The girl you see out and about is far from the same girl when she’s home alone binge-eating Nutella and re-watching crappy episodes of the Kardashians. Although made out to be prim and proper, in reality, girls are just as disgusting as guys if not more so. If a girl is wearing some trendy new pair of pants, it’s pretty much a guarantee that she is covering up her unshaven Chewbacca legs. If her hair is styled up in a dainty bun, chances are she hasn’t washed her hair in the past three days. And if a girl’s top is fairly long, you can be fairly certain that her pants are being fastened together with a giant safety pin because she refuses to retire her favorite jeans just because the pesky button busted off two years ago. Girls are all basically the same when it comes down to it; from the daintiest of the dainty to the tomboyest of the tomboy, we are all disgusting. But at least we never poop. Can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.
Category Archives: Heathen People
Everyone’s looking for a diagnosis these days. But no need to go to a licensed psychiatrist for one. Just go ahead and diagnose yourself. Go on, give it a try. So you say you’re a little bit awkward? Sounds like a bad case of Asperger’s to me. So you feel the need to wash your hands after touching something sticky? Textbook OCD. What? You fell asleep in lecture after getting only 3 hours of sleep the night before? You don’t say. That’s classic ADD right there.
Sorry to break it to you, but you don’t have any of these disorders. That initial awkwardness you felt talking to a stranger is more because it’s close to impossible to keep a conversation going off of the other person saying “Sure is cold out.” And OCD isn’t the same as fixing a crooked picture because, you know, it’s crooked, or putting things in alphabetical order because, you know, you’re a front desk assistant and that’s your job. And ADD isn’t…you already stopped reading, didn’t you? Knew I should’ve thrown some clipart in here. It’s alright. After all, you have ADD! Now run and catch that excuse train before it leaves. But don’t run too fast. You might run out of breath because you haven’t been remotely close to physically active in two years. Because of your asthma, of course.
There is, indeed, nothing more annoying than to be, for instance, wealthy, of good family, nice-looking, fairly intelligent, and even good-natured, and yet to have no talents, no special faculty, no peculiarity, even, not one idea of one’s own, to be precisely “like other people.” –Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot
If I ever decide to write an autobiography, it should be read cover to cover–specifically the back cover to the front. That way, it’ll sound like an inspirational story instead of the mediocre one it really is. “She wandered through life without any purpose or direction until one fateful day when she won first place at the science fair. The End.”
The thing with being mediocre is that you will always get shafted. There is no major obstacle to overcome to make your success special, and there exists in you nothing innately special to cause any success. No one ever shoots to be average. I mean, who has ever been happy reaching the middle ground in a compromise? Whose goal has it ever been to move out to Middle America? Who has ever volunteered to take the middle seat in a car? We are living in a world of middle-seaters who think they’re in the driver’s seat. We really are the 99%.
I think it’s safe to say that the most consistent relationship I’ve had in my life has been with my dentist. “Come back in a week,” “open wide,” and “watch the teeth” are all uttered in the most caring and sincere tone. But in the end, even he’s screwing someone behind my back–my insurance company. Every visit to my dear old dentist starts with being left sitting in a waiting room until out of the harem of dental assistants comes a call for me to enter the medieval torture chamber. There I’m left to stare at a scenic lake from some obscure midwest state along with charts of dental diseases, which are there to either make you feel better about not having three teeth fused together or to serve as a learning tool for the dentist, both very reassuring scenarios. Finally, the dentist appears, saving all the small talk and chit-chat until he has his fingers securely lodged in my mouth. It is then that cavities are discovered, gum disease fought, and root canals performed. This man is a modern-day Columbus, making discoveries and fighting battles, all for a noble cause. Only instead of reporting his monumental, ground-breaking discoveries back to Spain, this brave crusader just reports some fake findings to the kingdom of Blue Cross. At least I know he loves me for who I am–an insured client.
10 Things I Hate About You: The Facebook Edition
1. I hate the way you update me and the way you’re always there.
2. I hate the way I feel obligated to wish you a happy birthday.
3. I hate that most of my friends are stand-ins for pedobear.
4. I hate your invites to events I’ll never go to and the way you ask what’s on my mind.
5. I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.
6. I hate that I know what you had for lunch even though I haven’t seen you in years.
7. I hate that how you look in your profile picture is a total lie.
8. I hate it when you make me roll my eyes, even worse when you make me sigh.
9. I hate it when you’re around and the fact that you creep on my wall.
10. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
*runs out of the room crying*
They say death is the great equalizer. But I say that it’s actually the freeway. It’s only on the freeway that you can flip off a Nobel Laureate for cutting you off or honk at a nun for driving too slow (warning: do not try this in person). But even on the freeway where everyone should be on an equal playing field, a few drivers stand out among the rest. Some people insist on having vanity license plates to publicly display their sure to be douchebag-esque qualities while driving. So in a desperate attempt to show everyone around you that you’re an “ice princess”, you end up with ICEPNS. And even when you have innocent intentions with something like LOV2TCH, you look like you love to touch little kids. But not to worry; we all certainly get the message. Because no matter how you spell it, your license plate still reads d-o-u-c-h-e-b-a-g. I say you should just cut out the middle man and get DBAG4LFE.
The way I see it, there are two types of people in the world. And no, I’m not talking about Beatles people and Elvis people like you suggested, Mrs. Wallace. The type of people I’m referring to are the ones you can’t get to hold an elevator door open for you when you’re just a couple steps away, and the ones who would throw themselves between the doors at the risk of losing an arm or a foot to keep the elevator waiting for someone twenty yards away from them. I don’t know about you, but I actually prefer the former to the latter. For me, there is really nothing quite as heathen as someone who is overly nice. These are the same people who will giggle a “Sorry!” when someone else steps on their foot, who will offer you the shirt off their back if you say you think it looks nice, or who will eat the bowl of peanut soup the waiter brings over even though they specifically ordered chicken noodle and are allergic to peanuts (note: I’m not sure if peanut soup exists, but if it does, you know these people would eat it).
And just in case you can’t tell already, I’m that person pressing “Door Close” as you sprint towards the elevator.
In the dawn of the internet age, the smiley face has made its mark and it looks like it’s here to stay :/ But it definitely didn’t come alone T_T He brought his friends along with him, and now there’s a face for everything o.O There’s “We so excited :D”, “I got a nose job! :^)”, “I’m a whore ;)” and “Why did you just call me a whore? =O” There’s no escaping these faces nowadays, and what’s worse, there’s no escaping the people who use them :( We just have to deal with it and hope someone punches these people in their :) in the near future.
Dear Mr. Smith:
I would like to apply to work as the head of the new Goldman-Sachs branch. I am offering over 10 years of experience in financial assessment and hedge fund management. I earned my Bachelor’s Degree from Princeton and my Master’s from Harvard, graduating in the top 5% of my class. My references include Bill Clinton, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsburg, and Bernie Madoff pre-ponzi scheme. As you can see, I am very qualified for this position. I can be reached at (818) 555-5555 or via email at firstname.lastname@example.org. Looking forward to hearing from you soon.
They walk among us. For centuries, they have blended in with the rest of us, seamlessly assimilating to our culture, posing as our friends and family. The resemblance is uncanny. But the time has come for these people to show themselves for who they really are: aliens who are out to attack us in our sleep–with their snores. We’re all just one slumber party away from finding out our closest friend is one of them. Personally, I would rather be abducted. At least I would get a good night’s sleep and not remember anything in the morning. But instead I’m stuck all night listening to Darth Vader fight an intense battle with sleep apnea–and he’s losing.