I'm starting to notice that I treat this blog like a red-headed step-child that I just can't shake. It sits in the corner, in the dark, starring at me with it's large eyes and freckles glowing softly as the light of a passing car shines on it's face. It just sits and waits for you to look over and make eye contact because when you make eye contact you are forced to sit for hours listening to it go on and on about it's stamp collection and how no one likes it and how it's still a virgin and plans to change it through wacky antics at prom that wont work out because it's a red-headed step-child no one will fuck.
But then I start to feel guilty that I'm leaving this red-headed step-child alone in the dark with no one to talk too but I get easily distracted by shiny things and I'm like "Oh, hey, IS THAT A BIKE?" and then I run outside with my arms flailing and forget about the neglected child no one likes.
Then I start to feel OK with my neglect because, you know, I'm just lazy and caring about neglect just seems like a lot of work.
You know?
Soooooooo much work.
So I'm going to promise to try harder and not neglect and listen to the stories about your stamp collect.....
Oh fuck, is that a bike?
Showing posts with label The Insanity That Comes Out Of My Mouth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Insanity That Comes Out Of My Mouth. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I Do These Things Because I Love You.
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| Bowie always wanted to have the body of Fabio. |
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| Hipster Baby is unimpressed with your impressiveness. |
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| The Pilot was always prone to ruining those sweet moments. |
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| Even Jesus knows it's only proper to eat your cake with a fork. |
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
This Is Why I Don't Get Emails. Ever.
A few days ago I got this email in my inbox:
"I designed a Dental Degree resource guide for students called some random dental website. I know from personal experience that searching for the right Dental Degree program can be a time consuming task and it is certainly very competitive. That is why I designed my dental resource guide to help students who are interested in becoming a dentist find programs across the country just by visiting one site. As you have a related site, would you mind helping me to connect prospective students with my site by adding it to your resources page of http://www.tristachio.com/2012/03/trust-me-im-not-dead-just-fighting.html? Thank you so much for your time and any effort to add my link to your page! If you prefer to not receive another email about my Dental Degree site, please let me know!
Best Regards,
Some random lady :) "
So it was only natural for me to respond like so:
" Hi Some random lady,
As you can probably tell from my blog, I am a Film Student and spend more time fighting off the homeless people from shooting up drugs in my carport than searching for a dental degree.
Perhaps when my schedule clears up and the homeless problem gets cured, I can fit in searching for dental degrees.
Until then, keep your teeth white.
Tristachio. "
As you can probably tell from my blog, I am a Film Student and spend more time fighting off the homeless people from shooting up drugs in my carport than searching for a dental degree.
Perhaps when my schedule clears up and the homeless problem gets cured, I can fit in searching for dental degrees.
Until then, keep your teeth white.
Tristachio. "
And I wonder why no one ever responds back to me.
Friday, January 27, 2012
By The Grace Of Kirk Cameron, Amen.
This morning at a crazy stupid time in the world when I was sleeping and drooling over my pillow and inventing an awesome fucking party that had me make a chocolate fountain that turned out so boss, my phone went off with a DING! DING! DING! DING! Wake the fuck up! And I sort of woke up enough to glance at my phone and realize that it was just a tweet and tossed my phone down and went back to sleep.
Then an hour later when my bladder threatened to piss all over the bed, I checked my phone again to see who would be tweeting me at stupid o' clock in the morning. The tweet was from Kristine declaring that something amazing had happened and I'd finally fucked my way to the top and made it into The League of Funny Bitches. And then I shit myself. Kidding, I only farted a little. And then I dived at The Pilot screeching that I was "One Funny Bitch!" and after his panic attack he sort of muttered something along the lines "One of those words are true." and rolled back over to protect himself from early morning Fiance onslaught.
Naturally I strutted around the apartment and all around town because, c'mon, I'm now fucking internet famous and that makes me better than .0001% of the world that isn't on the internet. So, basically, I'm more famous that Ethiopia.
