One of my friends is a bigger asshole than all the others.

I promise I won't be mad.

Didn't you just love that shit from your parents when you were younger?
"Just tell me the truth, I promise I won't be mad."

Always a lie.  They were pretty much ALWAYS mad.
It was a trick.

A trick that I'm going to now use.

I promise I won't be mad.......
.....if one of you crafty assholes admits you sent the Witnesses to my house.

WHY do I think one of my friends sent them?  Because it's fucking hilarious and sounds like something pretty much any of them would do. And I'm upset that I didn't think of it first.

Seriously, I'm not mad.
Until this lady comes back when I'm home and I have to hide from her.
That shit ruins my TV time.

wtf, and other utterly magical thoughts that I think.

What is with "What the What?"   It's "What the FUCK?", people.

What the fuck is with allll you fuckers that let me walk around allllmotherfuckingday with a tag on my new shirt?

What the fuck is with super moms?  Your kid has taken over every single aspect of your life INCLUDING your facebook profile picture?  This makes me bored.
I'm also bored of your blogs.

What the fuck was with Hillary Clinton's dress at Chelsea's wedding?
Did she never go to prom?

Why the fuck do my neighbors only drop by my house when I've picked at random things on  my face, am sweaty from exercising and my nipples are showing through my tank top?

Also, what the fuck is with public toilets that spray herpesgonasyphilaids on you when you flush them?

Warning: poster may be drunker than she appears.

Remember that time on The Hills when Lauren went to Spencer and heidis wedding, even though she told everyone she wasn't going to, and thought that her one-time best friend was marrying a super creep psychotic fucker that was ruining everything?

No?

Well, today is nothing like that.

But only in the way that I'm superfuckingpositive that I won't be attending any such event.
I also don't have blond highlights.

Everything else In this scenario is the same.

Obvious correlations between "The Passion of the Christ" and "The Twilight Saga"

After seeing my bazillionth "Team Jacob" T-shirt the other day, I got to thinking,
"Bitches, WHY are you on Team Jacob? You've obviously read these books ahundredmillionmotherfuckingtimes.  You KNOW how this shit ends."
NON-SPOILER ALERT:
She picks Edward.

No matter how many times you see this movie, or wear your Team Jacob T-shirt, it's still going to end the same.

She can't go without his sparkly superawesomeness. She just can't.
Then I started thinking that maybe people picked teams after these junk movies were cast. If you have eyeballs, it's totally obvious that Taylor Lautner (Jacob)  is WAY hotter than Robert Pattinson (Edward)  who is SUPPOSED to be the hottest thing since those firey wings on Man vs. Food that were glazed in snot because the dude was leaking out of all his orifices. Why does hot stuff make your nose spew? Does snot have a low heat threshold?
I digress.

Everyone knows how this garbage ends. Bella picks Edward, they have a satanic human-vampire hybrid life-sucking monster baby with a name no one can pronounce, and they all live happily ever after.  OH, after Jacob falls in love with said human-vampire hybrid life-sucking monster baby.
See girls, Jacob will be just fine.

Know what this reminds me of?

Jesus.

Yeah. It's EXACTLY like all those people on Team Jesus that went to see
The Passion of the Christ, and came out of the theater with snot running down their faces, which YOU KNOW makes me wonder if snot also has a low religious threshold.
Everyone knows how this shit ends.
Even Atheists living under rocks know how this ends.
NON-SPOILER ALERT:
He didn't get the girl, but he DID forgive the universe of its sins (and stuff like that) in his triumphant zombie comeback, (which totally should have been a sequel) which is EXACTLY like Jacob getting the human-vampire hybrid life-sucking monster baby.  Everybody wins.




My brain is a scary place, people.

Are theme-park pools considered international waters? I may need to seek immunity.

Today I will tell you a tale of how I verbally assaulted
a 12-year-old fat fucking bastard child.


YEAH.


Last weekend we went to Boondocks, which is a giant amusement complex full of zit faced teenagers eye fucking other zit faced teenagers. Oh, and go-karts.


OH, AND BUMPER BOATS.

Now, my past tells me that one might ASSUME that I'm an asshole.   People tend to confuse being honest with being an asshole, but very rarely has anyone actually witnessed me having a balls to the wall all out supreme-o douche bag flare up. With a side of Tourettes.  The swearing kind, not the flinchy freakout kind. 
Was I being an asshole just now? About the Tourettes thing?  Shit.
Anyway.


