Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Poop University, I'm Going!

Last night, after a few months of thinking, I came to a decision about my life that I am absolutely overjoyed about but I’m also so pants-shittingly terrified that I’m afraid before the New Year I might actually shit my pants at least ten times over and I don’t think I’ve got a pants budget big enough to replace every pair of pants I ruin with poop. And no I am not going to just wash my poop pants so I can wear them again. That’s just gross.  I don’t want to be known as the girl who’s wearing poopy pants. It’s bad enough that Womb Mate has been calling me Auntie Pissta because my nephew pissed ALL OVER ME RIGHT AFTER I PUT MY NEWLY BOUGHT OUTFIT ON! Like, god, babies are so fucking rude. I cannot handle being called Auntie Poopta too because of wearing pants that were previously pooped on.
Wow, that poop metaphor really got out of hand really fast.
Oh, what is that? You want to know what that life decision I made is that might possibly make me shart myelf?
I totally changed my Major in University from Elementary Education to Film. Yes, FILM. Why? BECAUSE I AM BAT SHIT INSANE, that’s why.
For a long time I wanted to become an Elementary School teacher because I knew I would be good at it because I have this amazing ability that no matter how annoying a little kid is I don’t punch them in the face. It’s a true talent because the amount of times I’ve punched a kid in the face? Zero. Anthony Hopkins? Yeah, he has totally back-handed a child before on screen. It makes me happy that I’ve beaten less children than Anthony Hopkins. Consider that crossed off my bucket list.
I could be a good teacher but I know I can be a great film person – either it be behind the camera during the filming process, or editing it all together in post-production because it’s something I’m stupidly passionate about. I love everything about film and I want to be a part of that world.
Since going to University full-time is coming up in the new year opposed to doing University full-time and working full-time is coming to a close, I started to panic about what I was doing with my life. Was it what I wanted until I died? Could I handle it for years? Would I be happy? Which educational choice wouldn’t end up with me murdering someone or punching children?
Obviously, Film was the answer.
And then I had to tell my dad that I’ve changed my major because even though I am paying for my education myself, he really fucking wanted a teacher in the family and now that I’m dropping the mantle to go to artsy-fartsy Art School it was going to break his heart and destroy his life and probably cause him to drop kick the neighbours ducks one by one until there was no more ducks to drop kick and only angry neighbours left.
Needless to say it was a call I was dreading and all week I’ve been putting it off in hopes that maybe I don’t have to tell him and when I graduate he can be surprised then when he has to show up to said Artsy-Fartsy Art School to congratulate me. Or drop kick me like a duck while angry neighbours watch in disbelief.
Last night I called him and when my mother answered I had to ask her “is Dad in a good enough mood to have all his dreams broken and shattered because someone is going to poop on them?”  and then having to tell my mother “please don’t panic it’s not like I’ve got cancer or something I’ve just decided to go to Film School but maybe that’s a type of cancer but either way, Dad’s going to take it hard.” And only when I had to convince her I wasn’t blowing smoke out of my ass was I able to talk to my father and ruin his dreams and crap on them. I expected him to react like someone who had just been crapped on.
Badly, you know?
“What do you want?” He said with barely concealed boredom that I’m pretty sure was supposed to come off as unconcealed excitement, “I’m watching television.”
“Dad,” I said in a voice that showed him this was a very serious important matter that he should be sitting down for, “I’ve got something horrible to tell you that might crush your dreams and kill your hope.”
“Make it quick,” he said in suspense, “my show is about to start again.”
“I’m no longer going to be a teacher dad, instead I’m going to Film School and majoring in Film.” And then I held my breath because I knew I was about to hear my old man cry like he had never cried before because his best child just crapped on him. I was prepared for the awkwardness of hearing your father cry but all I heard was a grunt and the television in the background.
“Well, as long as you can get work but I’m watching All In The Family and it’s the episode Edith dies and I haven’t seen it in 30 years so I’m going to go. Have a good night, bye!” and then I heard the silence and the dial tone as he hung up on me to go watch television.
I looked at my phone for a minute as if it were a grenade or like it was going to poop on my hand before I shook my head and shrugged.
That was fucking easier than I had thought and I learned a very valuable lesson.
When I’ve got to tell my father about my eventual cocaine habit after I attend Film School (because that’s what you do in Film school, right?  Cocaine?), I should do it while he’s watching retro-television.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

