I remember back when I had hair that required more than five seconds worth of styling (ie, bangs) I would carry around a bobby pin in my pocket at all times and refer to it lovingly and fatly as 'MAH EATIN' PIN!'. It's important that you say it the way it sounds. Hair is goddamn ridiculous and when I had bangs they would get in the way when I wanted to do basically anything other than stand perfectly motionless in a room with absolutely no air flow of any kind. Mainly it was that they would SLOW the velocity of my eating fury, and thus, THE EATIN PIN was a necessity. For all you women who have legitimate hair STYLES or just hair that is real fucking long, I don't know what is wrong with you. I restrain myself from shaving this shit off every five minutes because a stray hair is tickling my face, and I don't even have that much of it. So to have to spend time effort and money on it... alskdjfaslkdjf blows my mind. You're all crazy bitches. Just kidding let's do it. I'm fickle AND insulting, you'd be crazy NOT to!

Also, I am really tired of slapping my hands together to kill a flying bug and then actually succeeding. Because that shit is gross and there is no turning back now. It's everywhere man. EVERYWHERE. I know that's kind of what I was going for, what with the slapping, but I'm never ready for it. The CONSEQUENCE and COMMITMENT that goes along with killing. Such a drag. Why can't you just disintegrate when you die instead of having guts that explode everywhere. And why do ants have to STINK when you smash them? To warn the other ants? Or to be a total buzz kill? SCIENTIFIC EXPLANATION OR SOMETHING TO FAN THE FLAMES OF MY ALREADY OUT OF CONTROL RAGE? I'm going with the latter, they stink because they want to piss me off specifically, because I'm an asshole. And I bet when you smash them they turn into fresh baked cinnamon rolls, because you're less of asshole.

I think whoever decided it was a good idea to create a car with black as the main interior color, should probably be beaten to within an inch of their life via a sack of oranges. You know, whenever you have time. Soon would be great though.

It might look cool, but the second A FUCKING FRACTION OF SUNLIGHT COMES OUT.... even in winter, for fuck's sake.... it's death. HOT BURNY DEATH. If the seats were leather, my skin might actually melt off and then fuse with the leather like some kind of freaky burn victim.

I don't tolerate heat well, but I love the sun. It makes everything pretty. Except my car, and myself while I'm in said car, sweating like a fat man going up stairs and partially fused to the seats. In my defense, it's not a look many can pull off ok.

Yeah I’ve actually sat down and thought about this. At length, and in vivid detail. And ’sat down and thought’ is a figure of speech. Because once the concept materialized in my head, I pretty much started screeching and flailing about with no real intention of ever stopping.

Spiders are bad enough on the ground, or crawling up walls and ceilings and such. Not to mention some of the bastards are poisonous. If they FLEW there would be no escaping them. Especially tarantulas. And they probably wouldn’t fly that well, considering their size. They’d be like slow, fat failures; wheezing their way through the air without care or consequence. And I simply wont stand for that.

I would be forced to build a bomb shelter (or just hijack someone else’s) and live there indefinitely.

For your consideration, I have included an artist’s rendering.



To the untrained eye this may look like just a bee. A freaky, neon bee. FOOLS. It is so.. so much more than that. And you might also be wondering why it has three legs on one side, and only two on the other. ..Look I can’t be expected to understand the wacky inner workings of evolution; maybe the fucking thing is damn near ABOUT to sprout that other leg and while you’re sitting here thinking about how asymmetrical it’s limbs are, it’s already had plenty of time to EAT YOUR DREAMS and haunt you forever. I don’t really know what constitutes as dream eating, but it sure the fuck sounds like NOT A PARTY.

I know I’ve written about spiders before and my irrational girlish hatred of them. It’s a very sensitive subject. My mom asked me the other day if I wanted to get a hammock. Because it’s summer. And there are strategically placed trees nearby, from which to support said hammock.

Me: NO.
Her: Why?
Me: BECAUSE SPIDERS. EEEEEEE.
Her: – thinking that if I were born a man, I would be a goddamned effeminate mess. A disgrace to masculinity. But since I’m a girl, it’s only slightly less shameful and embarrassing at family get togethers.

