Please disregard if the following doesn’t apply to you:

Grow the fuck up, people and stop being childish assholes.

NEVER.  I don’t care if you just worked out at the company gym.  You should never remove your clothing at your place of business.

When considering a new blog post, I follow the same methodology every day.  I pick up a pen, put my glasses on my head, and then start to think… FUCK YOU!  (Note the “love” on the finger.)  It works every time.

Had one of those days where you wish you could just punch everyone you see in the face?

I always thought the douche bags were named Angela…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5T4UuLuPrfk&NR=1

On behalf of all Karen’s, your photo should appear here in December, Dane Cock: http://www.bigdouchebag.com/index.html.   I guess there is a long line on the douche waiting list.

Douche bag.

In case you weren’t clear on Violet’s feelings about her brother, I found this random note sitting in the living room.

I HATE this show.  And everytime I leave the room and walk back in, the hubby has this on the t.v.  And it’s always the same episode with some whiny NY bitch who’s too old to be wearing Missoni anyway!

He pretends he’s got it on just to bug me, but I don’t let him fool you.  He actually enjoys it.  And no, I have no idea why.

You don’t need to tell me why I don’t like Monday’s.  I have many reasons, but it would be in my best interest not to share them with you at this time.

People, get it straight.  There is only one true condiment.  Mustard.  Not the fancy farty kind with the seeds and shit, just good old plain yellow mustard.

The following is a list of condiments that make me barf:

• mayonnaise
• sweet pickle relish
• horseradish
• dijon, or any “fancy” mustard
• thousand island dressing (mayo+ketchup+relish = vomit)

I used to hate ketchup just as much, but over the years, I have been able to eat it with fries.  NOTHING else.  And I mean NOTHING else.  Not on hamburgers, hotdogs, meatloaf, eggs (why must you teach our children that, husband?). 

Great mustard moments in literature:

• Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part 2:

His wit as thick as Tewesbury mustard.  (Meaning gross, because good mustard is NOT thick.)

• Alexenader Dumas reportedly said:

Louis XI kept his own pot of mustard with him most of the time, ostensibly to keep him well prepared when he dropped in on friends unannounced.  (Hell yeah, Lou-dog.)

Of course, not all people share my love of the ‘turd.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8IJpDGRa5o.  The best part is the 3-second shower scene at the end. 

In closing, I will share with you that it WAS Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory with the candlestick.

In the past month, I’ve happened upon three accidents, moments after they’ve happened.  Didn’t see or hear the crashes, but I arrived well before any official help was on the scene.  On on all three occasions, I’m pretty sure the people I’ve driven by are dead.

Two were motorcycle accidents.  Both guys, who looked like they were laying on the ground, sleeping in their helmets.  I know the second one died at the scene because I found the news report the next day.  Today I saw someone on the side of the freeway who had been thrown out of their truck on impact. 

A lot of people had already stopped to help in each instance.  All I could think of was ‘at least the kids aren’t in the car with me, because how would I explain this?’  Every single time, it made me feel sad and angry and lost.  I can’t get certain thoughts out of my head.  The mother who gets the “phone call”.  Having to tell your children that Daddy is never coming home.  It makes me feel like vomiting even now.

I’m tired of watching you, death.  Go away.