It's Like Dodge Ball But SURPRISE! It's A God Damn Dart In Your Face

One of the coolest things about growing up on a large plot of land in the middle of a forest surrounded by other forest dwellers, besides treating my parents going grocery shopping as the worst thing in the world, was the fact that my father worked over seas. Weird, right? That the best part would be that my father would be gone over seas for one month gone and one month back because wouldn’t that lead to some type of daddy abandonment issues that may or may not show up later in life in the form of an internet blog where there may or may not have been a post about having sex on something your parents had sex on? In reality it was mostly awesome. While my father was away it was six kids against one mom. The kids fucking ruled the place. Except, for like, when my father came back and it was a month of punishment to make up for all the horrible things we did while we were gone.
One of the things my father liked doing when he was around for the month was teach us all manners of awesome stuff to make it easier for him to babysit us because he had a life too, ya know? And who wants stupid, stinky kids running around like a bunch of frenzied pack animals looking for love and approval. Like the time he taught me how to knock the wind out of my older brother when I complained too much that he was a bully, or how he taught was that it’s fucking impossible to catch a cat on an acreage for two dollars. He was the master of showing kids cool stuff to do and if that stuff just happened to distract us and make us leave him alone, who cares because they were awesome.
Except for the time he taught my older brother and sister that it was possible to make darts at home because all you need to do is take your mothers sewing needles and thread and tie them to tooth picks, cut up some cards to make the end and holy crap you’ve created a death machine for your younger children but who cares because guess what? Month is up, time to go back to Kyrgyzstan!
I’m not sure what he was thinking when he taught a bored older kid how to make homemade weapons because you just know they weren’t going to use a dart board when they’ve got three younger moving targets and a toddler who thought everything was hilarious.
One of the crueller games that came out of Weapon Craft Time With Daddy was sort of like dodge ball but instead of a ball you had darts and instead of playing in a gym you played in a basement with no windows with the lights off as the walls and younger siblings where covered in glow in the dark stars and it was up to older brother to play a game called “Let’s just convince the little ones this is awesome because it involves stickers and I’ll just randomly throw the darts until I hit someone in the face or something.”.  And of course when you are little you think these things are awesome as you are hiding amongst the other stickers and you hear your little sister start freaking out because she got hit with a dart and you don’t think your giggling will make you next , because it totally does, and then the game fucking sucks because you just got a dart in the face.
Another game my older siblings like to play with these darts was to drag Womb Mate and I out of bed in the middle of the night to go down into the basement and pretend that it was some type of shoddy bar downtown where all the patrons drink beer and smoke cigarettes. And when I mean “patrons drink beer” I totally mean “drink pop” and if you replace “smoke cigarettes” with “make the younger two kids stand against the wall and have a dart free for all to see how close you can get the dart to them without actually hurting them but it’s a lot more fun if you actually hit them with it”.
I couldn’t ever figure out why they had such shitty aim during this game and I was sometimes left with several darts sticking out of my arms until I was eventually forced to pull them out to give them back just so the game could start over again.

Monday, November 21, 2011

It's Like Fear Factor But Someone Always Gets Punched In The End: Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week

For some cruel twist of fate the universe decided that I needed five siblings and it wasn’t even going to make sure that I was born the oldest so I’d have all the power or the youngest so I’d get all the awesome stuff and never be blamed for anything. No, it decided that I was going to be a middle child.
With my experience as a middle child I’ve come to the conclusion that God must hate middle children because we get the shittiest end of the stick, always. And we aren’t even allowed to wear gloves to handle that shit stick because that honour is reserved for the oldest and the youngest never gets to handle shit because that’s gross.
Growing up we lived on a nice size of land outside of a small town that was basically in the middle of a forest and the only way you were going to interact with anyone who didn’t live in the forest with you was if your parents drove you to town to have fun. And SURPRISE! Your parents hate you so they never drive you to town to have fun. Because of this lack of readily available entertainment my Older Brother got bored a lot.
Unfortunately for us, he had four younger siblings that he could easily terrify into doing anything and I mean anything he wanted. When my parents would go grocery shopping we would beg for them to take us with them and save us from the horror we knew was going to come. And what would our parents do? They’d laugh at us and drive away still laughing because there was no way in fuck they were going to ruin their own chance for escape by bringing us along. If we got tortured in their absence, who cares? Because they got to have a kid free day.
My older brother had a game he’d play and it was sort of like being in the Military, in his mind, because if we didn’t do what he said he’d beat us until we cried, begged, and eventually did what he wanted. This game just so happened to be called “Eat whatever horrible thing I can make on demand” and he’d line us up and attempt to poison us with creativity.
Basically anything he found in the fridge and could be mixed in a cup to look like liquid vomit is what he created. We all had to drink it or die. But the youngest? Nah, he got cookies and pudding and stuff because he was just a toddler and it’d be wrong to do something to him. Oh, and when older brother was feeling generous, yeah the toddler would get to make food we’d be forced to eat.
I’m sure when my parents got home from grocery shopping and we were so overjoyed to see them that sometimes we’d sob and beg them never to leave again they totally figured it was because they were awesome parents who have mastered this whole crazy parenting thing and patted themselves on the back later.
When, really, we were just so god damn happy to have been saved from the Tyranny of older brother.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week

