UFC you later.

I have been cooking a lot lately. My vegetable consumption has skyrocketed. My countertop is covered in fresh produce instead of a Jenga tower of Velveeta Shells & Cheese boxes. It used to be really tricky for me to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, because they would spoil and grow a toupee before I ever got around to eating them. Now I can barely keep my veggie stock full. I feel like I’m buying spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes and lemons nearly every day.

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I wish I had a garden. Then I wouldn’t have to watch my food go bad. I could just pluck things fresh off the vine. Strawberries, for example, get moldy before they even reach my home from the grocery store. This pisses me off. I like potatoes though. Potatoes don’t go bad. They just grow more potatoes. I wish the other vegetables would follow suit.

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I’m in a room full of people watching a UFC fight. The two fighters in the cage right now happen to be Canadian. People in the room keep saying, “Becca, these guys are Canadian! Don’t you want to watch?”  as I type away on my computer. No. I don’t know why everyone thinks just because I am from Canada that I should give a f-ck about other people doing things who also happen to be from Canada. If there was a quilting convention being broadcasted on television and the two geriatric women needling away were both from Missouri, would you give a shit about that, Greg? I didn’t think so.

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Speaking of the Canadian thing, when people find out I’m Canadian, it is not uncommon for them to say something like, “Hey, I went to school with a guy named Jordan who was from Canada! Maybe you know him?”  Canada is f-cking huge. It’s larger than the United States. What makes you think that I would just happen to know one of the 34 million people from there? Good lord.

These UFC fights are insane. This guy’s face is completely f-cked. His eyes are more swollen than a pregnant woman’s feet after a walk for heart disease. I don’t know how he can even see. It looks like he got hit in the face with a pumpkin. Like he was standing under a building and a pumpkin got dropped off the roof and hit him square in the face. I don’t know why people sign up for this. I generally like to avoid pain, and by generally I mean as a rule of my being at any and all costs. Four minutes later, this man’s face looks like he got slapped with a weed-whacker, and there are lemons beneath the surface of his skin. This is a bludgeoning. They just stopped and put a giant bag of ice on his face. There is no other option at this point. He looks like Quasimoto.

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I am typing this in real time as I watch this match. The other dude’s nose is a wreck. It is completely smashed. I would be bawling like a baby. At this point, my body would have taken over and forced me to pass out to protect me from any further suffering. Holy shit. His face looks like a steak that just got tenderized with a spiked mallet. His upper lip is so swollen, it looks like a chalkboard eraser. There is blood everywhere. It’s like he got sprayed in the face with hot sauce. This man is going to need 4 Vicodin, a shot of morphine, a bottle of Goldschlager, and several pounds of ice when he goes home. A coma is the only way to perservere through this beating. Put this man out of his misery. It looks like somebody dropped him off a house and he smacked his face on the curb.

Well, I guess…..that’s……it. That’s it. Bye.

____________________________________________________________________

B:   “Oh. T.I. has really nice teeth.”

T:   “T.I.’s got enough money to have any kind of teeth he wants.”

Home sweet home.

I cannot wait to leave the dump that I am living in in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania itself is a dump, but the apartment we have been staying in for the last year is a direct reflection of the crummy, vapid state itself.

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Currently, our plumbing is all f-cked up, and nothing will drain. The tub fills up with water while you’re showering, the washing machine leaves your clean clothes sitting in three inches of water after the cycle, sopping wet , forcing you to hand-wring each heavy article of clothing out before tossing it into the dryer (for two cycles, because consequently it takes forever to dry), and the kitchen sink is completely filled with water, and has been for FIVE days now. This is a problem. 1) It’s f-cking disgusting. 2) It’s f-cking annoying. Our counters are PILED high with dirty dishes, and the kitchen smells like afterbirth. Thank god the toilets are flushing, but the way things are progressing, it’s only a matter of time before those stop working, too.

We have no garbage disposal. That means two tiny macaroni noodles can clog the kitchen sink entirely. This also means stinky spoiling food sits in the trash for several days, stinking up the place.

