Rx

6 Feb

I hate people that claim to have various disorders. Specifically ADD and OCD. “Omg, like, I was totally ONLY thinking about how I could be pregnant since I had unprotected sex last night and I just could NOT focus on writing my paper. I totally have ADHD.” People are handing out ADD diagnoses like Halloween candy. There’s a huge difference between actually having attention deficit disorder and just wanting to stalk people on Facebook instead of studying. Nobody ever wants to study. It’s normal.

The OCD people really get me. I think people get bored at dinner and decide to align the salt and pepper shakers dramatically and announce, “God, I’m sorry, but this just REALLY bugs me. I’m like so obsessive compulsive.” No. You’re bored that your parents are talking about their tax returns so you’re fiddling. “Oh my god, I like have this thing where I HAVE to have my eyes closed to go to sleep. I’m so OCD.” “It’s so weird but I canNOT drive without putting my car into drive first. I’m like obsessive compulsive over that kind of stuff.” Shut up. Shut the hell up.

Remember when Capri Suns were impossible to open? Back in like fourth grade, it took a professional body builder or a surgeon to open your Pacific Cooler at lunchtime. You’d be sitting in the school cafeteria grappling with your Capri Sun, eventually passing it around the table having everyone else try their hand at it. It was like it was made out of titanium. No tribal spear or steak knife could permeate the membrane of the drink pouch. They were bullet proof. Thank god they made changes.

Has anyone seen the latest Oreo cookie commercial? It’s a son and his father communicating through webcam while eating Oreos. The dad says, “Goodnight son,” and the kid goes, “Good morning, Dad,” after seductively licking their cookies. Does anyone else feel uncomfortable watching this commercial? The dad is blatantly giving his son bedroom eyes as he French kisses his creamy Oreo. I feel like I should take a hot bath after watching it. Looks like dad has been spending too much time at Never Never Land with Jacko. Gross. Just stick to little kids sloppily eating cookies and milk, Nabisco. Child porn will get you nowhere. Except prison.

Just ask Joe Francis.

In other news, I have developed some sort of life-threatening lung infection in cooperation with a bloody, hacking cough. My air passages feel no wider than the width of a straw, making simple walks to and fro feel like a triathalon. My lungs are literally rumbling with each inhalation. I feel like my lungs are popping popcorn kernels inside. I’m wheezing like an old man with emphyzema. I’ve got SARS. I may as well slap on a face mask and join the chinks at the bus stops in their lung-failing epidemic. Go ahead and call up House of China and see if they can’t find me some sort of invitation. Beijing, here I come.

Katie: Remind me to bring this book to work tomorrow. I have to read it to the kids.
Me: What’s it called?
Katie: “The Crayon Box That Talked.” Look at all my colors, orange, blue, green, red—
Me: That’s the worst book I’ve ever heard of.
Katie: Yeah well, it’s for 2 year olds and they walk away when I’m reading so I don’t really care.

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