Sense of entitlement? Yeah, it's never coming back down to "poor college Film student" level ever, ever again. But then again, in two weeks this fame may get to my head and I'll end up drunk in a gutter screaming about my internet famez.
In light of this "I'm now better than you" pillar I'm on, it totally justifies the fact that I just bought a new Macbook Pro despite the fact that I should be saving up for my move and school expenses.
But, I'm a Funny Bitch and I can do what I want.
Then an hour later when my bladder threatened to piss all over the bed, I checked my phone again to see who would be tweeting me at stupid o' clock in the morning. The tweet was from Kristine declaring that something amazing had happened and I'd finally fucked my way to the top and made it into The League of Funny Bitches. And then I shit myself. Kidding, I only farted a little. And then I dived at The Pilot screeching that I was "One Funny Bitch!" and after his panic attack he sort of muttered something along the lines "One of those words are true." and rolled back over to protect himself from early morning Fiance onslaught.
Naturally I strutted around the apartment and all around town because, c'mon, I'm now fucking internet famous and that makes me better than .0001% of the world that isn't on the internet. So, basically, I'm more famous that Ethiopia.
Sense of entitlement? Yeah, it's never coming back down to "poor college Film student" level ever, ever again. But then again, in two weeks this fame may get to my head and I'll end up drunk in a gutter screaming about my internet famez.
In light of this "I'm now better than you" pillar I'm on, it totally justifies the fact that I just bought a new Macbook Pro despite the fact that I should be saving up for my move and school expenses.
But, I'm a Funny Bitch and I can do what I want.
Monday, January 2, 2012
If I Said I Wanted To Abort 2012, Would That Be Weird?
I'm figuring now that I am home it's the obligatory time where I am supposed to describe how it felt to be on the road for two days straight and how The Pilot and I didn't kill each other but that seems sort of boring to me right now so I'm just going to not do it and fuck y'all who desperately needed to know how my time on the road went.
Or maybe I'm not going to tell how my time on the road went because someone in the vehicle who wasn't The Pilot or the dog may or may not have come extremely close to pooping their pants until we luckily came upon a loan safety pullover that had bathrooms that may or may not have been freezing, and may or may not have come close to having my butt frozen to the stinky seat but, that's OK because that person who wasn't The Pilot or the dog didn't crap their pants in the vehicle so I'm going to call that a win.
Instead, I'm going to try and look forward and forget that I almost crapped my pants on a road trip and look at what 2012 has in store for me.
Like, the fact that in April I'm going to Film school and shitting on the teaching as a career path even though I was so close to having that degree but that's OK because I'm going to make movies and apparently at the school I am going to The Pilot and I were told that in the Film studio sometimes nudity gets very casual if they are shooting nude scenes and it's lead me to believe that I may or may not be making a porn by the time my education is done.
Oddly, I'm OK with that.
Or the fact that in a month and a half I'm going to say goodbye to the place I have been working at for the last five years and that I may or may not hand in my resignation by vomiting on every one's desk but that seems sort of rude and cold so I might just vomit on their desk and then write something nice with the vomit all over their desk so before they vomit they can be all "Aw, look, she cares, she's wishing me a happy life BLARRRGGGHHHHHGHGH" and then that message is covered in vomit which is kind of rude, really.
What about the fact that in a month and a half I'm going to be packing up all my belongings and moving somewhere that isn't the Northern Wastelands of Canada and go to a place where underpaid french people are forced to pick fruit for hours on end only so I can buy it on the side of the road for a cheap price because that's how the fruit industry in BC works. Slaves, y'all. French Slaves.
Basically the start of 2012 will be kind of insane and exciting all at once and I think that I can manage to be super successful in this new year because if I haven't shit my pants yet, I don't think it will happen at all in 2012.
But then again, if I do shit my pants in 2012 at least I'll have something to write about.
