All of the dumb bullshit you have to do in order to stay alive is annoying. Almost your entire life is spent keeping yourself from dying or breaking down.
Eating is just a pain in the ass. You have to go buy groceries over and over again and then take them home and make food. Eating is alright sometimes but for the most part it's just something you have to do so you just shovel some stomach coal down your throat and just keep on chuggin on. It's all just going to be poop anyways. Half of the time I spend grocery shopping is spent making sure I don't buy some kind of no-fat trickery and the other half is spent just looking down the aisles and knowing that it's all going to be shit soon. If they just stocked the shelves with shit and we bought it, ate it, shit it out and sold it back to the grocery store I think we'd all be paradoxically happier at the end of the day.
Sleep is a pain in the ass. You die and go to heaven and St. Peter says "What have you done to deserve to get in here?" and you reply "Welp, for half of my time on Earth I was a good person and whatnot. Then for the other half of it I spent it doing fuck all." The dude would look at you, stamp "null and void" on your forehead and then send you off to purgatory.
Then there's so much shit you have to do to keep all your crap working. The bathroom is basically a garage. If something breaks down inside you then you're basically useless and have to get hoisted up so doctors can prod at all your wiring and shit. I'm just glad that in Canada you don't have to pay parts and labour.
By the time you do all this stuff to keep yourself operational you've pretty much wasted your whole life just trying to survive. You get like a couple hours a day to actually enjoy it and then all you do with that window is check Twitter. Cheetahs don't do anything but run at food and then eat it. They just barely survive and they look perfectly content. I've never in my life seen a Cheetah with a problem. Cheetahs don't need Twitter and doctors and herbal shampoo for fine or oily hair with bullshit lilac moisturizing additives.
Bodies suck. Cheetahs are cool
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Chips
I'm pretty sure that there's no more of a process behind inventing chip flavors than mixing chemicals together, eating them and then slapping a name on it. Most have very little connection between the name and taste. It's sort of like when you try to describe a really bad smell to someone and start naming dead animals at different states of dampness and decay when just saying "an egg fart" would classify it pretty well. Salt and vinegar might be the only flavor that can claim to be well represented by it's name. And only the shitty kids like those shitty chips.
I've never had anything come off of a barbecue that tasted like barbecue potato chips... and I've barbecued potatoes. Now, I've never eaten the actual barbecue so maybe that's what it tastes like and if so then I guess the name fits. Though I suspect it tastes like propane, coal and pennies and having tasted each of those individually I can say I've never thought it a good idea to whip up a recipe out of those ingredients. They all suck worse than salt and vinegar.
In Canada not only do we have a flavor called "ketchup" but it's one of the basic ones that I can remember being around for my entire life. It seemed when I was a kid that there was only a few select flavors before they started going nuts. We had plain, BBQ, salt and vinegar, sour cream and onion, and ruffled. And yes, ruffled counts as a flavor. Now, the chips aren't supposed to taste like french fries or potatoes with ketchup. That'd kinda make sense. But no. Just ketchup. The condiment alone. It's like if instead of chocolate milk they made mustard milk and it came from cows who were fed a steady diet of sulphur.
Sour cream and bacon? Thankfully it doesn't actually taste like that combination. Everyone knows bacon is so delicious that vegetarians die alone. You can't add to perfection and make it better; you can only make it worse. But if it was bacon flavor then they'd probably just make you wish you were eating bacon. I don't know where this sour cream idea came from. They added that to everything and it all started with sour cream and onion. Doesn't that sound great? Come home from a long day's work and say "Honey, I'm home!" and she replies "How was your day at work dear?" You tell her "It fucking sucked, where the fuck is dinner" and she assures you that once you're seated in the dining room she'll bring out a big tray of onions and a vat of sour cream to dip it in. Delicious. It's almost worth all the bullshit you put up with all day once you get your first bite into that onion. Mmm, mmm. Fuck off.
When the influx of fucks friggin with flavors first unfolded I was fairly close to seven. I remember going to the Quick-Pick by my house and picking up this mystery bag of shit I've never heard of before. They were caesar salad flavor chips. Now, being a child I should know they would suck because I hated salads as every good sugar gorging kid did. I hated them but I spend my life savings of a whole fucking buck on that shit so I ate the whole bag. I got back home and my breath smelled like that of an amputee who was in a wheelbarrow race through an onion field. I suspect I probably doubled the number of times I'd brushed my teeth in my life in just the few days that followed. My mouth was shit forever. It took so long for that smell to dissipate. Never heard of caesar salad chips? Not surprised. I've never seen a bag of them them since.
