This is my new idea for winter. It’s awesome.
I’m going to buy a coat with a fake fur collar and when people get indignant and ask, “Is that real fur?” I’m going to say, “Yes. It’s made from puppies.”
That’s hilarious.
Everything that honeybees do rocks the free world. And the oppressed world, the developing world, countries in transition, failed or failing states as determined by USAID criteria, and Canada, also referred to as “America’s Hat.”
Recently, I have begun using Burt’s Bees line of facial products. They are made with honey, oranges and royal jelly. Royal jelly is this stuff that worker bees feed to the queen bee, and it the reason the queen lives 40 times longer and is 50 percent bigger than her minions.
That means that my face is going to live 40 times longer than the rest of me and will be 50 percent bigger in no time.
So watch out.
As a side not, there are going to be a lot of spam comments to deal with because of the title of this post. Spam comments suck. They rarely actually show up on the site, but they get e-mailed to me and I have to confirm they are spam. All 50 million of them. Everyday. That’s just another reason it’s really hard to be me.
Jesus is coming.
Wanna know how I know? Because I’ll tell you.
The temperature keeps changing by about ten degrees everyday. There was a frost yesterday, when the weekend before it was in the 80s. That’s God fucking with us, because he’s about to blow our shit out of the water. He’s gonna be like, “Armageddon, bitches, how you like me now?” And that’s when we will all be sorry that I constantly say things like “Christ on a cross” because I will be the first one to burst into flame.
Actually, probably not. I mean that I probably won’t burst into flame, not that everyone won’t be sorry if I do. We all like to brag that we’re going to burst into flame, but really, we’re mostly decent people. I can’t imagine God would kick your shit right out of heaven for stuff like pre-marital sex or harmless unanticipated make-out sessions in bars when you were mostly a decent person you’re whole life. Plus, I’m pretty sure God invented unanticipated make-out sessions in bars. They taste too much like sugar-coated gumdrops to come from anything else.
Really they usually taste like beer and cigarettes, but you can see what I’m getting at. If not, go make out in a bar and report back to me. Even if God kicks you out of heaven, you’ll be like, “It was worth it, suckahs.”
And you better hurry, because I’m telling you, Armageddon is on it’s way any day now, and Jesus is going to land, and you’re going to be like, “Shit. I should have made out.”
I’m telling you, Jesus is coming.
Look busy.
We had to take this personality quiz, and in one of the questions, we had to choose which superpower we would prefer:
A) Flying
B) X-ray vision
C) Superhuman strength
D) ESP
E) Invisibility
Ok, we didn’t have to take it, we just did because we were bored. But this question, it sucked the boredom right out of me, because it was really hard. I got stuck on D and E. ESP vs. Invisibility. That’s huge.
We thought very seriously about the pros and cons of the two superpowers. How exactly were they defining ESP? That made the decision so much harder. Was it ESP meaning that we could see the future, or ESP meaning that we could read people’s minds? Or was it both, and if so, would we be able to control the reading of the mind part? Because what if you couldn’t, and then everytime you got on the metro, everyone got all up in your head at once? That would drive you crazy really fast. Plus, I don’t really want to know what people think about me. I figure there’s a reason we have an inner monologue, so we should keep it that way.
My friend’s husband pointed out that if you could make yourself invisible, then everytime a shitty co-worker looked they were going to talk to you, you could be like, “There’s Fred, that jackass,” and just disappear before Fred got to your cube. That seemed quite appealing. Only then I would just get lazy and disappear all the time, Fred or no Fred. I would use it as a tool for avoidance.
We’ve discussed this superpower business before, only we were only talking about being able to teleport people places, and make them naked when they get there, or being able to set shit on fire with our eyes. ESP and invisibility weren’t contenders. This made things much more complicated.
And even though I think the naked teleporting would be a really good superpower, there wasn’t a write-in box or anything sort of “other” option. I thought that showed a general lack of creativity and forethought on their part.
But the quiz we were taking was for the CIA, so I stopped thinking that right away. Because they probably already have people who can read your mind, and they probably were doing it right then, and they probably shoot you on sight for thinking bad things or something.
