Fucking Eat Shit And Die

A few years ago, I went into the local supermarket to pick up a snack. I was in the mood for Strawberry Newtons, the Fig Newton's tasty sister. I looked on the shelves and finally found them. Without really taking a good look at the package I bought them and went home. Later that evening, I started opening the package and saw two words that can piss me off instantly, fat-free. I was boiling mad because I knew that I had not picked this product in hopes of supplementing my diet, I bought it to stuff my face with a tasty treat. Fighting down my irritation, I bit into the cookie. Let's just say I think the plastic tray tasted better than that shit!

Totally ready to take the blame for not taking the time to read the package carefully, I threw out the disgusting snack and went back to the store the next day. Horrified, I saw that the store only sold the fat-free, fake shit. Not one to make a big deal out of a little thing (yeah, right!), I looked for an employee to see if they either had more of the original cookies in the back or if they were getting a shipment soon. I ran into the store manager and a cashier. Both looked at me as if I had asked them to bake the fucking things themselves! They shook their heads and the manager informed me that they were only stocking the fat-free imposters. When I expressed my disgust at the fat-free, gross copy of a real cookie, they both said in unison, "but they're healthier." This brings me to the point of today's message.

When the hell do I, as a grown woman, get to choose what I eat? I'm well aware of what can happen when you shovel fattening treats into face. I could blow up to the size of a small car. And you know what? I'd fucking like the right to do that if I choose! Little does my local store know that I don't eat too many things in large quantities and I do get exercise on a regular basis and my cholesterol is perfectly normal. So why should they get to decide what I can and cannot eat? By substituting my favorite treat with an abomination to snack cravers in my local area, they are saying that I'm too stupid to eat properly and they need to make the decision for me. I say, fuck that! Let me eat cake!

I won't say that all fat-free foods are disgusting, some are downright delicious and hard to distinguish from their unhealthy twin. But taking the fat out of one of the things I like to eat won't make me suddenly decide that I am now healthy enough to run a marathon or drop a dress size. It means that they made it a little easier to only eat one cookie because who the fuck wants to eat cardboard as a snack? I then went back to the snack aisle to see what other treats they had decided were in desperate need of intervention. I was surprised to see that most of the fat-free shit was sitting next to their delicious sibling. So why single out my pleasure?

I went back to the manager and asked him why they didn't do that to the rest of the snacks and he informed me that over time, they will. I asked him why he was so eager to force me to shop at another store because I was sure I could find the shunned sweets I craved at another supermarket. He smiled and said that the company was only making them in fat-free. Not believing him, I left the store and went to the other local store and sure enough, only fat-free. Pissed off completely, I grabbed another snack that I enjoyed and headed home. On my drive back to my house I began to wonder just when I became too stupid to eat. I remembered a time when I could supersize my value meal at McDonald's without having everyone look at me like I ordered fried baby legs. I could eat the most delicious fries, cooked in animal grease and no one stood over my shoulder telling me that my heart was going to one day fly out of my chest and slap the shit out of me for enjoying a rare, unhealthy meal. I could order off of a restaurant menu without having to see hearts splashed across different items reminding me that if I didn't pick them, I was going to die. A simpler time when I could just open a bottle of Tylenol and the only thing to overcome was the child safety cap instead of needing tweezers, a buzz saw, night vision goggles, rubber gloves and a stethoscope, but that's a different topic for a different day.

I admit, there are times that I wouldn't choose the healthier option if I had any other choice and was pleasantly surprised to find that I preferred the lower fat version. I love wheat pasta because you can't taste the difference and neither can my kids, which is a HUGE bonus! The government does for me what I do for my kids. They make sure that I'm eating as healthy as I can. The difference is, I'm not the fucking government's kid, so stay the fuck out of my refrigerator!! As a mother, I do try to give them healthy snacks and make nutritious meals, but when I as an adult want to eat, let me fucking eat! Stop smacking my hand away from what I like to force me to eat what you'd like! If God had wanted us to diet, he would have made fat-free animals! Instead of saying, "these people are too stupid to do the right thing, so I'm going to make animals taste like crap and make tree bark taste like candy!" If he trusts me to eat, who is the government to go against his plan?