Fucking thing sucked. Step it the fuck up, chips. Ice cream can get this shit done.
I've never had anything come off of a barbecue that tasted like barbecue potato chips... and I've barbecued potatoes. Now, I've never eaten the actual barbecue so maybe that's what it tastes like and if so then I guess the name fits. Though I suspect it tastes like propane, coal and pennies and having tasted each of those individually I can say I've never thought it a good idea to whip up a recipe out of those ingredients. They all suck worse than salt and vinegar.
In Canada not only do we have a flavor called "ketchup" but it's one of the basic ones that I can remember being around for my entire life. It seemed when I was a kid that there was only a few select flavors before they started going nuts. We had plain, BBQ, salt and vinegar, sour cream and onion, and ruffled. And yes, ruffled counts as a flavor. Now, the chips aren't supposed to taste like french fries or potatoes with ketchup. That'd kinda make sense. But no. Just ketchup. The condiment alone. It's like if instead of chocolate milk they made mustard milk and it came from cows who were fed a steady diet of sulphur.
Sour cream and bacon? Thankfully it doesn't actually taste like that combination. Everyone knows bacon is so delicious that vegetarians die alone. You can't add to perfection and make it better; you can only make it worse. But if it was bacon flavor then they'd probably just make you wish you were eating bacon. I don't know where this sour cream idea came from. They added that to everything and it all started with sour cream and onion. Doesn't that sound great? Come home from a long day's work and say "Honey, I'm home!" and she replies "How was your day at work dear?" You tell her "It fucking sucked, where the fuck is dinner" and she assures you that once you're seated in the dining room she'll bring out a big tray of onions and a vat of sour cream to dip it in. Delicious. It's almost worth all the bullshit you put up with all day once you get your first bite into that onion. Mmm, mmm. Fuck off.
When the influx of fucks friggin with flavors first unfolded I was fairly close to seven. I remember going to the Quick-Pick by my house and picking up this mystery bag of shit I've never heard of before. They were caesar salad flavor chips. Now, being a child I should know they would suck because I hated salads as every good sugar gorging kid did. I hated them but I spend my life savings of a whole fucking buck on that shit so I ate the whole bag. I got back home and my breath smelled like that of an amputee who was in a wheelbarrow race through an onion field. I suspect I probably doubled the number of times I'd brushed my teeth in my life in just the few days that followed. My mouth was shit forever. It took so long for that smell to dissipate. Never heard of caesar salad chips? Not surprised. I've never seen a bag of them them since.
Fucking thing sucked. Step it the fuck up, chips. Ice cream can get this shit done.
Monday, December 20, 2010
New Years Resolutions
All numbers and points in time are irrelevant. Positive change should be a constant or the only other option is a conservation of negativity. Get dicks. Slap tits. Jump over a patch of grass every day and eventually it will have grown so high that you've gradually built up the ability to jump at escape velocity. Jump to the stars that others dream to reach towards until halfway through February. Now you are a star. Now they reach to you. Never turn back. Keep your back to them. Let them grasp at the air behind your ass and know that your bottom is higher than their top. Get. Dicks.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Middle Woman
So imagine you're having the intercourse with some lady. Doesn't matter which one (does it ever?) because it's hypothetical, but it can be Wendy Peffercorn if you want. So you're all givin the go and you're about to finish so you pull out and then jerk off on her. You just traded down from Wendy to Palm a la Handerson.
I submit that masturbation is a sign of intelligence when it comes to sensibility and efficiency.
I submit that masturbation is a sign of intelligence when it comes to sensibility and efficiency.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Myles
I used to work in a processing plant with a paring knife picking potatoes off a conveyer belt. It was a real shit job and I once got so bored that I stuck the knife into the belt just to watch it snap and go flying. Now I work with an X-acto knife and the only thing to stab is myself so when I get really bored I flick on the radio. Where I live there's this one station that's a recipe made with ⅓ decent shit, ⅓ terrible shit and ⅓ listening to the god damned fucking DJ. I've grown to not only hate his voice but him as a person. I hope he comes around when I'm bored at work.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Strap ons
Two lesbians are friggin. One of them is doing the other with a strap on but doing a real crappy job. If the other one doesn't orgasm then how do they know when they're finished? They'd just keep going.