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We have no air conditioning. “Get a window unit!”  Our windows do not slide up, they angle out. Window units are not a plausible option. The date is March 24th, and the apartment is probably 82 degrees. We are all sweating. The opposite issue is that we do not control the heat in this building. Instead, the old couple that lives below us does. This is problematic because the heat travels from their apartment up the air ducts into our apartment. What’s wrong with that you ask? See next issue.

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Our downstairs neighbors REEK of pee. It is a geriatric couple that do nothing but sit at home all day, pissing in their elastic waistband pants on the couch. Each time they leave the apartment to slowly shuffle down the hall with their walkers to retrieve the mail (which takes them like ten painful minutes somehow), they leave the door open to their apartment, and the gut-wrenching stench of urine permeates the entire building. Passing through the hallway at this time will surely put you to death. The ammonia levels in this apartment are life-threatening. It gets in your mouth. You need to scrape your tongue after an accidental run-in with Mr. and Mrs. Peebody. It’s f-cking terrible. I don’t know how the ammonia level hasn’t killed them yet, but I hope it does soon. When they die, the apartment will need to be cleansed by fire. Industrial strength cleaning supplies will be as effective as using a cardboard box as shelter from an F5 tornado.

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We have no dishwasher. This is more of an inconvenience than a serious problem, but a problem nonetheless. Four people in one apartment: the dishes pile up fast. One minute you’re eating dinner, and the next minute you’re feeling hopeless, facing a pile of dishes the size of Mt. Everest.

Our carpet sheds like a Newfoundland dog in mid-July. I have never seen carpet do this before in my life. It doesn’t matter how many times you vacuum, carpet fibers continue to unpluck themselves and scatter about the floor. Somehow it does not seem to be thinning. I don’t understand.

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We have only two-prong electrical outlets. Welcome to 1976. My computer, flat iron, blow dryer, vacuum cleaner—almost all of my appliances are three-prong. This is very annoying. I had to purchase several plug-in adapters so that I could use all of these items.

Bugs invade our home in a very serious manner. Our windows aren’t exactly “airtight,” nor are the screens that loosely occupy them. We have an infestation of tiny flies right now. They wind up in your glasses of water, on your toothbrush, they fill the light fixtures—it’s disgusting.

Things are just permanently dirty in this house. Like, no matter what you do to the tub/shower, it will never look, feel, or smell clean. Same with the floors. Nothing can be done. Get me out of here.

WELL, that’s enough agony for now. Enjoy your day, girls and boys.

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“When I first came from Russia, it said this was an ‘alcohol free campus.’ I was like, ‘Oh my god, they give alcohol for free here?'”

Droid Doesn’t.

I’m going to throw my Droid into the ocean. I have had it up to here with this glitchy piece of shit. Last August after my Blackberry stroked out, Trent and I decided to go ahead and head into the Verizon store seeking iPhones, only when we got there, the salesman had a boner over Androids, and long story short, we left with Droid X2’s. At first I was thrilled. My Blackberry was autistic at best, so any functioning work of technology was like seeing Jesus walk on water to me. Things went well for a while, but lately it has gone downhill.

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My phone has gone full retard. It force quits applications constantly, it randomly shuts itself off multiple times a day, screens freeze, the camera refuses to initialize—I’m getting pissed. To make matters worse, I do not have upgrade options until March.

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…….2013!!!!!!!

I am writing both Verizon and Android a letter expressing my discontent. My goal is to get them to at a bare minimum, bump up my upgrade eligibility. Otherwise, I will pistol whip a bitch. I desire an iPhone 4s so badly. Siri and I will be the best of friends. I just can’t wait.

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Due to my lack of blog-writing for the past couple months, this topic is a little outdated, but I just have to touch on it. Did you guys read about the model who walked into a plane propeller? Lauren Scruggs got off a small plane in Dallas, Texas, and shortly thereafter walked straight into the plane’s propeller, losing her left hand and mangling her shoulder and her face.