I know that there are people who don't learn good eating habits from their parents and I understand that they are trying to educate them. What I don't understand is what about us that knows better and wants to eat shit anyway? When they forced restaurants to ban trans fat, they also forgot to tell most of them how to keep the fucking flavor as well! They forgot that in America, we have to right to lick dirt off the floor if we want to! Over the years it's gotten to the point that they started sending home letters from the school telling us that our oldest child is in danger of being obese. Let's see, my 10 year old who is only a few inches shorter than me and weighs about a hundred pounds is in danger of one day becoming a school bus! Dear me! I thought the fact that he grows half a foot taller every night and plays football meant that we just had a normal healthy child on our hands. We are so blessed to have a school nurse look at him with calipers and a crystal ball to prevent us from killing him. Hell, if it wasn't for the completely qualified school district, we'd need to get him his own scooter to move his fat ass around on for his eleventh birthday! Crisis averted, thanks government! And my daughter who is barely hitting forty pounds soaking wet and just over three feet tall is in danger of becoming Kate Moss? You don't say! Perhaps I should feed my oldest child to my youngest to even out the whole thing. Or better yet, put her on a strict diet of happy meals, penny candy, and lard. That'll pack on the pounds. Or even still, I'll have the tubby child purge in a bowl for my anorexic daughter to slurp. Sound disgusting? So does the letter sent home telling me that my daughter has a BMI of 1%. What did they think, I was starving her to feed the other one? Or perhaps I was trying to make sure she made weight to join the varsity first grade cheerleading squad?

We have this wonderful thing called health insurance. With this medical marvel, we take our victims, I mean children to the doctor to get checkups every year. My kids have been poked and prodded by highly qualified pediatricians working with one of the best children's hospital in the entire country. Not once have they ever taken me into the consultation room to very quietly suggest to me that I begin to run my child around the neighborhood on a leash, dragging the family on a sled. And I certainly don't remember them sending us home with an iv bag to start shoving bacon grease into my starved daughter's veins in hope of making her ass spread across the room. What they told me was that I had healthy children. You hear that government? HEALTHY CHILDREN! And I didn't have to stick poison control stickers all over the refrigerator. I just had to use common sense. Now there's an idea! Use common sense to tell you that you need vitamins and a balanced diet mixed with age appropriate activates! Wow, I'm so smart, I deserve a cookie! D'oh!

I can end today's posting with some happy news. People agreed with me and now when I go to my local store, I'm so proud to see my original Strawberry Newtons! Yay me! I smile as I walk past them and head to the cereal aisle where I pick up a box of Rice Crispies and a bunch of bananas. I'm going to go home and have a bowl of cereal mixed with little chunks of banana and splashed with 2% milk. But not before I dump a cup of sugar on it! Take that! Victory tastes fucking sweet!

Fucking Weather People

Have you ever noticed how the news has shifted their focus from giving you hard hitting news to covering the weather? Think about it. In the first five minutes of the broadcast you will be given the top stories in abbreviated form and then a sneak peak at the weather. Seriously, we need to be teased with the weather? Meteorologists have become local celebrities and for what? Giving you a peek into the mysterious world of looking out your fucking window and making an educated guess??

Our local news has pumped the weather people up so damn much that they even designed a set around them. Not kidding in the least. If we are having severe weather, then the lights around the set will be red. Otherwise, it'll be shades of blue or green. Thank goodness they decided to color code the weather because I thought that blizzard outside of my window was a figment of my imagination! Have we become so stupid as a country that we can't wait to know what the immediate weather future holds? The only way we could handle waiting patiently through the next fifteen minutes of late breaking news is to be assured that the weather will be coming up shortly and the outlook is calm because the set is calm? Give us a little credit!