Forever.
Forever.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Laundry
Bullshit. I'm calling bullshit. I just went to use some fabric softener and was scraping the bottom of the barrel to get enough. I stopped shaking the container and thought to myself "clothes are already soft, fuck this". I don't know about you but I think just about everything I wear is cotton. Have you ever seen a cotton field? That shit looks like someone put a giant mirror on the ground and it's reflecting fucking clouds. It's god damn beautiful. Fabric always plenty soft and I refuse to believe there's any product, treatment, concoction or cult ritual that can break down it's chemical form and somehow make it softer. They don't make clothing out of Klingon foreheads for a reason.
If you take a bunch of paint and mix it all together you're going to get some crappy mud bullshit color every time. Forever. Where does this grey-blue dryer lint come from? There's also so much of it that I'm surprised there's anything left of our clothes by the time that bastard is done drying them. You basically earn a scarf every couple loads. Ever see the back of a laundromat? It's like a cotton field mixed with a scene from the Crow. Maybe the only clothes that produce lint are the blue ones. Someone needs to put an arctic research team together and get on this.
If you take a bunch of paint and mix it all together you're going to get some crappy mud bullshit color every time. Forever. Where does this grey-blue dryer lint come from? There's also so much of it that I'm surprised there's anything left of our clothes by the time that bastard is done drying them. You basically earn a scarf every couple loads. Ever see the back of a laundromat? It's like a cotton field mixed with a scene from the Crow. Maybe the only clothes that produce lint are the blue ones. Someone needs to put an arctic research team together and get on this.
Puppy Room
I present to you a business idea with no downside that's guaranteed to produce results and income. A room where people pay money to enter and play with hordes of puppies. The perfect room.
A small addition is built onto an SPCA building and consists of a front lobby and a separate room. A customer walks up, pays ten bucks for an hour or something then enters the empty room and sits down on a beanbag chair. The door is shut behind them then one on each other wall opens and in comes a flood of puppies to play with. Just a buttload of friggin puppies. You would pay for this and you know it.
All the puppies are from the SPCA and since customers get the chance to play with them there's a good chance they'll grow attached and as a result more animals find homes through adoption. The puppies all become more socialized and get some play time out of it. As for the customer, you could put the most depressed individual in that room and there's no way they don't leave it feeling better. Everyone wins.
If a place like this existed I would go there all the god damned time.
A small addition is built onto an SPCA building and consists of a front lobby and a separate room. A customer walks up, pays ten bucks for an hour or something then enters the empty room and sits down on a beanbag chair. The door is shut behind them then one on each other wall opens and in comes a flood of puppies to play with. Just a buttload of friggin puppies. You would pay for this and you know it.
All the puppies are from the SPCA and since customers get the chance to play with them there's a good chance they'll grow attached and as a result more animals find homes through adoption. The puppies all become more socialized and get some play time out of it. As for the customer, you could put the most depressed individual in that room and there's no way they don't leave it feeling better. Everyone wins.
If a place like this existed I would go there all the god damned time.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Ode à L'odeur
Today I had a dream described to me in which someone had used my bathroom and I played them a song I had written about shittin. Now, It may come as no surprise to some of you, but shit is actually the main subject of two poems I've written which I plan to publish and distribute in a zine of similar terrible things and the like. The following is a new poem which I dedicate to Emily.
Sometime when I see your turd
I lose my breath and fall short for words
It's porcelain nest, it's hue of brown
I barely achieve it's flushing down
You can sit on my lap while we both do our duty
Even the largest log couldn't rival your beauty
These lovely feelings and smells we procure
Surely could hold a match to manure
It's practically like we share an ass
Since your butt first touched where my butt has
We may as well, we share a heart
You smell of the sweetest fart
I want you here, perched upon my love seat
Time's never wasted when waste we excrete
Someday we'll build a home of poo
And I'll spend my days growing old with you
The tally is now three. I have three poop poems. This is my mind. This is my life.
