You know those people that you just can't communicate with, no matter how hard you try? Like you say, open the left drawer, reach into the last tray, and grab a big purple dildo with which to SLAP YOUR STUPID FACE, and they go, tray? Tray?! Those are not trays, they're cubbies. And you go, that's not the point, you douche!!!!
I have one of those. No matter what I say to this ogre, she comes back at me with 17 nitpicky arguments about every word out of my mouth. For example, I can ask her to please pass me a beer, and she's all, "Why didn't you ask Nick to do it? He's closer. It's not even beer anyway, it's actually malt liquor, which is stupid." And I'm all, shut the fuck up and pass me the goddamn bottle before I stab out my own eyes with fury.
It drives me insane with ick. She's so hideous that she reminds me of Chris Farley in drag. If only she were this funny…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-H_e7sMyhI
My Guitar Hero
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Guitar of plastic hoisted as a weapon,
Clicking like sticky keys.
The scarlet of his hoodie blinds him,
Obscuring the scrolling primary notes,
While his boxers billow with the force of his rock.
Bottle green reaper writhes with the rhythm,
As he caresses the whammy bar.
Dominating the Sabbath,
He smirks at me in triumph,
And I lift my shirt in amazement.
The star power is ready,
The star power is ready,The star power is ready, oh.
Clicking like sticky keys.
The scarlet of his hoodie blinds him,
Obscuring the scrolling primary notes,
While his boxers billow with the force of his rock.
Bottle green reaper writhes with the rhythm,
As he caresses the whammy bar.
Dominating the Sabbath,
He smirks at me in triumph,
And I lift my shirt in amazement.
The star power is ready,
The star power is ready,The star power is ready, oh.
Chicken & Beer
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Ok, so I must be nesting or something but I've decided to do the most hokey, dorky, and totally fabulous thing as soon as I have a real backyard. I'm going to get laying hens. Hooray!
I'm going to build a coop and raise two chicks into fantabulous egg-laying skanks. I'm SO excited!!! I even know what I'm going to name them already: Shikaka and Wehrenberg.
Wehrenberg, for those of you unacquainted with St. Louis moviegoing, is a set of theaters that has this awesome theme song in which they whisper the theatre name in terrifying tone about 13 times. That doesn't sound like a long time, but dude. Try it. Right now. Whisper "Wehrenberg" 13 times to yourself. See?! Creepy, but money.
Anywho, I'm very happy about my plans to have fresh eggs all the time from chickens that are spoiled rotten. I would secretly love to have a goat, but I just don't drink a lot of goat milk. Or, any at all. And cows are too big to really keep in your backyard. They need to make mini cows just for people like me who are closet wanna-be farmers. Oooh! And tiny elephants. How sick would that be?
I can't wait, y'all. Just thinking about this makes me squeal with delight and wiggle in happiness!
I'm going to build a coop and raise two chicks into fantabulous egg-laying skanks. I'm SO excited!!! I even know what I'm going to name them already: Shikaka and Wehrenberg.
Wehrenberg, for those of you unacquainted with St. Louis moviegoing, is a set of theaters that has this awesome theme song in which they whisper the theatre name in terrifying tone about 13 times. That doesn't sound like a long time, but dude. Try it. Right now. Whisper "Wehrenberg" 13 times to yourself. See?! Creepy, but money.
Anywho, I'm very happy about my plans to have fresh eggs all the time from chickens that are spoiled rotten. I would secretly love to have a goat, but I just don't drink a lot of goat milk. Or, any at all. And cows are too big to really keep in your backyard. They need to make mini cows just for people like me who are closet wanna-be farmers. Oooh! And tiny elephants. How sick would that be?
I can't wait, y'all. Just thinking about this makes me squeal with delight and wiggle in happiness!
M(e) Theory
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So, evidentially, there are parallel universes. (Yes. I watch a lot of Science Channel. Eat it.) This is good, because in current reality, I'm entirely too lazy to get off my fat/hawt ass and do ambitious things. Things like not rotting on the couch whilst watching Dancing with the Stars. Sooo, news of the multiverse means that I'm actually accomplishing all of the bad ass stuff I should be doing elsewhere that I'm too lame to bang out here.
I'm so excited about this news that I felt the need to share with you all the superfly things that I am in an alternate universe:
A professional ballroom dancer named Pansy Piper.
Elementary school mashed potatoes with the kick ass yellow gravy on top.
A butch singer in a rock band who exclusively wears leather.