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How the f-ck does this happen? This isn’t like having one margarita too many and walking into a sliding glass door at the 4th of July party. It’s not like going on a hike and accidentally getting slapped in the face with an aspen branch. You don’t just mosey into an thundering airplane propeller by accident. It’s a PLANE. It’s kind of hard to miss. My first suspicion that she was ham-smacked after drinking 8 gin and tonics on her flight was squashed by ABC News who reported that the woman had not been drinking, so what other possible explanation exists!? Way to battle the “models aren’t all dumb” stigma.

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I need a cattle prod. I feel like it would be an extremely useful tool to have in my arsenal. I would get a lot of use out of it. The price-per-use would balance out beautifully. I could zap loud-mouthed teenagers in movie theaters, rapists, crying children, I’d electrocute people who say, “I seen you,” I’d shock people who are wearing Crocs—the uses are endless. Our roommate’s dog eats her own shit. She won’t stop. As soon as that steaming pile of feces exits the body, she can hardly turn around fast enough to inhale it. It’s nauseating. A good cattle prod shock or two could change that pretty quick I think.

WELL, time to fill up cup o’ tea #3. I can’t stop. BYE!

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B:   “I don’t even really know what to do on a stripper pole.”

C:   “I just try to like hump it and shit.”

High life.

Ladies and cross-dressing males, have you noticed the phenomena with high heels recently? Suddenly they went from “hell yeah I can rock this” to “holy shit, I’m wearing circus stilts, someone get me down from here.”

What is the deal? All high heeled shoes went from a comfortable 2 or barely manageable 3 inch height to skyscraping 5 and 5 1/2 inches. It’s extremely unreasonable. I would break both of my ankles just trying to walk from my apartment to my car, assuming I could even make it down the front steps. I’m no circus freak. I can’t walk on stilts, Mr. Madden. I look stupid enough as it is stumbling around at the bars on a Friday night without wearing hazardous shoes that would make me hobble about like a newborn baby foal.

Is this some sort of practical joke the fashion industry is playing on us mortals?  “Lol, watch them try 2 walk in these. They’ll totes think it’s what everyone is doing. Lol.”  Even if I were able to manage taking more than 10 steps in these ridiculously tall pumps, there is no way in hell I could last an entire night in them. IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE, YOU GUYS!!!!

Sometimes when I’m in a large room, I like to look around and scope out things I could use to defend myself in case of an unexpected attack. I pan the room and say to myself, what could I wield as a weapon if the need should arise? Lamps, scissors, chairs, etc. You know, just in case. Does anyone else do this? I can’t be the only one.

Today while I was in line at Wal-Mart, I got the displeasure of viewing this fat hag’s glowing white chub and glorious tattoo:

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Comic sans font. “Dave.” Nice and classy. Dave is a lucky dude, isn’t he. This is probably one of the worst tattoos I’ve ever seen. Classic Pennsylvanian. This cow isn’t even too fat to walk, yet she chose to buzz around on a motorized cart because just like almost everyone else in Pennsylvania, she’s a worthless piece of crap.

WELL, time to catch up on some Always Sunny. I am two episodes behind. I’m not sure how this happened.

BYE!

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A:   “I wonder what the actors from Hocus Pocus are doing right now.”

B:   “Meth.”

Ballin’.

Search terms this week:

naked lady covered milk

dog poop in britney spears mouth at night

elephantiasis of the vagina

….Who are you people?

Did 2% get sexy recently? I mean, who doesn’t like big jugs….but that’s not usually what we’re talking about.

Surprisingly, these elephantiasis searches are common. Elephantiasis of the face, the vag, the ball sac. I’m not sure how they lead people to my blog, but apparently there’s some correlation.

I don’t even really know how to comment on the weird Britney Spears’ search term involving dog shit.

Elephantiasis is one hell of a disease. There’s really no point to living if you are stricken with such an unfortunate deformity. I would end my life. I just would.

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I’m not even sure where that man’s dick is.

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That’s a real shame. That bum was okay to begin with.