I lose my breath and fall short for words
It's porcelain nest, it's hue of brown
I barely achieve it's flushing down
You can sit on my lap while we both do our duty
Even the largest log couldn't rival your beauty
These lovely feelings and smells we procure
Surely could hold a match to manure
It's practically like we share an ass
Since your butt first touched where my butt has
We may as well, we share a heart
You smell of the sweetest fart
I want you here, perched upon my love seat
Time's never wasted when waste we excrete
Someday we'll build a home of poo
And I'll spend my days growing old with you
The tally is now three. I have three poop poems. This is my mind. This is my life.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Eggnog
Eggnog sucks but it only sucks seasonally and even then it's not that serious of a snag. Me and eggnog have an understanding, you see. It doesn't get in my mouth and then I don't have to deal with it's bullshit and vice versa. Some music could learn a thing or two from eggnog.
Sometimes when two people get together they turn into one large annoying entity that consumes conversations and at times entire rooms. You may like one of these people but as soon as that second asshole turns up you've got a Voltron made out of bullshit and want nothing more than to tightly bundle a bindle of needles and jam it into their everywhere. In this one instance everyone but you is the first person and the second asshole is The Joker by the Steve Miller Band. As soon as that song comes on you know for a fact that every dickcock around you is going to perch on the edge of their seat and wait with catlike reflexes until they hear the word "Maurice" and then pounce at that guitar string bend with all the agility of a wet turd loosely wrapped in tinfoil. It's bad enough that if you're alone and you hear the song you know that if someone was present they would do it right in front of you even if they knew you hated it. George Zimmer can guarantee that. This happens far too often and neither I nor anybody else should be needlessly subjected to it. It should follow eggnog's lead and fuck off for a whole year.
One thing that I just plain don't need to have around is an overgrown homosexual suffering from head trauma that makes him believe he's become some kind of Shakespearian marvel. And that's exactly the human form Bohemian Rhapsody would take on and you know it. You wouldn't let that man anywhere near your home. It's uncalled for and the frequency that's it's played on the radio is probably detrimental to our physical health.
If druids were resurrected and due to an unfortunate result of culture shock started wearing shirts like Ricky from the Trailer Park Boys and playing frisbee then they would listen to Rush. Everyone would hate them. I already do. Just like I hate Rush.
The only way I can make it through Journey's Don't Stop Believing is to change the lyrics in my head to "Don't stop conceiving, hold onto that semen". Coincidentally the third ingredient to eggnog is semen. Don't put it near your cooch.
Sometimes when two people get together they turn into one large annoying entity that consumes conversations and at times entire rooms. You may like one of these people but as soon as that second asshole turns up you've got a Voltron made out of bullshit and want nothing more than to tightly bundle a bindle of needles and jam it into their everywhere. In this one instance everyone but you is the first person and the second asshole is The Joker by the Steve Miller Band. As soon as that song comes on you know for a fact that every dickcock around you is going to perch on the edge of their seat and wait with catlike reflexes until they hear the word "Maurice" and then pounce at that guitar string bend with all the agility of a wet turd loosely wrapped in tinfoil. It's bad enough that if you're alone and you hear the song you know that if someone was present they would do it right in front of you even if they knew you hated it. George Zimmer can guarantee that. This happens far too often and neither I nor anybody else should be needlessly subjected to it. It should follow eggnog's lead and fuck off for a whole year.
One thing that I just plain don't need to have around is an overgrown homosexual suffering from head trauma that makes him believe he's become some kind of Shakespearian marvel. And that's exactly the human form Bohemian Rhapsody would take on and you know it. You wouldn't let that man anywhere near your home. It's uncalled for and the frequency that's it's played on the radio is probably detrimental to our physical health.
If druids were resurrected and due to an unfortunate result of culture shock started wearing shirts like Ricky from the Trailer Park Boys and playing frisbee then they would listen to Rush. Everyone would hate them. I already do. Just like I hate Rush.
The only way I can make it through Journey's Don't Stop Believing is to change the lyrics in my head to "Don't stop conceiving, hold onto that semen". Coincidentally the third ingredient to eggnog is semen. Don't put it near your cooch.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
How long the beast has to be chained up.
