So, why haven’t I been writing lately? Turns out, when you move to Hawaii, you have to sell everything you own first. And, it turns out, selling everything you own is a fucking pain in the ass that takes up every free minute of your life.
I mention this so that I can fully illustrate my disgust with today’s topic. It takes something insanely stupid to get me motivated enough to hop back on the computer, and today I found it at a Red Robin restaurant.
Has it really come to this? Are Americans actually so lazy that they can’t be bothered to raise their heads to watch TV? Do we need TVs in the floor? You wouldn’t want to miss a single second of Maury Povich while waiting to cram a Fiesta Southwestern Ranch Bacon Spicy Beef Jerky Slim Jim Burger with extra bacon crumble and a side of bacon juice down your fucking throat. Who’s the real father of the baby? I don’t know but there’s a good chance he’s in back “cooking” my “food.”
We deserve to have our economy collapse. We deserve Donald Trump as our President. We deserve Jersey Shore and the Kardashians. We are pathetic. It’s over.
There’s no part of this video that is funny or worth joking around about. If you think this cunt is a GIANT CUNT then turn it into something positive and text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation to help the earthquake & tsunami victims in Japan.
By the way, here’s what it was like to be in the middle of that little “tsunami thing.”
Do you have an important funeral to attend but you just don’t feel like getting all dressed up in blue jeans for it? Have you been invited to a wedding and think it’s unfair that you can’t just wear your pajamas? I mean what’s more important than YOUR comfort, right? For years women have suffered the inhumane torture of wearing jeans in public. What, is everyone supposed to be the Queen of England?
Introducing Pajama Jeans, you lazy piece of shit! Now you can wear your PJs to your mother’s funeral and all the other dopes in attendance will think you have dressed up in jeans. Joke’s on them, it’s our little secret.
Pajama Jeans provide the best of both worlds… the laziness of wearing jeans every day, and the laziness of wearing your pajamas in public! Our patented stretchy material works for all shapes and sizes, so cramming your fat ass in there for a trip to Walmart will be a snap. The special interior “Dormi Soft” material is as soft as a baby’s face. It’s like rubbing your sweaty vagina against a cute baby’s face, what could be better?!?
You can wear your pretend jeans with sandals, bare feet, Crocs, or if you have an important court date for your recent D.U.I. you can even wear them with flip-flops.
But wait, there’s more! You can even work out in your magical fake jeans. I’m just kidding, we all now there’s no need for you to work out, it’s McDonalds’ fault you are fat. You should fucking sue!
Order now and we will throw in a free T-shirt that you will most likely use to wipe Slurpee spills off your belly.
Finally, Americans have a way to dress casually! Order your Pajama Jeans NOW!!
All I can do is stare at the screen and wonder what the hell I could possibly say about this.
I honestly think we may have peaked as a civilization. Maybe it’s because I watched an episode of “Wife Swap” for the first time tonight or maybe it’s simply because Taco Bell is jamming Flamin Hot Fritos into burritos, but I’m starting to feel like the human race has reached the top of the roller coaster and it’s time to all put our hands in the air and enjoy the rapid decent into hell.
Can we be trusted with the enormous task of keeping society running smoothly when Fritos are being shoved up the ass of an already heinous “burrito?” I’m not even against the practice of putting chips on things, in fact I like a good PB&J filled with pretzels, but this activity should be reserved for the end user. There is just something so grim about buying a food product already stuffed with Fritos. It’s unfortunate.
Oh, but there is some good news though. The Beefy Crunch Burrito comes with “reduced fat sour cream.” Why bother?
If you would like to climb inside my mind and get a better feel of my mental state when I think about The American Girl Store, I suggest you turn your speakers up as loudly as they will go, tape them to your head with duct tape, smash a habanero chili into your eyes, knock your teeth out with a hammer and play the video below.
I fucking despise The American Girl Store and the army of rich, white 8-year-old zombies they are grooming to take over the planet. If my daughter asked for an American Girl doll I would kindly ask her to pack whatever she could fit into a paper sack and then she and I would take a leisurely drive to the orphanage. The uncomfortable silence of the car ride would only be broken when I softly say, “You are no longer my child” from a rolled down car window as the nuns take her and her paper sack into her new home.
“What’s the big deal, it’s just dolls” you say. After I’m done throwing my beer in your face I will tell you what the big deal is. Here’s the way it works… first you have to be a rich white girl. Second, you have to have a bat-shit crazy mother who is trying to compensate for her own fucked up childhood and thinks it perfectly normal to spend several hundred dollars taking you and your fucking piece-of-shit doll for a day of pampering most adults can only dream of. These soulless zombie dolls spend the day getting their hair styled, attending tea parties, buying expensive clothing, snorting top notch Colombian cocaine off a Huey Lewis and the News CD while getting jerked off in a 1993 Honda Civic in the Burger King parking lot near the airport. Wait, somehow that turned into my day.
The point is this, FUCK YOU and your fucking doll that’s dressed like you and is an asshole like you even though you are only 9 and fuck your overnight stays at the Ritz for the low low starting price of only $430 “for a moderate room.”
Take the pain away, Abominable Iron Sloth!
When I hear someone say “That’s what I’m talking about” I immediately trace my steps and try to figure out how I ended up in this frat house and where the hell did my pants go?!?
I hate this phrase. It literally makes me cringe. Actual physical cringing takes place. It’s never used to describe something genuinely awesome, like a cure for cancer or a box full of kittens. Instead, it’s used to describe important events like witnessing your buddy vomit into his own hands. Everyone knows the correct response to that situation should be a gentle nodding of the head and a quiet “beautiful” whispered to yourself.
I would also like to point this bullshit out, thanks to a comment from JulieJulieJulie on the previous Rachael Ray post. The world is ending.
I seriously hate that I have to vote today. I can’t find a single politician worth my vote.
They all act like a bunch of asshole kids fighting over a broken toy. They don’t actually want to PLAY with the toy, they just want CONTROL of the toy.
The attack ads were so bad this year, I could barely watch People’s Court! Yeah, don’t FUCK with People’s Court if you want MY vote.
When did our country become so dumb? Were we always this dumb but I didn’t notice it because I was too busy listening to Van Halen and skateboarding?
So happy Voting-For-The-least-horrible-Choice day!
Blah blah blah, I blew off writing tonight. So in place of my passionate rant about something important, here’s a fellow ranter acting like a psycho.
For the record, I know this is old news but I just saw it for the first time tonight.