After sweltering my fair cracker skin in the heat of midday during mini golf, we decided that the boats would be a good way to cool off.  
Back to the asshole thing- being the typically mellow person I am, I figured that even though there were plenty of people participating in bumper boatdom, I would only go after the people I was there with.  Who the fuck bumps strangers? 
ASSHOLES. THAT'S WHO.

OH, AND DID I MENTION THAT THE BOATS HAD SQUIRT GUNS?

Who sprays total strangers in the face? 
ASSHOLES. THAT'S WHO.

Immediately following anchors aweigh,  I'm getting drenched.  I squint through the chlorine to see who the hell is pelting my eyeholes with water.

Ohhhh, it's YOU, 12-year-old freckly fat fucking bastard kid I've NEVER MET!
And you aren't stopping.  Nooooo, no you aren't.

Getting frustrated at Boyfriend who can't seem to steer his dingy away from this little Damian fast enough, now I'm getting shot in the back of the head.

We somehow manage to get turned back around towards him, and he's laughing maniacally. MANIACALLY!
Probably because I'm screaming. Screaming provokes bullies. I totally remember from elementary school. Except in elementary school, I didn't have a potty mouth.
And then, all of a sudden, I'm screaming,
"I am SO going to BEAT YOUR ASS after this!".  
Oh no I didn't. 
Yeah. I really did.  
I threatened a kid.


I also may or may not have demanded that Boyfriend "fuck up this kid's dad".
And put in a call to MTV's "Bully Beatdown".
And continued to call this kid unsavory names.


This trip started out sortof sketchy anyway, since Boyfriend's kid pointed out that I hate exactly three things.
Sun.  People.  Kids.      

I blame my behavior on the trifecta. And the Tourettes.



Seriously though, that kid was a fuck.

I'd update my Facebook status WAY MORE if I could say what I'm REALLY thinking.....

Sometimes All the time, things go through my head that are highly inappropriate.
Brief little nuggets of hilarity that are too vile for the masses.
Things that I'd love to put as a Facebook status update, but would most likely offend  130 out of my 135 friends.
I think I'm going to start putting them here because I'm pretty sure the other five will enjoy them :)


Status Update:
I think I just saw a prostitute at the pizza buffet. Her shorts were so short that I'm pretty sure I caught a glimpse of labia.  I'm trying to decide if the meat lovers pizza still looks appetizing....

I've been tea bagged.

This entire past weekend was spent making up stories about my new neighbors.
Where they came from, their religious beliefs, mother issues, all of it.
I had a couple different scenarios regarding their lives.

a)  Mormon couple coming back to Zion
Since she had a Virginia license plate on her car, the story was that he met her on his LDS mission and brought her back to the mother land. They would not be living the the one-bedroom apartment very long because soon she would take up her duties as a breeder and perpetuate their bloodlines of Mormondom.

b)  Job Relocation
Again, because of the Virginia license plate, the story was that they relocated to Utah for a job, and found the apartment on the internet. They were from out of state, and would be super awesome new drinking buddies.
Since wife was seen crying on her lawn when they first arrived, I was pretty sure the photos of their new pad online were deceiving since they had approximately 49 Uhauls full of shit that was no way in hell fitting in that apartment.



Last night, Sister and I went over to chat chit and see if my predictions were in any way accurate.

Truth:  They were indeed a lovely Mormon couple coming back to Utah for a job.
Where I went wrong was that she had just graduated from law school in Virginia.
Ok, so I may have underestimated her initial intelligence in my time glance-stalking from across the street.  But then again, I'm always right.

So today, like any other modern person in the age of the interwebz would do, I Facebook stalked them.

OMG.  TEA PARTIERS.
Palin 2012 T-shirts and all.
OMG.
NO FUCKING SHIT.
HAVE THEY SEEN MY OBAMA SIGN IN MY GARAGE ALL WEEKEND?
HOW MANY GUNS DO THEY OWN?
I THINK MY TRUCK HAS BEEN KEYED.
WILL THEY BE ABLE TO SMELL MY GAY BROTHER'S PRESENCE AND LIBERAL AGENDA?
OMG.
FUCK.

Who needs the internet when your best friend is a nudist?

I think my sister has an obsession with the look on my face when she does something completely inappropriate.  Like mooning me.
The girl can't seem to ever keep her ass in her pants.

One time that specifically stands out in my mind, we were getting gas at Maverick, and I stayed in the car. All of the sudden there's ass plastered against my window.
A friggin' gas station. With security cameras and innocent bystanders.

I was pretty sure that this was her peak in mooning. Public place, lots of people. Total disregard for consequence.

