Oh Good, You Saved Your Bullshit.

05/18/2011 · 332 comments

in I'm A Terrible Person,Psychological Warfare,What Is Wrong With You?

My house has burned down before. Twice.

It’s safe to assume that in the event that it can and might happen again, I have an escape plan and a, “things I would save,” list: the safe, the photos, my computer.

Maybe our cats. That’s a tough one.

And I would let the rest of my stuff burn, again. Why?

Because I have survival instincts. Because I’m not a fucking hero–when you lose it all, you’re amazed at how little you cared in the first place about all your things.

And also because I’m not mentally incapacitated.

But, thanks to The Burning House project, I now know what some other people might choose, and rest assured that though the photos are beautiful, the choices they have made are total bullshit, and I have once again lost faith in a section of mankind.

The first few were good choices.

He’s mixed practicality with sentimentality: he needs his phone and his keys, but he’s attached to his photos. I get it. I agree.

All of this can be carried with just two arms while your home explodes behind you and you dive behind your mailbox.

This guy realized he might want his passport, but grabbed other homey items that are irreplaceable.

This is good. This shows common sense. That’s the final use of common sense you’ll see here.

You have to be fucking kidding me. A frying pan and face cream.

Do you even realize the logistics of grabbing both of those items if your legs were on fire, ma’am? Do you realize that both of these things are readily available for purchase any fucking time you choose?

I neglected to mention your fork collection there that’s also ridiculous. Wait, is that a TEA TOWEL? I can’t deal.

The sheer douchery in this photo is damn near incomprehensible.

My husband Adrian is a yuppie to the core, but he’d let his suits burn in a second if it meant saving his fucking life.

It’s like looking into the burning eyes of a serial killer. Nothing about this photo sits well–least of all the cats he’s got wandering through there. That knife is longer than the cats. It’s Backdraft meets Deliverance. I’m so afraid.

Let’s just cut to the chase and talk about why this person chose to save two tiny redneck outfits.

Is she herself tiny? Does she have a colony of Lilliputians in that bag? I wonder if she keeps them in line by whacking them with the Irish walking stick.

Do you call that a Lil’ Pimpin Cane? This is baffling on a lot of levels.

I don’t even want to start talking about the shoes, because it’s going to make my brain combust to do so. I swear to God you won’t miss them if I pull out a lighter, ma’am. Don’t try me.

My question is…why the shears? How are shears sentimental to you? Are you Lorena Bobbit? Because then you have some larger issues at hand than your home aflame.

This is such a motley collection of twatwaffle that I can hardly contain my rage.

Okay–your favorite shirt, but if you saved that, why then do you save the painting of it? The keys are to your BDSM dungeon I assume, because you also have a busted-ass horse bit there.

This is like a Twilight novel that’s aged 35 years.

I notice you also chose not to save pants for whatever reason, which is perplexing. Galoshes are on the short list, but you’re going to be fishlippin’ it during the fire. Enjoy.

Thanks to this, I have a renewed sense of shit that I own that actually matters. I’ll now be enjoying my new list of bullshit I’d save in a fire.

Some tissues, a used candle, a broken reindeer PEZ dispenser, my left shoe, Spaceballs, Spotted Dick, a Bic pen, a used wet nap, some stamps, 7 gummy worms, and a tea bag.

Not even the fun kind of tea bag. Burn it down, motherfuckers.

What would you save if your home were on fire?

My Favorite Comment from the Last Post:
From Mandi: “Listen to Mr. Asshole’s explanation, tilt head and say “huh… the artist was my uncle and he said that he made it to psychologically trigger men with small willies to start spewing the verbal equivalent of a Ferrari to compensate. Weird.” and walk away. Or just put a “kick me” sign on his back….Also, was the jug of jugs supposed to be an art project? Because some poor student may have misheard “You should probably just work at a titty bar” as “You should make a titty jar” 

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