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.”

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.

 

Fashion First.

I think instead of a “poke” button on Facebook, they should have a “pork” button.  Cole Martin porked Jessica Batten. Then everyone would know who was having sex with who.

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I ate an extra cheesy pizza Lunchable today. It reminded me of sitting in the back of the bus in overalls during a zoo field trip, attempting to stab a hole through an impenetrable Capri Sun. They used to make those things bullet proof. You basically needed a machine gun to get your straw into the container. You always had to pass your beverage around to your classmates to see if anyone could force entry into the foil pouch. By the time you got the straw in, you were exhausted and dehydrated and needed it pumped directly into your bloodstream.

The other thing about pizza Lunchables is that in the beginning as you assemble the first mini pizza, you feel like there is no possible way those two tiny piles of cheese are going to last you through the third pizza, so you do this cheese-reserve thing and your first pizza comes out like a food stamp ration. By the third pizza, you realize you have way over compensated. You’ve saved so much cheese you have too much to even fit on the third crust. That pizza is always the best one.

Anyway, back to the Lunchable.

A few months ago, the Lunchables caught my eye in the grocery store, and I thought, “Ooh! I could go for one of those.”  Then I remembered I didn’t own a microwave.

You’re confused. Listen, I microwave my Lunchables, and I don’t give a f-ck what you think about it. I like to melt the cheese and heat up the sauce. Is that a crime? It’s my life.

Recently, Trent looted a microwave that was on its way to the dumpster from a neighboring office, and now we finally have one. I went ahead and stocked up on a couple pizza Lunchables, and I couldn’t be happier.

I spent several hours in various airports last weekend in lieu of my trip back to Iowa, so I had a nice opportunity to see some real freaks. Let me start with the Asians. One of the Asians I saw was a young woman who appeared to be about 20 years old. She looked pretty normal at eye level, but then I looked down at her feet. She was wearing blue flip flops that had dozens of tiny pink and blue pastel colored inflated balloons that simulated bath bubbles, and each sandal had a tiny rubber duck on it.

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The next Asian I laid eyes on was a woman in her thirties. She was wearing a translucent red plastic sun visor that had a solar powered fan that was positioned on the bill of the cap, pointing toward her face. It was pretty bad. It got worse though when her four year old son appeared with a matching solar powered visor in black.

..

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Later I glanced down to see a man with “BORN TO F-CK” tattooed on his toes, each letter on a single toe. That was an interesting choice.

Lastly, good old SkyMall had some material to gawk at as well. How about this douche:

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Oh great! They make it in cadet style. I’m not sure which is worse—the hat, or the tool’s face in the ad.

Back to the Asians. What is wrong with them?  Their style is so rotten. They’ve lost their minds. Why can’t they stick to things that they’re good at like developing technology and making fried rice? Stay away from the fashion industry, zipperheads. You can’t do it right.

Boy do I like their food though.

I’m having a lovely time with my new Droid X2. It’s taking a little while to teach it all the cuss words, but it’s catching on quickly. I am a little sad about the battery life, although what can I expect from it when I’m playing with it 16 hours a day.

WELL, that’s all for now, gals and non-gals. Cheerio.

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“You can’t pee in here, Wilfred.”

“Why? Everybody else is!”

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.

Pennsylgaynia.

I have lived and visited many, many places in and out of the country in my 23 years on this round (or flat, depending on who you’re talking to) earth, and after my travel experience, I can say without a doubt that western Pennsylvania is one of the most dismal, grumpy, rude places in all the world. I despise it. The people here (with a few exceptions) blow. They just absolutely blow. They don’t know how to drive, they don’t understand common courtesy, they’re rude, ignorant, ugly, and impolite, they don’t sell alcohol in the grocery store—-the list goes on and on. Which brings me to the meaty portion of this post:

Things that are better than western Pennsylvania:

1.  The DMV

2.  Bear attacks

3.  Ovarian cysts

4.  Income taxes

5.  Unplanned pregnancies

6.  Polio outbreaks

7.  Amputation

8.  Hangovers

9.  Paul Giamatti

10.  Ke$ha

11.  Heart attacks

12.  Prison

13.  The line at the post office on Christmas Eve

14.  Heroin addiction

15.  Headlice

16.  Wildfires

17.  Scabies

18.  Britney Spears’ “Gimme More” performance at the 2007 VMAs

19.  Jocelyn Wildenstein’s face

20.  Drawing blood

21.  Gas prices

22.  Charlie Sheen’s ability to be a school teacher

23.  Marshall Mathers’ emotional stability

24.  This:

25.  ….and this:

.

That about sums it up.

Uncontrollable diarrhea > western Pennsylvania

The end.

