Those “Select The Squares With A Certain Object” Tests Are Insanely Difficult
Why the hell are those “select the squares with an image of a whatever” tests to make sure you’re not a robot or cyber terrorist or whatever so god damn difficult? Why? And on my phone too?!? Why am I selecting little squares containing various images of busses on a six inch screen at four in the morning? I’m trying to watch a 16 second video of some drunk chicks fighting over a loser they’ll both hate in a few months, does playing detective really need to be a prerequisite? And of course I can never tell if the fucking bus tire is technically in that other square or not. Every single time. You’d need some 100 inch 8k plasma screen tv to see the level of detail needed to pass some of these damn tests. Do you have to make it that close?! Why do I need robot level vision to prove I’m not a fucking robot?
And to the satan worshipers in charge of creating these impossible I spy games, this may come as news to you, but I don’t know all the legal parameters for what constitutes a fucking bus. Ok? Believe it or not I wasn’t the person tasked with that job. So is that long wire part on those weird hippy electric Canadian busses technically a bus or not?! I don’t fucking know. Is there like a kid version of this I can take?
And don’t get me started on the bicycle ones. Oh my god. I’ve made it through entire ‘Where’s Waldo’ books faster than trying to find all the places you assholes hide bikes in those fucking photos. Pretty sure I once failed one of these because I missed the bike hanging in someone’s living room that I was supposed to spot through the telescope pointing at the apartment window. If I was a Navy Seal sniper in my past life I’m sure I would’ve gotten that.
Just make the fucking things easier. Ok? And who cares if a robot or criminal wants to watch what I’m watching. What’s going to happen? They’ll burn up brain cells consuming this shit too? Oh no!
Look just make the shit easier, ok? Thanks.
Floss For Fuck’s Sake
You ever floss like an entire animal out from between your gums? And it reminds you of how fucking gross the people who never floss are? Because that’s immediately the first thing I think of. I might be alone here but my first reaction 100% of the time is “Ew wtf is hiding between THOSE teeth?” What kind of disgusting zoo for Animorphs do THOSE psychopaths have in their mouths? I eat a ham sandwich or god forbid a nice steak and I’m immediately using floss or anything similar to unwedge the carcasses from their hiding places.
Have I ever folded the label from my Burt’s Bees in half and used the edge to dislodge food from between my teeth? Perhaps. That’s the length I’ll go. No distance too far when it comes to keeping my mouth clean. From food debris anyway. And yes, flossing with a chapstick wrapper that I’m sure plays host to a wide variety of germs and bacteria isn’t maybe the most logical thing to do, but you dirty freaks who haven’t wrapped a piece of floss around your disgusting fingers since the towers were standing are some of the most heinous people on earth. So before passing judgement let’s maybe start using some of that free fishing line you’d get had you actually visited a dentist’s office since floss was invented.
All I’m saying is get it together. Floss. Use a water pick. Swish some mouthwash around. Grow your hair longer and use that. Something.
Dirty rotten freaks.
Stop Coming Out With New Candy
I have a question. How in the sugary tufts of hell are they still coming out with new candy? How?! It’s sugar and food coloring. That’s it. How the fuck is every candy aisle that long? Really? I don’t think your average American could even walk the entire length of a candy aisle if they had to. Without at least a little break anyway. I mean seriously. What else is there to make? I think we finished candy. Maybe coming up with ways to make sugar taste even better than we already have isn’t what we need right now. I don’t know if you’ve seen the state of our country’s inhabitants lately, but most of us have the ‘sugar’ part of our basic necessities well covered.
No new candy. Enough. Especially when it’s just variations of old candy. Jolly ranchers but just two different flavors on each jolly rancher? Really? Like half is grape and half is cherry. Wow. As if there was no other possible way to ever eat both a grape and a cherry jolly rancher at the same time before they came out with these. Yeah you know what’s way better than ONE jolly rancher that’s two different flavors? Literally any combination of TWO jolly ranchers that you could possibly come up with. Way better. Doesn’t matter. Two watermelons? Yep. Instantly better.