That’s probably also why they want to know what superpower you would want to have. There’s just doing an inventory. Because maybe they already have enough mind-readers and they are in need of a few invisible people.
I finally chose invisibility.
I feel like it’s a supply/demand thing. You can never have a shortage of invisible people when you are running an international spy ring.
So, what this woman did was, she started her very own escort service, because she found other escort services were “lazy, seedy and incompetent.”
That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
Good ol’ American entrepreneurship.
And take down a top government official while you’re at it.
Because we don’t do things half-ass here. No, no. Full-ass only.
November is built a lot like the Dudley Doo Right cartoon. About 4 feet of torso and two feet of legs. He could easily be mistaken for a troll doll because of his hair, but Dudley Doo Right is much more comparable to his proportions.
I didn’t notice this strange alottment of body parts until he pointed it out to me.
“I have back problems anyway because I’m all torso,” he said.
“Ohmigod, you are all torso,” I said. “I never even noticed before. Jesus, how the hell do you even hold yourself up?”
He looks like he needs some sort of external support beam installed.
I texted him about it one morning after some drunken shenanigans the night before.
“I never realized how funny looking you are,” I wrote. “You and your ten-foot-long torso.”
“So that’s what you were thinking about when you woke up, was it?” he asked. “How funny looking I am?”
Pretty much, yeah. I was thinking about this little jig he had danced on the sidewalk the night before and thought, “Shit, he’s a funny-looking kid.”
“Oh yeah?” he said to me a few days later. “Well your ass is the equivalent of my ten-foot-long torso.”
The thing is, that was a compliment.
I’ve been told this before, about my ass. That it is sort of in a class of it’s own, separate from my other appendages. That it stands out, if you will. I’ve never fully embraced this opinion of my ass. I grew up in the United States of Skinny. We don’t embrace big asses here.
“Oh my,” I said to him. “I think I need to make a huge mental shift. (as I has only used it for such things as sitting, etc. Purely functional as opposed to extra-curricular.) (That’s a lie, I have used it extra-curricularly) I feel as though I need to start thinking differently about my ass. I never realized it was so significant.”
“Yup,” he said.
An ass of consequence, if you will.
Summer has been threatening to to appear. Not in a really threatening way, only in a sort of threatening way. It has been making guest appearances off and on for the past few weeks, where it will show up for maybe 48 hours, and be like, “Watch out bitches, it’s on,” and then it will disappear, and be like, “Suckahs.” And that makes me be like, “Bitch.”
It also makes me be like, “I should buy self-tanner now while I can still wear jeans to cover up my legs if they turn out orange.”
So I e-mailed the Great and Powerful Best Friend about it, to tell her to do the same thing. It’s my job to attend to her care and feeding, you know.
“We need to start thinking about which self-tanner we are going to use for the summer,” I wrote.
She responded with, “We already have self tanners chosen and have stocked up while it was cheap during the winter months. Word.”
You can see she does not attend to my care and feeding with the same diligence in which I attend to hers.
“Oh,” I wrote back. “When can I expect my shipment to arrive in the mail? And I assuming it will arrive with my free gift of almond body scrub, lotion and shower gel.”
She gave me that almond stuff for Christmas. It was totally awesome, so I have been asking her lately if that was a one-time offer or a year-long subscription.
She responded to both request with something snarky that meant, “Never.”
So now the spaces between my fingers are a lovely shade of burnt orange where I didn’t wipe off the self-tanner after I put it on my legs. It said to wash your hands afterwards, but I was like, whatever, I’m not doing that, the same way that I’m like, whatever, I’m not doing that, about filtering tap water. Whatever. I’m not doing that.
And now I am orange. And probably have leukemia from the water.
Please note that at the Great and Powerful Best Friend’s house, they drink filtered water.
And have a stockpile of self-tanner, in case of Armageddon and there is a rush on self-tanner, because you want to be tan for a high-profile event like that. They probably also use almond body scrub, lotion and shower gel.
And that makes me be like, “Bitch.”
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