John Mayer can F me. I’m just throwin that out there. He can. I’d let him. Let me count the ways.
In front of my parents.
In front of my grandparents.
On national television.
Place the adjective “savagely” in front of any of the above options. He can do that also.
I reserve the same “rite of passage” for Jesse Metcalfe. John, Jesse–call anytime between the hours of 12 and 10 p.m. I make appointments.
I’ve been consuming a lot of Mountain Dew lately. And when I say “a lot,” I don’t mean two or three 12 ounce cans throughout the day. I mean two entire liters at a time in a very short period ranging anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours. The effect is something that feels like being blazed beyond belief while walking on a moon bounce, wearing goggles filled with water. Not kidding, it hits me like a train with all its caffeinated glory. It goes far beyond getting slight jitters and a burst of energy. I am drugged because of the mass amount of Mountain Dew I drink. Try it sometime, thrill seekers.
As a consequence of this rapid caffeine consumption, however, I am up all hours of the night. Therefore, I have taken to guzzling my Mountain Dew between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m., and then counteracting its effects by swallowing multiple Advil PMs an hour later before bed. I may die.
I am enthusiastically looking forward to Saturday. Time to get sloppy. Sloppy starting at 7:30 a.m. style. I like to plan ahead and premeditate how drunk I’m going to get for various occasions. Saturday will be a shitfest. On a drunken scale of 1 to 10, I will go above and beyond a 12, no holds-barred. Bust out the wet wipes and bandages: I am going to kill myself.
As for my gum chewing situation, I have made a decision to wean myself from the sugary sweetness of tooth-rotting Bubbalicious to more orally health-conscious gums, such as Trident. I noticed they print “Chewing Trident after eating cleans and protects teeth!” and also “Chewing Trident, which contains xylitol, helps fight cavities!” God bless this xyl…xyzqpytf and its tooth nurturing abilities. This is good news to me. Not only am I still satisfying my oral fixation, but am improving the health of my incisors as well. I love beating the system. The sun shines, yet again, on the life of Becca Sheppard.
I just scurried to the bathroom in the nick of time as my Mountain Dew consumption started taking effects other than the caffeine high. Two things: 1) Carved into the bathroom stall were the words “elephant, uterus, “ and “ovaries.” Now, maybe my word association skills are below par, but I’m not fully understanding the relationship between those words there. 2) On my way back to my computer, the leprechaun of a custodian collecting trash goes, “I like your shirt!” I look down to see what I am wearing. A Cub’s shirt. Startled, I say thanks, and then notice his Cubs hat, which I comment on. He then proceeded to engage in a full-force rant about the abomination that was the most recent Cubs game.
I know nothing about the Cubs. I know nothing about baseball, period. The only reason I have a Cubs t-shirt is because I am partial to the logo and I enjoy the color scheme. The janitor, with his round glasses, plump belly, hairy arms and wiry beard, went on for at least two minutes about the Cubs and his disappointment with them and specific scores, players, and stats, to which I nodded in agreement, although he may as well have been speaking in Portuguese, because I understood nothing. I couldn’t let him discover that I was a poser, though. It would break his little heart. The conversation ended after numerous attempts for me to slink away, as he poked his head around the corner and yelled, “GO PADRES!!”
My entire body needs a good waxing. My legs could be mistaken for Burt Reynolds’ right now and I can’t confidently say that I still have two distinct eyebrows. I’m hairier than a grizzly bear, and public opinion says that men aren’t attracted to qualities such as this. But what about women, or animals? I smell discrimination. Anyway, toss me a razor.
Or a weed whacker.
“It smells like chin in here.”