And Then He Maced Me With Febreeze

10/19/2011 · 126 comments

in Adrian,Love,Psychological Warfare,Sadist Vagina

Each September, a pervasive and deadly sense of dread settles over the Gavin household. Adrian and I become very short with one another and fight constantly, the cats begin to become frightened easily, and there’s a permeation of stress in each move we make.

It’s a horrible time, and all because: Adrian’s birthday will soon arrive.

You see, Adrian’s birthday, on October 15th, is surrounded by 14 of the worst days of the entire year. Adrian’s Bad Luck Birthdays have become legendary–don’t be around us in October, because you will probably catch the pancreatic hepalo-ebolarrosis and die violently within a half hour. The Universe saves all of our earned bad karma until October, just so we know who’s fucking boss. Don’t get too happy about life, Adrian, because you’re getting old and your life sucks in October.

4 Years Ago: Adrian’s house was robbed on his birthday. They stole everything, including a toy model car, but not the plastic case it was kept in. Adrian’s Great Dane sits idly by, proving herself incredibly fierce.

2 Years Ago: Adrian’s car is stolen, along with his wallet and favorite hat. They steal it FIVE MOTHERFUCKING MINUTES after Adrian walks in the front door, and the thieves take the toll roads out. The cops filing the report tell us, “yeah, this is a terrible neighborhood, you should move immediately,” and then state that the car is more than likely on its way to Africa to be chopped. Fucking Africa.

This Year, it’s been a little different. This year, the Universe included me in Adrian’s Bad Luck Birthdays.

  • I failed (fucking bombed) a test–one that I studied a week for, and worked very hard for. I might have had more success with this test by kidnapping a stripper on my way to class, giving her a roofie after beating her mercilessly with my own shoes and then having her take the test for me.
  • Adrian and I had a weird and entirely illogical argument about the Holocaust and Dr. Mengele on his birthday, after he had to work extended hours for most of the day.
  • Adrian farted the most disgusting fart ever before bed, and when he tried to cover it with Febreeze, he maced me with the Febreeze instead. The room then smelled like corpse cornhole, Autumn, and burning for 20 minutes while I washed a floral store out of my goddamn eyeballs.
  • Several people last week felt it necessary to inform me that I am rather unfunny. I FUCKING KNOW, OKAY?
  • I clicked this link and it’s been in my nightmares ever since.
  • Adrian’s business caught fire today. It wasn’t a major fire (the fucking toilet cracked and put it out), but the sprinklers ran for HOURS and there were several inches of standing water once he arrived. We spent the morning sweeping water out into the streets and fighting the bums away from the office supplies drying out in the sun.

And the 14 days aren’t up yet. Only a few days before his birthday were riddled with bad luck, so we still have far to go until we’re out of the woods.

True to the Bad Luck Birthday’s tradition of amping up the dickery, the Rapture is once again scheduled for this Friday, well within the 14-day Hell Cycle.

For fuck’s sake, Universe. We get it.

On Friday, Adrian and I are planning on being shithoused and naked, waiting on the Hell Cycle to end like a virgin teenager waits out his Homecoming Date’s period.

What’s been your bad luck recently? How are you dealing with it?

Favorite Comment From The Last Post:
From Jen: “@HelenKeller – Hey, Helen! What’s crack-i-lackin’? @JenReinmuth – Aaaarrrrggggllllhhhh. . .”


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