Do it like this.
So I changed themes over there this morning and started playing with the new random button. Reading those old posts led me to the following conclusion:
Man I am fucking NUTS.
***UPDATE: So I’m a big asshole for doing this, but look what arrived in my electronic mailboxz today. You see? I WAS NOT KIDDING***
Look, I know these “Ice Cream Socials” are like one of the top ten annoyances according to the children of Darfur, but allow me to be shitty and comprain about having to attend these fucking things.
You can’t really say, “No. No, I don’t really want to eat a bowl of ice cream in the middle of the fucking day with you guys. And honestly, I don’t understand why you would want to either, unless you have a badass metabolism or you’re 5.”
Know why you can’t say that? Because it seems uppity and rude, and unless you’re morbidly obese, no one will understand why you won’t just eat a fucking bowl of ice cream in the middle of the day. If it were like a once-a-year thing, fine, whatever, but it’s not. Plus the name is pretty up there with the cheesiness. ”Ice Cream Social, you guyz!!! Toot toot, All Aboard!” The expression on my face in reaction to that was a blank stare with lots of blinking (in the best case and I am guessing.)
Scene: EXT. WALGREEN’S PARKING LOT. DAY.
Halfassitude walks toward the entrance and notices that an annoying little lady has set up an annoying little table out front.
LADY: Hello, have you heard of the D.A.R.E. program?!!!?! 
?
HALFASSITUDE: Yes. Yes I have.
LADY: Would you like to take a moment to look at all this shit on my table and buy something to help?
HALFASSITUDE: No thanks. I like drugs.
LADY: 
—————————————
So I proceed to do my shoppings, all the while LOL’ing in my head, until I realize that I have to cross paths with Lady again on the way out. I smiled at her; she looked at me. Then her phone rang with some hip-hop ringtone and it was over.
~fin~
Oh, and D.A.R.E.?
1999 called. It wants its web design back.
Fucked Me Right Up - Sean Hayes
“Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye.”
He literally says this 24x in a row. Excellent. He does not give an EFF.
Coming up next: I bought some crazy-ass shit today. It involves eggs, things that light up, and the fact that I am an idiot. I’ll put a vid up soon.
Usage:
“I was about to come to fruition, when the word ‘administrivia’ popped into my head and I couldn’t remember if it was a real word or not. Couldn’t get it back on the rails after that.”
So I ended up getting the blue shoes, they’re biodegradable like my red ones and I like to pretend that is why I bought them. They’re like ineffective rain boots, so that’s cool? Robert, Yipany, Master & Commander of Napkins, and Jen, you might wanna close your eyes now.
The rest of you didn’t vote like I axed, so I’m forced to bring him out again:
Why do you make me do it?
Filed under: Pro-tips, embarrassing, farts, fashion, gross, old people, teaching, working, you
Shit just gets WAY too real in there. Thrice I have been privy to things of which I shall not speak. Talk about the clinical definition of awkward. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a guy, standing next to your boss at the urinal while both of you hold your thingies? Do you feel obligated to make small talk? :(
So I made a “What I Wore” feed over to the left, because IT NEVER ENDS, DOES IT. ”Vainglorious” redirects to here . Apparently God and I are getting a divorce (on the grounds of my forsaking him for my own image, always with the forsaking.)
The five-dollar answer:
(Thanks, Zerokewl!)
Filed under: embarrassing
Sometimes I’ll be going about my day, minding my business, when all of a sudden ”WHA’CHOO TALKIN’ ‘BOUT, WILLIS!” pops into my head.
As in, will they make other people’s genitalia afraid of me?
Well I do not care. THEY WILL BE MINE. I am so super-cereal. I just don’t know what to wear them with. A really shiny trash bag?
J. K.’s. I’ll find something. Unrelatedily, I’ve decided to start chronicling all food items that enter my mouth each day. There’s a page for it here at .What.I.Ate.Today., and it’s linked to on the sidebar.
So he got dropped from Kellog. Who fucking cares.
I AM GETTING CROTCHETY AND OLD. I don’t think I used to bitch so much about everything. Isn’t this what really old people do?
So I tried not to look at this while I ate my dinner last night:
I’m not really into tentacles. At all. Would you describe something as “tenticular”, “betentacled”, or “awash with tentacle”?
Well TOO BAD. Here goes, and it’s not’s good:
My vagina is borderline retarded 
. IQ scoring is considered as follows:
1) Why grow so much hair? I asked the intertron:
– The pubes catch and carry ’round your bodily funk (aka pheremones). If you find a dude with very different smelling pubes, you should probably hook up with him STAT, because your genetic differences will allow your potential rugrats to more effectively fight off disease.
*Why my vagina is stupid: I have no desire to have children, nor to smell your sticky pubes and quantify our differences. We have discussed this, vagina. FAIL.
-The pubes “importantly” keep our loins warm, which doesn’t make sense, since a male’s pubic hair is concentrated above the penile region, and not so much on the testes (depending on the testes in question, of course [I guess]).
*Why my vagina is stupid: it doesn’t catch colds, pretty much ever, and I think my reproductive organs are further up anyway [yes, I know you don't catch colds from weather, but I've never been like DAMN my vag is frozen like a bag of peas.]
2) Vaginas bleed on a regular basis, and if you think that is a hassle, multiply it by 1,000, then raise that to the power of infinity.
*Why my vagina is stupid: it bleeds buckets each month, even though I’ve told it time and time again that I will not be having a kid this month, next month, or any other month. I realize that there are methods for getting around this, but I’m wary of hormones and side effects of anything besides the pull-out method with a monogamous partner who has been thoroughly tested.
-Side note: The pull-out method is 100% effective.
3) The hair will ALWAYS grow back, in spite of any attempts at reason
*Why my vagina is stupid: you would really fucking think that it would catch on after 5 – 10 years of snipping or hacking away, but that is one stubborn vagina.
Guys? Anything comparable? You can’t beat the menstrual issue, sorry. Your only hope is to complain about tangling of your equipment and hairs. I can think of nothing else specific to your business.
On the bright side, some idiot on the internet (because I am clearly a genius contributor to the internet) suggests that “Pubic hair is an evolutionary adaptation for lathering your soap in the shower.” OK. I’ll concede this point. Well played, freak.
That, my peeps, is what this clam-flavored beer tastes like. Real talk. I know I said I would make a vid of myself drinking it, but I honestly can’t get beyond one sip and you’ll just have to take my written word for it.
I don’t know this poor human male, but that’s what one looks like while tasting a delicate blend of sweat and menstrual blood.
That also happens to be the lyrics to one my favorite songs — THX, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone
Filed under: Laura Linney's Breasts, Pro-tips, bored, chillin today, embarrassing, video games
When I was a younger little twatsprinkle, I conducted a lot of research (via Prodigy and America Online) on making my breasts grow larger by using my brain.
[yes -- recycled pic from this summer -- it's not as if my breasts have grown since]
I read that if you close your eyes and picture yourself topless in the sun, breasts buds would further blossom, because something about the tingling sensations that actually occur when your breasts grow due to teh puberties, yeah, none of this makes sense. But that is a true story. And obvs, it didn’t pan out.
So that was my life then, this is my life now. Jealous?!!?! No? :(