And nobody wants the gummy version of their favorite candy. Not once have I ever contemplated buying gummy jolly ranchers. Ah yes. Let’s take a bag of a hard candy that lasts me weeks and make it a bag of gummies that won’t make it the entire care ride home. Making the gummy versions of classic candies would be like remaking classic mob movies but leaving out all the violence and sex scenes. Plus when you suck hard candies they turn into gummy candies after a while anyways. You’re getting a 2 for 1 deal on candy. Why the fuck would I want my hard candy pre sucked for the same price? I’ll suck my own jolly ranchers thank you very much.
And how many different shades of the same color can you make a fucking skittle? Are there still subsets of the population lurking out there that skittles still hasn’t properly targeted? I have to imagine most people have zeroed in on a bag they like by now. We all know the drill. You either like the red or purple bag. And then if they have the light blue or green bags, you have a favorite between those two for when you’re going alternates. We all have this down by now. So if you’re going to make me try a whole new bag of skittles for some mystery flavor you had the dimwit summer interns drum up, at least take a chance on it. Surprise me. Make it exciting. Like have one taste like Blake Lively’s asshole, or spicy pomegranate or something. I don’t know. But if I’m going to buy a whole new bag just for that white one you better make it something other than fucking pineapple. Got it?
All I’m trying to say is I think we’re probably good for a while on new candy. Maybe invent a new form of weight loss for the sphere shaped generation of kids we’ve been popping out without seemingly a care in the world. Ok?
Let’s maybe curb the candy for a while. That’s all.
Captain Lee Is The Biggest Hardo On Planet Earth
Any realty tv fan worth their salt knows who Captain Lee is these days. The famous realty star/grizzled yacht captain to the ultra rich has made a name for himself with antics like his own personalized onslaught of hardo quotes, weird ethics lectures, and sayings more fitting of captain that fought pirates in the 1700s than from some dude who shuttles billionaires around from one area in a body of beautiful water to another for exorbitant amounts of money and literally no other purpose whatsoever. And we have sir brave heart on tv like “And I’ll be god damned if I don’t finish the job” after having some surgery or whatever as if he’s heading up the ship responsible for transporting much needed medicine across the arctic sea to remote village people in need. Take it easy dude. Take some time away and get better. No need to rush back. The core of society won’t crumble.
Return Your G*d Damn Mother Fucking Shopping Carts You Lazy Hoes
Did I use the * correctly? Don’t want to offend anyone.
Moving on. As someone who grew up in Wisconsin you don’t often experience parking lots with more discarded shopping carts filling up parking spots than the actual cars they were intended for. Not the case here in Florida however. I don’t know what it is with the fine folk of the sunshine state but taking the extra 12 seconds to drop your cart off at the designated cart spot isn’t something these brain fried sun drunk lazy pieces of sandy shit are apparently capable of doing, and for a plethora of good reasons and excuses I’m sure.
And look, I get it. Returning your cart takes brain cells and the ability to walk more than ten feet without huffing and puffing like you’re trying to blow my house down. But maybe if you big fat I mean bad wolves put the vapes down and picked up a good sleep routine, moving your legs a few more times than the bare minimum wouldn’t be such a burden. Either way it’s disgusting. It really is. So without further ado here are the ten most common types of cart c*nts I’ve observed since moving to Florida:
(In no particular order)
Let’s get these absolute assholes out of the way first: There is a special place in hell for the people who leave their cart directly behind other peoples’ cars. I once witnessed a lady in Fort Lauderdale leave her shopping cart behind my very own car in the parking lot of a Publix and there hasn’t been a week that’s gone by that I don’t think about how bad I wanted her drive home to be. I turned into a witch with a voodoo doll level evil with what I wanted to happen to that god damn sorry excuse of a woman or whatever that horrible hoe was. Like to this day I hope her car exploded on the freeway, but after it already flew off the bridge and was away from anyone else or anything that her exploding car could damage. And before you tell me to calm down or that I’ve gone too far… You witness someone parking their cart directly behind your car and then driving off in their shit box base level Romeo like they’re in some exotic supercar without wanting terrible things to happen to them and THEN you can tell me to calm down. Got it? Good.
