College was wasted on me.

27 Comments read Everything is Terrible

I used to think that Fry’s Electronics would be an excellent place to buy porn for those who are just too embarrassed to go into a porn store. Sure, you might have 12 year olds hovering around and giggling, but you also don’t have Julie Ashton’s rubber ass at eye level and SUPER DONGS brushing your legs as you walk down the aisles.

Today it hit me: Fry’s would be much worse. Who wants to show their receipt for ‘Confessions of an Anal Queen’ at the door?

Yes, this is the sort of thing I think about.

Happy-time Hair

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On Sunday I met up with the lovely mschilepepper and we had coffee, wandered around downtown Kent (no wonder they’re having trouble revitalizing the area–everything is closed!), and relieved ourselves of some dollars burning holes in our pockets at Daiso. I got some flowerpots that I really like for my windowsill garden for a dollah fiddy each which is a smoking deal compared to the nearly ten bucks each they are elsewhere–garden stuff is a racket, I tell you!

While at Daiso, I saw some stick-on muttonchops, and happened upon the greatest idea I’ve ever had. Ever.

Unless you live under a rock, by now you should be aware of the phenomenon of women waxing or shaving designs onto their hoohah–hearts and arrows and lightning bolts and ‘martini glasses’ and crap like that. That’s all well and good, but it’s not nearly as awesome as my idea: hoohah mutton chops. They’d frame the action really well, and I’m pretty sure your hips would automatically add an Elvis-like swagger to your walk. Not to mention that you’d be able to then and forever refer to it as your ‘mutton chop area’ in public, and no one would know that you’re talking about something scintillating. Mutton chops–good idea? Or the best idea?

Hope *isn’t* the only bee that makes honey without flowers

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Today, as I drove to work in bright sunshine under clear blue skies, my windshield was pelted with droplets. This would be merely unusual and not cause for a face of horror and concern were I not driving directly behind a Honey Bucket truck.

The name Honey Bucket alone in reference to a port-a potty makes me want to (a)retch and (b)never consume honey again.

Suddenly, Winnie the Pooh makes sense.

AND IS SO GROSS.