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Tag Archives: ranting
I have officially seen it all. Good grief.
Okay, so those of you who know me know that as far a I’m concerned, women never have to “use the bathroom” for anything besides powdering their noses.
I don’t like bathroom talk.
If I could, I’d pretend bathrooms don’t exist.
I don’t wanna know what goes on it one, why I shouldn’t “go in there for 20 minutes” or anything else related to bathroom things. It’s just gross.
In Heaven I WILL ROLL AROUND WITH OTTERS!!!
You guys have heard me before say that my idea of heaven is that when I die God will let me play with a truckload of non-pooping otters. It’s not heaven if they poop on you.
So, needless to say when I saw the latest Cottonelle ad I almost threw up in my mouth, out of my mouth, on to the cats and all over the floor.
Seriously, don’t we all know the purpose of toilet paper?
I kinda wanna kill her. 😉
Do we really need a commercial where a girl in white pants, who has clearly snorted too much blow, asks a man if he thinks this new TP  is so good that he can go commando? (Cause there are just so many new fangled things one can do to TP to make it tons better—ugh, idiots.) And I love that they picked someone with a delightfully cheery British accent…does that somehow make it more proper to discuss your bowels and what they do?? Good Lord…
Anyway, apparently, rippled TP is the first and only difference between having a poopy butt and not having one. Does this mean we’ve all walked around nasty our entire lives until this particular TP? Yay! Saved by new TP! Now I can have a friend or two because I’m not basking in my own glorious filth all day, every day.
While I am loathe to give this gross and disgusting company any publicity, click on Miss Poo’s jolly face to watch the revolting video where, when you get down to it, she’s asking strangers, “Can you wipe your ass well enough to not get filth all over the inside of your pants?” I mean, c’mon people? Really? Is NOTHING SACRED ANYMORE!!!???? Must we talk about mookie stinks making a permanent home on your panties in such graphic and disgusting detail on television???
So, here’s what I vote for.
Below is the kind of TP ad I wanna see (though I’d rather see none at all!).
The TV screen would be all white with a still shot of a roll of pristine TP (and maybe an otter or two) and it would have a voiceover that read:
Hi.
This TP is not made of razor blades.
This TP will not cause you to bleed, get herpes or go insane.
Use it like you’ve been using TP for decades and it’ll do about the same thing that all others do.
Oh, it’s a little softer, if you like that kind of thing.
Now, go back to your happy life and forget I’ve just spent 15 seconds talking about your ass and its relationship with TP.
Thank you and good night.
That’s all I need to know, dammit!
I need nothing more than that and I’m good.
So can we please just say no to these kinds of ads?
Plus, I’m a Charmin girl anyway.
I had an 11th grade student of mine 100 years ago when I taught high school write a poem about me and my butt being squeezable like Charmin*. Lordy, those kids were wonderfully inappropriate. Anyway, I’ve been a Charmin girl ever since cause it still makes me giggle.
Okay, no more butt talk. I’m out.
*Click here to hear Mr. Whipple yet at women for squeezing the Charmin. 😉
Angry Birds is my Mother F*&;^ing Nemesis!
I’m telling you, if I’d worked as hard in high school as I do now on Angry Birds, I’d have been able to skip college entirely.
They say the first step towards solving a problem is admitting there is one. Well, here I go. I’m an Angry Birds junkie. Full on, tap the vein junkie. When Angry Birds first came out a few people showed it to me and it looked so boring that I had no interest whatsoever. Then one day, while fucking off and wasting time with my Minion (my awesome employee at my last job), I played it for a few minutes on his phone. After what felt like 5 minutes, but was more like 19 hours, he was finally able to wrench his phone out of my fearsome clutches. Each time, prior to his phone’s eventual release, when he’d edge closer to my drooling, glassy-eyed self, I’d growl through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it back you when you take it from my cold, dead hands.” Charlton Heston and I make quite the formidable pair. 🙂 He wisely backed away until he had no choice but to risk life and limb in order to retrieve his phone. I only stabbed him once, so I think he fared pretty well.
Since then, I’ve played and played and played until my fingers hurt, my eyes crossed and my patience sapped. Those sonofabitching pigs!!! Why are they such nasty little bastards? Why, when lazily relaxing in a block of wood, can’t they just DIE when they tip over? WHY? Is God punishing me??? 😉
Here are my thoughts on each evil, time-sucking, life-draining version:
- RIO: HATE IT! Refuse to play it. Those damn laughing monkeys can all die in a bath of acid. HATE THEM SO MUCH!
- SPACE: Cannot get enough, though I often want to kill myself while playing it. When I first saw the floating pigs I was all excited. Then I realized that some of them actually run from you. They have artificial intelligence. It FREAKS ME OUT! Then the damn doughnut episode came out and the damn birds could bounce off of little patches of gum or some such crap. Gotta get just the right angle or you’re screwed. Ugh! KILL ME!!!! Little rat bastards.
- SEASONS: I swear, some of the episodes in this were designed by sadists. Pure, unadulterated schadenfreude mo fos. Every once and a while, when I just can’t figure out how to kill the little asshats, I go and watch YouTube to see the solution. Then I try it and it still takes me 200 attempts. And if you know me at all, you’ll know it’s me attempting to get all 3 stars. Screw one or two stars. It has to be 3 or I simply cannot live.
- THE ORIGINAL: Yep, this was the little shit that lured me in. It starts all nice and easy with a red bird and one pig. Now I’ve got 342 kinds of birds, 298 pigs zipping across the screen at once (laughing at me whilst doing so, the little fuckers) and carpal tunnel syndrome.
My hubby and I will sit outside in the backyard, playing one version or another on our phones (which is MUCH harder than playing on a computer) and all anyone who might overhear us would hear would be, (stop reading if you don’t like cuss words!) “Damn son of a bitch fucker! I’m going to fly to Rovio and kill all those whores for ever writing this program! I hope they all die in a shitstorm of, well, shit. Why didn’t their mothers drown them in the tub when they were infants??? DAMN THESE PEOPLE!! ARRRRRRRGH!!!!” Then, when I’ve gotten 3 stars on everything there is to get 3 stars on I say, “DAMN those people at Rovio! Why can’t they churn this stuff out faster? I don’t have any episodes left. What am I supposed to do now? Do you know when the next release is? I need to look it up to see if I can find out. Yeah, there has to be one soon.” All of this is said with imploring eyes and a little spittle caught in the corner of my mouth (icky!).
I’m quite sure that depiction rivals any other kind of junkie. Angry Birds is my smack. There is no doubt about it. I have it on my Kindle Fire, my Nook, my phone, through Facebook. And when my last phone was dying a horrible death I refused to get a new one until I could find a way to back up my Angry Birds games so that I didn’t have to restart them from the beginning. I’m quite sure doing so would have landed me in the looney bin.
After all this confessing and cussing, I think I feel the need to go play some Space to see if I can beat my own high scores. Those pokey puppies at Rovio are taking their SWEET ASS TIME releasing any new levels, so a girl has to do what she has to do–revisit what I’ve already conquered. It’s like when a single girl wants nookie but doesn’t want to add any “numbers” to her growing list of partners. She can just go back to where she’s been before, have some fun, but keep the same count. (Ladies, you know what I’m talking about here!) I’m going to go do the same thing with Angry Birds, though it is slightly less satisfying I must admit.;)