The people who leave their carts right next to the fucking cart corals. Would you run a marathon and just stop two feet from the finish line? Now I know you’re probably not aware of what a marathon is, or exercise for that matter. But finishing the job is usually a pretty important part. You’re almost there! We’re all rooting for you!
The morons who use far more effort heaving their cart into the wilderness next to the parking lot than pushing it 20 more feet to its proper destination. Seriously how much pulling power and effort does it take to get a metal shopping cart to some of the places people do? You see them on those steep, pretty tall embankments. You see them up on curbs, dragged through wood chips and left in between bushes and trees like some animal carcass left for the rest of mother nature to use.
The dimwits who leave their carts in the spaces meant for the other four wheeled, much larger carts that are meant for transporting groceries and the people who bought them. But you’re close! Right idea. Just too fucking dumb to stick the landing apparently.
The special people who leave their carts in the legit intersections meant for again, the other much larger four wheeled carts. People have enough trouble figuring out who goes next in those things as it is. I mean how many times do we need to honk and wave and signal and… Just fucking follow the signs and go! Anyway, you can’t throw a shopping cart into the mix with these morons. Come on people.
The people who drop their carts off at the designated trash heap in every far right corner of any Walmart in America because why not. Other lazy assholes did and I’m showing solidarity. I get it.
The dumb shits who try to hand off their cart to the cart train conductor like they don’t already have 120 of them to heard back. You’re so helpful. I’m sure they love having to stop and restart that much momentum in the middle of the lawless demolition derby that is any Florida parking lot. Just walk your lazy ass over to any one of the very close cart corals or whatever the fuck you want to call them and put your cart in there. It really isn’t that difficult. I promise you. I once saw a dude with like .35 legs do it. And you can too.
The people who have no problem using their cart as a battering ram while in the store, yet can’t be bothered to ram it into the stack in the cart coral. You rammed it up my ass in the store without a care in the world, but another shopping cart’s back door is a no go? Got it.
And lastly but certainly not least… The ass hats who put their carts in the cart corals, but in the most obviously wrong way humanly possible. In fact, in ways I didn’t know a human was even possible of coming up with in the first place. How do you parallel park a cart in there? Impressive.
Honorable mentions:
The people who leave their carts in the middle of a store with all of the shit they never bought in them. And it’s never like three items. Of course not. That wouldn’t be rude enough to the teenage store employee who now gets to put away the 73 things you threw in a cart. Although a rare sight and always a mystery, you do see it.
People who put trash on shelves because they can’t be bothered to throw it away or hold onto it until they get to a garbage can. You bought the fucking coffee. Do not leave it on a shelf for christ’s sake. And yes they are always empty. These shit heads are always the cheapest of skates. They would never leave a half drank coffee behind. It’s completely on purpose.
Reviewing Nature Valley’s Savory Sack Sweat Nut Crumb Bars… Or Whatever The Fuck They’re Called
Has anyone else tried a box of this bullshit? Emphasis on the shit part too. Well let me just describe to those of you with normal functioning brains that didn’t allow you to buy this crap in the first place, emphasis on crap, to the best of my picture painting ability, what a box of this so called “savory” smokey bbq chalk bars made from asshole dust tasted like…
Picture poop. Whatever size log you want. Preferably of the human variety. Milk chocolate brown with maybe some corn kernels and other various debris from last night’s summer cookout feast. Use your imagination. Now dry it in the sun for a century. Soak it in dark dehydrated piss, then season it with a mixture of Chinese cinnamon and the salt that accumulates from sweat on the underside of a pig’s nut sack, and you have the exact taste of this absolute ass trash. Emphasis on ass AND trash.
Ok here’s maybe a better reference and something more of us can probably relate to… When I was a child I would, on occasion, eat dog biscuits. Why? I honestly don’t know. They tasted like expired cardboard only drier. Like some weird graham crackers you would find deep in the dark depths of your grandma’s cavernous pantry that she forgot about forever ago from some trip to Italy they took in like 1972. Despite the taste and texture, and probably more weird guilt than anything, I still ate dog biscuits every now and again. Who the hell knows. Apparently they didn’t taste THAT bad.
These however? This is a true “one bite” review. That’s all I could do. They’re that bad. And if you don’t believe me you can always help yourself to a box or pallet of. The shelves seem to always be WELL stocked!