Being immortal would inevitably be the worst thing in the world. My reasoning is that if you're around forever then you will do everything eventually. It'd be awesome for a while but that's only temporary and since immortality is infinite then you got a whole lotta suck coming your way. You would literally do everything. Do you know how much stuff sucks? Most of it, that's how much. You're at the mercy of everything because no matter what you do everything is gonna happen. There is no way you could possibly not get herpes. It's gonna happen. Enjoy that for eternity, Prometheus. Ever been on swing set and go over the bar then get turned inside out? No? Just wait. It's gonna happen. Probably twice.
You're gonna get around too. When people travel they usually go to awesome places and are all like "Fuck yeah, Honey, get the camera and we're going to pretend we're holding up the leaning tower of Pisa because we're fucking assholes". Since you're going to live forever and do everything then you'll probably also travel everywhere as well. Nobody would ever want to go to the desert. There's a reason the word "deserted" is what it is. Don't wanna go? Too bad. You're somehow going to get there whether you want to or not. You're gonna walk around and get lost and tired. You'll lay down and give up eventually then sand is gonna blow over and bury you and you'll be there for a bazillion years only to emerge when the dune blows past you. Then you'll stand up and walk around, still lost, only to get buried again and then it just perpetuates and you're the sandiest son of a bitch in the world for the rest of your life. Oh, and you're immortal so that's for a fucking while too.
Living forever is like sharing a prison cell with geography and you're the bitch.
You're gonna get around too. When people travel they usually go to awesome places and are all like "Fuck yeah, Honey, get the camera and we're going to pretend we're holding up the leaning tower of Pisa because we're fucking assholes". Since you're going to live forever and do everything then you'll probably also travel everywhere as well. Nobody would ever want to go to the desert. There's a reason the word "deserted" is what it is. Don't wanna go? Too bad. You're somehow going to get there whether you want to or not. You're gonna walk around and get lost and tired. You'll lay down and give up eventually then sand is gonna blow over and bury you and you'll be there for a bazillion years only to emerge when the dune blows past you. Then you'll stand up and walk around, still lost, only to get buried again and then it just perpetuates and you're the sandiest son of a bitch in the world for the rest of your life. Oh, and you're immortal so that's for a fucking while too.
Living forever is like sharing a prison cell with geography and you're the bitch.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Here's some kind of friggin riddle for ya.
Knock knock. Someone's at your door. You answer it and there's three dudes standing there. One of them tells you to not to count your chickens before they hatch, another tells you not to keep all your eggs in one basket and the third makes some other bullshit insight involving poultry then they all hand over some cheap crap they got from Avon. You think it's over but then they all whip it out and jizz on your shoes. Who are you?
You're Jesus. The three wise men came bearing gifts.
You're Jesus. The three wise men came bearing gifts.
Crêpes and craps
I was on a snowboarding trip to Quebec years ago and was staying in a hotel right in Quebec City. Some friends who took a train there booked some kind of lodge at the base of Mount St. Anne and I had taken a bus over from my hotel to meet up with them. After a day of snowboarding we went back to their place and ate some terrible crêpes. I had never had them before, I guess we ate them because they were French.
Now, I usually have extremely average shits and take pride in that fact. They aren't stinky or huge and don't even take long. I don't know if it was the crêpes or all the sex on the beaches that I drank the night before but some kind of happenings happened inside me and it resulted in the weirdest poop that ever happened. Like I mentioned, most of my shits are average as hell but then of course theres the odd time that they're absolutely terrible. It's just how it works. I'm not sure if this has ever happened to anyone else, I know it hasn't happened to me since, but I had a great shit. Just plain awesome. Not even the kind you're just glad it's over with but an all around awesome turd. It was extremely quick and clean and it actually smelled good. Great actually, it smelled great. I know it sounds disgusting but they could bottle that shit. It doesn't make any sense.
I was amazed that I just encountered poop that smelled good and even more so because it came from me. I walked out of the bathroom and proclaimed with the hubris of Caesar himself, "Guys, I just had the biggest shit ever and it smelled like something I would want to eat." Turns out my friends traveled up with one of their mothers who had just walked in the door behind me and hear my announcement. It was a little awkward when she tried to ignore it and asked if we ate yet, offering to make some crêpes.
I don't eat those anymore.