I was so wrong.
Last night I made the mistake of telling her that her tits looked amazing in the shirt she was wearing.  At which point she pulled one out for me.
At a frozen yogurt establishment. There was nipple.

It's not like I've never seen them before, with our penchant for topless kayaking and all, but damn.

She's like a nudist junkie that can't seem to get high enough.  Mooning me was just a gateway drug and now she's on to soft core porn to get a rise out of me.

It's only a matter of time till I get flashed the beav.

The IRS, INS and SEX.

Boyfriend and I have been together for a couple years and marriage still isn't even something I really think about. People get married a whole helluva lot sooner than a couple years these days. I did once and so did he. Twice.
So you'd think that it'd be on our minds perhaps. The answer is no. Hell no.

Neither one of us has actually ever brought it up in any degree of seriousness.
I told him once that I wouldn't mind having a big giant sparkly to show off, and he looked at me like I sprouted a second head. One that had just eaten a small child or a kitten.

The thought of planning a wedding again makes me a little nauseous. 
The thought of being skinny enough to wear a wedding dress makes me a little nauseous.
Mind you, not nauseous enough to puke so much that I actually AM skinny.

Today we will dissect marriage.
And why the fuck anyone would want to be in one.

Tax Benefits.
Last night, dude bff asked me if I'd marry him for the tax benefits. He had gone to his tax appointment earlier in the week for his small business and learned he was about to take it in the ass from the IRS. And not in the way people pretend to like in porns.


Green Cards.
After dude bff asked if I'd marry him, my sister immediately pointed out that I couldn't marry him, I had to marry boyfriend so he could get a green card.
This is funny because boyfriend is brown. Also because he's totally legal and stuff. The first time I met his parents, his mother informed me that neither boyfriend, or her were a "wetback", but boyfriend's grandma was. Good to know.

Speaking of green cards, I recently had a friend tell me that a girl he knows asked if he'd marry her so she could stay in the country. I told him to go for it because he doesn't really have anything else going on, in my opinion.  He should totally do her a solid. He accused me of trying to talk him into this so that I'd have a story about some crazy fucker that married a girl to con the INS. This is partially to mostly true.  Gotcha bitch, cuz I'm telling this story regardless of the outcome.

Sex.
Boyfriend and I were at Danceclub Beijing the other day (I'm calling the chinese buffet that now since they're always playing hip hop awkwardly loud) and there was a table of total hotties. *insert sarcasm*
As boyfriend and I simultaneously looked over these three girls devouring their sesame chicken like it was their last earthly meal and they desperately needed the food storage for the upcoming epic battle of the apocalypse, I casually said, "Do you ever wish you were single again and free to tap whatever hot shit you wanted?"  He nodded in agreement.
The truth about dating is that it totally blows. Being on the hunt for a prospective mate at all times. Constantly wondering if someone is checking you out. If they want to be soulmates, or just mate. It's killer.
Being married means always knowing that there's poon waiting for you at home.

There you have it. The only three reasons in the universe to get married.
Also, three reasons that let me know marriage isn't awesome enough to be withheld from the gays. It's not so much about a sacred bond between a man and a woman, as much as it is a business relationship in which one party is continually sexually harassed until they give it up on their desk late at night when they don't think anyone is looking.    Wait, what?    Yeah.


In case one day in the future, in a land far far away, I do decide to quit living in sin with boyfriend and do something responsible, like get married, I don't want any of you to give me shit about it.  At that point I will have obviously assessed the risk of getting married to the reward of being single, and decided I'd come out on top. Like if I ever start a small business.

I want Hillary Clinton thighs, but less polyester covering them.

Yesterday was an amazing second-hand store shopping day. I came away with all sorts of shit I do not need. And for only $11.50!

While shopping, Brother and I came across this in the "collectible" section.

My brother is obsessed with Hillary Clinton. He even named his bike Hillary Clinton because she's something he'd like to ride, and he's even gay.
I had no doubt that he'd buy this. And then, he didn't.

The fact that he passed up this nugget of awesomeness has me worried.  Is my gay brother so pussy whipped by Hillary Clinton that he can't see the humor in a nut cracker?  She has stainless steel thighs! She cracks the toughest nuts! Does she already OWN his nuts?! Aren't gays supposed to have impeccable taste?  Does he not realize how horrific she looks in pumpkin colored pantsuits?!!
Shit. It could be time for an intervention.

Most stuff that goes wrong I blame on Jesus and this is no exception.

Let me describe a scenario for you.

