Never trust a skinny chef.

9 Aug

My roommate (husband) has been watching Masterchef for the last couple of hours. Or should I say Masterdouche.  I’ve seen freshman cat fights that have been less dramatic. I would very much like to choke each and every person on that television show. More importantly, I would like to slaughter this man simply because of the way he looks.


They say to never trust a skinny chef, but my personal policy is to never trust someone who is large enough to eat you. This man is a hog. Like, he might actually be a direct descendant of swine. He is such a fat bastard. Like, he could have guest starred in Saw III as one of the pigs that went through that giant destructive machine that turned all the dead piggies into a pig smoothie of sorts (gag).


V – Uncanny resemblance.


I went on an absolute cleaning rampage today. I went to bed with plans to go measure and inspect a few properties in the morning, but awoke to torrential rains and nonstop crackling thunder and lightning. Something came over me and I cleaned the shit out of our apartment. I turned into a Merry Maid in the blink of an eye. Apparently turning 23 put me into domestic housewife mode (temporarily). I mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the entire house, did two loads of laundry, washed the dishes, cleaned the toilets, scoured the shower, disinfected the counter tops, cleaned the sinks, took out the trash, organized the living room, and then topped off the extravaganza with a quart of Febreze, a Bath & Body Works Wallflower, and rubbed my dog down with a Downy dryer sheet for good measure.


I won’t touch another Lysol wipe til Christmas.

I want you to go ahead and search images of “vacuuming” on Google right now.


Oh my god, you lazy f–ks, here:,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=f065e8756ae6259d&biw=1108&bih=624

Just browse the photos. Why are all these people smiling? Nobody is traipsing around their living rooms having the time of their life whilst pushing around a bulky vacuum cleaner picking up pet hair and dead skin cells. Who are these people?

The vacuuming needed to be done so badly. I purchased a $32 Dirt Devil from Big Lots upon my arrival to Greensburg, and it worked for about 11 seconds before it turned into a useless hunk of plastic that clogged constantly. Had I been blindfolded and someone attached a dead cat to the end of a vacuum handle and had me run it back and forth across the carpet, I wouldn’t have known the difference. The Dirt Devil did nothing more than move carpet particles and tufts of dog hair around the room. My next door neighbor, Kathy, let me borrow her prehistoric vacuum cleaner that was probably made in 1985. It weighed about a hundred pounds. I was drenched in sweat by the time I finished. It looked like I had run the mile. Dammit it worked though.

Nothing ruins a delicious frozen fudgsicle treat like the wood stick it is frozen onto. I cannot stand the feeling of my teeth on that wooden stick, nor can I stomach the taste of the wood on my tongue. It is truly like nails-on-a-chalkboard feeling to me. Why don’t these companies put popsicles and things of the like on plastic sticks? This would solve the problem. It would also be recyclable that way. I am going to start boycotting wooden stick treats. You should all join me.

Sign up sheets are at the back of the room.

Ok, bye.


“Did you ever play this game as a kid?  ‘The floor is lava!‘  They all meant the same thing. You were poor.”


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