Just stuff
I just realized that I'm in a girl geek (this rare status needs a unique word ... FemiNerd? Yep, I like it) version of paradise. I live with a not-unbearable male who scampers out, unbidden, each Wednesday and retrieves for me a great wodge of comic books, eventually sorts, bags, boards, and boxes 'em, and has a Great Big Johnson. And he will, if properly motivated, change nappies and grill burgers. How cool is that?!
FemiNerd Heaven! (NO, you may not borrow him! Have you forgotten about the Power Sperm? Stay back! That thing could go off at any moment. Trust me, I know)
----
OK, I'm not a squeamish person. I've seen and done stuff - including experiencing things first hand in the farmyard - that would make most people yark on their shoes. But this? Eeeeeewwww! Yuckie, yuckie, blegh! NO!
This is the nastiest, most unnatural thing I can imagine and makes me think of The Fly. Remember the scene where Brundle puts the big, thick steak through his transporter thingy? It looks fine afterward, but then he takes a bite of it and gags because it's just not right? Eeeeewwww!
You will never catch this chickie eating artificial meat! Well, except spam and hotdogs. Oh, and bologna. And vienna sausages. I loves me some vienna sausages. I wonder what they're made of? No ... nevermind, don't tell me.
(nicked from Karry! *waves*)
----
So, like, can anyone solve this mystery for me?
Does a large quantity of sheetmetal cause surrounding drivers to act like fucking idiots? Is there some bizarre cosmic power behind this? My new van, the Dodge, is quite large. That's a fucking lie. It's HUGE. I call it the H.M.S. Behemoth. Have you ever seen Tim Allen's bit on changing the radio station in the Cadillac? Well, let's just say that the walk back from the drivers side door to the little hatch where you put the petrol in is intimidating. I mean you need good shoes and maybe a bottle of water before attempting it (an also nerves of steel for when you see $60 worth of petrol vanish into the tank).
I confess to being a bit nervous still when driving it and it doesn't fucking help when everyone else seems to take leave of their senses when I approach.
I won't mention the little bitch who whipped between parked cars in an attempt to secure the parking space next to mine just as I was backing out. She had the 'nads to honk her pissy little horn at me (as I was about to back over her punk bitch arse), then cut in to secure her space. Jezusfuckingchristeatingabisquit you cunt! I hope that extra eight feet that you managed to get closer to the entrance to the Wal-Mart gave you the orgasm you desired.
Fuck.
But I won't mention her.
No, lets talk about the needle-dick in the Fiat who pulled right out in front of me. RIGHT OUT IN FRONT of a few tonnes of hurtling Detroit steel on a straight empty road with perfect visibility. Helloooooo? Brainfart much? That little scrap of tin would've felt like a speedbump assmunch. The South Carolina Highway Patrol wouldn't have even been notified until I got to the Wal-Mart and found a Fiat and it's pea-brained driver wedged in my grille like a fucking bug!
For the record: my mechanic was not lying - the brakes on the Dodge are in tip-top shape.
----
Fucking funny:
Nicked from Ben Garvey (go read his detailed descriptions) via John H (Hi John! Thank you!)
FemiNerd Heaven! (NO, you may not borrow him! Have you forgotten about the Power Sperm? Stay back! That thing could go off at any moment. Trust me, I know)
----
OK, I'm not a squeamish person. I've seen and done stuff - including experiencing things first hand in the farmyard - that would make most people yark on their shoes. But this? Eeeeeewwww! Yuckie, yuckie, blegh! NO!
This is the nastiest, most unnatural thing I can imagine and makes me think of The Fly. Remember the scene where Brundle puts the big, thick steak through his transporter thingy? It looks fine afterward, but then he takes a bite of it and gags because it's just not right? Eeeeewwww!
You will never catch this chickie eating artificial meat! Well, except spam and hotdogs. Oh, and bologna. And vienna sausages. I loves me some vienna sausages. I wonder what they're made of? No ... nevermind, don't tell me.
(nicked from Karry! *waves*)
----
So, like, can anyone solve this mystery for me?
Does a large quantity of sheetmetal cause surrounding drivers to act like fucking idiots? Is there some bizarre cosmic power behind this? My new van, the Dodge, is quite large. That's a fucking lie. It's HUGE. I call it the H.M.S. Behemoth. Have you ever seen Tim Allen's bit on changing the radio station in the Cadillac? Well, let's just say that the walk back from the drivers side door to the little hatch where you put the petrol in is intimidating. I mean you need good shoes and maybe a bottle of water before attempting it (an also nerves of steel for when you see $60 worth of petrol vanish into the tank).
I confess to being a bit nervous still when driving it and it doesn't fucking help when everyone else seems to take leave of their senses when I approach.
I won't mention the little bitch who whipped between parked cars in an attempt to secure the parking space next to mine just as I was backing out. She had the 'nads to honk her pissy little horn at me (as I was about to back over her punk bitch arse), then cut in to secure her space. Jezusfuckingchristeatingabisquit you cunt! I hope that extra eight feet that you managed to get closer to the entrance to the Wal-Mart gave you the orgasm you desired.
Fuck.
But I won't mention her.
No, lets talk about the needle-dick in the Fiat who pulled right out in front of me. RIGHT OUT IN FRONT of a few tonnes of hurtling Detroit steel on a straight empty road with perfect visibility. Helloooooo? Brainfart much? That little scrap of tin would've felt like a speedbump assmunch. The South Carolina Highway Patrol wouldn't have even been notified until I got to the Wal-Mart and found a Fiat and it's pea-brained driver wedged in my grille like a fucking bug!
For the record: my mechanic was not lying - the brakes on the Dodge are in tip-top shape.
----
Fucking funny:
Nicked from Ben Garvey (go read his detailed descriptions) via John H (Hi John! Thank you!)
posted by MrsEvilGenius at 12:43 PM
1 Comments:
heh, I have had the same problem with people pulling out in front of me, but I don't drive a tank, so it would do more damage to me...
have you ever encountered the people who have to make a left across like 4 lanes of traffic, so they pull across two lanes and sit there until an opening pops up in the way they wanted to go? What they hell is wrong with these people, that they think it's perfectly alright to block traffic until they can turn?
Or the people who come to a complete stop in a lane on the interstate, because they want to merge into the rigt lane at that EXACT point.
sheesh. my nightly drive home is rife with these assholes.
Post a Comment
<< Home