I’ve got a shit ton of siblings because at one point my parents must’ve decided that not buying condoms was an awesome idea and that children are the joy in the world that prevents cancer.

Growing up there have been multiple times in my life where I totally wished my first act after being born was to completely and utterly destroy my mothers womb to prevent the birth of anyone after me – I’m totally looking at you Womb Mate.

To just mangle it so badly that it was left unfit to grow new life and anything that attempted to grow in there? Would become mutated and eventually just abort itself because even it couldn’t handle how it was developing into a freakish monster.

But then I realize I would have needed a lazar eyes to accomplish this.

And then I get sad because I wasn’t born with lazar eyes.

Then I think how awesome it would be if babies were born with lazar eyes.

And then I get afraid that if babies were born with lazar eyes they’d decide to take over the world and since they are just babies no one would want to punch them in the face to save the world. Oh, and they’d have those eyeballs that shoot deadly, radioactive lazars.

And then those babies would shoot us with lazar eyes.

But then they’d eventually get radioactive and die.

And then the world would be awesome.

But I’d still have shit tons of siblings.

But then I wouldn’t be able to kick-off “Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb” week where I share all the horrible stories of my childhood that made it really fucking kickass.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

That White Stain You've Been Sleeping On? Yeah, That Totally Could Have Been Your New Brother

Do you know what I think is gross besides old people? I know, it’s really hard to imagine that something is grosser than old people because these old people? Yeah, they totally sit around in homes that are designed to make them understand how unwanted they are and then they’re left to shit their pants. That right there? Disgusting. And the only thing that can be the mostest grossest is having sex at your parent’s house.

No one should have sex at their parent’s house because who wants to take the chance that their parents have already had sex on every single surface ever and you know what that means? If you even just think of having sex on something you’d most likely be rolling around in your ejacuborted siblings that will never have had the chance to grow into human beings that will steal some of your inheritance because your parents didn’t want anymore kids and figured why not throw them on the ground where they belong, because they are unwanted. Why is that sperm all over everything? Because your parents are too old and carefree for condoms so they just use the good ole fashioned “pullout” method and since they’re retired, they don’t have to clean up ever.

Who wants to be doing the nasty when you’re potentially sitting in a sperm graveyard made up of siblings that weren’t loved as much as you were?

Nothing kills the moods faster than sperm graveyards.

This post is brought to you by Family Vacations; the only vacation I will not have sex with you.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Polygamy Sort Of Just Made My Life Awesome

(This conversation took place after watching an episode of 'Sister Wives' on Sunday)

Me: "I think our lives will be so much better if I were able to have another boyfriend. You could have a Brother Husband and he could do all the stuff you don't want to do."

The Pilot: "Like what?"

Me: "Like, buy me a Bobcat for Christmas. Or an Alligator I could ride on."

The Pilot: " Good luck with that one."

Me: "Fine, I actually hope that your Brother Husband makes the dog love him the most and Bowie will never love you ever, ever again."

The Pilot: "Yeah, let's see him try."

Me: "If you ruin my plans for a Brother Husband for you, I'm going to email your mom about how you are forcing me into Polygamy and your hedonistic ways."
The Pilot: "Yeah right, all I have to do is go onto skype and cry mmmmooooommmmyyyy and she will come up here and murder you with her bare hands."

Me: "Are you threatening me?"

The Pilot: "She's got a black belt in Ninjitsu and a brown belt in Judo, only because she doesn't have the flipping power need to advance to the black belt stage."

Me: "You just used your moms Karate skills to threaten me out of giving you a Brother Husband for Christmas?"

The Pilot: "It's not a threat. I'm just letting you know that my mom is perfectly capable of murdering you with her bare hands at my request."

