Well, at least I don’t have to worry about them around my birthday like last year.
Well, at least I don’t have to worry about them around my birthday like last year.
Maybe it’s because I had to wake up early for an on-call appointment that ended up canceling on me right after it was booked is the reason why I’m quite bitter today. Work has gotten slow lately and my ass is-a-worried. (*checks out high-money ads in “Gigs” section of local Craigslist, out of curiosity*) Oh, and then there’s all this shit on TV perpetuating cell phone addiction. (And, by the way, what is so goddamn interesting in showing someone looking at their phone? That’s fucking boring. Show that person actually doing something, like tossing the salad of a death row inmate to hawk your products, why don’t you?) And skinny jeans and those idiot pound signs before words shit still exist. Ditto with this bullshit called “Lip Sync Battle”–one of the many products of mediocrity being rewarded these days. And I’m PMS-ing now and I just ran out of the good stuff to smoke so yes I’m in slaughter mode right now.
I know my writing suffers when I’m pissed, so I’m keeping this short. Plus, it’s a Saturday. I’d go out today, but I’ll be doing that tomorrow. The Folsom Street Fair in SF is happening then, and I think I’ll save my frustration for tomorrow, and unleash it on some leather-clad submissive then.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss 2005. I thought that was a shit year, but looking back at it, times were better then. Fucking goddamn cell phones bullshit asshole stalkers please can the
asstag hashtag and all the things that piss me off fucking die and go to hell forever now.
Actually, those three things, and maybe a couple more topics will be the only things I’ll be writing about here. So, if you’re expecting slut hor talk on hot male athlete asses, well…stick around. I may just sneak in a bit of that in here. Because proud slut hor.
*The Weird: Stans*
As I’ve said before, I just cannot stan for any celebrity I adore. If they fuck up and piss me off, well, that’s what they did. Most of the ones I like have their absurd moments, to which I go to my moment of “shaking my head in disappointment and mutter ‘guuuuuuurrlll‘ (or ‘duuuuuuuude’)” and not watch/listen their works for a little while. Even the ones that can do no harm and end up twatting/Instawhoring something out irks me. (I see you, Steph Curry!) There really is no perfect celeb out there. However, that may change if I get famous. I know because everything I do will be fabulously perfect, even if you see me working out in stripper heels a la Coco. I will stan for myself if I ever become famous.
Encountering stans online is funny, especially when you go to the celeb gossip sites I bother to go to. I leave most of them alone (because getting on them would be a waste of my time), but I had one–actually make that two–recently get on me for bashing Tom Brady. Mind you, this site where this happened is a place that doesn’t have that many sports stories to begin with, and what I thought was a snarky post that no one wouldn’t get too riled up on (at least to those with a functioning brain) turned into some dumbass shit. One Brady fan called my post “wrong” and that Brady is “more liked by America” than Goodell. (For the record, my post did not favor the sides that hated and liked Brady, but was something–that I thought was–snarky about the hoopla surrounding the Brady/Deflate-gate case.) I responded to the idiot as simply and basic as possibly because dumb brains need these kinds of explanations. Unfortunately, another Brady/Pats stan jumped in. Their post was less offensive, but still eye-rolling; they lectured me on some shit called the “Ideal Gas Law.” They said that because of this law, Brady never cheated. (But does this “gas law” also apply to what he did with the woman he left for Gisele?) The biggest mistake out of both of these fools is that they thought I cared about football to begin with. Either way, having to deal with two Brady stans in a place I least expected had me all…
Then there are stans that are ruining some things for me. Particularly the ones who happen to like the same celebs as I do. At a site I frequent, there’s this one poster that really puts it on with her stanning of a certain male actor that so many others on this site (me included) adore. She even went as far as to saying she “personally knows” this actor. OK, but that’s no excuse for you trying to claim him as “your man” in your posts when others–me included–are looking at you weird.
*The Creepy: Stalkers*
Stalking plain sucks ass. I had that shit happen to me in real life, and I’ve recently been cyber-stalked. Then again, does it count as stalking if the stuff the stalker says about you happens to be untrue? I’ve gotten some messages here (yes, here; you don’t see them because I trashed them) and elsewhere saying they (there’s sadly more than one) knew me from some “message board” I once posted at. They even went as far as to saying what my nickname was on this message board. So I have to ask…
Look, I posted on waaaaayyy too many message boards back in the day, and I probably created different nicknames for each one of them. And since much has happened since those days when I wasted my life posting nonsense on boards that would become defunct five years later, I honestly don’t remember the shit I did on those boards, nor know what nickname I went by. So, forewarning: I will go crazier than Michael Myers to the next person that brings this stuff up in the next message I get here, or elsewhere. Stalking someone (online or in real life) who has absolutely no clue what you’re fucking talking about is as horrific as being proud to be a Kartrashian.
