FYF: Fuck you, Thursday

1 Feb

Oh I hate myself.

Pinched a nerve in my neck. How, you ask? Did Tazer fall off of Treadmill Dahmer? Did she get in a wrestling match with a bear and win, but suffer this minor injury?

Oh hell no. I was getting in my car, in the parking lot of Wal Mart Wednesday night. Fucking amazing. I got home, it was OK… and then sleeping felt like I was trying to bench press 200# with my head every time I wanted to move my position.

Got to work Thursday morning, I was OK… for like an hour, and then looking, thinking, typing… anything that involved moving my head more than half an inch. At one point, I just burst into tears when someone asked me if I was OK… and I got sent home.

Driving on the highway for 45 minutes without being able to move my head was loads of giggles. The method of “blinker and pray” was employed when getting on the freeway. Say no to changing lanes, kids!

I got home, heated up  my rice sock to loosen all the knots, and promptly fell asleep on it, burning my neck.


Oh what a fucked up day. So yeah, FUCK YOU, THURSDAY.

Happy Friday kids!

Looking for toilet paper, Madame?

30 Jan

I saw this video today, and laughed like WOAH. I saw these shoes on something a few months ago, and could NOT figure out how it was possible to walk in them. Now I know you have to walk like a T-Rex with mudbutt that just discovered the TP is out in the bathroom.

You’re welcome.

Run like your ass is on fire, Tazer!

29 Jan

So, being determined to break my fat ass out of the fat farm and get somewhere to a relatively in-shape person who doesn’t resemble the Michelin Man, I got the treadmill. See prior post. And in this attempt to get physically fit, I’ve been spending an hour a day on the fucking thing. Yay? It’s actually not too bad, all things considered, since a) no one can see me in my house, and b) I get to watch crappy TV at full volume without being judged.

The downside, you ask?

My treadmill is possessed. Yes, folks, it is possessed by the ghosts of sprinters past.

Today I got to go home early, so I tralalaaaa’d my way home, eager to get on the beast (previously named Big Bertha) and do a good jaunt before sitting McLardButt down on the couch to watch EVEN MORE TV and screw around on the interwebz.

Hey, here’s a good idea! Let’s do intervals and work on our cardio! Yeah! In shape here I come *flexes muscles menacingly*

So I got on Big Bertha and did a few intervals, and was feeling pretty damn good about myself. 45 minutes? Yeah? NO PROBLEM! Let’s get this party started!

And then…. Big Bertha earned her new name and gender…. Dahmer.

Yes, folks, my treadmill is trying to kill me.

At the 45 minute mark, I was feeling pretty confident… pretty on top of the world, shall we say. I pumped up the speed to the jogging speed, to do another interval…. and Dahmer decided it was time to play “how fast do your fucking legs move, there’s a serial killer chasing you”, which is not entirely funny, per se, on a machine or in real life. I jumped off like a motherfucking ninja, stopped the beast and glared at it, and wondered what the fuck world the setting I’d put it on equaled “full on sprint RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIIIIIIIVES”….

And like a complete dumbfuck? I did it a few more times before finally deciding that, in order to operate this POS, all running shall occur before the 45 minute mark of my workout. Full stop.

Dahmer, you win this round, you stupid bastard.

Devil machine. *sprays holy water on it*


Anyone know a treadmill exorcist?

No, you’re actually NOT the Hulk

28 Jan

So, to go along with the Diet of Doom, I decided to procure a treadmill. I got one for free, from one of my employees who no longer used it.

Me: So is it heavy?
Sarah: I’ll ask the hubby
Sarah: He says meh
Me: Right on. I can handle it.

So I go over to her house after work and watch Dom magically maneuver the beast into the back of my car. No big deal! I can do this.

How wrong can one person be?

I got the thing out of the car, and it hit the ground with a horrifying THUD that put a big ol’ ditch in the dirt of my driveway. Cue a confused, concerned expression on my face, and when I attempted to push the thing, it wouldn’t budge. Uh oh.

Warily, I eyed the three steps up a rickety wooden staircase to my house. Hm. I got out a tape measure to make sure the damn thing would fit through the door (barely), and sighed. Inching the Beast towards the stairs, grunting and groaning, I couldn’t believe what a dumb idea this whole thing was, but it was going to rain, so leaving the thing outside was out of the question.

At the stairs, I laid it down… and of COURSE it was just *thismuch* too short to be put down and hit the top of the stairs. Somehow, some way, I had to figure out how to both lift and pull the beast, without breaking my back or gouging my stairs. “I wonder if the neighbors are laughing at me yet” I thought to myself, as I stood in the driveway panting and trying to figure out how the FUCK I was going to get this thing up the stairs.

You know when you have to carry something heavy up stairs… and they suddenly go from looking like, you know, three average sized stairs, to something like this?

Staircase of DOOM

Yeah, totally got that feeling, and a pit of dread in my stomach thinking I would not be able to do it, and would have to go find someone to help me like a failure.