What would you think of a teacher who teaches the class that two plus two equals seven? And then goes back and says that they were mistaken and it actually equals three. THEN comes back and says that it actually equals four but the reason that they were incorrect the first two times is because the chalk that they used to write the equation down was a bit too light and it was hard to read it and come up with a conclusive answer? You'd think they were out of their fucking mind, right? When you board a plane, you'd like to think that the pilots with all their instruments are reporting a correct time of arrival, give or take a few minutes. I know I'd be ready to take one of the stingy little airline bricks that they pass off as pillows into the cockpit and smacking them across the head if they were off by about two hours! So if we expect correctness with other professions, why not the weather? If you can't get it right, then stop fucking report it!

Where I live, snow is a full-time news story. Not exaggerating in the least. We had a severe snow storm last year and from six in the morning until about eight that evening, one channel interrupted regularly scheduled programming to report on that which was falling outside of my window. Phew! I'm so glad they told me it was snowing!! I almost put on my fucking shorts and went out for a jog! If they didn't show me shots of people shoveling out cars and children sledding I would have thought that we were in the midst of a damn heat wave! Good job guys! Nothing says we have no idea what real people want to see then dedicating an entire program day to professional news reporters standing outside freezing their overly made up faces off as they invent reasons to be in front of a camera to kill airtime with shots of parked cars covered in snow. I just love when they give us really scientific data by taking a school ruler and shoving it into a pile of snow to show us just how much fell where they were currently standing. But when I watch these reports, I often wonder if the snow that has fallen is the type that would make a good snowball, because if it isn't then I'm going to assume that the white shit piled up in my driveway is dandruff. Thankfully, I don't have to wonder long because at least one reporter on every station will pick up a handful of the mysterious white crap and confirm that it is snow and that it can indeed make a snowball. Crisis averted! Good job guys! You've made the world safe for us idiots once again!

I would love to find out that we as a country join together and demand that these assholes put weather back in their` place! No more will we tolerate meteorologists causing a stampede in the grocery stores because they've predicted the storm of the century only to get a light dusting as they give a weak little laugh and explain why they got it wrong, AGAIN! Or staring out the winding at my quickly disappearing street as I recall yesterday's official forecast that said that the blizzard whipping past my window would only be a sprinkling. If they can't get it right, FIRE THEM!! Or at the very least, put a fucking disclaimer up that says that the best they can do is give an educated guess and when they get it right, it was sheer dumb luck! These gimmick loving weather bitches need to understand that what they do can also be done by fucking LOOKING OUT YOUR FUCKING WINDOW!!! And I can do that without needing a fucking bow tie! Meteorologists, you fucking suck!

Let The Kid Have A Fucking Toy!

As I look outside and see the kids playing in the snow, running up the hill to sled down on their new Christmas gift, I can only think of one thing…how much that fucking toy hurt getting it out of the damn box! Why the hell do they have to package these toys like it's the damn crown jewels? I mean I can understand why certain items would be done for safety purposes, but come on!

Perfect example of this is a gift my daughter desperately wanted, a doll that records video. I won't go into the rant of giving a young child an expensive toy that will ultimately end up naked and stuffed at the bottom of her toy chest because that's a whole different posting! Anyway, this doll looked so innocent in her box. And as a habit, I remove all tags and security ties before wrapping anything to make sure that on Christmas morning when she's tearing into the boxes like a freaking Tasmanian Devil, nothing stops her squeals of delights. So, as the diligent parent that I am, I begin to open the box. The fucking toy is welded into a plastic box that suddenly takes on the texture of sharpened steel. By the time I get the damn toy out, my hands look like I tried to thumb wrestle Freddy Kruger! Knowing that I still have to put batteries in this doll from hell, I continue on. After triumphantly putting the batteries in and taking a few test shots, I look at the new issue I have, how the fuck am I going to get the doll back in the damn box? With the skills generally reserved for those building highly volatile explosives, I get the doll back in. A little invisible tape and it looks like it came straight out of Santa's workshop. Of course, we won't point out the blood smeared onto the cardboard insides.