A soap opera actress who plays Olivia St. James-Cockfield-Applebottom-Bacon- Pujols-Pickles-Butkus-Drewpeacock-Fach-Shagger-Jezvahted-Beaver-Butts-Seaman-Shafts-Wang-Woodcock-Wong-Peters-Kuntz-Weiner-Scrodanus-Cox, the most widowed woman on day time television.
An exotic dancer with a pole routine entitled: The Stapler.
A giant squid. Squid RULE!
Head cheerleader for local basketball team, the Wet Wedgies.
Archaeologist and discoverer of the lost library of Alexandria, Cindy Anna Scones.
A marine biologist who leaves behind the perils of the world of men to live with the manatees.
Someone who has Bad Motherfucker written on her wallet.
Disgustingly wealthy.
In possession of a giant rack.
I'm so excited about this news that I felt the need to share with you all the superfly things that I am in an alternate universe:
A professional ballroom dancer named Pansy Piper.
Elementary school mashed potatoes with the kick ass yellow gravy on top.
A butch singer in a rock band who exclusively wears leather.
A soap opera actress who plays Olivia St. James-Cockfield-Applebottom-Bacon- Pujols-Pickles-Butkus-Drewpeacock-Fach-Shagger-Jezvahted-Beaver-Butts-Seaman-Shafts-Wang-Woodcock-Wong-Peters-Kuntz-Weiner-Scrodanus-Cox, the most widowed woman on day time television.
An exotic dancer with a pole routine entitled: The Stapler.
A giant squid. Squid RULE!
Head cheerleader for local basketball team, the Wet Wedgies.
Archaeologist and discoverer of the lost library of Alexandria, Cindy Anna Scones.
A marine biologist who leaves behind the perils of the world of men to live with the manatees.
Someone who has Bad Motherfucker written on her wallet.
Disgustingly wealthy.
In possession of a giant rack.
Why Does Everyone Hate the French?!
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Why is everybody always hater totting on the French? Are we really not over this whole WWII thing yet? Do we really still resent their lack of support for Bush's war on terror? (Is anyone in America even still doing a happy dance over this?) I just don't get it! I freaking love France like it was a Reznor-headed chocolate old fashioned doughnut!
The reason I ask about this is because a lot of peeps I work with have been going to Paris to work on a project, and I don't know if they're just canker sore sucking morons or what, but they all come home bitching about France.For instance, this one stupid skank was complaining about how "rude" the French are and as an example of such, cited being shushed during a symphony. Um, hello! It's considered bad ettiquete to applaud during a symphony, let alone have a retarded convo about your greasy ass hair! Back me up here, Nick!
So, then they whine about how "mean" the French are when people don't speak the language in their country. This really asses my chaps because I'd freaking LOVE to know the last time these hosers were cool to a non-English speaker in America. I have seen people abuse taxi drivers here for not understanding complex English words, but when they go to Paris and yell, "Hey! HEY! Where's the Eiffel Tower at?" to strangers on the street, and a Parasian rolls their eyes, they act like they've been morally assaulted.WTF, people?!
It all sounds like a super gay double standard to me. I've been to France, I have very good French friends, and you know what? They kick ass. All I've ever had to do is know how to say s'il vous plait, merci, and excusez-moi and the French been absolute peaches to me. I'm sure if everybody just did some homework on the countries they visit (and recognize that all big cities are just a little less touchy-feely), they'd get to France and want to make sweet love to them all like I do.
The reason I ask about this is because a lot of peeps I work with have been going to Paris to work on a project, and I don't know if they're just canker sore sucking morons or what, but they all come home bitching about France.For instance, this one stupid skank was complaining about how "rude" the French are and as an example of such, cited being shushed during a symphony. Um, hello! It's considered bad ettiquete to applaud during a symphony, let alone have a retarded convo about your greasy ass hair! Back me up here, Nick!
So, then they whine about how "mean" the French are when people don't speak the language in their country. This really asses my chaps because I'd freaking LOVE to know the last time these hosers were cool to a non-English speaker in America. I have seen people abuse taxi drivers here for not understanding complex English words, but when they go to Paris and yell, "Hey! HEY! Where's the Eiffel Tower at?" to strangers on the street, and a Parasian rolls their eyes, they act like they've been morally assaulted.WTF, people?!
It all sounds like a super gay double standard to me. I've been to France, I have very good French friends, and you know what? They kick ass. All I've ever had to do is know how to say s'il vous plait, merci, and excusez-moi and the French been absolute peaches to me. I'm sure if everybody just did some homework on the countries they visit (and recognize that all big cities are just a little less touchy-feely), they'd get to France and want to make sweet love to them all like I do.
