The Monster Within

We all have them.

This raging beast that slumbers deep within us… waiting for the one moment it can break free of the chains of common sense, intelligence, and in some cases, being a decent human being that binds them deep down in their dark dark hole. But they’re there. Waiting. Waiting to be released.

A prime example of this would be people who RAGE when they are hungry. They could be warm and friendly most of the time, but once hunger hits, BAM! RAGE BEAST ASSUMES ITS ULTIMATE FORM!

I know a few who suffer from this (most likely a few reading this right now [HI! YES, I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU!]). Their beast is nothing compared to mine. I know, I know. I’m the nicest, sweetest, most lovable person in the entire world… most of the time.

Until she strikes. My internal rage monster. Urina. Yes. Urina.

I, my friends, suffer from pee rage. Not just any old pee rage either. Complete and utter nonsensical, murderous rage, only brought forth when I have to pee.

If I’m in a car and have to pee, you better hope to fucking God that I am the driver. If not, prepare yourself for the onslaught or random bullshit insults that will come out of my mouth, directed at anyone and everyone.

If we’re on an especially long stretch of road, and even if I’m the driver, you’re not safe. URINA WILL STRIKE. Seriously, no one is safe.

That’s right. She’s rude, and cruel and super fucking slightly racist. Please note that THIS is what’s happening on the inside when she strikes:

I’d take the hunger beast over Urina any day.

Neil’s Master Plan

As we all remember, I have a wonderful friend named Neil. He’s the star of this blog, this one, and this one.

And now, he’s the star of this one!

YAY NEIL!

Recently, we found ourselves waiting in line for a night market (don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll blog about that crazy adventure another time), and we were discussing how much I wanted to go to the water slides. And I have for years (literally… like 5 years).

I should probably mention that at this point in our evening, Neil was fucking drunk “slightly tipsy”.

He decided we should break into the water slides (which were closed at this point) so that we could go down them and not wait in line. It basically went like this:

Followed by this:

And when I explained the cops would show up:

Why would we do that????

**yes, all cops in my life should be shirtless… ok most cops… ok these stick figure cops**

I guess that’s pretty sound logic. But then we’d be at the waterslides and would be going down them (if we could figure out how to turn that shit on… I mean, it’s high school drop outs and 14 yr olds running them, so it has to be easy… right?) and it would be easy enough for them to catch Neil.

Nope. Neil has a plan for that too:

So I’m just hearing that music you hear in British comedies (this) while these cops run around chasing Neil (at this point, I would have Karin-ja’d myself out of there) and yes, I imagine them all as bobbies:

Followed by this:

And then this:

And to prove this is legitimately his plan:

Why Jesus Hates You

It’s a common assumption. Bad things happen because Jesus hates you. Why did the pizza place put the wrong toppings on your pizza? Because Jesus hates you. He hates you so much, he used his miracle power to add anchovies into the sauce JUST TO FUCK WITH YOU.

**please note this blog is based entirely on *MY* assumption that everyone gets told that Jesus hates them all the time, and it’s not just me…*

So I wanted to figure out WHY Jesus hates everyone (me) all the time. I put a lot of thought into it:

And a lot of research (2 sites… Ok, 1 site… Ok, I google imaged it):

And I finally found the reason. Compare these pictures:

Do you see it?

Look closer:

That jerk hates us because we have POCKETS and he doesn’t! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW!!!! Think of how much cooler it would have been if Jesus had pockets! He would completely Mary Poppins the shit out of those!!!!!

So I understand the hate on from Jesus. He came to Earth a few centuries too early. I accept your hate. Because pockets are fucking amazing.

Public Service Announcement: Hand Hygiene

Ok, so I know I’m not your mom. I know I’m not your girlfriend, boyfriend or significant other. And if I one day I am and this applies to you, it’s over (once I find out).

One of the things that disgusts me the most that I see all too often is this:

Followed by this:

No. That just… No. Fucking sick. The second worst thing is this:

So basically you’re showing your gross, disgusting hands to the water, letting the germs that have layered your unwashed digits tremble in fear with the thought of getting soap:

Followed by the fear of getting wet:

And then you wander on out. Without actually doing anything.

You take your gross, disgusting hands, and mosey on out, not a care in the world! Wander around aimlessly spreading cooties everywhere:

This is what your gross hands actually look like:

That’s right. You have poo, syphilis, herpes hands. You. YOU. YOU! Are the reason there are hand herpes out there.

Now please, be a decent person and wash your fucking hands when you use the bathroom.

Thank you.

Why I’m Awkward

For those that know me, I am slightly awkward. I mean, I say the wrong thing sometimes, and I’m super awkward in some situations. Ok. Most situations. I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that I come by it honestly.

 

That’s right. I inherited it.

Take this shining example of a memory from my youth.

When I was 17, I was coming home with my one of my best friends and my boyfriend, and it was like… 11:30pm. That’s 23:30 for you military folk.

  

We arrived at my house and we were coming in through the front door. For those of you (which is most of you) that aren’t familiar with the house I grew up in, the front door was DIRECTLY in line with the kitchen, and in full view of the fridge:

So we wander in and…

What could cause all our faces to do this simultaneously? This:

Yeah. My 100% butt naked father, standing in front of the fridge. Unfortunately the fridge doors opened the opposite way, so everyone saw EVERYTHING. Once he was made aware of the full frontal of all of us (I am fairly confident this will be etched into my memory forever and ever), he tried to remedy the situation:

And then one final cryptic warning:

I slept at my friend’s house that night. 

After you and two of the "most important" people in your life (at the time) go through that, nothing is off limits. You're already scarred for life. And I believe in group suffering, so I will take you all down with me.