Me: "I'm totally asking your mom about her radical kung-fu over Christmas dinner."

The Pilot: "Do it, and she'll murder you with the same hands she uses to dish out Christmas pie."

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Dr. Butts Will Be My Name & I Will Be A Doctor Of Butts

Lately I've been getting a lot of emails telling me that I could totally become a doctor without having to ever go to school because I can simply pay someone to create me a fake novelty totally real and totally valid and not at all fake doctorate for only fifty dollars. And it's like, "Fuck yeah, that will totally be a deal because why go to school and learn how to save lives when I can pay fifty dollars and probably save some lives but most likely destroy more!" and being able to purchase such a prestigious degree has really made me think about what type of doctor I would be.

Like, I would want my patience to trust that my diploma totally isn't drawn in crayon on a place mat from the local Arby's and feel comfortable enough to tell me all their embarrassing ailments that I totally wont immediately tell the Internet about because if you've got a hot wheels car up your anus you can so bet that I'll call my mom about it.

And perhaps my practice will be handled out of a back alley because the rent is cheaper or out of a small outhouse in Mexico because I'm pretty sure Human Rights Violations don't count if they happen in Mexico.

Or maybe I'll become a plastic surgeon and when people come in looking for botox injections or eye lifts I just turn their faces into giant butts and be all "Oh, I thought you said Bu-ttucks on your face! My bad." and when people come in for Tit Inflation I'll totally put a butt on their chest and be all "Oh, my bad, I thought you wanted an ass on your chest. My bad." and they couldn't do anything about it because I'd be in Mexico.

I could be a Lawyer, if I wanted. I'd be a public defender and drunkenly show up for Night Court and blatantly lie about everything my client may or may not have done but who cares because I'm drunk and it's night court. " It's not his fault he murdered that prostitute, your Honour, he specifically asked for a Julia Roberts Prostitute and they clearly sent him a Meth Addict. It was perfectly reasonable for him to slice her up and hide her in the closet. Who wouldn't?" and so what if he was just fighting a traffic violation and not, actually, a murder trial? And then the client will go to jail for murdering a prostitute that may or may not have existed.

Or maybe I'll get a degree in Astronautory just so I could go into space and piss all over the Earth so my urine will rain down on everyone I hate and everyone I don't hate in a golden shower that is totally disguised as normal rain and when it tastes funny when it gets in your mouth? Yeah, that's my pee.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Trivia Skillz, I Have Them. Maybe.

(This conversation takes place while watching a BBC documentary about the evolution of people starting from the walking apes.)

BBC Narrator: "What makes these Homo Agasta Unique from the other walking apes of their time?"
Me: "Telekinetic mind powers!"
The Pilot: "Seriously?"
Narrator: "Their ability to fashion tools."
Me: "Damn, I thought I had this one."

BBC Narrator: "Out of these two species, Homo Agasta and their cousin Boszi, which one will become the forefathers of modern man?"
Me: "Those Boszi ones, all they do is fuck and eat. Eat and fuck. I know people like that."
The Pilot: "I think this one is pretty obvious."
Narrator: "The Homo Agasta because of their ability to adapt. The Boszi, with their one trick trade, cannot adapt to the changing Africa around them."
Me: "Wow, so I guess they literally fucked and ate themselves too death. That sucks."

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Top Three Reasons Why My Dreams Are Better Than Yours

  1. A group of Smurfs come upon me while I'm eating out and declare that the only way to save the world would be if I banged Fuckity Smurf and when I was like "No Smurfs, he's like two inches tall and that means to have sex with him he'd totally have to crawl up inside my snatch and that's terrible. How about you let me go back to my baguette?" they started to attempt to chew my arms off and suddenly, when the succeeded, I couldn't finish my baguette.
  2. I was this guys fifth wife and I may or may not have killed one of his many children by accident and the whole time I was trying to find ways how to avoid being blamed for the supposed child killing and the only plan I could come up with is that "He has a fuck ton of children, it'd probably take him like six month to realize one is missing."
  3. A wizard that may or may not have been a homeless person told me that I was the worlds only chance at survival and because of this I had amazing shape shifting abilities that I must not tell anyone about and after he disappeared or died, I immediately began to brag to everyone about my shape shifting abilities. But they didn't work so in desperation I began gluing animals to myself to trick people into believing in my powers. In the end, I totally had sixteen cats glued to me.
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