;)
Are Manatees The Most Overrated Animals On Planet Earth?
Look, I get it. I really do. They’re adorable. They’re the size and shape of an old VW bus. They have whiskers like a cat, little flippers, and they sleep and float around all day like that fluffy turd you left in your ex girlfriend’s toilet the night she told you it was over. I get why people with normally functioning brains think they’re cute. With that being said however…
I just don’t see it. Somebody help me understand our culture’s creepy obsession with manatees. What’s so great about them? Really? Is it because they’re so pathetic and helpless? And fat? Have you ever seen a manatee migration? Where they all come hangout together in a big clump for a few days before continuing on their journey to wherever the hell they go for the winter? No? Well there’s schools of them, like fish. And I could quite literally run across their backs like a contestant on that obstacle course show, drowning them one by one with each step. Ok that was too far. Jesus.
Also, nobody ever talks about how dolphins are literally just manatees only better in every way possible. Every single way. Name one thing a manatee can do that a dolphin can’t? What… fuckin’ float better? Get hit by more boats? Have less sex? What? And for those of you who think manatees are cute, have you seen other animals? I can name like 3,200 way cuter animals. They’re so ugly. If they were cute every man in here would be 400 pounds and keep 6 really long whiskers on each cheek when on the prowl for women. Ok I guess that’s basically the entire midwest but you get my point. Ok fuck it. Fine. Maybe Manatees are cute. If they’re good enough for the millions of miserable midwest gals, who am I to judge? Whatever.
But really, evolution. God damn guys. Grow them some fangs or something. Stick up for the poor creatures. How the fuck does a god make an animal so fat and slow, that out of the bazillion different species in the ocean, it’s literally the only one to get repeatedly run over by boats for its entire life. That’s impressive. Hell I once saw a pelican kick the shit out of a manatee while standing on one leg… That’s how pathetic these things are. Give them like a turtle shell or something for some defense at least. What was god trying to make when he debuted this thing anyway? Was he trying to make the hippo worse and less menacing in every way possible?
“There weren’t any motor boats when god made manatees.”
Yeah I know. But I would think someone who could create an entire fucking universe and then also this slow, fat, pathetic waste of a living thing without a single defense mechanism would foresee it having some natural enemies. All I’m trying to say is I think God needs to do a little software update on these things. Or evolution needs to speed up the process a bit. I’m tired of hearing about them and their issues.
Save the manatees? Save it.
Cover Up Your Back Acne, At Least On The Plane…
Is it just me, or does it take an absolutely bat shit crazy, off in la la land type of person to wear an open backed shirt on an airplane, especially if they have terrible back acne? Am I just crazy? Does anybody else notice this? The sheer number of people I see traveling with garments that put their zits on display is nothing short of astonishing to me. I can’t be the only person who notices this, and I wouldn’t be caught dead leaving the house in anything but a properly covering shirt if between my shoulder blades was currently the fourth largest mountain chain in North America. Call my crazy. Call me an asshole. Call me whatever you want. But the next time you’re sitting behind me on an airplane you can be rest assured that you won’t be studying my backne like they’re constellations in the night sky.
And I get it. That skin can be an uncooperative cold hearted son of a bitch. I suffer the same fate. But seriously. You have to be another breed of human to be ok with rubbing your back grease against the already present wax museum on any airplane seat when you’re already struggling with breakouts. Plus we have TVs on the back of planes and I’m not trying to watch Mila Kunis and JT get it on in ‘Friends with Benefits’ when I got some Dr. Pimple Popper thumbnail in the background. And of course I’m going to stare at it. And study it. I can’t help it. Human nature. It’s like a car crash. Do I want to see a dude’s exploded head fifty yards from where it left his body? Fuck no. Then why have I stared at literally every single car crash I’ve ever driven by? The hell if I know! Same as the zitty back on the plane situation. Our eyes hate us sometimes.
What does it take for a human to wear a garment that allows me to study their back like this from afar without seemingly a care in the world anyway? Or at least this god damn plane. And again to be on a plane wearing this. Oh no my fair lady. What disease has infected your sense of direction in navigating life’s most obvious paths separating us from being a normal human being and an absolute menace to society?
