It's magical.

I am pretty sure that I am allergic to my deodorant. I can't be sure though since I haven't shaved my armpits in a bit, and whenever I put that damn deodorant on, it feels like someone has infected my armpit with scabies.

Maybe it's because the last time I shaved, I used ~~~~scented~~~~ razors. Really, who in the fuck needs scented razors? Does it leave a fresh berry scent on your skin? No. Not really.


More later on the status of my armpit..


I just have a lot of feelings.

Donde estoy?

So, while watching Go, Diego, Go today, I realized that show is full of shit. I'm pretty sure the brains of the little ones are being raped by this shitty television. Ok, so here are my problems with Go, Diego, Go.

Exhibit A:
This little motherfucker talks to animals, not cat and dogs. Like big ass animals, elephants and jaguars and shit. Do you really want your child going outside to animals and trying to help them? NO. These animals want to eat their fucking heads off and they don't want any help from you, or your snotty little crotch goblin. Your child is going to try to save a whale trapped under a pirate ship and die. They are going to DIE. Don't let your little monsters watch this anymore, you cannot talk to animals, you are not Smokey the Bear, and you are definitely not Dr. Dolittle.


Oh and I got a thing in the mail today for Terri Ann Wintermute, I know they saw my post and decided to send something with that whore's face on it. TO MY HOUSE. How dare they.

And with this, I say asalamalakum.

Definition: Unknown.

Terri Ann Wintermute. I hate you Terri Ann Wintermute. I don't know who you are, or what you look like but I loathe you. I see your enormous signs in the front yards of people who feel the needs to advertise for 19 different politicians. I see your god damned signs everywhere, EVERY CORNER, WINTERMUTE. I think you are a whore, and I would never vote for you. Ever. I don't care if you're the second coming of Christ and you will save the world, I will not vote for you.


And now that I've looked you up, to top it all off, you're ugly. And I hope someone from your campaign comes across this and you finally realize what an overzealous whore you are. I hate you, DO YOU HEAR ME? I HATE YOU.

I may decide to come back and write something a bit less hate filled, but for now, I am off because I am tired.

Two stickers on my nipples, please.

A special thank you to Anju at Walmart was decided not to charge me for Lauren's new Yo Gabba Gabba shirt. I appreciate it and I'm sure Lauren will love it as well, so again, thank you.

Today I went to Brookfield Zoo, and what do you know! It was Boo at The Zoo today! What that ultimately means is that there are tons and tons of crotch goblins there with semi-cute/semi-slutty costumes on. Just because you are dressed as a 'punk rock girl' does not mean you get to wear fishnets and mini-skirts when you are 9 years old. Do your parents not realize that the zoo is a perfect place for pedophiles? Great parenting, you're doing it wrong.

The children did not matter though, what mattered was the empty aardvark house that scared me because it was pitch black and there was an ominous beeping sound. What a creepy place to invite people into, especially people dressed as clowns and spiders. My feet want to die, and want to bleed, and may possibly fall off. Why is this? Because I decided to wear my 'nicer' shoes to the zoo, WHERE I WOULD BE WALKING ALL DAY. I am a genius and I amaze myself.

I had a fantastic day at the zoo, followed by a delicious pumpkin cooler/coffee type thing, and great conversation.

And now the world will come to a end, in a great ball of fire because I do not have days this good.

Cocks in my ear.

When you live in a crowded suburban area, I do not know what the fuck possesses someone to get a FUCKING ROOSTER. Really, A ROOSTER?

Although, people who know me will find this is all a bit hypocritical. For when I was growing up with my father, my basement was the underground railroad for poultry. There were seeds and feathers around every corner, the constant bawking that put me to sleep. I still do not know why we had so many mean ass chickens in the basement, nor will I ever forget that I never got to sleep in on the weekend.

That's just the kind of man that my father is, a man with roosters. A man who will brag and tell you all about his chickens, and be very excited to show them to you. Not just show them you, tell you their names, and explain how he built the cage they now reside in.

I went to visit my father in Florida last year and one of the first things he wanted to show me was.....Can you guess? The chicken coup, of course the god damned chickens. The chicks that were named, all with lovely spanish names, and the coup that he made for them. Of course he made it for them, my dad loves the chickens.

