Rants #2

Posted: March 9, 2010 in Uncategorized

Okay so here it is!  Like an explosion of my cynical, distorted sense of reality all thrown at you at once.  It’s like thirty facebook updates all crammed into a single blog post! Enjoy!

I hate walking up the stairs RIGHT behind someone.  You know part of that air is slightly tainted with ass… and taint.

I like walking down the stairs right behind someone.  I think to myself, “Yea, I could pee on your back, but I’m not gonna. And not just because it’s very hard to walk down stairs and pee at the same time. I’m also texting and assessing you for alopecia.”

I’m sorry, but retarded people are funny sometimes. 

I’m SOOOOO sick of that goddamn skateboarding bulldog.

I wear a belt.  “How’s that a rant?” you say? Uh, cause it’s around my throat when I masturbate.

My downstairs neighbor doesn’t appreciate me playing piano at all hours so he bangs on his ceiling to let me know.  I don’t appreciate him not appreciating me; but I don’t know how to let him know about my disapproval of HIS disapproval.  A dejected scowl will not traverse metal and stone and an area rug.

If someone with diabetes asks you tough question, tell them the truth: don’t sugar coat it.  That was retarded.

It’s very difficult to portray domestic violence in a positive light.  “Margaret, I beat the shit out of you for your own good, and throwing the children against the walls is therapeutic.” wow. what? 

If ‘they’ keep using the word “Caucasian” I’m gonna bring back “Negro.”

I have a lot of books; well, not really, but I have a lot of things that make my friends say, “Damn, what the hell is in this box? books?!?!?”  when they help me move.

I’m an atheist; non-practicing, of course.

There are two ceiling fans in my room, which is un-necessary, because my ceiling is not that popular.

Don’t worry; you’ll get that last one in a little while.

I take pictures of everything to prove to my future self that I don’t live in the past.

As a health freak I hate eating red meat.  But green meat is definitely worse in my opinion.

I have my books prominently displayed to remind myself that I used to think being would be as thinking ended up being. 

I’m too cool for school, but the professors do not accept that as a legitimate excuse for missing class.

I have a PSP, but I only use it in my room sitting in front of my television, so it’s pretty pointless.  I need a PS…just. That was stupid.

Doctor’s seem unwilling to part with their “Better Homes & Garden” and “Reader’s Digest” magazines from 1912

“Reader’s Digest” is like a group command.

Kittens are cute. We fucking get it.

Air fresheners are nothing more than temporary nostril confuse-eners.  “There is shit in front of me.  But I smell the exotic spices of an aromatic Moroccan Bazaar… and yet… shit… oh yea… there’s shit in front of me.”

Grating your own Romano cheese is much more work than saying, “Fuck it.  It don’t need Romano!”

“One, Two, Three, NOT IT” is the most humiliating way to get chosen for something.  Despite how childish the game is or how lowly the task, no one ever challenges the ruling.

When you shit at a friend’s house, always run the water after you flush so they think you wash your hands.

Rock, Paper, Scissors is fun again!

I hate when people ask how I am.  What they’re really saying is “I perceive the visual pattern that I recognize as a familiar and similar being and that elicits a chemical response in my brain compelling vocalization.  Do you also experience a chemical response in YOUR brain from my speech compelling YOU to vocalize a similar pattern of non-threatening sound waves?”

“Not bad, you?”

Sometimes bumping into someone’s personal “bubble” is worse than bumping them directly.  Sometimes the bubble says “Back off, fuck-sicle. I’m going as fast as I can in my Jazzy power chair” and if you bumped them directly they’d just say “Excuse me,” and you’d say the same and you’d both go about your day.

I hate free time.  It’s like time that you’re forced to enjoy.

The bookmark industry is an impressive concept.  After all, they could be replaced by the receipt from purchasing their product.

Socks are cheap enough that you never have to wash them.

Hardcover or Paperback.  Time for something different: like wet-jacket, sticky-back, greasy-sleeve, or gooey-cover.

When I’m rich and famous I’m gonna change a lot of things.  Like my name, phone number, address, and facebook status.

I have a space heater – I sat it next my clock and they began talking about Stephen Hawking… That was stupid.

I have a lot of books about Jesus.  I’ll be pissed if he doesn’t reciprocate.

I have a lot of books about lost civilizations and world mysteries.  If our civilization ever gets lost and somebody somehow finds those books, they’re gonna be really fuckin’ confused.

I have many religious texts in multiple translations so when someone asks me about a particular faith I will be unable to explain in many different ways.  … let that one sink in.

I have a paperweight.  Not because I need it, but because I have a paper and am unable to relieve it of it’s mass.

Black and white photography makes everyone photogenic.

Porn is not meant to be watched in HD.  I don’t need to see shave bumps and backne in 1080p.

You learn to teach from books, but you also learn to read from books, but who taught books to learn how to read to learn to teach how to read? … what?

Pamphlet.  Pam, phlet flet.  PAM flet.  Pamphlet.  Awesome word. Pamphlet.

I have a calendar of women in bikini’s, but the pictures were taken JUST after the smile became unnatural so that makes even the hottest one a butterface-scary-grimace-monster.

My piano has 88 keys but not one of them open a god-damn door… it’s like the janitor who was late to work at the World Trade Center on 9/11.  That was retarded.

My sit-up mat just lies there.

I could not even begin to explain to somebody how to tie a shoe.

I have pictures of my friends on my wall.  The hardest part was getting them to hang there while I snapped the photo.

I have towels of various colors that I got from people who didn’t want them.  I’m the Angelina Jolie of laundry.  cause … she… has colored babies…

Nature levies an unreasonable tax of water upon my lips thusly necessitating my continued use of petroleum products…  Which is the retarded way of saying I use a lot of ChapStick.

I need to hide shit for very short periods of time in a sliding minimum security environment so I put shit in drawers.

I have a stapler, but I’m the one who does all the work, so aren’t I the stapler? So what the fuck is this contraption in my hand!?!?

Bookmarks don’t really mark books, otherwise they’d be called bookmarkers.  So what the fuck?

I don’t buy BluRays anymore because I know in 20 years they’ll just come out with something else…


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