Stuff like this. That’s what. From one shitty skinned, zit infected individual to another… cover it up. Thank you.
P.S. I realize this may sound a bit harsh, at least to some of you. Imagine how I feel trying to eat the already disgusting pepperoni from the meat tray I overpaid for while I’m staring at the pizza on your back? Yeah. Not everything is just about you ya know. Again I deal with it too. I just don’t advertise the shit like it isn’t gross to look at it.
Why Are The Women In My Family Such Messy Eaters?
My grandma had a notorious shelf on her. Yes I’m talking about the size of her bust line, and for educational purposes only. The sheer amount of crumbs, sauces, and various soft drink syrup stains that called her twin peaks home throughout their illustrious careers were hall of fame numbers great enough to impress the messiest of competitive eaters and smartest scientists. My grandma had a knack for making sure her shirts always had a carbon copy of whatever she was eating. No matter the meal or device she used to eat it. Plate. Bowl. Napkin. Her hands. Whatever it was. If it was going in her mouth, my grandma found a way to make sure she fed her shirt too.
Now fast forward to present day, where something is happening with my mom. She’s morphing. Or I guess in this case *animorphe… ing, as she’s fast becoming my grandma when it comes to how she chooses to distribute her food. Generous really. Everybody, or should I say every body part and clothing item covering it gets something. Is this what communism was supposed to be? My grandma is likely rolling over in the apartment complex for caskets she paid way too much money to live I mean lay in. Terrible joke. Sorry grandma.
Ok moving on. My mother. We sit down for dinner the other night. Spaghetti. I hadn’t finished scooting my squawking chair up to the edge of the dining room table when I noticed what looked like a crime scene left on her chest, displayed under the dim yet accurately directed dining room light like some expensive art piece. A spaghetti sauce stain. Well done mom. This was an impressive one. Red blotches scattered all over her chest like camouflage in various sizes and shades of red, successfully masking the colors of her actual clothing. And nothing on her face. Never. Somehow that was the sought after real estate immune from her eating. And I’m not over exaggerating… My mom looked like she recently returned from her bid as one of those fair people you pay to lob expired tomato pieces at from ridiculously far away. Yeah. Easy to talk shit when I’m trying to throw something the shape of a Chicago deep dish pizza slice the distance needed to complete most NF fucking L hail mary passes. Let me throw the whole damn tomato you scared little boy. Why am I throwing portions more suited for a house salad at you from across a damn football field when they’re so light the laws of physics won’t allow them to travel the length of a coffee table? Any way.
And I get splatter. We all splatter, especially with Italian dishes. Who doesn’t slurp up noodles like some dick hungry crack addict sucking cock for cash? Uhh I’ll raise my hand. If that’s against the law then lock me up. Guilty as charged. But when your shirt looks like Picasso ran out of paint and started using whatever he had laying around his kitchen, it’s either time to reevaluate how you shovel food into that pie hole of yours, or buy a damn bib for christ’s sake.
The Zit On My Back Could Be A Ski Hill For The Next Winter Olympics
I currently have a back boil that’s bubbling up like some natural spring on the side of a country road that hippies wait in line like three days for, just to fill a canteen made from a camel’s ballsack full of germ infested creek water that the same type of dipshit takes his monthly bathes in. Anyway, I have a zit on my back so large it could house a family of parrots, from the midwest. That mountainous. In fact, if my back zit was a ski hill, there’d be no safe enough place to put a bunny hill. Black diamonds only. This sucker is that steep. It’s as if there was a registrable amount of weight in upset ooze underneath the surface, pushing 24/7. Prodding. Pleading. Persuading the skin to set it free. Slowly but surely.
Actual photo of the pimple on my back
If my back bump was the type you see on residential roads to deter speeders, everyone would be driving slower than your grandma when she’s pulling out of a parking lot while simultaneously flipping down the sun shade, putting on her sunglasses and combing the thirteen strands of still pliable hair she has, all while letting the weight of nothing but her mangled foot and slipper shoe push down on the pedal.
If my back… you get the point.
It’s that big. Thanks for reading.