Since I was getting some of those messages here, I actually thought of shutting down this blog and moving on to a new blog/moniker. But no. I’ve had this baby for almost two years. And counting. Like I’m gonna let one monkey buttwipe (or five) stop my show here.
*The Downright Stupid*: Slimming Shirts
I can’t believe this shit is still around.
There’s a newer version & commercial of this product, and I think it goes by a different name now. But that such a product still exists is…actually not surprising. I live in a world where some people value their cell phones more over good sex, and where Kendull Jennertrashian is the face of Estee Lauder. A shirt that promises a slimmer silhouette (with no need to work out, might I add) to men shaped like walruses is the kind of artifact that belongs in these Idiocracy-happy times. On the other hand, it’s kind of refreshing to see some men get vain. And, regarding this corset for men, who knew that comments on YouTube would speak such golden truth?
I think I’ll save the hot male athlete asses post for another entry. Instead, I’d like to end things with this message:
And now, it is Miss Collins that has left us, while this world will still get two more movies based on that goddamn “book.” Rest in glamorous peace, Jackie. I know I got some books of yours around; I just have to open up all my moving boxes to find them. Though if I really want to honor her, I should doll myself up like an 1980s rich-bitch socialite and make love to some hunk, then kick his ass when he tries to backstab me. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
There’s lots of ugly in this world, and it’s no surprise that it gets talked about a lot more than the beautiful things in life. (Hell, it’s the love of ugly in the media the big reason why we hear more about violence and Donald Trump as opposed to good, happy news and a likable and qualified presidential candidate–is there one, by the way?) So I’m gonna take the time to appreciate a couple of beautiful things in this life–one currently in play, the other a bundle of lovely, unforgettable memories.
The SF Giants right now are a mess, and not of the hot, fun, Bai Ling kind. (If the team wants to get to that level, they need to start striking pseudo-fap poses to the paparazzi like what Miss Ling classily did recently. If they can’t make it to the postseason this year, this shit needs to happen. In fact, screw another World Series run; I’d kill for a snap of Madison Bumgarner faux-rubbing one off, complete with hot O-face.) Guys going down at the worst possible time, losing close games, blowing leads, and those ingrate Dodgers that keep on (I HATE to say this) winning and getting away with the division.
One of the team’s most significant player losses is a name who hasn’t played in months, and was expected to return by the start of this month. This name just happens to be one of my ex-boos: Tim Lincecum. The reports of him having season-ending hip surgery showed not only that things really can get more shitty for the Giants and their fans, but that The Freak (his nickname given to him for his unusual but crazy-efficient delivery and hippie appearance) can be mortal, after all.
And it’s just sad. I was really rooting for him to make a comeback this year, and show everyone that he still had it. And he did show that in some of his first games of the season. Hell, there was a time when it was him and Bummy as the two best pitchers on the team. It may sound laughable now considering Timmy’s pitching later on in the season, but maybe it’s wrong to laugh at it altogether. Looking back at those quality starts in April, May, and the first part of June, it may have been the last times we’ve seen Timmy bring back shades of the The Freak. And it is there that us fans of Timmy and the team should appreciate greatly. Especially after seeing how he struggled last year (and the year before, and the year before that), and how he truly wanted to turn things around this year.
One of the beautiful things in baseball is the Pitcher’s Duel–those tight, low-scoring, high-strikeout showdowns where the Pitch is mightier than the Bat. It’s great when your pitcher wins it, and how many of those has Timmy been a part of? Though it has been over four years since I last saw my ex-boo pitch in person, it was that one game (in May against the Dbacks in SF) that just happened to be a Pitcher’s Duel. No runs against him, and (I believe) nine Ks.
It’s also coincidence that when he lived up to that Freak nickname, he looked like something I wanted to freak up and down with. With no shame.
(THIS I would.)
Timmy and his game of old was quite a beautiful thing. It was him and solely him that really got me into baseball (which is all the more reason why PE/sports classes should NEVER be cut from schools, ’cause you never know if that kid that gets into baseball goes pro and gets successful and also happens to look like a Playgirl centerfold), and I can never forget that. Yes, there are reasons why he’s now my “ex-boo” and, nope, I just can’t hit it anymore like I used to–not even a sympathy hit-it, unless if he grows his hair back and shaves that ‘stache of his. Oh, and pitch 12Ks for 8 1/2 innings ten times when he comes back (for the Giants, of course). But maybe his boner-killing look was a little blessing; it made me appreciate Timmy more as an athlete, and less of a heartthrob that wussy me once stanned for, even when he lost 10-3 and gave up 6 runs in the first inning. And isn’t it a beautiful thing when one can appreciate someone for what they can do as opposed to if their looks get your panties in a bind? (Look, pa, I’m maturing!)