There are some things, that try as I might... I just don't fucking understand. Maybe someone can explain to me why these items exist in this life... Below my list RAW AND UNCENSORED
Bacon bits, Bacon Flakes , Bacon Seasoning. What President approved this imposter? I want to know immediately so I can take my vote back or add it to the reasons of why I didn't vote. Why in God's name would anyone want to sprinkle this shit on anything? Do you like slightly pink tinged epidermis on top of your salad ? How about broken down heel shavings on your baked potato? Do you have gills? No, you say? Okay then, please refrain from eating something that looks identical to what you are feeding Nemo. Eat the real thing. How many bears do you know that go around eating fake people, or whatever the fuck bears eat? How many men go around eating fake vagina? Enjoy this life. Eat the real thing. Eat bacon. Make love to it. Take it for a spin in your convertible. It deserves to be loved over, and over again. It's so fucking delicious. You mock the bacon by partaking in this sham. Stop it now.
Wedge Tennis Shoes. Isn't this just a ghetto-fied wedge bootie with velcro straps? Why not just wear wedge booties instead of making my eyes bleed with this abominable excuse for a shoe? Don't confuse me with your shoes. I will hate you forever. Pick one. Pick either a Rebook Classic High Top or a bootie. For the love of Christ in the sky.. PLEASE ~ Do not do both. It makes zero sense. NO one in the 80s ever said "Ooohhh I love my Freestyle Reeboks, but I long for a bit of a wedge " No one ever said that because there was a thing called Wallabies. Stop the confusion. Keep each shoe in it's appropriate genre. Thank you moving on.
Men who rape my ears everyday at 7:52 a.m. in the parking structure with the windows rolled down and a Pantera/Usher/Trinere concert streaming out of their car. The year is 2014. If you have speakers in your car that sounds like whooping cough, you need to die. I shouldn't generalize, and say " Men " because every now and again there will be a woman in a mini van, with her brow furrowed, concentrating really hard on the lyrics to " Roar " by Katy Pery. I mean I get it, you have a mini van- so I guess you are excused, let the world hear you roar. The rest of you, this Macbeth charade has got to STOP. There is nothing poetic about rolling in to work in rainy, hot, earthquake, sandstorm, blizzard, hail, fire, with your windows rolled down so I can hear your $5 sound system from Radio Shack.
What do you think this is? Coachella? Roll up your windows and make YOUR ears explode asshole, leave mine the fuck alone. If I wanted to listen to seals barking I would go to the aquarium.
*I will be adding more to this list - because there are plenty of things that I do not comprende.
Stay Tuned for updates!
Why I am a Cat
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
I realized recently that I am not human. I mean, technically I am a human being, but I have finally stopped living in denial, and accepted that I might be a cat, or at least behave like one. Although I am allergic to my race, I still exhibit same types of behavior. For example..
Have you ever heard a cat fight? And no I do not mean the hoodrats that were getting into it at Club Douchedom on Friday night because her man gave you the side eye fuck roll because your titties were on display like some fucking auction at Christies. I mean ~ real cats fighting. They howl and hiss. They sound like violins on crack. This is exactly what I sound like at all hours of the day. If I am hissing it's because I cannot breathe, either I said something so funny, and laughed myself into an asthma attack, or I walked to heat up my canned or prepackaged food. See there's another one.
I am obsessed with canned, and packaged foods. I love my vending machine at work that sells tuna fish surprise sandwiches. If I do not have $2.25 cents in coinage, I will whip out my credit card like a magician doing sleight of hand and purr when I retrieve my tuna sandwich. This tuna thing is something new, the older I get the more cat like I become. I have always liked tuna, but not like this. I was so pissed I cried because they switched out the vending machines on me and the tuna sandwiches were in the other vending machine, which would have been okay, except that is the vending machine that does not take credit cards. I hissed and did the only other thing that seemed logical. I pissed on the vending machine.
I am not a dirty girl by nature, in fact much like a cat, I loathe shit.
I cannot stand the sight or smell of fecal matter. It makes me gag. When I feel the need to expel, I do it like a trained champ. I am in and out in less than a minute and get rid of all evidence of what might have happened there. The only times I take longer than a minute is when I am playing Words With Friends or plotting my fucking revenge.
If I am upset or in a bad mood, you will know. Ask my loved ones. Ask my significant other. I scratch, bite, hiss, and finally will expel all bodily fluids on your most treasured and irreplaceable items.
I only want to cuddle or be held when I want. Not when you want. I am not YOUR pet. Think about trying to hold me and you will get a face full of ass then I will run away and hide so you never find me, unless I want to be found.
I love to lounge, I do it well, and I make it look so good, you'll want to buy the movie rights. If I want to sun myself, there has to be shade nearby in case I get bored or, hot because, I refuse to sweat. Sweating makes you smell, and then you have to shower, and I loathe showering. It's a waste of time. I'd rather bathe and lounge in the bathtub.