Who's Yo Howse Keeper and Watchu Keep in Yo House
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Oh my gawd, y'all! I found The Coolest House on the Planet! It's not only huge, gorgeous, fully rehabbed, and perfection, but it has secret…fucking…rooms! So exciting, I actually peed my pants (just a little)! Seriously, babies, what could possibly be more tits than having secret rooms?
You start out walking around the second floor and going, wooooow, this house is a monster! Are there really four bedrooms on this floor? Then you open an innocuous door, expecting to find yet another mammoth closet, to discover a hidden flight of stairs. It's at this point where you have an adrenaline dump and your legs begin to feel like Ramen noodles because you're so fricking excited! And do you know what lies at the top of these secret stairs? An effing loft apartment! Like, a kitchenette, a full bath, a bedroom, and a living room that is bigger than my entire place!
Lawdy, I have to lie down now. I've worked myself into a froth over this amazing, glorious, gargantuan house. I know, I know. It's in the ghetto kinda, but I'm afraid I could totally deal with that! I just figure a good alarm system, a Doberman, and a Smith & Wesson ought to make me feel all safe at night. Now if I can just talk Octagon into buying it for me…
You start out walking around the second floor and going, wooooow, this house is a monster! Are there really four bedrooms on this floor? Then you open an innocuous door, expecting to find yet another mammoth closet, to discover a hidden flight of stairs. It's at this point where you have an adrenaline dump and your legs begin to feel like Ramen noodles because you're so fricking excited! And do you know what lies at the top of these secret stairs? An effing loft apartment! Like, a kitchenette, a full bath, a bedroom, and a living room that is bigger than my entire place!
Lawdy, I have to lie down now. I've worked myself into a froth over this amazing, glorious, gargantuan house. I know, I know. It's in the ghetto kinda, but I'm afraid I could totally deal with that! I just figure a good alarm system, a Doberman, and a Smith & Wesson ought to make me feel all safe at night. Now if I can just talk Octagon into buying it for me…
Dropping a Cripple
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So there I was, moseying down the street to gorge myself on sushi with Chelle, when I noticed that I was about to cross paths with a gentleman. This man is a familiar face to me and my fellow Plaza dwellers as he is often out and about, walking his puppy or going for a stroll despite his obvious physical challenge. He lives on the same street as me, and rocks loudly for getting out there on his crutches all the time, because God knows I'm too fat and lazy to walk anywhere that isn't 20 feet away.* So when I saw him approaching me on the sidewalk, I smiled and said hello. He enthusiastically returned my greeting, and we passed one another.
Then, I heard a sickening thud behind me, and turned to see him lying on the ground, groceries all over the grass, and crutches and feet…totally pointing my direction. You know what this means, don't you?
I dropped a cripple.
I clearly have abused The Hotness! With this kind of power comes responsibility! What was I thinking, exposing a handicapable man to It in It's purest form? I feel like total pigeon shit for mind-tripping a disabled dude. I mean, who does that?! We all know he can't easily rotate to get the rear view with crutches!! God. I'm such a dick for forgetting that not everyone can physically handle checking out all this jelly.
*Note to self: Purchase Segway.
Then, I heard a sickening thud behind me, and turned to see him lying on the ground, groceries all over the grass, and crutches and feet…totally pointing my direction. You know what this means, don't you?
I dropped a cripple.
I clearly have abused The Hotness! With this kind of power comes responsibility! What was I thinking, exposing a handicapable man to It in It's purest form? I feel like total pigeon shit for mind-tripping a disabled dude. I mean, who does that?! We all know he can't easily rotate to get the rear view with crutches!! God. I'm such a dick for forgetting that not everyone can physically handle checking out all this jelly.
*Note to self: Purchase Segway.
Haikus on Poo
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The Root of My Awesomness
I bask in my gas
T-Bell rocks so fucking hard
Delicious and ripe
Reeky Cube-mate
In my cubicle
I sense a noxious odor
Oh my god, Kyle! GROSS!
Frappafarts
Coffee addiction
Carmel Machiatto...mmm!
I'd so bang Starbucks
I bask in my gas
T-Bell rocks so fucking hard
Delicious and ripe
Reeky Cube-mate
In my cubicle
I sense a noxious odor
Oh my god, Kyle! GROSS!
Frappafarts
Coffee addiction
Carmel Machiatto...mmm!
I'd so bang Starbucks
Sleeping Beauty and the Beasts Downstairs
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Last night was the third night in a row that I was woken from a deep, yummy sleep. You know, the kind where I was dreaming that I'm totally rocking the runway on America's Next Top Model. Can I just tell you how bowel-curdlingly livid it makes me to not only be woken up for any reason whatsofrickingever, but out of a kick ass dream? OMG BLINDING WHITE HOT RAGE, BITCHES!