So in conclusion. As bad as things in my life might get, AT THE FUCK LEAST… spiders have not figured out how to prepare themselves for flight

My birthday was on the 7th and it was kickass. I work with my friend and she went to the trouble of covering my ‘work space’ with flamboyant streamers and these swirly things and a fucking banner. Also, a cake that said ‘HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY’. Because I am a classy gal and she knows that. I think more baked goods need to come with swear words on them. It adds a certain memorable quality. You could even open a specialty bakery. With the slogan ‘Everything is sweeter with FUCK on it’. Except they’d realize that actually sounds disgusting. It was the first thing to come to mind. This is why I’m not the idea guy ok.

It snowed. In December. Which is basically unheard of where I live, so it’s been pretty fucking sweet. Except now I can’t drive anywhere. My sad little Mitsubishi is cowering in a corner and threatening to throw itself into a river should I attempt to drive it. Or put chains on it’s tires. Which would just be hilarious. So hilarious I might endanger other drivers if they were to glance at it at the wrong moment, then hit a patch of ice and flip their far more snow capable SUV. As a responsible driver I would be forced to pull over and point, then laugh, and that could seriously slow down my day. Depending on how long I felt the need to stand there laughing and pointing. And if I happened to fall down at any point during. Look it could be hours, that’s all I’m saying.

I’m ready for it to melt now. I have things to do, snow. Work to go to.You are keeping me from making money now. Which makes me not like you anymore. I think we should break up. You knew what this was.

I’ve had my fun. I’ve drawn the obligatory phallic images and various curse words in the snow. Notice I said ‘drawn’, not ‘drawn with pee”, I am not disgusting. Threw snowballs with rocks in the center at nearby children. Notice I said ‘children’, not ‘animals’, I am not a total asshole. I care about the environment. And children are what’s causing global warming, not sweet cuddly animals. Mark my words.

“How are you keeping your kids busy during this summer vacation?”

I don’t have any children. Also it’s not summer vacation. But if I DID, you can bet I would keep them plenty busy with numerous wholesome bonding activities like forcing them (possibly at knife point) to build me a 15th century sailing vessel. When they asked me sweet merciful crap mother, why are you doing this; I’d tell them asking questions is for terrorists. You little shits. Mommy is very serious about her 15th century sailing vessels. They must never know the intricate and HIGHLY LEGITIMATE reasons behind my wacky obsessions.

And unlike the included image, it better be one that I can fit into. So help me God...

I used to think electric toothbrushes were really lazy. I was a precocious youth at the time, so I pretty much thought everything electric was frightening and potentially lazy. Particularly toothbrushes that made the brushing motions FOR YOU. What the fuck kind of game are you playing at, world? Stop catering to the very very FAT, who get all wheezy-bloated just from trying to brush the cake/bacon our of their teeth. Two glorious foods made absolutely disgusting if ever combined as one.

Today I no longer think of them as lazy, but glorious. The moral of the story is that sometimes, being young means you are kind of fucking stupid.

Hey I almost got through an entire entry without swearing. FANCY THAT. FANCY.. FUCKING… THAT.

I used to date this guy who really had a hard on for politics. This was when I was like fucking… 16 or 17, I don’t remember exactly. Young enough to date someone who got hard ons more frequently from politics than from me; that should serve as a better frame of reference. Now that I’m older and wiser, I make sure I’m at least in the top five causes of their hard ons. How am I supposed to know my worth as a human being otherwise. If I can’t cause spontaneous hard ons.

He’d try to talk to me about politics from time to time, but I just could not give a shit. Not much has changed since then. I’ve found it’s just one of those conversational traps where… no matter what you say in response, it’s going to lead to a lot more TALKING on their part… like a fucking lot. About something I already had no interest in. And I tend to tune out every fourth word and various key sentences when I’m listening to someone, if they talk longer than a few seconds. To preserve room in my brain for more important things. Like my own glorious voice. So I avoid those conversations, naturally. As they are lengthy and typically one sided. They will literally keep talking until you break a chair or glass vase against their face. And I don’t always have one of those things nearby.

