning, doing homework with kids and shuttling the little bastards angels around every waking hour that our me time has been limited to the rare minute we get to go to the bathroom. ) While being a man, I need to go check out the new BBQ pits, maybe get some new socks or sunglasses then stop by a happy hour or two to catch up with the guys and stare at hot chicks.

 I’ll be sure to scratch and adjust my junk a lot because that seems to be a man must. I will finally be able to solve the mystery of is the junk arranging a want to or a have to. I imagine most women would want to know what sex feels like from a mans perspective. Not me! NO THANKS, if I wanted to do that many push ups I would have used my free time to exercise! Plus, I’ve already diddled myself in the shower and have been handling my mini me all day long, hence all the junk adjustments. I will wrap up my man day by indulging in the 8.5 hours of sleep men get. WTF? They get more than four hours of sleep everyday? Can I be a man for a week? I may never leave bed at all. Hopefully, there will be some hot lady type in the house to bring me beer, make my meals and cater to me everyday.

The thing I will love the most about dangle day is just being and not have a gazillion to-do’s nagging me.

Dear dumbass co-worker

Memo’s to all the Work-Place Dumbassery: 

Dear Co-worker…..

I don't care what you and your husband watched on TV last night, nor do I care what your opinion on the show/movie is. I don't value your fucking opinion because your interests are nowhere near mine. For instance, I'm more interested in clubbing a baby seal than talking to you about anything personal or work related for that matter. And when you are doing data entry, you don't always have to turn around and tell me something funny a respondent said. Fuck off.

Wear some fucking shoes, ladies. Fat kankles wearing flip-flops around the office and that insufferable slap-slap-slap of a nasty pair of sandals whacking the bottom of your nasty, crusty, flaky, yellow-toenail-having feet is enough to make me call in sick.

When you are busy, you know what will help you get your work done? Doing your work. Do you know what will NOT help? Jawing off about how damn busy you are!

I don't give a fuck about your cats, no seriously, I don't. There's a reason I have my fucking earphones in all day and don't look at any of you.

If you want me to fucking do something, don't fucking tell me through an email, then send another email asking if I got the first email. Get up off your fat fucking ass and move the 10 feet it takes to talk to me, or just yell over your goddamned cubicle wall. I can hear you. Even over my headphones.

Why the hell would you walk all the way in here to interrupt me to show me a damn picture? No, I don't want to see a picture of your niece, I want to eat my lunch and have a little peace and quiet.

Hey fat secretary with type II diabetes, stop complaining all morning about how annoying your diabetes diet is and how you can't eat what you like and then eating McDonalds every day for lunch. Your retinas are tearing because of your sedentary lifestyle filled with saturated fat laced meals. Your complaints about your supposed diet lead me to believe you at least know that eating burgers, fries, and sweet tea every day is bad so do something about it. Also, brush your fucking teeth and get a new wardrobe. Oh and nobody cares about your dogs and if you are tired of your alcoholic husband spending all of your money, tell him to stop or leave his ass. and while you are at it, do the fucking admin work that is piling up on your desk.

If I ask you a question you don't need to go all patronizing 'father knows best' on me and bring me over to the computer screen and take me through click by click with your fat ass finger... just tell me where the file is. I'm not an idiot. Also, please stop leaning on my cubicle wall and holding ridiculous conversations with me when I'm clearly working... or even when I'm clearly not working. Your nasal accent is extremely grating.

The yogurt/bowl/container is EMPTY or at least it's 98% empty. If you are going to eat at your desk, don't EFFIN scrape it for the last remaining ATOM while we all listen to the spoon grate against your container.  Otherwise Im gonna take that spoon and stab you in the eye socket.

You work in Human Resources. Therefore, I shouldn't have to explain to you that your costume (which is about two sizes too tight) is inappropriate to wear to work. I don't give a rat's ass what you wear to the street corner tonight, but don't wear it in the office.

Shaving sux!

I  freakin hate shaving. When The Man is out of town or its winter I totally skip it and run around like a gnarled up alley cat. Pits and legs go all Buckwheat in a headlock because the only one thats gonna see that shit is my dog and she aint got a whole lot to say about unwanted hair.  Let’s be honest shaving the netherregion is just damn dangerous. There you are with one leg propped up on the tub, slippery ass soap in one hand and sharp razor in another. Really? When did this ingenious plan become a good idea?

Not only are you trying to avoid looking like a Michael Myers vs. ChiaPet crime scene,  you can’t see because the water and shampoo is burning your freakin eyeballs out of their sockets. You got one leg hiked up on the side of the tub as you procede to keep your balance on one foot on the slippery ass tub where it is most apparent that all the "cleaning products" have decided to conspire together to make you fall on your cellulite ridden fatass. Bam... crash... grown! 