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That’s the worst case of cankles I’ve ever seen.

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Just kidding about that last one. That’s just a morbidly obese man. His deformed body has empanadas to blame, not elephantiasis. He’s got no disease scapegoat to excuse his misshapen, disgusting carcass.

For more on elephantiasis-afflicted scrotums and hilarious ways to exploit the disease for humor, check out the hilarious Becky Delport’s most recent post: http://beckydelport.blogspot.com/2011/10/giant-testicals-strained-groin-muscles.html

I just stuffed so much Chinese food into my tummy. I am bursting at the seams. Today was one of those days that dragged on forever, and in my despair, I was afraid that the day would never come to an end, and even if it did, I had nothing to look forward to. Then I remembered it was Thursday. Fried rice was the light at the end of the tunnel. Now I am immobilized by my full gut. Hopefully I’ve digested enough by bedtime to at least leave the couch.

I’m tired of hanging up clothes. I don’t necessarily mind the act of doing laundry, and I really don’t even mind folding them. But hanging articles of clothing up on hangers? It grinds my gears. I don’t like doing it. I also hate that I am constantly running out of hangers. Where are they all going?

….maybe I just keep buying things.

The world series of baseball is really ruining my television agenda. No one gives a shit about baseball. Even people that give a shit about baseball don’t want to watch it on television. X Factor got F’ed, The Office is F’ed, Community is F’ed, EVERYTHING IS F’ed!!!!!!

Stupid baseball.

….

NO ONE LIKES BASEBAAAAAALL!!!!!!!!!!!

Well…..bye.

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W:  What did you have for dinner? I’m starving.

B:   I hate tomato soup.

        Had.

        I love tomato soup, just to clarify.

Trapped.

Apparently Law & Order went ahead and killed off Elliot Stabler without my knowing. I’m not sure where I missed out, but suddenly Benson is sorrowfully gazing at pictures of Stabler in her desk drawer, and her coworkers are telling her to “move on,” and that “nothing is going to bring him back.”  So….whose stupid decision was this? Sexy Christopher Meloni is part of my obsession with SVU. It’s what got me hooked in the first place. And SVU goes and kills him off? When did this happen? WHY did they do this?! And how did I miss this episode? I’m pissed. If they start phasing out Mariska Hargitay and Ice-T, I’m going to flip out.

I’LL FLIP OUT!!!

I recently got a larger three ring binder to keep track of all my job files. The one I got is a 3″.

Immediately I was petrified of snapping the metal rings onto my flesh, pinching them in a death gator-grip. It only took one day for it to happen. BOY did it hurt. Why are these three ring binders so violently powerful? That snapping power rivals that of a freshwater crocodile. They’re like a bear trap. There is no reason for them to be this scary.

Speaking of bear traps, why are these considered okay? This has got to be the meanest, most cruel and painful way to catch a bear. Why is this allowed? Incredibly inhumane. THEY SHOULDN’T BE ALLOWED!!!

There is a rogue mosquito flying around my living room. Nothing makes me more paranoid than an insect in my personal space. It keeps appearing and disappearing after I frantically and spastically wave it away. Speaking of insect infestation, the stink bugs have rolled on into town. MAN they’re gross. They just flood in, covering everything, trying to penetrate the screens of every house. They say smashing and killing one attracts more. It still doesn’t stop me from stomping them out every chance I get. I hope that’s just a myth.

I am disgusted by the nicknames the entertainment press such as E! and magazines like Cosmo give celebrities. Rihanna—-RiRi? ReReally? LiLo, ScarJo, R-Patz? Who started this? It’s worse than a blubbering toddler naming its snot-covered stuffed animals. Stupid.

Well, time for me to eat 4-6 fresh out of the oven chocolate chip cookies and watch the 2nd episode of Dexter. A winning combination indeed. Peace out.

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“I like it when people say ‘it’s a bad part of town.’  They mean black people live there.”

Camoufag.

