Borderline Shenanigans
Alright, it's been well over a month since I've even attempted to write anything in this piece of crap. Coincidentally, this will be my 150th post in this piece of trash. I figure, hey, might as well make number 150 one of those huge fucking things that make no sense. Would kind of cap off whatever it is I do here. So, the big one fifty. What would someone who was typing their one hundred and fiftieth (<--- that can't be right) post type about? Yeah there's the usual, like how come bird eggs are the size they are. I mean, when you really think about it, when one bird knocks up another bird, they lay these eggs that are roughly half the size of their body. I can imagine that would hurt more than getting hit with the butt-end of a broomstick wielded by Shania Twain. Oh man, don't even get me started on Shania Twain. On a tangent, can someone post a picture of Shania in the comments, I'm too lazy to google for it and I think the number of times a day I use her name, I should at least be expected to know what she looks like. Hold on, nature calls. How does it feel to be a goddamn time traveler. Basically, while I have do endure 15 minutes on my ivory throne sending ass-babies to foster care, you just have to read on to the next sentance. Fucking slackers. My back hurts. I'm pretty sure it happened where the wall hit me. And by hit me I mean I was threw into it. And by threw into it I mean someone threw me into a wall. And by wall I mean doorframe. And by doorframe I mean ouch. Cause that shit hurt, no foolies. Now I have a knot in my back tighter than (I wont even go for it on this one, insert your own analogy), and no one to get it out. Having a significant other is good for those kinds of things, or a slave woman. I could go for either one right now, probably err on the side of slave woman, because at least then I wouldn't have to give a back rub back, I'd just be like "Get back into your cage or no dinner." Or something harsher. Punishments for my imaginary slave woman isn't something I've really looked into. Might have to do that in the future if I ever move to a place where that's a more realistic possibility. Oh yeah people, get on that Shania thing. I can't find my goddamn headphones. One second, I'm enjoying music through my lovely little earbuds. Next thing I know, they're gonzo. With a big goddamn nose. And by "next thing I know", I mean, 3 or 4 days later. The timespan kind of gives off more of an air of "I lost them" than "they ran away" or something to that effect. Alright, I know you've been having a lot of problems with this and I think it should be addressed. Why in gods name is the world series of darts on ESPN. Next to the dominos world championships I can think of no other less challenging sport to participate it than darts. Now obviously the first thing you'll say is "darts requires a lot of skill and a steady hand". And my retort would be, "fuck you". But to elaborate on my previous retort I'd also offer a follow-up. According to the preview for this so-called "world series of darts", what's required to excel at this sport is to be a male roughly 50 pounds overweight and be losing all your fucking hair. And now I know that's a bit harsh, you'd say "but they haven't lost all their hair" and I'd say "you're right, but when it gets to that point, it's either time to call Jenny Craig or whoever handles fuck hair these days, or just shave the shit all off". I'm not quite sure what it is with the quotes but I'm using a shitload of them. It's pretty fucking hot in here. I'm also swearing a lot, deal with it. I think I'll take off my sweatshirt before my chest hairs catch fire or something. Holy shit that feels better. Speaking of better, did you ever have one of those my buddie's or kid sister's. Those things are fucking creepy. They're like chucky dolls for little kids or some shit. Oh yeah, you're a great parent, does your child have no friends? Does everyone basically make fun of him/her? Does your child spend hours staring at the wall rocking back and forth talking in his made up language to his invisible friend? GREAT, GET HIM A MY FUCKING BUDDY! He'll never have friends ever again, and you'll be the proudest parent on the block of the child who killed the most kids in the school before S.W.A.T. could take him out. Brilliant. Perhaps went a bit overboard, but you can see where I'm going with this. How about instead of getting a stuffed whatever that says whatever why don't you teach your kid how to make some real friends. Speaking of fucking up kids for life, I saw they have this new channel on TV that's made for toddlers. It costs like 15 fuck bucks a month or something. (P.S. tangent, I'm now copywriting fuck bucks in every state that has legal prostitution, coupons good at 9082374 different retailers, imo) HEY, pay attention. The baby channel. This shit needs to stop. Actually, on second thought... I'm pretty damn lazy. Maybe if for some godforsaken reason I ever produce an offspring I can just turn that channel on, not feel guilty cause my kind would be learning math and how to count fucking mexicans or whatever they do on those shows now-a-days, and I could go have a beer. This thing could have its merits. The time is now roughly 11:27. You're in for a fucking treat because I feel so bad that people check this and I never write, I promise to type until 11:59 at which time I will hit the post button. If we run a little over, it's not like you've got fucking PTA to go to or something. Or if you do, and you're reading this, it might be time to reevaluate your life. There's a big fucking bug on my wall. Holy shit. It's making a noise like it wants to eat my soul. Aaaaaaand it just flew by my head. It's making that noise again. Holy shit, this thing needs to stop. Haha, it flew into the ceiling