Too bad he didn't love lobster, crab, or something, because I could really go for some damn seafood.

Sorry for the flashback, cocks always bring me back to my father. What brought on this entire entry is that this morning while I was sitting in my dining room, I was serenaded by a fucking rooster at 6 am. Why do I have to live next door to a rooster? WHY? WHY DO THE COCKS SURROUND ME?


Now I want some damn fried chicken.

Price check on prune juice.

I never seem to put gas into Jerome unless I am going to be walking within the next 5 miles if I don't. On the way home from a lovely afternoon with some of the coolest people alive, I realize I need gas. And I need it NOW.

I pull into the Jewel parking lot, which has a mile long line that puzzles me. Why is there such a line? Is there a sale on chicken wings? Possibly the smooth and creamy cheesecake is buy one get one free! No. I am wrong on all accounts, but it seems to be something much better. The gas is fucking $3.03 A GALLON. Now I have not seen gas with a zero between the first and the last digit in a very very long time, and now I am excited.

But.
Holy shit.
These people are animals, imagine the creatures from I am Legend needing gas very badly, and with very dirty mouths. There is honking, swearing, people attempting to run people over, it was bad. Very bad. I don't really care though since I am in Jerome, and every one in this entire car are large people and would pummel someone to death.

I then pumped my gas and sat there with an enormous smile on my face, feeling accomplished, I put gas in without killing or swearing at someone.

And now my ass hurts, and I feel something pulsating within my ass cheek so I must go.

What pulsates in your ass? I am broken.


Also, I hope that sometime in my life, I get to stay here.

The hair club for women.

I would like to find out who decided they should put 'pump' dispenser on bottles of conditioner, and when I find who they are, junk punch them.

I was at Walmart and saw that Tresemme was on sale, and they had an EXCLUSIVE salon style pump on the shampoo and conditioner! Although this wasn't my select brand of hair products, I figured hey, these are on sale and Oh my god. THE PUMP. I mean, how fantastic would it be to just leave the bottle on the rack and just be able to pump it! How simple.

FUCKING WRONG.

This would be a great product for me if I was either A: a child with minimal amount of hair or B: a balding female who cries in the shower. Since I am neither, I have to sit there with water pounding me in the face, desperately trying to pump conditioner out of this bottle. Every single pump, I receive barely enough conditioner to lather my bangs, my hair is down to my ass, come on now, I NEED A LITTLE MORE. Finally, after 5 minutes of desperate pumping, my palm is now filled with luxurious conditioner but my water is now cold and I am eager to hang myself with the shower curtain.

So this is my warning to you, do not buy into that ridiculous marketing, those fucking pumps are taking away precious moments and tons of hot water.

Dicks.

I am going to abuse this.

Fact of the day: There are dogfish, they are extremely large fish that walk onto land and eat dogs.


I'm not sure what bothers me more, people who drive like dicks or people who smell like dick. The next door neighbor walked over and spoke to me today, now I'm perfectly happy talking to her. EXCEPT. Why did she smell like she had been rolling in dicks all day? Not nice, clean, fresh dicks...No. They had to be smelly, sweaty, possibly rotting from the inside out dicks. Holding my breath, and nodding was the only way I was going to make it away from Dickbreath McGee. Luckily, the small crotch goblin that I was watching decided to shit in his pants, and I was free to step away from Dickbreath.

Then, of course on the way home, I was stuck behind someone who apparently had never seen a road before. I expected this gentleman to step out of his car and rub his asshole on the asphalt, just to see how warm and new it felt.

This is going to end badly.


What a day.

The problem with crotch monsters.

I've come to the conclusion that if you work with children, eventually you'll want to tear your uterus out and hang yourself. It's not that working with children isn't rewarding, it's more of the fact that once you have children, they never go away. Ever.

There's no 4:00pm to look forward to every day, there's no waking up alone, without children gnawing at your calves. I've come to appreciate the fact that I can go home at night, and not worry if my crotch goblins are having a nutritious dinner while I indulge in foods that will only make my ass larger.

My uterus has a permanent 'No Vacancy' sign on it.