On to the next item, an oven that bakes yummy treats with a light bulb. Having wanted one of these things all my life, I couldn't wait to open this one! It was one of the few things that didn't need a retina scan to open the fucking thing. Easy to understand directions and no assembly truly required! Perfect! Except for one tiny thing, IT DOESN'T COME WITH A FUCKING LIGHTBULB!!! What the fuck is the point of getting an awesome toy like that and discovering that the MAIN part is missing?? Why not give a kid a jump rope and only hand them the handles and tell them to purchase the rope separately?? Make sense to you??? So , I call my husband to pick up a light bulb on the way home. And realizing that this toy was invented long before the energy saving light bulbs that currently grace all of our lamps, I knew they wanted the old fashioned ones. Some of you may not know this, but light bulbs used to be fairly cheap and came on the instant you flicked a switch! And if you weren't careful, you could burn your fingerprints off trying to change one of those things. If you get a minute, visit a museum to see if they have one on display! Back to the story…My husband proudly returns with a 100 watt bulb, just as I have requested. Only one problem, it's soft white. Did you know that in the old days, some people actually wanted light that you could read a book by and they bought light bulbs that FUCKING LIT UP A DAMN ROOM?? So, on Christmas Eve, guess who sent her man back out to find a clear bulb of appropriate size and wattage? You got it! You didn't think I was going out to get it, did you?

Finally, the bulb is in place, and the box is wrapped. Come Christmas morning, my adorable children tear into the presents with gusto. All of our gifts have been de-tagged and secured with batteries. Ah, all was well in our kingdom. Until we got to the gifts that others had given. Long story short, we ended up with a list of battery requirements that would make Duracell squeal happily and there's still toys in boxes because we aren't smart enough to have figured out the alien twisting code required to extract the shiny pieces of plastic. Do I fret? Hell no! Wrap those packages up for the next birthday party we're invited to! Let those parent's put their Mensa skills to use and open it! As for me, I'll take my kids to the dollar store and tell them that they can go on a shopping spree! After all, what little girl hasn't dreamed of the day she owns her very own Barble, right? So let's give those lovely toy manufacturers a one finger salute in honor of their dedication to securing a toy that cost about 10 cents to make and retails for $69.99 and will fall apart as soon as you figure out the combination to open the fucking thing! You guys fucking rot! May you all get arthritis!

Fucking Menstrual Men

Before I begin on my latest musing I want to take a second to explain why the hell I’m writing this blog anyway. The name of the blog isn’t meant to offend or shock. It’s the thoughts that a polite person who has to smile as people dump crap on them think all the time. Society says that we should not use profanity or be rude, even when people totally deserve it. And for the longest time, I let these thoughts build in my head until I realized something…Fuck society and their polite bullshit!
 

As the mother who smiles politely as she deals with PTA crap or the woman who tries to be the sweet one as a neighbor parks their car in front of her driveway, blocking it for hours or the lover who puts her lover’s feelings before her own only to discover that her own feelings are being trampled on, I say enough. Fuck them all.
 

This isn’t a diary of a pissed off woman, it’s a giant fuck you to proper society. It’s the true feelings that lie beneath the surface and never come out in hopes to keep the peace. In order not to slap the shit out of a Chinese delivery guy as I realize that not only did they not bring type of soda that I ordered, the extra soy sauce packets weren’t included and neither were the chopsticks, I think I need a healthy way to bitch slap those that need it.
 

Some people who know me are going to read things and say, “Wait a minute, I think she’s talking about me!” If you’re one of the people mentioned, you’re welcome. Better to read about my feelings here instead of hearing them screamed at you as I choke the ever living shit out of you. I will never use real names and I will try my best to keep my subjects general because I’m sure I’m not the only one who has had to deal with these people. So, now that I got that crap out…on to today’s message.
 