I had to switch back to my pasty face makeup this week. My tan is fading faster than my patience with Pennsylvanians, if you can believe it. My days soaking up the sun for this year have come to an end. It is 43 degrees today. Winter is upon us. I’m not sure what happened to fall, but I’m all aboard with Jack Frost moving in. Winter makes me swell with joy. I start blaring Christmas music, baking, being generally jolly—I love it.

Imgur.com has become one of my favorite websites as of late. Let me share with you a photo they posted, plus the hilarious comment that followed by someone else:

“Aww, it’s sad when you see girls with no dates.”

Ha. That’s a good one. Someone else said,

“Those girls made a terrible choice footwear for a hunting trip.” 

I thought, “Holy fivehead.”

I flipped out on a 79 year old hag of a woman today. BOY was she stupid. I made her feel like an ignorant sack of shit, because she was one. I have reached my limit of tolerance with these asshole Pennsylvanians, folks. This old bitch was the straw that broke the camel’s back. My patience has officially run out. From this point forward, anyone who crosses me will be met with a verbal assault that they can barely comprehend. Watch out, Westmoreland County. Cruella is on the scene.

In other news, I have probably eaten upwards to 15 Dove Promises today. That’s not something to brag about, unless you’re Mary-Kate Olsen. Those little messages in the foil wrappers are always making me furrow my brow. They always say things like, “You’ve got a great laugh,” and “Love your smile.” Basically things that you can say to any fat person shoving 11 pounds of chocolate into their mouths. It’s not like you’ll come across a wrapper that says, “Hey skinny minnie!” or “Killer legs!”  Well played, Dove. Well played.

I saw a girl in McDonald’s today wearing a tiara. She was at least 20 years old. This is unacceptable.

Every time I’m in a store, I look around in disgust at the hundreds of hideous clothing items that are manufactured that literally no human being should ever wish to purchase/wear, and I think….my, what a waste of resources. Items like these:

Stopping the manufacturing of these disgusting apparel items would result in multiple positives for our world. 1) It would stop the wasted resources and materials used to make these horrendous items. 2) People will terrible fashion sense would not be able to make as many mistakes. 3) Less space would be used in stores.

The world would be a better place.

Dexter is finally starting again tomorrow. I am absolutely elated. This is my favorite show in the universe. Sundays are my new favorite day again. I wish television would stop bringing me on such an emotional rollercoaster. It’s all these ups and downs, they’re really wearing me thin. We go from Law & Order marathons to nonstop football Sundays, back to Dexter premiers. I’m squealing with delight, then sobbing, then squealing with delight again—it’s not right.

Well, it’s time for me to go to Robokyo and get shrimp tossed at my pie hole. Later, kids. Remember—you are what you eat.

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B:  You will need a rape kit after what I’m doing to you in Hanging With Friends.

B:   Whatever. By the way, I forgot to send a page in your letter. Sorry.

B:   Did it have tips for how to play Hangman, because if so, you should just keep it.

 

Hot dog.

A cat requested my friendship on Facebook today.

I wish I could say that it was the first time.

Today was another roaster. My vehicle clocked the earth at 93 degrees mid-afternoon. I was a raunchy, unpleasant carcass by noon. Seriously. I smelled like I cut an onion in half and rubbed it under my armpits, and then a child at a carnival vomited a lamb gyro on me. Nobody wants to be a part of that. All I want at this very moment is for it to be a brisk 40 degrees in autumn, up to my eyeballs in vodka-sodas donning University of Iowa gear, tailgating my day away and stealing cheesy brats from neighboring tailgates. Is that so much to ask?

On to this week’s strangest search terms:

i may be fat but you’re ugly and i can diet

does a cyclist look stupid with hair on their legs

people shitting themselves during marathons

صور ماكدونالدز

i have a double chin and im only 12

pooping cucumbers

do girls like chevy cavalier

The most baffling (next to the obvious, pooping cucumbers) has to be the Hebrew hieroglyphics. How on earth was someone led to my blog with that? I wouldn’t know how to make my keyboard produce those symbols if my life depended on it. Not even if I had a magic wand.