I stand in front of the mirror lifting up sections or my hair, shudder, lay them back down.
I squirt dye all over my head.
I go downstairs to hang out for a bit till the magic super awesome goop makes people quit asking if I want to use my senior discount.
Boyfriend asks why I don't have pants on.
Well shit, I don't know, sometimes I just don't wear pants, k?
Wash hair.
Blowdry.
I stand in front of the mirror lifting up sections of my hair, shudder, lay them back down.
FUCK.

Apparently, my grays are now "resistant grays" and no longer wish to be dyed.
FML. Thanks a lot, Jesus. Thanks ALOT.

I have a confession to make.

I fathered a love child two years ago and had one of my employees pretend it was his. What? I was running for president and my wife had cancer and stuff, what was I supposed to do?!

Alright, so that's not it, but for some reason I find that whole business super funny. Seriously John? Seriously?!  


For real though, I was a super hard core bitchzilla last week. 
I blame this on my lack of McDonald's intake.

I would like to apologize to anyone who fell into one or more of the following categories, last week specifically*.


• I threatened to punch you in the throat.
• I actually punched you in the throat.
• I told you that you may have been fuckable at one time, but not so much anymore.
• I told you that your sweater looked like a circus tent.
• I told you your baby was ugly.
• I made a reference to how someone should have pushed your mom down the stairs while she was pregnant with you.
• I told you I had sex with your dad in my truck.
• I laughed when you told me what you caught from that one-night stand.
• I told you that it wasn't your pants, but your face that makes you look fat.




* No apologies will be made for any act of violence or otherwise that occurred prior to last week. You totally deserved it, quit being a pussy.

All about the T&A.

If you ask boyfriend, he'll tell you that I'm a lesbian.  He's even got hard evidence. First hand. Not even hearsay.
I check out tits before he even gets a chance, and sometimes point the good ones out to him. If he's lucky and I'm feeling charitable.
I have several "girl crushes" that I talk to him about in great detail, which either makes him uncomfortable or excited, I'm not sure. Probably both.
Can you be uncomfortably excited that your girlfriend is potentially a lesbian?
Anyway.



Several weeks ago we were in a store together and both locked our targets on a mistress at the same time.  This girl, woman, piece of ass... whatever, was hot business. Not girl next door hot, not school teacher hot, not penthouse hot, not even model hot. She was an exquisite mix of biker punk rock slutty nasty hot and I wanted her all to myself. 


I glanced over at boyfriend hoping that he didn't see my completely obvious stalker-stare, but it was too late. Jealousy poured over me as I saw that he also was eye-fucking my unicorn. Without my permission.  This of course was all my fault since I didn't call out "dibs" at the exact moment I saw her.



We proceeded to fight over said unicorn stating reasons why she'd take one of us over the other, but being the pussies that we both are, we compromised on pretend asking her for a non-existant threesome in make-believe land and went on our way.


At the end of the day, I'm pretty totally sure that I'm 100% straight.

I just don't know about the rest of the day.

I might be a bridge, but I'm a hot one.

I have a friend with a kid. I generally try to limit these.
When you have fucking neat friends, and they go and get themselves knocked up, something happens.
All of a sudden it's all about, like, their kid. Like they're super important or something.
They change their facebook profile pics to one of their kid, all you hear about is their kid. They eat, breathe and sleep baby shit. Ok, they probably don't sleep it since they aren't actually getting any sleep at all, which tends to make them bi-polar on top of becoming completely lame.

I tend to avoid getting close to people who could potentially have children because I know after years of amazing and totally fucked up glorious shananagans, they're going to dump me for a fetus that they don't even know.
That's pretty much like getting dumped for a one-night stand that then proceeds to move in and never leave for 18 years, meanwhile sucking all the funness out of your former friend leaving them a husk of mom-jeans and oversized t-shirts permanently riddled with spit up residue.

Anyway, I have a friend with a kid.  I don't see her as much as I'd like to, and hardly ever see her without her kid. Not to sound like a complete asshat, I will say that as kids go, this one is pretty cool, and his parents are cool, so there's hope of him ending up somewhat cool. Especially if I have anything to do with his upbringing.

There are situations that arise where this kid is around a group of people who have no kids, and really have no intention of ever having kids. They get all nervous and sweaty around kids like they've never even seen one before. These people also drink a lot and participate in douchebaggery on a regular basis.
Last night was one of these nights.

This kid is staring to repeat things you say, and forming his tender little vocabulary. One word he's having trouble with is 'bridge'.
Yeah, it totally comes out 'bitch'.

