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.
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.
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