Any pride you thought you might have left and could gather back together, just flew out the damn window when your man decided to bust in the door because he heard a big LOUD noise when you smashed your fatass on the cold tile while pulling down the shower curtain, pretty much recreating the Psycho scene, without all the blood.

You certainly dont have the presence of mine to suck your gut in and flip your tit back over your shoulder while he laughs his ass off at you because even in this situation you have the thought process that he may see your gut or boob lying in a position that will make him go running for the hills.

Then he’ll try to be helpful and suggest you get a Brazilian Wax to avoid any future misshaps or psycho scene re-enactments. M'kay what an awesome idea let me have Inga from the ole depilatory joint basically remove my ass toupee with hot molten wax.  Hmm sounds delightful!   and I will surely take that into account just as soon as you let me use my dull tweezers to pluck your ballsack hair out one by one. 

Really?

Really?

Dont you just love it when you have that person in your life that just pisses you off to no end. I love it when they come up to you with that meek, helpless dumbass sulky look on their jackass faces like what they have going on is just so freakin traumatic. Bitch Please! You dont know what traumatic is!
Not that I am the type of person that doesnt have a sympathetic bone in my body for someone truly in need. But when you come at me with your dumbassery I just want to cut you in the thhhoat and bitch slap the piss out of you. But I digress.

And they ask:
"Are you available to make this call for me tomorrow because its 5 oclock and they are already closed and I've got other shit I would rather be doing or want to do and would rather you take care of my responsibilities?" Which is not exactly the honesty question you will get but you get the idea.
Ok so Im busy and say "No". Then without blinking an eye there's the why not? question.
Like, freakin seriously, why not? Are you really asking me that? is what I'm thinking. As i feel my blood pressure starting to rise I answer politely "I have plans". All the while Im thinking, it took you 10 minutes to get off of your fatass to walk over here to ask me to do something that you could have already done before they closed, in the time it took you to walk over here. You freakin mouth breather!
Then wouldnt you know it, they ask What plans? Ok so Im so about to go freakin apeshit on this hefer.
"Seriously?" "Yes. What plans?" m'kay I think to myself, I know she aint really going here so I answer Im going Goat huntin. "Excuse me, did you say goat hunting?" "Yep goat huntin."

"What is goat hunting?"
"I ride my bike up to a farm in rural North Carolina, carve a spear out of a tree branch, then quietly stalk and kill a goat. It takes hours and hours."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"There's no cell service there."

So Piss off and handle your own shit!

The Grocery Store

 

I was at the grocery store once again (I seem to live there but when you have a 16 year old, 5'11 190lb son ya kinda have to) anywho, this woman, and I use that term loosely, kept eye balling me. She would follow me to every aisle and just stare and give me the scowl look and evil eye.  So I,  totally doing the mental checklist: Do I have a booger? Did I start my period and now my  tan pants are ruined? Maybe my boob escaped. Shit, is my thong showing? Maybe I got my stank on. After a frenzy of super secret private eye spot checking myself, I finally figured it out. Me: 120 lbs, 5'4" inches tall, rocking a cool outfit and having an epic hair day (rare but today was one of them). Her: 220 lbs,  tall, wearing the “I gave up a long time ago" sweat pant/grungy t-shirt ensemble with house shoes and having an “I haven’t washed my hair in a month” day. Yes, that’s what it was. Bitch didn’t like the smell and look of AWESOME. My entire outfit cost me $50 so it’s not like I spent the day rolling around at Macys. I did, however, bring along my personal dignity.

We all have those days when  we venture out into society and don’t even have the energy to brush our teeth. I get that- I do it on occasion (but cleverly disguised in a ball cap and sunglasses). But why the evil eye and scowl? How about a high-five and let’s sneak over to the wine aisle and “sample” the goods. Have a little woman to woman I hate everything and men bitch-a-thon. Seriously, don’t make me drop kick your skank ass. I could so do it even only being 5'4". I over came my  urge to punch this skank in the grill and instead politely informed her that I appreciated her admiring me at every turn but I feel I should let her know that I don’t date women. Amazingly, I did not see her again after that.  Amazing how a few kind words can get the desired result!

