I really have no right to judge people about their lives. I mean, I once threw a suitcase up a spiral staircase fully expecting it not to come rocketing right back down and back over me in the process, and I have been kicked out of a minimum of 30 businesses in my life, one of them being a permanent ban from Christopher and Banks. I’m not exceptionally smart or talented or better than anyone else, so I should just keep my mouth shut.
But I can’t stop judging people, because these things happen:
1. Re: Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre
High School Teen 1: “Yo, why that girl get all huffy about that theatre?”
High School Teen 2: “That where that mothafucka got shot.”
You have to be fucking kidding me. I’ll give you this, at least you knew the low-down about Ford’s Theatre, but “That where that mothafucka got shot?” I just can’t imagine a greater history class than one of your masterfully poetic design, HST2.
What contribution to the world did Mother Theresa provide? That bitch fed those poor-ass kids like a fucking boss.
What happened to Jesus? That mothafucka got crucified like a bitch, yo.
Who was Harriet Tubman? …wait, no.
2. Re: Harriet Tubman
High School Teen 1: “Why that Tubman bitch got all them people followin’ her?”
High School Teen 2: “That bitch had a map, yo.”
And all is right within the world of history. Jesus Rollerblading Christ. You first had me hooked when you called Harriet Tubman “That Tubman Bitch,” which is the most eloquent title I can think of for a leader of the Underground Railroad. I thought that would be the end to the glory, but nary a worry, because that bitch HAD A MAP.
Little did I know that Harriet Tubman was a historical Dora the Explorer. That Tubman bitch had a Map in her singing hobo sack and solved problems like slavery with her little friend, Oppressy The Cat. I bet that Tubman bitch still had to fight against Swiper, who instead of stealing apples and shit, stole her own people from her to put them back into slavery in nightmarish conditions.
I can’t tell if that is really funny to think about, really racist, or just really, really sad.
3. Re: 4th Of July
5-Year-Old Ginger Kid: Raves the fuck out of some glowsticks, then straight up drops down and pops his booty
Dad: YEAH! Get it tight, son!
Nope. None of that should have ever happened. While I’m not going to deny the outstanding awesomeness of watching your ginger kid rave for his goddamn life on that Cookie Monster beach blanket, I’m very concerned with your style of parenting.
Let there be no surprises when your son keeps raving for attention from you, and when that no longer brings cries of “get it tight, son,” and “clap that shit,” he’ll start snorting Pixi Stix and dosing hard on Smarties. Then he’ll start a downward spiral into Fanta, which leads to harder things like Faygo. That’s where it turns dark–you know what Faygo causes, sir? Juggalos. Faygo=Juggalos4Lyfe.
I hope your raving ginger kid was worth the dark carnival of souls.
4. Re: Ranch Dressing
Lady in Wal-Mart: We can’t just be buying up ranch dressing. We ain’t the damn Kardashians, Ron.
Truer words, my good lady. As a very fancy lady myself, who often takes bubble baths and keeps cats and eats only sub-par dressing sauces on my salads and french fried potatoes, I can assure you that only the fanciest can be buying up ranch dressing. And when one thinks of the height of fancy class, grace, and overt elegance, one’s mind immediately brings up pictures of Reggie Bush giving it fancy dirty to Kim Kardashian, who does have the money to be buying up ranch dressing.
Ron was seriously out of line in expecting ranch for his side dishes. Bravo to your bravery in establishing the social order madame, bravo.
5. Re: My Goddamn Face
Child: Slams a giant ball right into my face during my rice and pasta selection time
Me: Stares in abject horror
Child’s Mother: Did you see that? Merlin just hit some bitch in the face with that ball. MERLIN. Don’t go hitting no bitches with that ball. Slaps the ball out of Merlin’s hand, bouncing it into the rice and knocking over a shitload of it
Merlin: Begins whipping rice about like a grain tornado
1) Your kid’s name is Merlin
2) That mini-assbomb nailed me right in the gob with a giant ball and you called me a bitch afterward
3) Your kid’s name is Merlin
4) You knocked over a metric fuck-ton of rice and walked away like it never was a thing
5) Your kid’s name is Merlin
6) You didn’t even flinch when MERLIN began mercilessly whipping Uncle Ben at everyone’s shocked riceholes because goddamnit, you needed to finish that text
7)YOUR CHILD IS NAMED MERLIN GODDAMNIT
I hate everyone for all of the reasons.
What are some spectacular visions of humanity that you’ve seen lately?– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Dani: “It’s been almost 23 years since I was last growing a child and yet I still read her blog and thought, “Yep… yep… yep….” while laughing my ass off. The awkward pregnancy photos… priceless. There is one photo of me when I was around 5648395756 months pregnant with my second child. It’s taken from the hideously unflattering angle of my side view while I’m sitting down. God help us all, it looked as if my belly and my boobs were eating my head.”