Or maybe I'm not going to tell how my time on the road went because someone in the vehicle who wasn't The Pilot or the dog may or may not have come extremely close to pooping their pants until we luckily came upon a loan safety pullover that had bathrooms that may or may not have been freezing, and may or may not have come close to having my butt frozen to the stinky seat but, that's OK because that person who wasn't The Pilot or the dog didn't crap their pants in the vehicle so I'm going to call that a win.
Instead, I'm going to try and look forward and forget that I almost crapped my pants on a road trip and look at what 2012 has in store for me.
Like, the fact that in April I'm going to Film school and shitting on the teaching as a career path even though I was so close to having that degree but that's OK because I'm going to make movies and apparently at the school I am going to The Pilot and I were told that in the Film studio sometimes nudity gets very casual if they are shooting nude scenes and it's lead me to believe that I may or may not be making a porn by the time my education is done.
Oddly, I'm OK with that.
Or the fact that in a month and a half I'm going to say goodbye to the place I have been working at for the last five years and that I may or may not hand in my resignation by vomiting on every one's desk but that seems sort of rude and cold so I might just vomit on their desk and then write something nice with the vomit all over their desk so before they vomit they can be all "Aw, look, she cares, she's wishing me a happy life BLARRRGGGHHHHHGHGH" and then that message is covered in vomit which is kind of rude, really.
What about the fact that in a month and a half I'm going to be packing up all my belongings and moving somewhere that isn't the Northern Wastelands of Canada and go to a place where underpaid french people are forced to pick fruit for hours on end only so I can buy it on the side of the road for a cheap price because that's how the fruit industry in BC works. Slaves, y'all. French Slaves.
Basically the start of 2012 will be kind of insane and exciting all at once and I think that I can manage to be super successful in this new year because if I haven't shit my pants yet, I don't think it will happen at all in 2012.
But then again, if I do shit my pants in 2012 at least I'll have something to write about.
Friday, December 30, 2011
I'd Like To Say I'm Bigger Than Sliced Bread But I Don't Want To Make The Bread Cry.
Technically it's almost sort of end of the year and it's the time people wake up and make promises and look back at the last year and say "Holy crap that last year totally ass-raped me and I'm still extremely sore from it!" or when you look back at it and you say "Holy crap, I just ass-raped that last year and I'm going to give this new year an ass-beating too!" and then you move on and forget about any ass-rapings you may or may not have received and focus on the new year.
But until I can manage to do that I've got to look back at this year and what this blog is and how awesome it's been sitting here in front of the computer pecking my little fingers to death to bring the humour and the laughter and probably make all of you feel as if I've soiled you.
And it might also be because our plans to head home have been delayed by a day and I don't have any funny travel stories to tell you because that probably wont happen until tomorrow. So you're sort of suck with this cheap year-end-round so I can forcefully show you how awesome I am.
But until I can manage to do that I've got to look back at this year and what this blog is and how awesome it's been sitting here in front of the computer pecking my little fingers to death to bring the humour and the laughter and probably make all of you feel as if I've soiled you.
And it might also be because our plans to head home have been delayed by a day and I don't have any funny travel stories to tell you because that probably wont happen until tomorrow. So you're sort of suck with this cheap year-end-round so I can forcefully show you how awesome I am.
How I Ass-Raped My Readers (Or, Top Ten Blog Posts Of 2011)
NUMBER ONE:
And that totally sums up my blog for 2011 and you can be rest assured that this blog will be pumping out more of that pure, offensive, Orphan hating gold that it's known for. Or maybe more kitten punching just because.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Littlest Hobo? More Like The Stupidest Hobo
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| Oh hai, I'm going to ruin your fucking life. |
Now, I’m sure some people would be ecstatic when a stray dog wanders into their town and instead of spreading rabies and shitting on lawns, he goes around and solves mysteries or kidnappings or prevents a murder from happening. Like, that dog would be a fucking hero and every attempt someone makes to adopt that dog sort of goes along the lines of the person begging the dog to stay with them because he just solved a fucking murder but the dog just straight up ignores their request and wonders off to the next town to solve more mysteries.