I’ve said ‘hard on’ like 2348309 times in this post. I try and vary my word choice usually, but sometimes I get lazy. Then I start to sound kind of drunkenly repetitive. It almost creates the illusion that there is a point I’m getting at, and if you just keep reading I’ll get to it. Well none of that shit is happening in this post. But continue to read it anyway.

Here you probably thought I was going to actually talk about the elections, what with the title of this. I didn’t even make mention of the goddamn candidates. How can we have a rousing debate over issues now?? How can you relentlessly bash me for my beliefs and opinions if I don’t give you any?? OH GOD THE QUESTIONS.

Hey spellcheck, leave 'fuck' alone. And all of it's glorious variations. What's your problem? You can handle ass damn shit hell bitch, but you always scoff at me when I bring out the fuck. Is this because I said I'd call and then promptly/intentionally forgot? I'm tired of your nagging. I think we should see other people. It's been real. I'm going to spend some time apart form you, and see how much of a blubbering idiot you make me sound like. Seriously I'm basically illiterate without spell check. We'll see how it goes.

It honked it’s last pathetic muffled honk four months ago. If I’d known that would be my LAST HONK… I would have made it far more memorable and worthwhile than say… trying to abruptly STARTLE a man off his bicycle and into oncoming traffic. Because I mean people do that shit all the time, it’s not even original. And he just gave me the finger instead of falling into the path of a huge semi. And then I had to kidnap his family. And it was a lengthy and ultimately unsatisfying endeavor when I all I wanted to do was laugh at some guy falling down. In front of a semi truck. Probably to his death. Whatever, the details are unimportant.

Yesterday I wanted to get in the turn lane. Some old guy on a motorcycle sees someone he knows in one of the trucks in the other lane, then comes to a complete stop FAR FROM THE FUCKING POINT WHERE I COULD HAVE SQUEEZED PAST HIM BY DRIVING ALMOST ENTIRELY ON THE SIDEWALK to start chatting amiably with his buddy. Like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Like the driver behind him isn’t losing her goddamn mind trying to find a happy medium between screaming profanities or just running him over in order to get his attention. My car is small and not that intimidating, but he’s also on a FUCKING MOTORCYCLE, so obviously the odds are in my favor, should one of us try to run over the other. If I had my trusty HORN, that would have been my happy medium. No threat of jail time to cause me hesitation, like killing a man oftentimes does.

And thank god for that. Because I cannot manage my anger. There would be a toll. A DEATH TOLL. Which sounds all ominous and shit. And I’m pretty sure that would be the thing that finally gets me kicked out of my quilting circle. They’re classy ladies and don’t tolerate that kind of sass. And when I kill someone, it’s sassy. So I’m told. Which I guess is a slightly better description than ‘you kill like a queer’. …I’m sure the gays kill just as proficiently as the rest of us, so that doesn’t even make sense.

My first car had a powerful and threatening nonstop honk, it terrified children and the elderly alike. The ear drum bursting noise would only stop when and IF you took your hand off the honk button on the wheel. I talk like there was an actual designated BUTTON for it, NAY… the ‘button’ was basically the entire fucking wheel. Very effective when you’re angry and don’t want to waste time locating a way to channel that rage, like with a fucking button. In fact the only part that DIDN’T make the car flip the fuck out in honk frenzy were the sides that you use to STEER WITH occasionally. And even then sometimes it would slip. Like when I got carried away doing a u turn that one time. And ended up spilling piping hot gravy all over myself. Ok it was soda, but that doesn’t sound nearly as memorable. And gravy is always memorable. Always.

