You know how it's 99% disgusting to throw-up? It stinks, burns, splashes everywhere, makes your eyes water, and cramps up your stomach muscles. BUT, there is the 1%. That far corner of your mind that you don't want to admit is there in the middle of your five alarm fire of hot mess. It is the part that is enjoying the vomiting process. Hopefully, my blog is that 1% .
Friday, October 1, 2010
I’m thinking that upon achieving super-stud status (happening any day now, btw), I’ll be employing the semi-controversial Bill Murray S.O.P. for dealing with everyday situations: FUCK EVERYBODY!
I have been far too accommodating to the pedestrian individuals I am forced to interact with on a daily basis; the passive-aggressive geriatric Walmart greeter whose singular, disposable use to me is directions to the boxed Merlot. Then there's Floyd, my overzealous, self-righteous, self-entitled landlord. Not to mention Cynthia at American Express with her droning, judgmental questioning of my purchasing habits (maybe I want to charge my entire team’s hockey fees before declaring bankruptcy!). But how do I respond? I swallow my hate and burp, "Yes sir, yes ma'am, you are right. I guess I was in your way!" Screw that shit, it's tea-bagging time. I am a white, male for fuck'sake. Why am I stuck nurturing and dish-washing? Well, no longer will I sit passively by as my country turns into a huge cesspool of a Hitler-loving-Stalin-following-perfect-storm-of-fascist-communism. Polar opposites, my ass. It's not like I put myself in this dilly on my own. It's time for America to be American again. If I can't eat it, I sure as hell better be able to fuck it.