My last visit to Disney land was close to ruined by all the crying children. How the fuck does a child come to cry in Disney land?
Always curious about the result of mixing cookies with spankings (would it make one love spankings, or hate cookies?) I've come to find that mixing Disney land with crying children has made me Revel in a child's discontent.
What's more, I love telling kids to "Cut it out," in public.
About a year ago, this woman and her kid sort of cut in front of me and the girlfriend, at a papa murphy's. She did the old While-this-couple-is-deciding-I'll-just-read-the-menu-where-you're-supposed-to-order thing.
So while I was glaring at the back of the bitches head, her kid starts zipping around and decides to get all autonomous at the soda cooler.
One after another, the kid starts budging the caps on the bottles, and I can hear each one hiss from all the way across the store.
"Hey Ivan," I grumble, repeating what I heard his mom call him. "Cut it out," I say in a tone to make it stick.
His mom turned back to smile and chuckle at me the way one does when encountering a loquacious, aging meth-addict.
"He's breaking the seal on the bottles," I inform her.
She looked like this
Only more skeptical. And she squeals "He's thrEEEee!" in the whiny tone which a mom who looks like that would use. "Some ADULTS aren't even strong enough to open those!" she challenged.
"Well," I walked to the cooler, "He opened this one, this one, and this one..." I told her as I squeezed each bottle, "But he didn't open this one." The last, one keeping it's firm composure the way a bottle for sale should.
The kid clutched his mother's leg while she and I stared at each other. Then she turned to the counter and ordered the three bottles her kid picked to fuck up.
I came in my pants. And then I left like some super-hero recess-teacher with an endless pad of D-slips.
Weeks ago I was at Costco doing the whole Put-half-my-food-in-front-of-my-sister-because-$10-does-so-much-damage-in-the-cafe-that-if-all-the-food-I-was-planning-to-eat-was-in-front-of-me-I'd-look-like-one-of-those-fat-microsoft-guys-in-a-wolf-pack-shirt thing.
Seven dollars down, I slide "My sister's food" to my side of the table,
and my sister goes "That kid is wasting onions."
I look across the cafe and see some kid cranking away on the onion machine
watching the business-end shit out onions.
"Hey Kid!" I belt out with a mouth full of polish. "Cut it out."
Every Asian in the place stared at me... but the kid stopped and looked around.
Then the kid started up again - so of course - "HEY KID! Cut It OUT!"
It just so happens that Mother-of-the-year was standing right beside me with her cart. She called him over and made me come in my pants.
"You're not getting any ice cream!" "No!" he cried. And in his upright tantrum comes bouncing out his mouth "But I really Want it!"
I smiled because my food suddenly tasted better.
Anyhow, this barefoot little shit makes me feel like a dog that's been told not to bark at the TV.
And this one makes me gleeful because I hate shitty parents and their prodigies.
Some huge nerds have noticed that if you mess with the brightness and contrast, you can observe some pretty interesting shit in the bottom left portion of the image.
Billy Mays, I guess, died of heart failure, but he still wasn't wearing his seat belt when his flight landed.
Billy Mays was rich in money, rich in spirit, and probably a dick in every other department.
I had an isle seat, sharing my row with a woman and her father. On take-off, both the woman and myself noticed a strip of vapor streaming from the engine. She and I both thought it was an aeronautical emergency but her father assured us that it was just clouds getting sliced.
Then he said "If the lord decides it's our time, then it's our time." So says the guy who can dress like the crocodile hunter and take two months off work to take his daughter on a mission to build a clinic in rural Asia.
So hey, maybe that's what Billy Mays was thinking when he blatantly ignored the fasten seat belt sign at the risk of getting chewed out by a flight attendant. "If the lord decides it's my time, then it's my time." Fuck you!
If you're going to embrace gods plan by flirting with being projected from your seat and pin-balling through a cabin full of passengers then you're a fucking dick.
THERE'S STILL BLOOD ON THE STREETS OF TEHRAN!!!!!!!
If you loved Micheal Jackson so much, why did you let him die $400Million in Debt? Shame on you and your iPod.
Additionally- THERE'S STILL BLOOD ON THE STREETS OF TEHRAN!!!!!!!!
When Clinton was shooting Missiles into Bagdhad, Michael Jackson was the top news story.
After Bush stood in front of a banner reading "Mission Accomplished," we all turned our heads and started talking about Jesus Juice!
Now Iran is divided and we have to wait a few weeks before we get to hear MJ's toxicology report. I'm sorry but if his blood work comes back dirty, then we're totally invading Iran. (Cause MJ was murdered by the war machine).
The person who thought that "tq," would be an appropriate abbreviation for "Thank you," was a fucking idiot for thinking that "Thank you," should ever be abbreviated.
I've come to observe that the only reason why facebook is so popular, is because it's pure drip girl abuse of myspace.
Seriously, it feels like a network built completely around the stupid bulletins girls used to post on myspace, the stupid comments they used to leave on profiles, and it's all wrapped up in a nice little package where random guys can't search-for/holler-at random single girls.
