It has occurred to me that the last few turds dropped in this toilet of a blog have been me just pissing and moaning about being unhappy with my own station in life. It’s time to get back to the corn and peanuts of what this blog is about— ranting about other things (and people) that I hate. The only ones who want to hear me rant about everything that I dislike about myself also want to take away my shoelaces and force me to sing Kumbaya with a bunch of bandaid-wristed whack jobs while they sift through my poop to make sure I’m really swallowing those nigh-night pills. Seriously, why do they check your poop in the loony bin? And they say we’re the weird ones. But I digress.
Here are a couple of things that are bothering my bowels (I know, I know—they’re quite irritable already) this week:
Retro = Recycling Old Shit.
As I think I’ve made clear, I hate leaving the house and seeing (or smelling) people in general, so I rely on social networking to remind me daily of why I hate everyone so much. And every time I log on for my daily dose of “dung droppings by dunderheads” I’m met with some little quip, some whiny little grievance, that everything about our current era is horrible and “oh if only it were the ‘50s again!” A form of this complaint has been crapped out by everyone from political ranters, music Nazis, narcissistic artists, and style snobs.
Aside from the obvious pitfalls to going back to a society of segregation and sexual inequality, there’s the whole “medium for your pointless bitching” thing. As in, THERE WAS NO FUCKING INTERNET BACK THEN. So if you think those days were so damn great and everything that’s evolved since has been a sewer of suffering then how about you log off the damn computer right now and curl up in the fetal position under your desk. I hope you bought the Russian missile resistant model at IKEA. There, isn’t 1952 fucking glamorous?
Don’t get me wrong, I hate our current era as well. But as far as I’m concerned, civilization went to shit as soon as the first monkey started walking upright, and no poodle skirt is going to change my mind.
You’re too close to the current catastrophe of crap that is the world today. When our kids/grandkids/test tube clones look back on 2012 they aren’t going to be bombarded with Ke$ha and Kardashians. Something worthwhile will pop up, even if we don’t see it now. Remember, only the good shit floats. So the next time you want to bash society, remember that everything has and always will suck ass. Consistency, people; it’s important in more than just stool samples.
Pregnancy Progression Photos.
This is a trend that has to stop. You know the routine—a person is so proud that they had unprotected sex that they take a picture every four weeks of their growing belly and post it on a social networking site for the whole world to see.
Why does this get my intestines in such a bunch?
Maybe I have baby fever… and by fever I mean I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to the little manure machines. I squirted one out four years ago and my sinuses still aren’t right. Or maybe it’s because only the skinny chicks do this. The ones that at 8 months pregnant have bellies that look like mine after I eat one pancake.
If we really wanted to see a flipbook of fatness we’d watch Supersize Me on fast forward. Or on regular speed, really.
The point is, I don’t want to see your belly. Ever. Take these photos for yourself if you want, keep them in a scrapbook. But just because it’s easy to share photos with the whole stupid world now doesn’t mean that you should.
Next time I’m constipated I’m taking time lapse tummy photos. Something tells me, however, that the end result of your baby-bloated belly will be slightly more photogenic.