Look, it’s your own fucking fault when men look at your tits. No one forced you to wear a low cut top with a pushup bra. You don’t live in a bubble. When you do everything in your power to be sexually attractive, don’t be surprised when you attract sexual attention. Plenty of women dress without their tits popping out.
The world would not be better if it was run by women. Yes, I know that most positions of power are filled by men. That is irrelevant. Women would do just a bad a job as men do because women are as fucked up as men. You are not angels made flesh. You are as petty, mean, vindictive and evil as men are.
I am so sick of your whining about how men hurt you. You brought all that on yourself. Those guys that kept calling you for booty call sex? They were calling you because you kept saying yes. You were not manipulated. You were not a victim. And that guy that lied to you about having a kid? From what I hear you were fucking around on your “soul mate.” You got some fuckin nerve for acting like you’re anything but a whore. You deserved whatever pain you felt.
Okay, you are very bright. You have lots of good ideas. But when you raise your voice and with it the pitch and start to speak faster and faster everyone tunes you out. Slow down. Speak calmly. Your hair is not on fire. I swear every time you open your mouth it’s like a knife in my head.
To the first knucklehead: Please, please grow the fuck up. You are 79 years old so stop acting like a 6 year old. Yes, life is difficult, and yours has been particularly challenging. If you’d act responsibly once in a while, it would a LOT easier for you. Also, shut the fuck up about all the people who don’t speak English. How about you put your hearing aid in, ya moron.
Next knucklehead: Please please grow the fuck up. You are 34 years old and have two children. Stop dressing like a slut and spending your money on Hello Kitty purses and Fang Banger bumper stickers and ugly ass tattoos and then telling your kids that you can’t afford “silly stuff” such as the anatomy book they found in the museum store. You SUCK as a mother and you SUCK as a person.
Whew! I hope that buys me another few weeks of lip zipping.
Moi at a backyard barbeque party of a friend’s friend in the burb committing the cardinal no-no of getting into talking about politics.
The host: “How dare you? My family and my grand father, great-grand father, great-great-grand father were all Republicans!”
That’s it? That’s your reason? Can you think for yourself? You are a female - a single mother with three daughters and it’s the Good Old White Boys’ Club with the mentality of spoiled-5-year-old-brat. You are a nincompoop!
I constantly want to say “up yours nigger” to people, but there’s never the right social occasion for that sort of joke, is there? Also I’m not in the least bit racist. Damn it. Spoiling all my fun.
Back when I was in college, a quite unattractive girl was celebrating her 18th birthday in the lobby of the dorm. One of her friends said “congrats, you are no longer jail-bait!”. I thought “She never was jail-bait”, but of course that’s such a cruel thought that I never said it.
Someone once said something like that to a politician, who said, “If your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all horse thieves, then what would you be?”
Stop it with the religion. Stop coming to my door and stop hassling me when I am in my yard. Stop telling me about it at work.
Shut the fuck up about everything. You didn’t go to college and you can’t be bothered to read the news so, no you don’t have a valid opinion, you’re just spewing crap in my direction.
Kid, don’t throw trash in my yard. Whatever you put in the cans is one less thing I have to pick up whenever I do yard work.
To people I used to work with. I never met a bunch of sorry-ass cows like you and I hope like crazy THAT you haven’t fucked up your kids with your bullshit. You work hard at a job where you get a few dollars more than minimum wage and you run like hell to get it. Don’t you want more for your kids so they can do better and not work themselves into an early grave? Don’t you see that going to Indian River State College is a step up in life? She was only 14 and she has the rest of her life ahead of her, if you would open your eyes and appreciate it. She doesn’t need a boyfriend, she needs to study, and have fun and maybe join some clubs at school. You know there are so many more choices now than there were when you graduated pregnant. She and your sons could do all sorts of things and you should want more for them.
No, I am not coming to your baby shower, for many reasons. It is 2 hours away from me. Attending a shower is approximately #400 on my list of favorite things to do, but I’m willing to suck it up for people I care about. You are not one of those people. You are an unpleasant, obnoxious, shit-stirring attention whore whose own mother refers to her as a bitch, and I tolerate purely for love of our mutual family members. Furthermore, this is your fourth child. The fact that it’s the first one conceived in wedlock doesn’t mean you get a reset and it’s somehow okay to throw a shower big enough you’re renting a hotel suite to hold the damn thing. Seriously, there’s no way this is even remotely appropriate.
Let’s face it, we both know you pushed for this shower because your cousin is getting married and you’re jealous that her first (and likely only) wedding is getting more attention than your fourth kid. It’s why you picked and poked and snarked at her until she was in tears at Thanksgiving, it’s why you were planning to bring a week-old baby to her wedding, it’s why you spent most of her little wedding work-party talking about how you have to eat every couple of hours because you’re pregnant, and napping on the couch because being pregnant is just so exhausting, and you can’t handle craft glue because fumes might be bad for the baby. It’s why I have not the tiniest shred of doubt you will spend the vast majority of her wedding shower (assuming your mother forces you to come) talking incessantly about being pregnant.
And let’s also face the fact that you only invited me because you see me as a wallet on legs. No matter what we get you, you’ll bitch and snark behind my back that we didn’t give you more because in your mind we’re fucking Scrooge McDuck doing the backstroke through a pool full of gold coins. We’re not. But even if we were, I still wouldn’t give you any more than we’re already planning to give you. Why not? See the parts about me not liking you, about being an unpleasant shit-stirring attention whore, and about being mean to my sister-in-law.
I do have to admit, though, it would almost be worth the drive and subjecting myself to a baby shower just to see the look on your face when you open our gift and realize it’s nothing but a homemade baby blanket and a book. I know it will piss you off no end that we didn’t get you something expensive, or just hand you a check. As much as it makes me feel like a bad person to feel like this, knowing that it will piss you off makes me happy. Gleeful, in fact. I’m chortling right now thinking about it.
You guys are college kids, but you already look like used up trophy wives, without the intellectual engagement that one provides. Get a job, learn how to hold a conversation, and for fucks sake lay off the tanning. You have decades to be decorative and materialistic, so why waste your youth on it?
Ahhh China, where people fight viciously to be the first one (out of the bus, on the escalator, through a door) to stand staring cluelessly into space blocking traffic.
If you can’t hear your cellphone in your handbag, and you can’t find it without overturning the damn thing, maybe you should try shoving it in your pants pocket. Or up your ass, it might be about as useful.