I punched a shark, right in his stupid stinky shark face.
We’re still bros. He knew he was being a dick.
Computer enema, the things you find…
On 25 October 2011, at approximately 00.30-
If I could kick you in your asshole, I would.
Oh the cockarse of it all…
This is genuinely the second Windows post I’ve made! Why? Fucking Windows 8.
I’m confused and discombobulated and just….ugh, not with it. Thanks for this PiC! It’s okay, I still love you, mostly. But you invited this shit. I am in my own bum.
Oh, wait….no…wait…wait.
You had to wait because I somehow engaged the ‘features’ screen and couldn’t navigate away from it! Even with Escape. Why does the escape button not work? Fuck you, Microsoft and your bullshit buttons or soft keys or wank holes! I will shit in your mouth! Suck arse.
Windows 8 is like the 2012 Red Sox. Perhaps a good idea on paper, but a complete mindfuck in reality.
Start button! Where the holy fuck is my start button??!! *cries*
(it took 33 days to post this update because the start screen activated for no reason, [like a sentient Decepticon robot cock master who would like to ruin my life] and it has taken me this long to get back here. I am a prisoner of my own devices!
This shit is perfect. I’m 167 years old now. Suck my rusty doggy dick.
oh balls…
When you are the empathetic type, be sure the person who is sobbing- that you are offering a tissue to- isn’t a completely batshit-crazy tiny racist Thai woman who continually asserts that SHE’S NOT CHINESE!
Otherwise, you will have to sit through her tirade about how her boss is an (adjective) cunt. The epithets and racism will continue to come, no matter how uncomfortable you try to make yourself look. Apparently, being a young, friendly, white woman is a license for someone to go crazy with the bigotry. Awesome.
This isn’t the first time this has happened to you…
Learn from your mistakes. Sheezus.
And….
This is what Google spat out when I searched ‘tiny racist’…seriously.
![50352_11672272873_6600_n[1]](https://i0.wp.com/rhetoricalplatypus.com/wp-content/uploads/50352_11672272873_6600_n1.jpg)
Shitty Pictures of Food
Okay, let me start with this, I f*cking LOVE food.
(Or with a bit less vulgarity) I love in short order: the process of picking out ingredients to make a home cooked feast; smells of gastronomic indulgence that waft over me when walking through an open marketplace on a Saturday afternoon; the giddy anticipation at my favourite restaurant when I know I’m going to swoon over whatever they put in front of me. You get the idea.
My soul is that of a middle-aged, borderline obese chef named Ernie.
What isn’t very appetizing about this obsession are my shitty pictures of food. Oh sure, I can talk about the exquisite meal I had a week ago with the same fervour that most people talk about their children. They’re even allowed to have pictographic examples of little Jonny’s adorableness. Yet, somehow, carrying around a picture of each and every meal that’s made me want to explode with joy is a little insane? How is this fair? Then, when I think a little longer about this proposition and I decide that it probably isn’t a good idea anyway, as most of my food pictures end up looking like this-
Or this
Or this
The events leading to these abominations go little something like this-
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Enter restaurant/pick out amazing ingredients
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Peruse menu and select delicious foodstuffs to fill my belly/cook beautifully tasty & nutritious meal
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Experience apoplectic fits of glee when my plate is placed before me
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Immediately shove my face into said plate thereby impressing my dinner mates with how long I can hold my breath
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Come up for air three quarters of the way through eating and I think that it would be ‘Supercool to document this experience and share it, yay!’
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Attempt to rearrange food on plate so it doesn’t look like it was danced on by a rabid possum
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Take Photo
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Take another photo
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Take another photo
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Take 12 more photos from various angles hoping that one of them will look even a tenth as good as it tasted
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Once I get the photos on a larger screen realize they all look like toddler vomit covered in a thick layer of cow drool
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Cry
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Forget about the last atrocity the next time I’m enjoying a wonderful meal and repeat above steps in an infinite happiness/disappointment loop
Note:
At the risk of sounding like a liar, I’m not trying to turn this into a food/cooking blog. I know that statement looks like total bullshit considering this is the third time I’ve talked about food this week. I also know there are already many out there that do it miles better than me and I would never dream of trying to take them on. That’s like begging a cat to repeatedly bite you on the lady-bean while banging your head with a cast iron pot.