And then the town is left a better place because this dog totally did some awesome shit and made everyone happy.
But you know what? If that was my town and that dog started to solve my mysterious, I’d straight up lose my shit. Like, those are my mysteries to solve if I ever get around to it and who needs a fucking dog stealing my thunder and preventing me from being a town hero and having people beg me to live with them because I’m so fucking awesome.
Or what about the criminals that actually committed the crimes and made the kidnapping of little Orphan Jane seem all mysterious and unsolvable? How do you think they feel that some fucking dog showed up and ruined their shit by finding the little girl and causing the criminal to go to jail? It doesn’t matter that the criminal kidnapped an Orphan and wouldn’t have ever got some type of ransom because no one cares about Orphans. But it’s the principle of the matter. No one wants to be the dude in prison who has to announce in the showers, “ I’m only in jail today because I was outsmarted by a stray fucking dog. If you decide to shove something up my ass, that’s OK. I deserve it because I got outwitted by a dog.”
Do you know who the real victim is of The Littlest Hobo? The towns dog catcher because whenever he attempts to do his job and catch that stray dog and throw him in the pound where no one will probably adopt him because if he’s trapped in a pound he can’t solve mysteries, he looks like the biggest asshole because he’s trying to jail a dog hero.
I guess the biggest question is why hasn’t that dog been eaten by a bear yet?
That’d be the best episode ever.
Let this be a lesson to all you potential mystery solving dogs out there: You solve my fucking mysterious and I will personally see you eaten by a bear.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Acting If Your Dog Can Write A Blog Post = Legally Insane
Dear Kindly Readers,
Some of you may know me from my first starring role as the little dog that tattoo'd that man that sort of looked like a Greek pornstar but in fact he's just the man that lives with me and sometimes feeds me but mostly let's me get away with murdering little babies. That is, if there was any little babies in my house. They'd be so murdered. And that man, yeah I totally threw up in his mouth once too because he was giving me lip.
Others might know me from the fact that I can't ever let the people who live in my house take a dump in private because them being away from me? Yeah, totally makes me go bat-shit insane with jealousy because they could totally be playing with another dog in that bathroom or just not. loving. me. So I have to burst down the door, preferably with a mouth full of food, just so I can excitedly jump all over them and spray food in their lap because that food was totally sprayed in love and not at all because I'm a giant asshole.
What you might not know about me is that I'm a giant dick. Like, last night for example when that chick who pays my bills couldn't sleep and kept getting up to check the clock because her life sucks and she has to be up early. Each and every time I decided it was going to be the best joke in the world if I sneakily stole her spot on the bed and kick her pillows to the floor because it's funny. And when she has to clean up that mess, yeah I totally do circuits around the room before I jump on her stomach to show her who owns this house. Then maybe I'll jump on the Greek guy who sleeps next to her.
Or maybe I'll leave the room to eat my food and come back with a mouth full just to drop in her face because I'm an asshole who likes to fucking share my food.
And then when she is awake in the morning and ready to go to work, I'll turn the other fucking cheek when she tries to give me a kiss or a pat because she's a bitch that doesn't get a good "Chewed Food In You Face Joke".
But mostly because I'm an asshole.
Some of you may know me from my first starring role as the little dog that tattoo'd that man that sort of looked like a Greek pornstar but in fact he's just the man that lives with me and sometimes feeds me but mostly let's me get away with murdering little babies. That is, if there was any little babies in my house. They'd be so murdered. And that man, yeah I totally threw up in his mouth once too because he was giving me lip.
Others might know me from the fact that I can't ever let the people who live in my house take a dump in private because them being away from me? Yeah, totally makes me go bat-shit insane with jealousy because they could totally be playing with another dog in that bathroom or just not. loving. me. So I have to burst down the door, preferably with a mouth full of food, just so I can excitedly jump all over them and spray food in their lap because that food was totally sprayed in love and not at all because I'm a giant asshole.