fan and basically exploded. Case closed. It kind of made a mess though. Bugs are pretty dumb. Take for example the one crawling across my computer screen right now like it's crossing Death Valley or something. I'm pretty sure my favorite part is shaking the mouse violently right underneith it. It has what I'm sure is the bug equivalent of an epileptic seizure. Giving bugs seizures is what I'm all about. If I was ever to be all about something. Hey don't fucking look at me like that, you're the one reading this. I think I need to hurt the peson who is responsible for making trashbags the sizes they are. I think something got lost in translation when the designers asked people what it is exactly they wanted in a trashbag. I wish I was in on that panel. "Excuse me, if you could have any kind of trashbag, what would you want." "A fucking big one." "Ok, how about handles? Do you want mesh handles, or do you need longer handles, or maybe a taller bag specifically for kitchen style trash bins." "No, pretty much just make a big fucking bag that doesn't rip, and I'll put shit in it... Yeah, that's all I want, just a big bag to put shit in that doesn't rip." "What about colors? Do you need colors that are more able to match the surroundings of your kitchen? What about twisty ties? Do you need a certain amount packaged with your trash bags?" "Ok, I don't think you're fucking listening. Make a bag, I don't give a shit what color it is. It needs to be big, not fucking rip or leak shit out the bottom, and it's gotta hold a fuckload of stuff. That's all. I. Want." "Ok but really, when you look for features..." And at that point I'd just kill everyone in the room by either headbutting them or karate chopping them in their vital organs. People, there is no need for 2109837450298735 different kinds of trash bags. It's like going over different kinds of toothpaste, just make a paste that I can put on a bristle brush that will make my mouth not smell like the holocaust and make my teeth not become yellow. Past that, I really don't give a shit what it does, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste money putting shit in there that I really don't need. I need some new shampoo for the shower, but that's another foray into the world of rediculous amounts of different options. I'll put that off as long as possible, I think I have a metric shit-ton of those little travel bottles that I stole out of hotels. I don't actually stay at the hotels, I just notice people leaving when I drive by, pretend to be management, and steal all the bathroom supplies. Yeah, that was a lie. But what are you sitting there with a little counter counting lies? Unlikely. I can't believe it's only 11:41. You people are so fucking demanding. Do I seriously have to sit here and type this cranial drivel for another 18 minutes? Like Mickey Rooney's ill advised sex change followed by his completely illogical bout with cervical cancer and his eventual sex change reversal, you fucking asked for it. I saw the movie Spawn the other day. I was hungover and it was on free TV. The batteries in the remote died and there was no way I was getting out of my red recliner chair. That chair is basically amazing, and it has two parts, so if no one else is there you can sleep on it kind of cross-wise. Anyways, this movie came on and I thought, "I liked the Spawn comic book when I was a kid, I'm a sucker for heaven versus hell stuff, this shouldn't be too bad." HOLY SHIT, if at some point the actors would've just randomly ripped off their clothes and started fucking in the middle of the movie I would've thought, "OHHHH, IT'S A PORNO, THAT'S WHY THE ACTING IS SO BAD." And I'm not some sort of acting connesaur, I just like it when movies don't suck. And this movie sucked something fierce. Like you added up all the suck of outerspace, those vacuums that that guy holds up with his pinkey and is all like "my vacuum is so light when you clean your house you'll have to clean your pants after!", and Ashley Simpson. And maybe... just MAYBE, it would equal the sheer suckitude of this flick. For lack of a better comparison, I'm sure that movie could suck a golfball through a garden hose. Which you'll never do with those thin little bird-lips you've got there. Hmm, nine more minutes to go. Did you guys get on that Shania Twain shit yet? I'm gettin' antsy. My cracked out cat just bit me. I hate that cat a lot. If that cat was a penis and my sliding glass door was a vagina, my house would fucking explode. It goes in and out of that thing ALL FUCKING DAY. Pick one, inside or out. Seriously, pick fucking one. And if I don't let it out or back in, it sits there and cries like a little whiney bitch until I do. No, stop rubbing my leg, I'm not fucking letting you out again. I just let you in 6 FUCKING SECONDS AGO. Hang on, I've got to let this thing out or it wont stop with the mewing shit. Alright, it's outside. Don't anyone tell the ASPCA, but if it tries to come in again in T-5 minutes before I hit the publish button on this shit, I'm going to crucify it in my back yard. Ok, that's a bit harsh, and slightly disturbing. Might want to stricken that from the record. I'm pretty sure my porn name would be Warren Piece. Because then people could make jokes like War and Peace is the longest thing I've ever seen. And I'd be all like "damn skippy". And they'd give me some sort of award or something for having the best porn name. I swear to god if there's any porn stars reading this and you use that name, I'll end you. Only one minute left in this epic. I hope you really don't expect anything out of me for a while after this. You asked to suckle on the teat of my crazy tired-ass brain, and you got it. The time is now 11:59, and I'm hitting the goddamn button.
You get 30 life points if you read that whole thing.