My current car had a rather disappointing horn in comparison. It wasn't non stop. Nobody’s ear drums blew the hell up as result. It didn't frighten the tender sensibilities of today’s youth, or the goddamn elderly. If only I could get my hands on a sweet ass air horn and just use that instead, although I think I've been pre-banned from ever purchasing such a thing. My name is probably in a database. Under 'DONT FUCKING SELL AIR HORNS TO THAT CRAZY BITCH'. It takes dedication to be pre-banned from something. I achieve many great things indeed. I would list them but that’d probably come off as overbearingly self righteous. Smug. Pompous. Cocksure. Jaunty. And various other words that thesaurus.com tells me mean basically the same thing. I don’t know though, I think if I used JAUNTY in a sentence instead of FULL OF SHIT people would stop taking me seriously.

Because yes, my life is very eventful and filled with terrifying highs and dizzying lows, so much that I require a once a year retreat from all the NON STOP ACTION. Actually I just went because it was free.

My mom and brother and I, it’s a summer thing we do usually unless we’ve suffered greater than average gambling losses that year and can’t afford it. Or failed get rich quick schemes. Or the drug market and it’s ever changing demands.

Regardless, this year was seven days in a nice bright beach house in a neighborhood full of quaint and law abiding citizens who all have WAY WAY more money than I do. And flowers. Smug assholes. Like all over the goddamned place. I wanted to drive the car through every obnoxiously tidy yard I passed, but unfortunately I was not driving at the time and my mother tends to frown upon such colorful displays of hate.

Also dogs. They were everywhere. But not legitimate acceptable dogs, no; the kind that can fit in a pocket or at least a carry on bag. Really, if it’s going to be that small just get a fucking cat. They are a lot less work.

I myself ended up with a 100 lb rottweiler, I got her about 3 years ago from the humane society. At the time I adopted her she was quite overweight, and had kennel cough. So she would pretty much just wheeze and lumber about the house. I’m told it’s very intimidating. If you’re high. So lets hope that is the state of mind any burglars are in, should they ever attempt to break in to my house. And if not, I’ll have to resort to shooting them with a rifle the old fashioned way. But really that is so much less exciting than a dog attack. I mean they have entire hour long shows dedicated to that shit. Dedicated to animals FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT and killing people. Excuse me if I want to witness some of that action firsthand.

My spell check tried to convince me when I typed ‘rottweiler’, what I really meant to write was throttler or potboiler. If I hadn’t already named her, that’s what it would be. Throttling Potboiler. Veterinarians would love calling that shit out in the waiting room. That’s a fucking ARENA NAME, show some respect.

By the way ‘manhandling my man handle’ is my absolute favorite euphemism for jacking off. Really, best I’ve heard so far.

I’m confused when it comes to identifying my sexuality. I hover somewhere between straight and bisexual. I spend FAR more time thinking about having sex with men than I do with women. Yet there are occasions, throughout the day, where I will stop and realize that what I’m thinking right now would be considered SO VERY GAY, if I were say, a straight male.

Because straight guys have that shit figured out, it's pretty black and white. They don’t see some guy on TV and think DAMN I’D LIKE TO ____ THAT. Really you can put so many words other than FUCK there, I just thought for creativity’s sake I would leave it blank.

Now. About my thoughts being SO VERY GAY.

For example. I was driving away from the movie store yesterday, all but hanging my head out of my car shamelessly checking out some girl in a rather tight fitting tank top. Openly and rather drunkenly appreciating the female form.

If I considered myself textbook straight, this would probably be cause for ALARM. But it happens so often that I seldom even remember doing it. Much like many of my actions.

And how funny that if I were a guy, doing the same thing as described above; I’d be considered kind of sleazy. But since I am not, it's somewhat excusable. So THERE ARE VIRTUALLY NO CONSEQUENCES TO MY ACTIONS. EVER. This is what I tell myself most mornings, just as a general rule.

I stare at boobs a tad bit too much to be considered mostly straight, as well. They just fascinate me, I can't help it. I have never officially dated a woman. Which is probably best, as I get the feeling were I to enter into a RELATIONSHIP, I’d end up being the man. Every fucking time. And it would just be a damn mess. She’d want to cuddle, and I’d just want to feel her up. Even when she comes home from a particularly rough day and is talking about how the death of her grandfather in NAAAAAAM has really affected her in BLAH BLAH BLAH whatever I’m just here for THESE. Is what I’d say. Because I’d be that kind of girlfriend. I’d probably slap her around on occasion as well for being too mouthy.