What you might not know about me is that I'm a giant dick. Like, last night for example when that chick who pays my bills couldn't sleep and kept getting up to check the clock because her life sucks and she has to be up early. Each and every time I decided it was going to be the best joke in the world if I sneakily stole her spot on the bed and kick her pillows to the floor because it's funny. And when she has to clean up that mess, yeah I totally do circuits around the room before I jump on her stomach to show her who owns this house. Then maybe I'll jump on the Greek guy who sleeps next to her.
Or maybe I'll leave the room to eat my food and come back with a mouth full just to drop in her face because I'm an asshole who likes to fucking share my food.
And then when she is awake in the morning and ready to go to work, I'll turn the other fucking cheek when she tries to give me a kiss or a pat because she's a bitch that doesn't get a good "Chewed Food In You Face Joke".
But mostly because I'm an asshole.
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 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.
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."
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.
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."
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
- 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.
- 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."
- 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.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Because I Just Can't Shut Up Before Bed
The Pilot: OK, it's bed time. That means you put your head on your pillow, shut your mouth, and be silent. No more noise, no more questions, no more conversation. Bed. Time.
Me: But all I'm saying is that if I paid for a penis transplant, I'm sure as hell going to show it to everyone that I can. I'm not just going to tuck it in and forgot about it like a vagina! I already have one of those.
The Pilot: Silence, it's sleep time!
Me: Oh c'mon, I just want to talk about my hypothetical, mythical penis transplant.
The Pilot: No, seriously, it's bed time. I'm going to sleep. I'm not talking to you anymore.
Me: But...have you brushed your teeth yet?
The Pilot: Yes.
Me: Your penis?
The Pilot: I will brush your vagina if you don't stop talking to me like that and go to sleep.
Me: Stop being such a prosititute.
The Pilot: You're a messed up chimp and I hate chimps. Good night.
(Ten Minutes Later)
Me: Psssst, did you just call me "a messed up chimp"?
The Pilot: Yes.
(Ten Minutes Later)
Me: Pssst, why can't I be a well-adjusted, socially responsible chimp? Why do I have to be a messed up chimp from a dysfunctional family. Why do my parents need to be alcoholic drug addicts?
The Pilot: Seriously?
Me: I want to go to Chimp University and have a bright future! I want to be a socially responsible chimp, you know.
The Pilot: I'm sleeping on the couch.
Me: But all I'm saying is that if I paid for a penis transplant, I'm sure as hell going to show it to everyone that I can. I'm not just going to tuck it in and forgot about it like a vagina! I already have one of those.
The Pilot: Silence, it's sleep time!
Me: Oh c'mon, I just want to talk about my hypothetical, mythical penis transplant.
The Pilot: No, seriously, it's bed time. I'm going to sleep. I'm not talking to you anymore.
Me: But...have you brushed your teeth yet?
The Pilot: Yes.
Me: Your penis?
The Pilot: I will brush your vagina if you don't stop talking to me like that and go to sleep.
Me: Stop being such a prosititute.
The Pilot: You're a messed up chimp and I hate chimps. Good night.
(Ten Minutes Later)
Me: Psssst, did you just call me "a messed up chimp"?
The Pilot: Yes.
(Ten Minutes Later)
Me: Pssst, why can't I be a well-adjusted, socially responsible chimp? Why do I have to be a messed up chimp from a dysfunctional family. Why do my parents need to be alcoholic drug addicts?
The Pilot: Seriously?
Me: I want to go to Chimp University and have a bright future! I want to be a socially responsible chimp, you know.
The Pilot: I'm sleeping on the couch.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Baby Watch 2011 Is Just As Boring As It Sounds
I am sitting in my little sisters living room right now watching trashy television while my mother putters around behind me in the kitchen making pretty much what I am convinced is the most disgusting alien eggs ever to be made in a dinner and instead of eating it at dinner time, they hatch and hump your face while force impregnating you. Or, as she calls them "Cabbage Rolls".