After struggling futilely for a good twenty minutes, to somehow defeat the laws of physics and the strength of my own body (or lack thereof). I had a stroke of genius. After nearly popping a rib out of place and just about dislocating my hip, I scurried inside to get the box for my television, and put it under the first step. VOILA! I could get the thing up to the top step. Grrrrrooooaaaaaaaaan and it was up! Standing on the top step, all 180# of it, as I stood on the next step down gasping and wheezing. I managed to drag it into the living room, and that’s where it’s going to stay, as I don’t want to move it again. Fuck that shit.

So, yes, I do need the treadmill, as I’m quite obviously out of shape.  Big Bertha is going to get a lot of use, methinks!

Ever overestimate your own strength? Tell me!

What Not to Wear: A Giant Vagina Shirt

22 Jan

A friend of mine presented me with a link to Regretsy, to show me something that really, no sane human should possibly wear. Whichever fucktruck thought up this little gem has some SERIOUS issues. Nothing says “I suck at life” than wearing a giant vagina around your body.


May I present…

“The most beautiful thing a parent can ever witness is the birth of their child. Why not re-enact this amazing moment for your mum and dad over and over and over again?”

Yep, it’s official, folks. Nothing says “I’m fashionable!” better than looking like you’re ripping your way out of a giant bloody snatch.

Original Post

Fuck You Friday: No, the customer is NOT always right!!!!

18 Jan

You know that stupid ass phrase… “The customer is always right”?

NO. Whoever thought this little gem up should be shot in the kneecap and left to rabid wolves. Fuck you with the fire of a thousand fucking suns. May your crotch get infested with fleas, and may you be allergic to the fleas, and may the medication for the fleas cause your genitals to swell up like balloons and explode, you filthy butt puppet.

Why yes, I do work with the general public, why do you ask?


Calm the fuck down, explain what you are trying to do instead of talking about what OTHER PLACES do for you, and I’ll bend over backwards for you. Yell at me and call me a “stupid bitch”, like the precious little asscake I got to deal with yesterday did, and I’m going to completely shut down. You are a psycho and the reason you get “such awful horrible terrible rude service” is because you treat humans like fucking robot peons who were specially built to blow your very special snowflake penis. Fuck. YOU. SO. HARD. I am SO tired of people acting like this.

And another fuck you? Fuck you, my face. I get accused of rolling my eyes ALL THE TIME, mostly because I have a hard time controlling my facial expressions, so I put on a blank face and do a deep blink in order to keep myself from scowling. Dear face, be nicer, you are getting me in trouble. No love, Me.

Fuck “the customer is always right”, FUCK these fucktards who treat CSRs like peons, and fuck my face that gets me in trouble.


Happy Friday, folks, hope your week is going better than mine. Please, share your awful customer stories to help make me feel better!


17 Jan

I don’t feel like writing tonight, but I will tell you that there’s a skunk currently terrorizing my dogs.
See, this little fucker is an adolescent, and probably has balls the size of lemons, if I was so inclined to get close enough to check it out. It’s hanging in my front yard in front of my slider, waving its pretty little tail and driving Kona INSANE. She’s running in psycho dog circles with all of her hair standing on end.

It’s actually quite funny… if only I could let her reap the consequences of trying to nom on the skunk without suffering myself…

I would have a de-skunked skunk as a pet, they’re cute.

This will not end well…

Arrogant little shit.

Happy Thursday!


You can’t spell diet without DIE

16 Jan

Captain’s Log, Stardate 02.01.13:

I have decided to embark upon a perilous journey, one that could compromise my sanity… I have decided to get back on track with eating properly and being an overall healthy human being. In a fit of psychosis, I have purged my cabinets of everything that may slightly resemble food, and replaced it all with “healthy” edibles. These items lack any real taste and resemble the consistency of pressed cardboard, but claim to be “nutritious” and assure me that my hunger will be sated while I attempt to whittle away my hefty body mass to something resembling a human rather than a freakishly large slug. Further reports to come.

Stardate 03.01.13:

I have flexed my willpower muscles and am conquering my desires. Mind over matter. I have had nothing but leaves and vegetation to eat today. I feel like I could move mountains and accomplish anything my heart desires. This is easy!

Stardate 04.01.13:

I am starting to feel a… disturbing… lack of self-awareness. All I can feel is this weird grumbling in my stomach. Bodily functions have decreased, as I believe I am not eating enough calories to make my poop chute have anything to expel. My vision is extra sharp at the moment… I can see sounds, and everything is getting a bit wavery, as if looking through a mirage. Is this a good thing? I cannot yet tell.

Stardate 05.01.13

Psychosis is setting in. This morning I awoke in excruciating pain, to find that I was mindlessly gnawing on my own finger in my sleep. My dream of eating a hot dog was sadly untrue. Oh, what I would give to eat a hamburger at this moment… but I must prevail. I promised myself, I can do this! All these self help books I’ve been perusing have attested that the mind is stronger than the physical form, and if I just push through these next few days, I will be on the road to recovery and a svelte physical form. I am noting that these books do not, however, attest to the mental state of the subject in question. Alas, I will give it another day.