This is hilarious, and adds to the popularity of this kid when you can ask
"Can you say 'bridge'?"
And he yells "bitch!"

Well, these drunk fucks I'm friends with decided to push this a step further.
"Can you say 'hot bridge'?"
"HOT BITCH!"

Ever seen a toddler marching around a living room flying matchbox cars yelling HOT BITCH?

Well, it's the first reason I've ever found to have a kid.
Unfortunately, I think he'll grow out of it.

All aboard the obnoxious fuckville express.

For some reason, looking like a jackass totally appeals to me. My sister says that she likes being able to "outwardly express her true fuck self". I couldn't agree more.

There are so many fashion nightmares in this state that make me cringe. Mom jeans that hit the bottom of your bra. Shirts under tank tops. Capris with sneakers. One piece Sunday dresses. My god. Sunday dresses.  People here bore me to tears.

Conversely, I'm sure that things that appeal to me are simply terrifying to the majority of my fellow Utahns.

I have a hard-on for most things punk and moderately obnoxious.  Black nail polish, tattoos, piercings, Converse All-Stars, hot pink, plaid, mohawks, and fedoras.  My love affair with fedoras started with Mark McGrath from the band Sugar Ray. Circa 1999.  Sweet Jesus, is there anything hotter than a topless Mark McGrath in a fedora? 
No. The answer is no.

Back to my sister.  She rocked a fedora on New Year's Eve and made endless jokes about what a fuck she looked like, but I couldn't quit thinking how hot she was and how I wished I had the balls to pull off a fedora myself.  After taking a survey, and finding a hot pink plaid fedora online, the engineer punched my boarding pass and I was on the train to obnoxious fuckville.

My new year's resolution is to eat a lot and keep avoiding sperm.

Know how I know resolutions are bogus? Because I've started a diet plan the past 209 consecutive Mondays in a row, and promptly failed them by 5 pm the same day.

It must be pretty obvious to my friends that I'm a fat ass and fail diet plans, because I've gotten two texts in 24 hours asking me to go to spinning or yoga or pilates or yogalates or some shit.

I saw a show recently that explained that women have 10% more body fat then men and wider hips for birthing and such tomfoolery, and it all began to make sense.

According to my spinster age and regional affiliation, I should be placenta-deep in my third spawn by now. My body is working in overdrive hoping I'll notice how well prepared it is to spew offspring.

Hopefully one day my body will realize that my brain is on an override loop to veto fertilizational powers. At which point I'll be back to my pre-"my body wants a baby" weight. Or since I'm such a chronic resolution-failer, maybe I'll make my resolution this year to BE a total lard ass. Yeah. That's it.

Happy fucking new year to ME.

I hear this clicking. It's 6am. I immediately assume it's boyfriend playing games on his new super phone that has so much going on I'm pretty sure if we had Barack over for dinner, he could find an app to launch nukes from this bitch. You know, only in case of an emergency.
ANYWAY. I hear this clicking and assume it's Nerd Herd in bed next to me geek squading his new device. Just when I get enough energy to roll over and ask him whyyyy he's humping his new phone so early, I hear him snore.
Well that'd be a new one, right? Being so obsessed with your phone that you play in your sleep?
Well now I'm just confused. On to option two. My cat is dismembering something. Boyfriend's kids slept over, maybe she's finally played out her end game and murdered one of them. She has been stalking them for months.
I smash on my glasses and prepare to discover a carcass when it hits me, Mother BITCH. That noise is water. Being that water is my arch nemesis, I start doing the frantic breathing like a drunk that just got pulled over with a car full of hookers and cocaine. "Oh shit, oh god, oh FUCK."
There's a giant paint pocket of water on my ceiling ready to blow its load. I half stumble run down the stairs in search of a vessel large enough to hold all my "this is going to be a great year" hopes and dreams, and the closest I come is the crock pot insert.
Ok, now what? Wake up boyfriend.
He tells me that I need to pop the ever growing bubble of roof water, so I get a needle. After holding the heavy crock pot up to the ceiling and stabbing the pocket several times, my impatience gets the best of me and I gently press on the bubble.
This was wrong. Fucking wrong. What happened next can be summed up by saying that my roof peed in my mouth. Yeah, roof piss. In my mouth.
The paint gave and the delightful cocktail of roof water and plaster splashed everywhere.

After cleaning up the metric fuckload of house fluids, I lay in bed trying not to cry or throw up, or both. As eager as I was to get rid of 2009, I'm now thinking that 2010 won't be that great either. At least 2009 didn't pee in my mouth.