So I have officially lived in
South Carolina for a month now, and I guess I can say the Honeymoon period is
officially over. It's not that I don't like this place anymore, just that
kind of Christmas-esque feeling of excitement from moving to a new place is
gone. Now's when you start realizing that certain things annoy you, like
not having a disposal or sharing a house with a demon-possessed street cat.
Actually, that's not completely true. When I think of something
blog-worthy, I immediately have to make a note of it in my phone because I have
the memory of a mentally challenged goldfish. I wrote the part about the
cat a week ago, but guess what?? Satan's kitty is GONE!! I know,
right?! If I wasn't bankrupt in four states I would have bought a cake and
Power Ranger Plates and had a party. Actually, wait, screw that.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for sure, eff the Power Rangers.
Anyway, the point is that the animal is no longer a member of this
household and I can't say I'm angry about it.
BREAKING NEWS: As of September 20th, 2012 I can
officially say that I have met the most excruciatingly painful person to spend
time with. I'm going to call him Lima Bean, because that was the first
thing that came to mind when I thought about how to describe his personality.
Honestly though, if this guy had a patronus, it would be an earthworm.
If he were a color, he'd be a soft grey. He’s like the human version of Crocs but with less to make
fun of. Being around Lima Bean is like being subjected to 24 hours of Sarah
McLachlan SPCA commercials. Anyway, I
think you get the point.
Have you ever been in a place
like a college cafeteria or public restaurant and spilled a drink? It's
like your group of friends becomes a Chinese family and you've brought horrible
shame upon all of them. You immediately feel like everybody in the entire
place is staring and muttering insults/harsh judgmental stabs, even though
there's a 98% chance they don't even know you exist. Your friends will
help clean it up, but only after everybody jumps back from the table and offers
a "DUDE, what the hell?" or sarcastic "NICE man." They've got to
establish that they had nothing to do with the actual spill, just in case the
judges were watching this time. Shit I'm insecure.
You know what we haven't
revisited in a while? The Hate List. For those that don’t know,
this is the running list of things I hate most in the world. Here's the updated top ten list with a
few links to specific rants, just in case you're really bored:
1. Anything associated with
the University of Florida (namely Tim Tebow)
2. Mayonnaise
3. PETA
4. The Smurfs
5. Bongo players
6. The little hole in the
airplane window
7. Flamingos
8. Wheelbarrow Races
9. Cereal
10. School buses
Really the only change since last
time was the addition of bongo players. I'm sure everyone reading this
already follows me on Twitter and gets personal alerts every time I release 140
character bits of genius hilarity, but for those of you who don't for some
reason, I think bongo players are some of the most pompous douche bags on the
face of the planet. I mean honestly, think about it. Every time you
see a bongo player, they have this infuriatingly smug look on their face, like
they think they're the best thing to hit the musical stage since the effing
Beatles. Holy shit, I get so pissed when I think about this that my hands
are literally shaking right now. (That also might be because I chose to
sit here and write this instead of eating today. That's how important you
are to me. I love you. Don't smother me. You’re
being clingy, I need my space.) First off, you don't "play the
bongo". You slap a piece of wood and animal skin that, at it's very
best, can make a whole two different sounds. (Three if you hit the side,
sorry I didn't mean to downplay your magnificence in the world of musical
innovation.) The only requirement of the bongo is your hands, and you can
still probably play it without those. It's literally the only instrument
that an infant enjoys as much as an "expert", and it basically sounds
the same when either of those two play. The bongo essentially ranks on
the musically talented level of the triangle. Yea, that stupid little piece
of metal used in second grade band class and sometimes to let cowboys know
dinner's ready. The worst part is that the bongo players are always up on
stage next to the real musicians playing actual drums or guitars, yet they
always look confident that they are the glue holding the band together.
Dude, you're the guy with little-to-no talent that they didn't want to
feel left out. At the very best, they needed something to keep time, and
couldn't afford a drummer. That's what you are, you're a glorified
metronome. I bet you like the opera and crumpets too you pretentious
dick. Man that was angry, I really need to eat.
Law of the Day: It is illegal to sing off-key in North
Carolina.
Shout out to Cambria Eber.
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