Now, I usually have extremely average shits and take pride in that fact. They aren't stinky or huge and don't even take long. I don't know if it was the crêpes or all the sex on the beaches that I drank the night before but some kind of happenings happened inside me and it resulted in the weirdest poop that ever happened. Like I mentioned, most of my shits are average as hell but then of course theres the odd time that they're absolutely terrible. It's just how it works. I'm not sure if this has ever happened to anyone else, I know it hasn't happened to me since, but I had a great shit. Just plain awesome. Not even the kind you're just glad it's over with but an all around awesome turd. It was extremely quick and clean and it actually smelled good. Great actually, it smelled great. I know it sounds disgusting but they could bottle that shit. It doesn't make any sense.
I was amazed that I just encountered poop that smelled good and even more so because it came from me. I walked out of the bathroom and proclaimed with the hubris of Caesar himself, "Guys, I just had the biggest shit ever and it smelled like something I would want to eat." Turns out my friends traveled up with one of their mothers who had just walked in the door behind me and hear my announcement. It was a little awkward when she tried to ignore it and asked if we ate yet, offering to make some crêpes.
I don't eat those anymore.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Pill, spill, n drill
Imagine this girl is doing her regular routine and she's got her hair in one of those towel hats that I can never get to stay together. She gets her yogurt, cus she's a girl and only girls eat yogurt, then takes her birth control pill. Few minutes pass and BAM! Yogurt all over the kitchen floor. Yogurt companies alienate half the market by choosing women as their sole demographic in their advertising. Anyway, bitch just puked. Gross.
She's all kinds of sick and she calls in to work and then plops down with some Neo Citran and her Friends DVD box set to feel like shit for the rest of the day. Her boyfriend comes home from work, sees her and gets all giddy and makes an innuendo about chicken "noodle" soup. This dude had some kind of weird shit happen to him when he was a child and now he's got a fetish for sick people. Nothing gets his goat more than housecoats and clammy skin.
He pounces on her like a West-African pouncing monkey and even though she feels shitty she thinks maybe it might take her mind off wanting to ralph so she goes along with it without giving it too much consideration. Meanwhile, her birth control is swaddled in yogurt dampened paper towel in the trash bin. That bitch just got a flu baby. Think about it.
Yoplait is sexist machine fueled by bacteria.
She's all kinds of sick and she calls in to work and then plops down with some Neo Citran and her Friends DVD box set to feel like shit for the rest of the day. Her boyfriend comes home from work, sees her and gets all giddy and makes an innuendo about chicken "noodle" soup. This dude had some kind of weird shit happen to him when he was a child and now he's got a fetish for sick people. Nothing gets his goat more than housecoats and clammy skin.
He pounces on her like a West-African pouncing monkey and even though she feels shitty she thinks maybe it might take her mind off wanting to ralph so she goes along with it without giving it too much consideration. Meanwhile, her birth control is swaddled in yogurt dampened paper towel in the trash bin. That bitch just got a flu baby. Think about it.
Yoplait is sexist machine fueled by bacteria.
Monday, October 25, 2010
One thing. Forever.
"I'm sorry, I know you're just a child and this is a big decision but you have to choose. Sure, it'd be nice to grow up like a normal kid and play with others but you could be in McCain juice box commercials like Elvis for fuck's sake. It's 5AM, now go grab your skates and Superfries and meet me in the Windstar. We're going to the Sportsplex. Forever."
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Old people
I always wondered why old people are so slow. It's like they don't care if they ever get to where they're going. I can understand that they aren't as mobile and walk slower but when they're driving there's no reason not to go at a normal pace. I always thought that they didn't have much time left so they'd probably be rushing to do everything before they croak. It didn't make any sense... but I've figured it out.
When you're a kid summer seemed like it lasted forever but now, even for me in my early 20's, that shit passes in no time and next thing you know your ass just got pounced by flannel shirts and one-size-fits-all cotton gloves. The older you are the quicker time passes simply because how a defined period relates to your overall age.
Think of it this way... If you're 10 then a year is 10% of your life. When you're 70 then a year is roughly 1.4% of your life. Therefore these old people pottering around in their Lincolns with the left turn signal on are in their minds just flying down the road. If you don't watch out you're gonna get fucking flattened by a geriatric speed demon doing 30 in a 50 zone.
I still have yet to figure out why every car with a veteran's plate on it is the most dangerous thing on the road.