So yeah, I'd be pretty fantastically horrible as some woman's girlfriend. I feel manly enough on an everyday basis, I don’t need the added emphasis of being the butch rather than the bitch. Thank God for this rack. That way even though I am swearing like a sailor and cursing my gender's own whimsical stupidity, I can just look down and be reminded that OH YEAH I'm still a girl where it counts. WITH THEEESE. Otherwise I might start to have a GENDER IDENTITY CRISIS. Well, probably not. I just thought those words sounded great in caps lock. No, not great. Awesome.

The end.

OR IS IT????!?!

Yeah, it is. Sorry. I’m a bitch for unnecessary suspense.

Fuck I love easter candy so much I could punch myself in the face. I bought like ten buckets of it today and could not be more psyched about trying to eat all of it in one sitting, then ultimately having to stop because my lungs are slowly becoming filled with easter delight. Which, if you think about it, is not so delightful when it’s suffocating you. Also the sounds of my family crying whilst begging me to stop putting them through this every year. But fuck them, I’m not gonna kill myself, I’m not stupid.. I use fancy words like ‘whilst’ and shit.

Whatever, they can keep crying. My taste buds are drunk with happiness.

Why are spiders so hard to kill? A friend told me once that they die if you stick them in the freezer, which I don’t believe. I could probably throw one of those bastards in a microwave for like half and hour and it would be alive and ready to kick my ass once I opened the door again.

And now that I think of it, why in the hell would I want to put one in my freezer? I just want it to STOP BEING ALIVE, I don’t feel like putting in the time and effort of giving it a torturous slow death. I have some fucked up friends. Remind me never to ask them for advice about anything, particularly ‘hey how do I kill ___’?

So I found one living in my fridge for GOD KNOWS how long, the other day. And it was FAT with child. I of course, shrieked like the girl I am, and slammed the door shut. But knowing it was roaming about, all pregnant and gross, EATING EVERYTHING no doubt… drove me to go get some glass cleaner, spray it, then crush it with a tissue. I always spray them with something first, before the crushing. That way they can’t run. There is nothing worse than a botched spider execution. Then it’s just alive, crippled, and full of vengeance somewhere in my house, WAITING…

My brother is slightly more of a girl about it than I am though, last time I checked. I imagine if he had found fatass spider in his fridge he’d duct tape the goddamn door shut and call the police, screeching like a fishwife, saying there had been a break in. Then once they got there he’d explain that the burglar made a speedy and inconspicuous escape via invisible spaceship and that ‘hey since you’re here, would you mind?’. And they never mind.

My mom likes to make fun of her pansyass children when it comes to that. Even though she is about 2543654 times worse when it comes to mice. Or any rodent really. She’s convinced they all carry about several different strains of the ebola/HIV virus on them at all times, waiting to infect those poor souls foolish enough to cross their paths. And wouldn’t it be hilarious if she was right.

Every time I try to type the word ‘fantasy’, for some reason it always ends up ‘fatnasty’. I don’t know if that can be considered a Freudian slip, or if I should just stop typing while drunk, either way. It is truly one of life’s great mysteries.

My mom named me after that guy in Gone With The Wind, Ashley Wilkes. No wonder I’m so mannish. Except that’s not a very masculine name. In fact it’s more than a little frilly and precious. He was probably more of a LADY than I am. Jesus. This is all vastly confusing and the only thing I can think to remedy the situation is to make fun of someone lesser than me. IMMEDIATELY. TO HIDE THE SHAME INSIDE. Or bake a cake. Because seriously I’ve been meaning to do that for like a week. My priorities are very complex and challenging. To understand them would probably cause brains to fall right the fuck out of the heads of their owners. I don’t want brains falling out of heads, I have enough guilt.