The pregnant one is no where in sight and I am hoping that means she's locked herself in a closet or a hole in the ground to push out that baby and as long as she's doing it over a blanket or a garbage bag so she can easily clean up that horrible mess that will leak out of her and burn it out back before it lures a poltergeist into the house. Or, as my mother says "She went to go get her step-sons so they can visit for the week".
It's almost like my mother is a giant buzz kill who has made it her job to sit around and just ruin my rich, fantasy life with the cold hard facts of reality and those cold hard facts of reality is the fact that life is pretty boring right now and I am not, in fact, running around with laser eyes saving the world from rogue Scientist Dinosaurs who want to force impregnate us with dinosaur mutants.
And, honestly, I don't think I want to live in a world that doesn't include me having laser eyes so I think I might go stand in front of the microwave as I heat up a laser pen while hoping the ensuing fire and explosion will give me laser powers.
This whole post may or may not have had a point of telling you that the baby hasn't been born yet but I suddenly lost track thinking of how awesome laser eyes would be.
The pregnant one is no where in sight and I am hoping that means she's locked herself in a closet or a hole in the ground to push out that baby and as long as she's doing it over a blanket or a garbage bag so she can easily clean up that horrible mess that will leak out of her and burn it out back before it lures a poltergeist into the house. Or, as my mother says "She went to go get her step-sons so they can visit for the week".
It's almost like my mother is a giant buzz kill who has made it her job to sit around and just ruin my rich, fantasy life with the cold hard facts of reality and those cold hard facts of reality is the fact that life is pretty boring right now and I am not, in fact, running around with laser eyes saving the world from rogue Scientist Dinosaurs who want to force impregnate us with dinosaur mutants.
And, honestly, I don't think I want to live in a world that doesn't include me having laser eyes so I think I might go stand in front of the microwave as I heat up a laser pen while hoping the ensuing fire and explosion will give me laser powers.
This whole post may or may not have had a point of telling you that the baby hasn't been born yet but I suddenly lost track thinking of how awesome laser eyes would be.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
This Post Totally Isn't About How I Got Laid. It's About Bears.
At my place of work that has been an increasing amount of bear sightings and a lot of people are saying that it's probably because all summer the forest was burning like fire was going out of style and everyone needed it right now because soon the world would be fire less and it's caused the bears and all the other stupid non-bear animals to migrate to our work site.
Me? I think the bears are staging some type of revolution and are casing the joint to find our weaknesses. It's like, the more they prod and hide in garbage cans waiting to play "Peek-a-boo, I'm a fucking bear going to rip your face off but you don't know that because I'm hiding in the garbage and all you want to do is throw away trash. SURPRISE MOTHAFUDDAH!" and then someone gets mauled. Not me, of course. I don't want to be mauled. Because that'd probably suck really hard and I'm trying to avoid having suckage in my life. And by "suckage" I don't mean "less blow jobs" and by "less blow jobs" I don't mean "I have a dick that needs to be blow jobbed less." Because that'd be fucked. Wouldn't it?
No, what this whole bear thing has made me realize that I needed to realize a life long dream of mine and that life long dream is to ride a fucking bear. Just ride it like a horse and probably coax it to maul people of my choosing. Considering the bears are planning a coupe, it might be hard to trick one into letting me ride it.
So naturally I turned to The Pilot to fix this problem of me not being able to ride a bear and I got all excited when he told me that it could totally be arranged and all I had to do was get home from work to find out what it was.
All day I was excited and telling people that "just you wait, I'm going to ride into work on a bear one day and all you people who I may or may not like the look of your face that day will get mauled. And it will be hilarious.".
And then I got home.
And my reality was destroyed.
When I said "I want to ride a fucking bear" The Pilot totally read "I'm totally getting laid tonight." and then my dreams were shattered and I locked myself in the bathroom and haven't come out since. Or just had sex with him. Pick which ending makes you happier. The ending where I cried, or the ending where I got laid.