When you're a kid summer seemed like it lasted forever but now, even for me in my early 20's, that shit passes in no time and next thing you know your ass just got pounced by flannel shirts and one-size-fits-all cotton gloves. The older you are the quicker time passes simply because how a defined period relates to your overall age.
Think of it this way... If you're 10 then a year is 10% of your life. When you're 70 then a year is roughly 1.4% of your life. Therefore these old people pottering around in their Lincolns with the left turn signal on are in their minds just flying down the road. If you don't watch out you're gonna get fucking flattened by a geriatric speed demon doing 30 in a 50 zone.
I still have yet to figure out why every car with a veteran's plate on it is the most dangerous thing on the road.
Cheese: The Delicious Bane of Man
I love dairy. It's fucking great. I used to often end a night by lying in bed with a big ass glass of milk and a chunk of cheese. The cheese itself I have no problem with; I don't think I've ever eaten shitty cheese once in my life. I've eaten a chunk of mozza that was sitting open on a counter and was all dried up like one of those white dogshits that have been lounging around in the back yard all summer. It was fucking delicious.
The wrapper is the issue. You cut the end open then try to slide it out and it's just stuck in there and won't come out to play. The only thing in the world with more friction than cheese-on-wrapper is Spiderman masturbating. You have to grab it by the end and shake it to try and coax the fucker out. Sounds like when you hold a plastic bag out a car window on the highway. It's deafening. I'm surprised neighbours don't knock on my door and be like "Listen, Kyle, I know it's 3AM and you wanna get at that delicious cheddar but we're trying to have a glass of water over here and you're Jurassic Parking the fuck out of it and now I need to borrow your mop."
You can just rip the whole thing off but then you gotta get plastic wrap out and that bastard is always doubling over on itself. That's just a whole nother can of assholes. We're not even gonna go there. Besides that, when you put it back in the fridge you stick it in that little dairy box on the door. That thing is a piece of shit. Every time you open the door all your cheese just jengas onto the floor. It's more of a pain in the ass than trying to fit an ass inside of your ass. You open the door, it falls. Open the door, it falls. Over and over and over. Whenever you go to get some juice you just tile the kitchen floor with Kraft singles. I don't even buy things that needs to be cold anymore. Why do I have to keep my cheese segregated in this one spot anyways? That's dumb. I've started putting my cheese on that dumb egg shelf. I'm sure it'll find a way to make me regret doing that some day though.
There's scientists looking through telescopes trying to find the secrets of the universe and spending billions of dollars to do so. They found this friggin Goldilocks planet hundreds of kilometers away that can support life and I'm still here struggling in my kitchen to get at my cheese before the macaroni boils off and burns. Fucking priorities, people.
The wrapper is the issue. You cut the end open then try to slide it out and it's just stuck in there and won't come out to play. The only thing in the world with more friction than cheese-on-wrapper is Spiderman masturbating. You have to grab it by the end and shake it to try and coax the fucker out. Sounds like when you hold a plastic bag out a car window on the highway. It's deafening. I'm surprised neighbours don't knock on my door and be like "Listen, Kyle, I know it's 3AM and you wanna get at that delicious cheddar but we're trying to have a glass of water over here and you're Jurassic Parking the fuck out of it and now I need to borrow your mop."
You can just rip the whole thing off but then you gotta get plastic wrap out and that bastard is always doubling over on itself. That's just a whole nother can of assholes. We're not even gonna go there. Besides that, when you put it back in the fridge you stick it in that little dairy box on the door. That thing is a piece of shit. Every time you open the door all your cheese just jengas onto the floor. It's more of a pain in the ass than trying to fit an ass inside of your ass. You open the door, it falls. Open the door, it falls. Over and over and over. Whenever you go to get some juice you just tile the kitchen floor with Kraft singles. I don't even buy things that needs to be cold anymore. Why do I have to keep my cheese segregated in this one spot anyways? That's dumb. I've started putting my cheese on that dumb egg shelf. I'm sure it'll find a way to make me regret doing that some day though.
There's scientists looking through telescopes trying to find the secrets of the universe and spending billions of dollars to do so. They found this friggin Goldilocks planet hundreds of kilometers away that can support life and I'm still here struggling in my kitchen to get at my cheese before the macaroni boils off and burns. Fucking priorities, people.
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