Someone said to me today that there is nothing worse than a Summer cold. I politely beg to differ. The top 2 items on my list of things that are worse than a Summer cold are, not in any particular order, mouth syphilis and people who say really f@cking stupid things.
I accidentally dropped my chapstick in the toilet and didn’t want it to go to waste so I pulled it out of the toilet, dried it off with my blowdryer, and gave it to a homeless person. How perfect in that I’ve given someone the cure for chapped lips and in all likelihood, the fresh urine scent will be a vast improvement over the aged urine scent that homeless lips usually smell like. Go me!
A radio commercial used the phrase – a crack or dent in my windshield –
I mistakenly thought they said – a crack whore dented my windshield –
Is that like the most hilarious mix up you’ve ever heard of in your whole life or what!? The people who made the commercial should really consider changing it because when I heard about what the crack whore had done, I was truly interested to see what would happen next. For a brief moment I was enthralled. If it turns out that the next thing that happens after your windshield gets walloped by a bitter crack whore who is upset that you didn’t pay her the agreed upon 8 dollars is that Papi Glass fixes your windshield, that might not be bad advertising. If during the next day I have some homeless guy put a hole in my windshield with his chapstick, I would probably think to myself I’m gonna call Papi Glass, seeing as how they fixed the windshield busted up by that destructive crack whore.
There was a big lightning storm yesterday and Wal-Mart went on lockdown mode, not allowing anyone to leave, and someone I know was one of the unlucky souls trapped inside. I’d seriously rather get trapped inside a 10-foot wide hairy yeasty crabby hippievagina than be stuck inside of Wal-Mart. Waking up inside of one of Jigsaws masterpieces with my only escape being to eat both my eyeballs and lower balls would be like a trip to Club Med compared to being stuck in a Wal-Mart. To your left you’d have greeters trying to start conversations with you and to your right you’d have some 16 year-old who didn’t know she was pregnant pop out a few babies right on the floor. You would have no choice but to speak to the 106 year-old half-retarded hunchback or you’d end up slipping and falling face first into a puddle of newborn baby fluids. At least they sell guns if the lockdown goes on for more than 3 or 4 minutes and you just want to end it all.