Me? I think the bears are staging some type of revolution and are casing the joint to find our weaknesses. It's like, the more they prod and hide in garbage cans waiting to play "Peek-a-boo, I'm a fucking bear going to rip your face off but you don't know that because I'm hiding in the garbage and all you want to do is throw away trash. SURPRISE MOTHAFUDDAH!" and then someone gets mauled. Not me, of course. I don't want to be mauled. Because that'd probably suck really hard and I'm trying to avoid having suckage in my life. And by "suckage" I don't mean "less blow jobs" and by "less blow jobs" I don't mean "I have a dick that needs to be blow jobbed less." Because that'd be fucked. Wouldn't it?
No, what this whole bear thing has made me realize that I needed to realize a life long dream of mine and that life long dream is to ride a fucking bear. Just ride it like a horse and probably coax it to maul people of my choosing. Considering the bears are planning a coupe, it might be hard to trick one into letting me ride it.
So naturally I turned to The Pilot to fix this problem of me not being able to ride a bear and I got all excited when he told me that it could totally be arranged and all I had to do was get home from work to find out what it was.
All day I was excited and telling people that "just you wait, I'm going to ride into work on a bear one day and all you people who I may or may not like the look of your face that day will get mauled. And it will be hilarious.".
And then I got home.
And my reality was destroyed.
When I said "I want to ride a fucking bear" The Pilot totally read "I'm totally getting laid tonight." and then my dreams were shattered and I locked myself in the bathroom and haven't come out since. Or just had sex with him. Pick which ending makes you happier. The ending where I cried, or the ending where I got laid.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Catikaze
I found out yesterday that I ended up winning some award about a blog that is potentially on fire and might spread fire to other blogs and burn down the whole Internet so I'm not sure if I was supposed to take it as a flattering "your blog is awesome" or a "your blog is a potential hazard to the Internet and firefighters will arrive shortly to hack through your door, destroy your computer and stomp on you until you realize how dangerous your fire blog is.". Needless to say I thought this was totally awesome that my blog might be a potential hazard to the Internet and I'm half contemplating dousing it with gasoline just to see it burn faster until I realized that the rules on the award is saying seven things about yourself and I'm all like, "Fuck it, I'm lazy."
So you know what I'm going to do instead Rachel? Not do it, because I'm lazy. And it'd be hard for my tiny little fingers to type out seven things about myself that others probably wont find interesting and will throw empty beer cans at me because I wasted their time. And you know what you can do with empty beer cans, Rachel? Nothing, because they are empty and the beer is already gone.
Instead, I'm going to tell you all about the time this morning when a small cat used itself as a suicide bomber and tried to take me out.
Yeah, that really happened to me this morning.
My job, that feeds me and clothes me and makes sure I have money for shinny things, has me get up at the stupid hours of 4:00am so I can catch a stinky, old man smelling bus just so I can get to work on time around 6:00am. Yeah, it's that long of a bus ride and yes it literally smells like an old man took a piss on the bus. Every. Dang. Morning.
As I was stumbling out of my apartment building still half asleep to catch the bus that picks up two feet from my apartment I heard this god awful "Meow, meow, meow, mother fucking meow!" from above my head and looked up to see a cat screaming at me. What was it screaming? I don't know. I don't speak fucking cat. It was probably offended that I had thumbs and could punch things and use guns and just decided that it was going to hassle me over it.
I guess the cat didn't like the fact that I was ignoring it's cat-calls and decided it was going to take it's taunting up a notch by throwing itself off the third storey balcony it was screaming at me from. But, I didn't know this until a falling cat landed half a foot in front of me and it looked extremely pissed off that it missed and then took off like a bat up the nearest tree. I was left with a total, did that just fucking happen to me? Did a cat try to bomb me from above and fail?
This is why getting up at ungodly hours is so unhealthy for people. You'll almost get bombed by cats.