I hate anything that is smaller than me and has four limbs, except for small dogs because I've made peace with any dog under 16 pounds. There's a silent understanding.
I know squirrels do not mean me any harm, and I try and maintain this attitude for the most part, however there are a few renegade rogue squirrels that have set up sniper caves at my place of employment that really push my buttons. On the rare occasion that I venture out into the disgusting heat they approach in twos and attempt to steal whatever food I am holding, but a quick hiss and lunge usually gets them running away, but not before they come 1/2 an inch close to me, begging me to chase them into a tree so they could toss nuts in my face. I am not in a relationship with you renegade ninja squirrels, I will not chase you and have you laugh and taunt me by teabagging me with your hoard of nuts.
I love the " Murder Channel" and think it's a gift. Cats love to murder small animlas and bring them you as a gift.
I always land on my feet. It doesn't matter if I am wearing flats or 5 inch heels. I cannot balance on just two legs, it's fucking impossible for me to even attempt to skip or run. I always feel like I want to use my arms to help me walk or run or live. If I am on two legs I will trip and fall. Guaranteed. But I always manage to land gracefully. My quick cat-like reflexes have taught me how to not break bones while falling down stairs and avoid jail.
I dream of lounging, eating out of fine crystal, sleeping not having to clean up after myself and being told how gorgeous and perfect I am, multiple times a day. That shit would never get old for me.
Until next time random thoughts make my brain explode : )
Have you ever heard a cat fight? And no I do not mean the hoodrats that were getting into it at Club Douchedom on Friday night because her man gave you the side eye fuck roll because your titties were on display like some fucking auction at Christies. I mean ~ real cats fighting. They howl and hiss. They sound like violins on crack. This is exactly what I sound like at all hours of the day. If I am hissing it's because I cannot breathe, either I said something so funny, and laughed myself into an asthma attack, or I walked to heat up my canned or prepackaged food. See there's another one.
I am obsessed with canned, and packaged foods. I love my vending machine at work that sells tuna fish surprise sandwiches. If I do not have $2.25 cents in coinage, I will whip out my credit card like a magician doing sleight of hand and purr when I retrieve my tuna sandwich. This tuna thing is something new, the older I get the more cat like I become. I have always liked tuna, but not like this. I was so pissed I cried because they switched out the vending machines on me and the tuna sandwiches were in the other vending machine, which would have been okay, except that is the vending machine that does not take credit cards. I hissed and did the only other thing that seemed logical. I pissed on the vending machine.
I am not a dirty girl by nature, in fact much like a cat, I loathe shit.
I cannot stand the sight or smell of fecal matter. It makes me gag. When I feel the need to expel, I do it like a trained champ. I am in and out in less than a minute and get rid of all evidence of what might have happened there. The only times I take longer than a minute is when I am playing Words With Friends or plotting my fucking revenge.
If I am upset or in a bad mood, you will know. Ask my loved ones. Ask my significant other. I scratch, bite, hiss, and finally will expel all bodily fluids on your most treasured and irreplaceable items.
I only want to cuddle or be held when I want. Not when you want. I am not YOUR pet. Think about trying to hold me and you will get a face full of ass then I will run away and hide so you never find me, unless I want to be found.
I love to lounge, I do it well, and I make it look so good, you'll want to buy the movie rights. If I want to sun myself, there has to be shade nearby in case I get bored or, hot because, I refuse to sweat. Sweating makes you smell, and then you have to shower, and I loathe showering. It's a waste of time. I'd rather bathe and lounge in the bathtub.
I hate anything that is smaller than me and has four limbs, except for small dogs because I've made peace with any dog under 16 pounds. There's a silent understanding.
I know squirrels do not mean me any harm, and I try and maintain this attitude for the most part, however there are a few renegade rogue squirrels that have set up sniper caves at my place of employment that really push my buttons. On the rare occasion that I venture out into the disgusting heat they approach in twos and attempt to steal whatever food I am holding, but a quick hiss and lunge usually gets them running away, but not before they come 1/2 an inch close to me, begging me to chase them into a tree so they could toss nuts in my face. I am not in a relationship with you renegade ninja squirrels, I will not chase you and have you laugh and taunt me by teabagging me with your hoard of nuts.
I love the " Murder Channel" and think it's a gift. Cats love to murder small animlas and bring them you as a gift.
I always land on my feet. It doesn't matter if I am wearing flats or 5 inch heels. I cannot balance on just two legs, it's fucking impossible for me to even attempt to skip or run. I always feel like I want to use my arms to help me walk or run or live. If I am on two legs I will trip and fall. Guaranteed. But I always manage to land gracefully. My quick cat-like reflexes have taught me how to not break bones while falling down stairs and avoid jail.
I dream of lounging, eating out of fine crystal, sleeping not having to clean up after myself and being told how gorgeous and perfect I am, multiple times a day. That shit would never get old for me.
Until next time random thoughts make my brain explode : )
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