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“Clogging the toilet is the worst. I hate close calls. The feeling you get after you realize you DIDN’T clog the toilet is exhilarating, especially at someone else’s home.”

Search and rescue.

Once again, I’d like to give you all a peek into the wide, sometimes scary but always funny  array of search terms that people out there search on Google to land them on my blog:

elephantiasis of the vagina

cucumber up arse

pies and weight loss

fattest ugliest girl ever

ugly douchebag

how do christina aguilera’s boobs stay in her dress on the voice

famous women with moles on there boobies

big fat man with small willy

old man falling off mountain

are teeth jewelry stupid

ugliest bitch on the planet

does having a baby ruin your vagina

fat f*ck sitting on someone

the fattest man in the world’s willy

ugly girl eating pie

fat willy and willy going into a vagina

ugly fat people that have poop on their face

how does the fattest man in the world put on pants

the fattest willy

short fat greasy people

sexy women with nice bums

girls peeing in stores on floor

the fattest person in the universe

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When did the term “willy” become popular again?

Pies and weight loss.  Those two terms are not even related.

How DOES the fattest man in the world put on pants?

Are teeth jewelry stupid:  Yes.

Does having a baby ruin your vagina?   Uh….would throwing up a watermelon ruin your mouth? I don’t care what they say about post-birth vaginas, I don’t buy it. Never the same.

How do Christina Aguilera’s boobs stay in her dress on The Voice?   I wonder the same thing.

Someone out there is having a bit of a situation with a cucumber. Should I trace the ip address and find out who?

I need my hair done worse than Christina Aguilera needs her beach body back.

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Seriously. It’s been many moons since I’ve had my highlights touched up. I’m a mess. I look like a poor trailer park girl. I’m one of those people that I make fun of. I need to see a stylist, stat.

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You know what I love about Law & Order? It’s always on. Always. It doesn’t matter what time of day, day of the week, holidays, the Sabbath—it’s on. Law & Order is on like 4 different channels at all hours of the day in marathon-premiers. SVU gets me going. Sometimes I take hiatuses from Law & Order and forget how addicting it is. Then before you know it, I’m back to snorting Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay up my nose for three hours a day. This is me not complaining about it.

WELL, time to go.

Your friend,

Rebecgay

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“My dad lived in Japan for a year, that’s how I learned to speak Japanese. Moo-shu pork, Melissa!”

Larger than life.

Why do the fattest people drive the tiniest cars?

On too many occasions I have watched Free Willy waddle from the exit at Burger King to their tiny Chevy Cavalier, come crashing down into the driver’s seat, noticeably shifting the car into a deep driver’s side lunge of sorts. It’s like watching someone sit on a see-saw with no partner. The car is practically driving on two wheels. It is going to tip over. Is this safe? It’s like, you don’t put a bottle-nosed dolphin in a jacuzzi. You put it in an enormous whale tank at Sea World. You don’t put a German shepherd in a hamster cage. You don’t put Bruce Vilanch in a Hyundai Accent. I guess I thought this was just common sense.

UUUGGGHHHHH, I am dreading my 6 finals this semester.

JuSt KiDDiNg, I’m a college drop out. I always know when it’s finals time, because viewings of my blog spike dramatically. People would much rather read about my life and the things that I despise than bury their faces in their political science study guides. It’s not rocket science.

I’m not sure how the Asians do it, but they do not age like other human beings of different nationalities. Asians remain youthful looking for years and years, not showing a single telltale aging sign such as a wrinkle or grey hair as they creep upward in age. Then all of a sudden when they hit like 80 years old, it comes all at once. They lose 2 inches off their overall height, their hair turns white, and their eyelids sag down to their upper lip. They go from spry to nursing home in the blink of an eye.

Typical aging progression pattern of an Asian:

Age 20:

Age 35:

Age 50:

Age 65:

Age 80:

Age 81:

It’s weird.

This is all too familiar:

http://www.explosm.net/comics/2396/

I hate sitting down on the toilet to do my business and then realizing I’ve forgotten to grab my cell phone to entertain me for the long haul. At that point I’m already too committed to the deuce that I can’t just get up and waddle to the kitchen to grab my Blackberry off the counter. It’s too late. I’m stuck. I must lay in the bed I made for myself, as it were. Time seems to run on and on. I find myself grabbing at anything within arm’s reach that has words on it. Next thing I know, I’m reading the active ingredients in Degree Body Response deodorant like it’s the New York Times.

WELL, I’m off to probably do exactly what I just described. Goodbye.

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C:  Oh no. There is a ‘glitch’ in the restrooms at the wedding reception.

B:  Jesus take the wheel.