Stardate 06.01.13

After consuming approximately 18.9 cups of coffee!!! COFFEE IS DELICIOUS!!!!! JAVA!!!! I am attempting to stave off hunger by distracting myself with caffeine and television. I have been awake for nearly 38 hours and my eyes feel as if they are little balls of (delicious strawberry) Jello, poised and almost falling out of my head. I am hallucinating cupcakes on my kitchen counter, but when I go to eat these magical cupcakes, I am met with sadness. Paper towels, alas, are not an acceptable substitute for delectable sugary goodness.

Stardate 10.01.13


Stardate 12.01.13

So…. hungry….. I have decided to sacrifice my left arm. Who needs left arms, anyways? I haven’t shrunk in any noticeable form, so my arm still looks like a delicious roast just waiting to be harvested. Now, where did I put that Skil saw?

Tuesday Tidbits

15 Jan

FML with the worms, already, but fucking A it’s hilarious.

I got yet another wriggly package yesterday… I think pictures are worth a thousand words, so here you go, you weirdos.


And, for your more giggles, some of my favorite comments so far regarding My Precious…

Doodle: I would totally notice something like that dangling from my ass.

Foxy Lady: Gummy worm, giant lumpy penis…I can’t decide.

Kitten!: Oh my word……….what a gummy worm! I thought of the human centipede! Now my late supper is NOT sitting well! I shouldn’t let my mind out alone…….dammit!

Bailey: That is the scariest fvcking thing I have ever seen.
Pretty sure I would have butchered that b!tch while still in the box.


Arts: not lumpy.

contoured for her pleasure.

Buff: Giant and contoured, yes, but way too limp for my liking!

Kitty: Tazer hasn’t worked her magic with it yet… then it shall stand tall!

Dani: Oh sweet seven pound eight-ounce baby Jesus do NOT stick it up your hoo-ha after you’ve frozen it. DO NOT.

Bailey: And really? A magnum?
You’re going to need a grocery bag.
And those giant rubber bands that your grandma used to keep her wallet closed with.


Yes, folks, these are my friends, and this is why I love their crazy whore asses to bits.

What’s the weirdest gift YOU’VE gotten?

Weekend Wrap-Up: It’s Playoffs, Bitches!

14 Jan

Holy fuckballs, kids, it’s been an insane weekend of NFL playoffs.

First, my most loathed and detested Donkeys, paired up with the Ravens. I don’t give a flying fart about the Ravens, but I abhor the Denver Broncos and rooted vehemently against them. I spent the afternoon on Saturday SCREAMING AT THE GODDAMN RAVENS to get their shit together, and boy howdy did they ever! After a whole quarter of overtime, the game finally wrapped up the way I wanted it to. SUCK MY TOES, DENVER!

The rest of the weekend did not go according to plan, but at least they were all relatively interesting games. I was rooting for Seattle, but sadly in the last few seconds of the game they lost. Ah well, it was a good game. My Packers never showed up against the fucking Niners, so I get to listen to the motherfucking bandwagoners crow this week. I really think I’ll be pulling out trivia questions, to try and test and see if they’re really fans or not.

The most LOATHED TEAM EVER, the goddamn Patriots, won against the freaking Texans. I mean, come on Texans, show up for the game, yeah? Schaub made me irrationally angry, and I’m pretty sure my neighbors think I’m insane from all the screaming that went on in my house this weekend.

Speaking of yelling at football, let me tell you about how I have been a psychotic football fan since I was a wee sprout. My dad and I went to San Diego for a Chargers game (I think it may have been against the Vikings? I don’t remember at this point) because I had won my division in the Punt Pass and Kick competition in Las Vegas, and was slated to go to San Diego to compete in the Western Region semi-finals. The program is really cool because they also give you free tickets to the game.

Well, this was my first time being AT a professional game… and I LOVED IT. I was standing on my seat SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS ABOUT HOW FUCKING BAD THE CHARGERS WERE…. (I don’t like the Chargers)… and my dad was sinking deeper and deeper into his seat covering his face in abject shame of his daughter. I then decided to walk down 3 rows to the field and yell at the quarterback (we were right behind the Chargers’ bench) and was screaming “LEAF! YOU FUCKING SUCK! BOOOO! QUIT WHILE YOU CAN!!!” In my defense, Ryan Leaf did fucking suck. And he TOTALLY HEARD me, turned around to see this 13 year old blonde girl screaming at him.

You know where I learned all that? My dad. Thing is, he never told me not to yell when we were in public hahahaha. He LOVES to tell that story now. He was the man that would throw shit at the TV if the refs made bad calls. I stole a ref’s flag for him, thinking it’d be easier on the TV… nooooope those suckers are HEAVY!

In the car on the way back to the airport, my dad turned to me and said, while gritting his teeth, “Just because I yell AT THE TV doens’t mean it’s OK to say that shit in public!! Girl what were you thinking?!”

Smartass me was all “Eh, you taught me well.”

Needless to say, my dad tells this story with glee, even to this day. And let me tell you, he does a great impression of me screeching!

In non-football news in the Weekend Wrap-up, I figured out how to fix my toilet, all on my own *flexes muscles*. I’m awful at fixing things, so this is quite an accomplishment! No more *drip drip drip drip*!

Happy Monday, folks! How was YOUR weekend?


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