So you know what I'm going to do instead Rachel? Not do it, because I'm lazy. And it'd be hard for my tiny little fingers to type out seven things about myself that others probably wont find interesting and will throw empty beer cans at me because I wasted their time. And you know what you can do with empty beer cans, Rachel? Nothing, because they are empty and the beer is already gone.
Instead, I'm going to tell you all about the time this morning when a small cat used itself as a suicide bomber and tried to take me out.
Yeah, that really happened to me this morning.
My job, that feeds me and clothes me and makes sure I have money for shinny things, has me get up at the stupid hours of 4:00am so I can catch a stinky, old man smelling bus just so I can get to work on time around 6:00am. Yeah, it's that long of a bus ride and yes it literally smells like an old man took a piss on the bus. Every. Dang. Morning.
As I was stumbling out of my apartment building still half asleep to catch the bus that picks up two feet from my apartment I heard this god awful "Meow, meow, meow, mother fucking meow!" from above my head and looked up to see a cat screaming at me. What was it screaming? I don't know. I don't speak fucking cat. It was probably offended that I had thumbs and could punch things and use guns and just decided that it was going to hassle me over it.
I guess the cat didn't like the fact that I was ignoring it's cat-calls and decided it was going to take it's taunting up a notch by throwing itself off the third storey balcony it was screaming at me from. But, I didn't know this until a falling cat landed half a foot in front of me and it looked extremely pissed off that it missed and then took off like a bat up the nearest tree. I was left with a total, did that just fucking happen to me? Did a cat try to bomb me from above and fail?
This is why getting up at ungodly hours is so unhealthy for people. You'll almost get bombed by cats.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Insight To My Insanity Or How I Spent My Weekend
Discussion with The Pilot following the discovery that we had no coal for the BBQ and thus might not be able to eat our delicious dinner we had planned. The Pilot, "Now I've got to drive all the way to the grocery store!" Me, " This sounds an awful lot like some buddy is whining." The Pilot, "It is whining! It's full blown whining and you aren't even giving it the credit it deserves!"
In a full silent theatre at the last shown down of Harry Potter and Voldemort, The Pilot is the only one who laughed out loud when Bellatrix gets shoved to the side by the darklord. Either he finds domestic violence funny or I should beat him less often so he doesn't feel awkward and embarrassed when it's presented to him on the big screen.
Email spam told me to invest my whole retirement in Alpaca's and I see nothing wrong with this idea.
The dog, while we are in the bedroom, jumps onto the dinner table and eats the left over steak The Pilot forget to throw out. He then barfs all under the table and as punishment gets thrown outside on the deck to rot. He spends the evening grinning at me through the door as if to say "Hey, this deck is awesome and all and I am pretty sure I pee'd on your BBQ but can you let me in now? It's kind of boring and I see you eating popcorn. OK? Awesome." while at the same time The Pilot is sitting around and proclaiming that I committed the worst act of animal abuse ever and someone should poop on my soul.
The Pilot met The Biebs. And it was a shocking experience.
In a full silent theatre at the last shown down of Harry Potter and Voldemort, The Pilot is the only one who laughed out loud when Bellatrix gets shoved to the side by the darklord. Either he finds domestic violence funny or I should beat him less often so he doesn't feel awkward and embarrassed when it's presented to him on the big screen.
Email spam told me to invest my whole retirement in Alpaca's and I see nothing wrong with this idea.
The dog, while we are in the bedroom, jumps onto the dinner table and eats the left over steak The Pilot forget to throw out. He then barfs all under the table and as punishment gets thrown outside on the deck to rot. He spends the evening grinning at me through the door as if to say "Hey, this deck is awesome and all and I am pretty sure I pee'd on your BBQ but can you let me in now? It's kind of boring and I see you eating popcorn. OK? Awesome." while at the same time The Pilot is sitting around and proclaiming that I committed the worst act of animal abuse ever and someone should poop on my soul.
The Pilot met The Biebs. And it was a shocking experience.
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