Guys, this one’s for you. Enough with your fucking PMS!! I’m so sick of these men who have mood swings faster than a pregnant chick. These guys can’t control their emotional outburst and frequently find themselves flipping the fuck out on us for stupid shit. And if one more man tells me that I don’t understand them and that they have bad days too, I’m going to finally let these dickless wonders have it. Men, you lucked out in the “what the fuck is my body doing now” department. You don’t have to worry about your body bleeding suddenly for days on end as you feel like your insides are being constantly hugged by boa constrictor. You will never have to experience the exquisite joy of looking down at your pants as you see the lovely blood red stain that a special time of the month brings.

If you don’t physically get to bleed, then STOP BEING FUCKING BITCHES AND LOSING YOUR FUCKING MINDS ON A REGULAR BASIS!!! I swear, I’ve never noticed before how many of the guys I’ve met get on the rag so fucking often! They get grumpy, they get moody, they fly off the handle for no reason, their feelings are paper thin and they get totally irrational. And I’m supposed to make them feel better? Fuck no! I’ve got my own period to worry about, so fucking quit your bitching! For all you sensitive dudes, slide your panties off and pull out the tampon. Look around the house to see if your balls rolled out of the way somewhere and sew them back on. You are men! Act like it! Because if you don’t, then I feel that we have total justification when we snap your dicks off during OUR special time. 

There’s nothing wrong with being a sensitive man, a considerate man, or even a man in touch with his feminine side. But there is a HUGE problem with being an emotional nightmare. I can’t stand chicks who fly off the handle at the smallest thing and blame it on everything and everyone else. I don’t watch chick flicks and I don’t read the romance novels with Fabio on the cover. Why? Because I have enough fucking trouble dealing with my own emotions. I don’t need to deal with anyone else’s! It’s a full time job during that special time of the month not to rip into people who piss me off like a pitbull into a poodle. I try to make sure that the reason I’m ready to shove my foot so far into someone’s ass that I tickle their tonsils with my toes is a legit one. If I have to stop and control my emotions, so do you!
 

So to all you guys, let me say PMS is reserved for us! We have to bleed, so we claim the right to be emotional landmines! Don’t like it? Fuck off! And take your panties with you!

We women are the fucking best!

Ok, this is the first posting of my brand new style of ranting.  Basically, if it makes you say, "Fuck off", "What the fuck?" "Are you fucking kidding me?" "Fucking rocks", "Get fucked", "Fuck me". And a good old fashioned "Fuck you, you cunt guzzling, shit eating, dog licking, ball chewing, douche needing, ass sucking ball of belly button lint"...then you'll probably see it floating around here.  So, let's dive in.

What the fuck happened to women getting to be women?  I don't mean those stupid stick figures that don't eat anything but the parsley decorating a plate, but the real women who don't rest until they get a man on his knees begging for a break after she rode him harder than a Kentucky Derby champ?  I'm so fucking sick of people acting like only men get to fuck.  Ladies have sex, women fuck.  Plain and simple.  I don't need that romance shit.  Save the flowers for the next time you mess up and piss me off.  When it comes to the bed, all I truly need is room to work and lube in case things go on for a bit longer than either of us expect!  But honestly, stop looking for that lovey dovey shit and face facts.  Men did not invent fucking.

Think about it.  The first person to get fucked was Adam.  Eve fucked him so good that he gave up life in paradise to keep getting that good loving.  And even when God told him to get out, it didn't stop him from tapping that!  How the hell do you think we all got here?  And let's not forget, for every pecker that's standing at attention and begging for the sweet release that only a hot, wet kitty can give it, no man can truly fuck unless he has something that can make him scream out at the top of his lungs.  Women are the true fuckers in life. 

We're so good at what we do that we can bring men to their knees even when they aren't involved in the matter at hand.  Get a good girl on girl action and any red blooded, hetero male will salute proudly.  Why?  Because they are watching us do what we do best!  You won't see that type of reaction if the guys leave us out of the show, now will you?

So, the next time you men feel like strutting your stuff and proclaiming that you know how to throw down in bed, shut up.  And realize that without us, you'd still be yanking it in the dark.  We own the fucking earth and we make you the lovers that you are.  We apologize for the fuckers that we couldn't teach proper technique to.  Sometimes we, the fucking rulers, just fuck up!