Well, maybe if I had a magic wand.

I would probably shit myself if someone forced me to run a marathon, too. I’m not real into exercise. I’m more into self-starvation as far as physique-preservation is concerned.

Does a cyclist look stupid with hair on their legs? Listen, Armstrong. When a bicyclist whizzes by me like a speeding rocket, the last thing I’m squinting to see is if said bicyclist has hairy legs or not.

To the 12 year old with the double chin: It only gets worse from here.

No, girls don’t like Chevy Cavaliers. They also don’t like boys who Google how they feel about Chevy Cavaliers. You lose.

My dog is bored. It’s 93 degrees outside. Sorry, dog. There is no amount of whining, coaxing, or sad-puppy-eyes-ing you can do to get me to go out into that dreadful, oppressive sticky heat to walk you, chase you, or play fetch with you.

You don’t even know how to play fetch anyway.

…or read.

Okay, I’m the idiot.

My kitchen sink smells like a dead body. I can’t determine the source. I do know that my sink does not double as a garbage disposal. Therefore, it is likely that the pipe is filled with grimy sour cream, scraps of meat, soggy macaroni noodles, and fourteen different species of mold. It smells like someone stuffed a raccoon carcass down there. One might mistake the malodorous stench for a beached whale decomposing on the shore. It’s so gross that I’m basically just banking on the germs themselves being so disgusted by it that they just move out and solve the problem on their own. We’ll see how that pans out.

Well, I’m off to shovel delicious Italian food into my pie hole, and then go see Horrible Bosses. I can’t wait. I hope to laugh myself silly. I hope to be the silliest sally in town after watching this movie.

Teehee,

Rebecca.

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R:  Let me flick you as hard as I can.

B:  No.

R:  Come on, just one solid flick.

B:  No, Randon.

R:  Just once—

B:  Randon, I’ll make you a deal. You can flick me if you chug the rest of that nail polish remover.

R:  What? How is that fair? You get flicked, and I die?

B:  You aren’t going to die. It’s extremely flammable. You might want to stay away from open flame.

R:  I would definitely die from that.

B:  It’s only half full. Stop being such a drama queen.

T:  “Harmful if ingested.” Doesn’t say kill.

Fryday, Fryday, gonna get down on Fryday.

One of my friends took a picture of this poster ad on their cell phone in Philadelphia. A picture is worth a thousand words.

Yes, Jermaine. It is you “they” are looking for. “They” being the state police, of course. Creep.

Kidding. It’s Lionel Richie. Still.

As you may or may not know, I am a roof salesman. Therefore, I deal with several crews of roofers on the daily who build the jobs I sell. One of our newest crews is a bunch of guys from Kyrgyzstan which is in Central Asia. One of the main religions in Kyrgyzstan is Islam, so most of these guys are Muslim.

This particular crew of men has been working on the roof of the house that I currently rent and live in for the last couple of days, and I have noticed that when I take my dog outside and he goes near them, most of them avoid coming near him and act like he’s carrying the plague. They won’t pet him or play with him or give him any attention of any kind. I Googled “Muslims and dogs” out of curiosity. This is what I found.

Muhammad made strange and harsh statements about dogs and these edicts affect dogs in a tragic way. Muslims render dogs as unclean, “impure” and worse. Per Muhammad’s orders most dogs were to be killed and all dogs of a specific color (black) had to be killed. Then Allah’s apostle forbade their killing. He said: “It is your duty to kill the jet-black (dog) having two spots (on the eyes) for it is a devil.”

This is my dog:

.Raleigh = Satan.

You learn something new every day.

I watched Clash of the Titans last night. Imagine waking up with one of those gourd creatures in your bed after a night at the bars.

Vom.

I watched one single episode of Freaky Eaters on TLC, and I think that was enough. The particular episode I viewed was of Eric Willmann, “The Fry Guy.” Eric eats virtually nothing but french fries. He remains a normal weight. This is my dream come true. Sure, he’s got heart disease and cholesterol higher than teenagers at a Bob Marley concert, but if I could count how many times I’ve said, “I wish it were feasible for me to eat nothing but McDonald’s french fries for the rest of my life without morphing into Kirstie Alley,” I’d be driving a Rolls Royce.