And who might be the culprit of such offensive nocturnal intrusions? Why, it's only my hoser new downstairs neighbor! And. I'm. Going. To. Fucking. Mutilate. Their. Entire. WORLD! I'm wicked not kidding, babies. I feel so strongly about being woken, that I could absolutely choke a bitch over it, or at least, like, boil their pets. This is my problem, and I recognize and own it. It is in this recognition that I choose to live alone. But when it's freaking 2:30 AM on a mother fucking Tuesday and you're being so super rave party succubus that I can hear you through 10 feet of concrete? Game on, asslickers. Game ON!
I just can't imagine what kind of cat rapist can have all their friends over from Sunday through Tuesday to shriek and party until literally, dawn. Do they have jobs? Can they even perform a job when they totally blow so much? How do these homos pay their rent?! These are the questions that have been plaguing me since I was so cruelly ripped from my awesome dreams of Tyra's giant weave.
So, in retaliation, I wrote a strongly worded letter. I know, I know! I probably should have done something more drastic like kidnapping their moms, but I think you underestimate how terrifying my strongly worded letters are. I would totally print it here, but your faces might explode. And I just couldn't live with myself if I hurt my hos!
And who might be the culprit of such offensive nocturnal intrusions? Why, it's only my hoser new downstairs neighbor! And. I'm. Going. To. Fucking. Mutilate. Their. Entire. WORLD! I'm wicked not kidding, babies. I feel so strongly about being woken, that I could absolutely choke a bitch over it, or at least, like, boil their pets. This is my problem, and I recognize and own it. It is in this recognition that I choose to live alone. But when it's freaking 2:30 AM on a mother fucking Tuesday and you're being so super rave party succubus that I can hear you through 10 feet of concrete? Game on, asslickers. Game ON!
I just can't imagine what kind of cat rapist can have all their friends over from Sunday through Tuesday to shriek and party until literally, dawn. Do they have jobs? Can they even perform a job when they totally blow so much? How do these homos pay their rent?! These are the questions that have been plaguing me since I was so cruelly ripped from my awesome dreams of Tyra's giant weave.
So, in retaliation, I wrote a strongly worded letter. I know, I know! I probably should have done something more drastic like kidnapping their moms, but I think you underestimate how terrifying my strongly worded letters are. I would totally print it here, but your faces might explode. And I just couldn't live with myself if I hurt my hos!
Four Wheels of Doom
Posted in on byCars blow. Oh my GOD, I loathe dealing with everything about them. Currently, I drive a "vintage" 1992 Celica (a.k.a. the Lean Green Disco Machine.) Yeaaah, she has rust spots, dents, frightening carpet, and a ghetto radio that doesn't work because my antenna goes up and down at random while making awesome noises like RUurrrrRrruurrrRURRRRRR. And do I mind any of this? Hell no! I'm white trash and god damn proud of it. But I'll tell you what I do mind.
No A/C.
Walk with me...It's literally the hottest day of the year; you're wearing sweatery biznazz casual and blissfully driving home from work, but it's all good, baby! You're keeping nice and chill with the air conditioning alllllll the way up. You notice a slight alien clicking sound from the dash and suddenly, BLISTERING FUCKING HOT AIR sears through your vents and steams your face like a geyser exploding from the fiery pits of hell. Pretty rock and roll, right? Ah ha, but now realize that the cost of repairing said A/C is worth more than the car itself. Sons'n bitchin'! It's time to get a new car.
This is the point in our tale where Summie loses her mole. Cars suck snail testicles! They are a terrible investment and kill a over a million fucking people a year!!! I friggin' despise them with the fury of 10,000 wildebeests! And fuck you very much, Kansas City, for sucking out my entire soul by not providing good public transportation. You can EAT ME!I feel like I'm left with only one viable option at this point. I've been driven here by the angst that is dealing with stupid douche car stuff. The way I see it, my only alternative is to go now and buy this car and commence squealing with delight:
Fake = Weird
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It's no secret that I am not a nice person. I'll give you hot and even super fun, but nice? Not so much.
I realized the extent to which I'm hideous when I got called out for my tough stance on faux accents. Evidently, most people are neutral about this subject. They site such kindnesses as, "Oh, he's just an Anglophile" or "It's just an accent" as a dismissal of my revulsion. But you know I what I say? Agree to disagree, hos! Because dude, fake accents are completely effing creepy. I just think that pretending to be from another country or that you just "picked up" an accent is serial killer material! I mean, it's one thing if you grew up in another country as a child, but if you studied abroad? SHUT THE FUCK UP! How stupid do you think I am? Oh my GOD, it's insulting!
