PETS OR FOOD, YOU DECIDE
So. This past weekend Johnny and I went to the county fair. Jesus help me.
Bad hair, missing teeth and horrible tattoos. Obviously, I loved it. There’s just something wonderfully cheesy about a fair. The carnies, for one. I’ve wanted to make out with a carnie since “Two Moon Junction”. I’ll say, the real life carnies aren’t nearly as sexy. And they smell like cheese. But not in a good way. I love the rides which are totally put together with duct tape and gum. By drunks. The ridiculous food, ie: fried cheesecake. Tacos in a bucket. Potato chips doused in liquid cheese and a dubious chili mixture. Awesome.
I took a picture of this trashcan because he looked like he wasn’t completely cool with what you might be shoving into his pie hole.
Oooooh..wait a sec! Um, what whas tha cream fillin, dog? Dubious. Just sayin’.
As we were checking out the rabbit exhibit I noticed that many of the bunnies were for sale…and cheap. Like $5. Of course I wanted to buy every bunny in the place but Johnny was the voice of reason stating that the last thing we need in our home is something else that eats and shits. As we were walking out I noticed a bunch of signs/pamphlets hanging about the exhibit. As I looked closer I realized in slow horror that they were recipes. I kid you not. Rabbit recipes.
Look at that last one…”shake rabbit pieces”. OH DEAR GOD.
Who in the hell is rolling up to the fair to buy rabbits to eat? Are they going to take them home and wring their furry little necks? Wait, don’t answer that. I’m sure people do. Yig.
JUST STOP IT
Wanna know what’s pissing me off these days? Of course you do.
People, if you’re wearing these shoes you’re a douche. Period. And you’re advertising that exact fact.
There is a woman in our neighborhood who I see out and about and she’s always wearing these damn things. I am always wearing cowboy boots. She’s going to rue the day when I run into her in the wrong mood and proceed to stomp both of her feet to bloody bits with my boot heel. There is no reason to wear these “shoes” at all except that you want attention. So ‘effing dumb. I realize in the greater scheme of things I should be all live and let live and why let something so silly bother me but I feel like someone should tell these people that those things aren’t cool and neither are they. Oh, and I want to hobble them a la Kathy Bates in the movie Misery.
I am working a temp job right now that makes me wish for home by 9am. It’s awful. Phones ringing and ringing and ringing. All at once and all day long. There is literally no downtime. It’s a cubicle farm and people make my eyes bleed by asking me asking me to order more pens. And to fax things. And to coallate. I feel like my life is ending one minute at a time. I actually long for the foul mouthed truckers of my last assignment. At least they swear and aren’t “politically correct”, two words I abhor. I was reprimanded the other day when I was asked what I would like to order for lunch and I replied “whiskey”. Seriously. They found that to be “unprofessional”. Shoot me in the face.
My partner is a heavy set black woman who calls me “baby girl” all day long. That part I like. Suffice to say that something has to give. I need to win the lottery, write a best seller or go back to stripping.
On a final note. Who wouldn’t want their child to cuddle this doll every night?
Michael Jackson with what looks like a serious camel toe.