Anyway, the point is, the show is unbelievably dramatic, the hosts are terrible, and Eric doesn’t understand the definition of “active.” He said, and I quote, “I’m very active. I skateboard at LEAST once a week, if not twice.”

…

Okay, Eric. I’m VERY charitable. I’ve added a $1 donation to my PetSmart purchase at LEAST once, if not twice. Let’s not get carried away.

For those of who have been on edge, biting your nails, wondering how my hair fiasco is progressing, let me just say this: I just took a shower and shampooed the shit out of my hair not once, but twice, using at least a metric ton of Garnier Fructis, and even after the second rinse of shampoo AND rinsing out the conditioner that followed, the tub was filled with bright pink sudsy bubbles. It looked like someone sprayed the Pink Panther with a hose.

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So, that’s what’s going on with my noggin. Thanks for stopping by.

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“I want you to trim the fat.”

“What?”

“I want you to fire all the fat people.”

Talk dirty to me.

I came across some girl’s webpage. Here is the address.

http://www.myspace.com/neverloosefaith

….Fail.

Yeah, tight faith is really the only acceptable kind. I wish people weren’t so stupid. Worse than misspellings, however, is this atrocity:

“Re-read dat play play’Wat da f*ck is chesse?? IF its MONEY I b Dat’ IS dis suppose to b a diss or sumthin?? Im 2 grown for dis shit’ Re-read wat u sent.. Sorry Imma Hot Boyy boo boo.’Cum correct>>>”

Unbelievable. The above excerpt is a comment I found from a black male on some other person’s photo. I would like all of you to try to translate. Seriously, I’m curious. Leave a comment translating this mumbo jumbo and let me know what you think this man was attempting to say. Ready….go.

 

Why is it that the amount of material used to make swim suits is going down, while the price is simultaneously going up? I am all but boycotting stores like PacSun and Victoria’s Secret to purchase swimwear. Swimsuit bottoms and tops go separately upwards to $50 a piece. That’s up to $100 a suit. What am I supposed to do, spend one month’s paycheck on the top, and then go back next month for the bottom? Unreal. Tell me how a teensy tiny strip of fabric no larger than a five dollar foot-long at Subway can cost $50. Good lord.

Target is the way to go. Again, adorable pieces for $14 each. Just as cute, a quarter of the price.

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Commercials for “Lavalife” constantly stream across my television screen, displaying exceptionally good-looking men and women, purring into their telephones, seducing people on the other line.

Flirt, talk, connect and meet with fun, sexy men and women at anytime of the day or night. If you are looking for phone dating chat, new friends, casual fun, dating, flirting and discreet intimate encounters, Lavalife Voice has it all. Call. Talk. Date.  it advertises.

Why use 44 words when you can use two?  “Phone sex.”

What a joke. Right, like hundreds of hot women across the country have nothing better to do than to sit at home in their living rooms and chat on the phone with creepy single dudes with beer bellies all night long. That’s definitely the best way to meet Prince Charming. You’d have better luck perusing Craigslist’s M4W.

One particular radio station here in the Greensburg area has aired a Backstreet Boys song on three separate occasions over the past seven days. I am not complaining. There’s also been a bit of N*Sync, pre-boob job/head-shaving Britney Spears, and Spice Girls thrown in the mix. I could not be happier. This lyrically mundane but rhythmically catchy pop music from the late 90s really gets me going. You know, brings me back to those middle school days where I would record those songs on blank cassette tapes in my bedroom while they aired on the radio. Too bad all of them have drug addictions and mental illnesses now.

Well, time to rock. Really it’s time to digest my Velveeta shells and cheese. Goodbye, friends.

Rebecky.

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“Our neighbor came over to smoke with us during after-hours. She took two hits, walked home, and called the police on herself. She freaked out. The ambulance came and took her away.”