Not to mention that faking an accent is psycho and pretentious and just…just gives me the total wig! You've gotta be hiding something from people if you create such an elaborate (and totally easily revealed) façade. Something like dead and stinky chipmunk bodies in your closet. Gross!
I don't know man. I'm sure they're just really insecure people who hate themselves and wish they were cool and exotic like the Aussies, but man! You have to BE an Aussie to be so wicked! Don't they know this?! Gaaah!
Regardless, it is clear that I am just not nice enough to look past the fakey fakerson.
I realized the extent to which I'm hideous when I got called out for my tough stance on faux accents. Evidently, most people are neutral about this subject. They site such kindnesses as, "Oh, he's just an Anglophile" or "It's just an accent" as a dismissal of my revulsion. But you know I what I say? Agree to disagree, hos! Because dude, fake accents are completely effing creepy. I just think that pretending to be from another country or that you just "picked up" an accent is serial killer material! I mean, it's one thing if you grew up in another country as a child, but if you studied abroad? SHUT THE FUCK UP! How stupid do you think I am? Oh my GOD, it's insulting!
Not to mention that faking an accent is psycho and pretentious and just…just gives me the total wig! You've gotta be hiding something from people if you create such an elaborate (and totally easily revealed) façade. Something like dead and stinky chipmunk bodies in your closet. Gross!
I don't know man. I'm sure they're just really insecure people who hate themselves and wish they were cool and exotic like the Aussies, but man! You have to BE an Aussie to be so wicked! Don't they know this?! Gaaah!
Regardless, it is clear that I am just not nice enough to look past the fakey fakerson.
Why Does Everyone Hate the French?!
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Why is everybody always hater totting on the French? Are we really not over this whole WWII thing yet? Do we really still resent their lack of support for Bush's war on terror? (Is anyone in America even still doing a happy dance over this?) I just don't get it! I freaking love France like it was a Reznor-headed chocolate old fashioned doughnut!
The reason I ask about this is because a lot of peeps I work with have been going to Paris to work on a project, and I don't know if they're just canker sore sucking morons or what, but they all come home bitching about France.
For instance, this one stupid skank was complaining about how "rude" the French are and as an example of such, cited being shushed during a symphony. Um, hello! It's considered bad ettiquete to applaud during a symphony, let alone have a retarded convo about your greasy ass hair! Back me up here, Nick!
So, then they whine about how "mean" the French are when people don't speak the language in their country. This really asses my chaps because I'd freaking LOVE to know the last time these hosers were cool to a non-English speaker in America. I have seen people abuse taxi drivers here for not understanding complex English words, but when they go to Paris and yell, "Hey! HEY! Where's the Eiffel Tower at?" to strangers on the street, and a Parasian rolls their eyes, they act like they've been morally assaulted.
WTF, people?! It all sounds like a super gay double standard to me. I've been to France, I have very good French friends, and you know what? They kick ass. All I've ever had to do is know how to say s'il vous plait, merci, and excusez-moi and the French been absolute peaches to me. I'm sure if everybody just did some homework on the countries they visit (and recognize that all big cities are just a little less touchy-feely), they'd get to France and want to make sweet love to them all like I do.
The reason I ask about this is because a lot of peeps I work with have been going to Paris to work on a project, and I don't know if they're just canker sore sucking morons or what, but they all come home bitching about France.
For instance, this one stupid skank was complaining about how "rude" the French are and as an example of such, cited being shushed during a symphony. Um, hello! It's considered bad ettiquete to applaud during a symphony, let alone have a retarded convo about your greasy ass hair! Back me up here, Nick!
So, then they whine about how "mean" the French are when people don't speak the language in their country. This really asses my chaps because I'd freaking LOVE to know the last time these hosers were cool to a non-English speaker in America. I have seen people abuse taxi drivers here for not understanding complex English words, but when they go to Paris and yell, "Hey! HEY! Where's the Eiffel Tower at?" to strangers on the street, and a Parasian rolls their eyes, they act like they've been morally assaulted.
WTF, people?! It all sounds like a super gay double standard to me. I've been to France, I have very good French friends, and you know what? They kick ass. All I've ever had to do is know how to say s'il vous plait, merci, and excusez-moi and the French been absolute peaches to me. I'm sure if everybody just did some homework on the countries they visit (and recognize that all big cities are just a little less touchy-feely), they'd get to France and want to make sweet love to them all like I do.
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