Ok Here is the most delusional  statement after the good heart and soul lashing you just received from the one that just ripped you to shreds.  “I love him and I want to work it out”, you rationalize… or try to anyway. Are you trying to go insane? Meds  you need freakin meds! Because this is all you will think about when he is out: are they having fun, are they having wild monkey sex right now and is he coming home. Did you notice I left out “if”? Because “if” doesn’t live at your house anymore. No more chats with your BFF’s about “if” he ever did that I would kill him. ”If” has turned into the very scary monster we call “when”. He will do it again- guaranteed. You’re going to lose your mind and what’s left of your dignity if you are willing to lay on the floor and be walked on. HELLO, Pull in the welcome mat! For the record- you may love him- but he does not love you. That is worth repeating.  NO ONE that loves you would hurt you to the core and leave you a hot mess wreck of tears. No one that loves you would use you, lie to you, disregard you and expect you to lay down and take it. Nope. And that leaves YOU in charge of loving YOU. So do yourself, and the people who really do care about you, a favor and love yourself enough to kick his sorry ass out or you pack your shit and go. Someone has to leave- make sure you decide who. The “when” is right fucking now, friend, as soon as you know about it and verify your available funds are in your bank account- he is now without you to fall back on. His Plan B (that is you)just changed the locks and she is moving on.

Seiously?  Just a coffee and groceries please!

So I finally decided to pull out my scale, and for whatever reason I decided to step on the lying son of a bitch. Jeez Louise what an epic train wreck. So right after I got off of the suicide prevention hot line and stopped crying. I needed some peace, quiet and some alone time to search my soul and possibly kick myself in the ass for not looking like I still did when I was 25 (I mean thats realisitic right?) So I went grocery shopping. I realize most people would rather stab themselves in the jugular than grocery shop but I dont mind it. Especially to Harris Teeter because I can get a coffee and drink it while I shop.  Its a one stop shop in my opinion. I find a good parking spot and jump out of my car ready for my coffee and relaxing shopping experience. I order my all time favorite low-calorie, no sugar, caramel macchiato (of course unless they have an awesome seasonal coffee). This is when I decide that Starbuck’s employees must get bonuses rated on a scale of 1 to Bitch Slap in regards to how badly they can annoy a customer with a shit storm of questions.

“What can I get started for you?”

“I would love a Caramel Macchiato lite, no whip and no sweetener.” See- I am pretty sure I just covered all of the information they needed.

“Would you like the syrup added?”

“No thank you, no sugar. Please.”

“It tastes better with an extra pump of chocolate!”

WTF! Which part of lite are you missing. Do I LOOK like I need EXTRA chocolate? My fucking scale needs therapy from this morning’s weigh in and bitch attack and you want to offer me more fat for my ass. Excellent, douche canoe, now I will definitely need that suicide prevention line on speed dial. But I say with a smile, “No. No thank you. I would not like any sugar, syrup, chocolate or any extra other ass expanding ingredients added.”

Barista laughs, “Oh that is so funny!” Bitch, I am not laughing. I am about to cross over from Very Happy to Get a Caramel Macchiato Lite and become your worst nightmare AKA as Fuck Suicide, I’d Rather Go to Jail for Punching You in the Puss bone. Now blend my coffee before an epic bitch battle breaks out here in your shiny hipster infested lobby. M’kay? It looks like my irritable, evil eye look has delivered the appropriate message, perhaps I will now get my coffee so I can go shopping and be happy.

“Did you want whipped cream? I always put extra!”

Seriously? Really?  Ok Ok, I will not kill her. I will not kill her. I will not kill her.  I have to say it to my self several times to return from this sea of red I have just been thrown into.

”No. Thank. Youuuu.” Just give me my freakin coffee, Jeez Louise!

Life sentence in prison averted and coffee in hand, I walk back to the grocery store and wrestle my cart out of the tangled mess at the door. I strap in my purse, get out my list and pen and look for all things green, leafy, healthy and on the perimeter of the store. Things are going awesome, I am calming down and starting to have big hopes and dreams about this being a calming experience while I sip on my delicious coffee. And then they appeared. A screaming, fighting, back talking bunch of out of control bratty minions with oblivious parental units ignoring their bad behavior! I guess as long as the brats are bothering anyone but them , it’s okay. Wouldn’t you know it, this would be the day that I don’t have my tazer or Xanax with me so I quickly move on to the next aisle. More of them there. I look at my watch,  and am thinking is it five or something? Why are there so many freakin people here in the grocery store screwing up my chi?Where did my calming shopping trip go? Then I get the ah ha moment, awww Fuck me! It’s the 15th and everyone just got paid and there will soon be a WWF smack down match going on by the meal deals and Little Debbie snack cakes! There will be no peace. No quiet. But that trip to jail is starting to look like a strong possibility.