All dressed up & nowhere (else) to go

All dressed up and nowhere to go

Alrighty, then, fucktards of planet earth.  What the fuck are we doing here?

I hope your day is going better than mine.  Should I be tweeting this?  Probably.  Fuck It.

It’s too easy to miss shit that’s tweeted.  Unless you’re copying the URLs of the tweets themselves, going back in history, at least on my shitty computer, takes for fucking ever.  Browser crashes every time.  You’re not supposed to know even the most recent history on today’s big brother, eh?  Fine.  If that’s the shit you wanna work with, that’s the shit we all gonna work with.

So I showered today, spiffed up for my lovely [NI] ladies.  Most of them hate me, I think, anyway.  Their manager sure as shit does.  She has since she was a waitress.  Sorry, entertainer.  The uniforms they make those girls wear are ridiculous.  The lovely ladies that can pull them off, physically, conversationally, and, you know, putting normal clothes back on, are amazing.  Seriously.  I have a great deal of respect for them and the work that they do, and I’m pleased to have been able to frequent their lovely establishment.

Now, the support staff, on the other hand.  What.  The.  Fuck.

I know it’s a router problem, has been since last time.  Dude either doesn’t know how to restart a router, or server, or whatever the fuck they have in that hotel/conference center, or he just refuses to do so because I recommended it.  Fucking old people.  RESTART THE FUCKING SERVER, ASSHOLE!  They’re getting spotty errors at the restaurant now, too.  Does he restart?  No.  It must be something wrong with my old PC because other people can still fucking connect.  What the fuck.

I didn’t even tell you what I’m wearing yet, did I?

Well, it was warmer today (High of 40 F), so I thought I’d go single layered on my legs.  They’re so fucking beautiful, people have to see them!  My skinniest skinny pants.  Yup.  The ones with jewels on ‘em.  “Diamonds”  Tee hee.  That means these pants love me, right?  Diamonds magnify aura, meatbot bretheren.  And y’all’s auras are so fucking clouded, clogged, and nasty full of shit, there’s really no good in amplifying that.  Quit ingesting food-shaped/flavored poison and eat some fucking plants.  YOU’RE KILLING YOUR FATHER, LARRY!  Feeding him that shit.  Soda?  Fucking seriously?  No, if you still fucking drink soda, I will treat your slow-suicide-by-lard ass the same way I treat cigarette smokers.  If you are gonna kill your fucking self, go fucking do it on your own fucking time, in your own fucking air.  Get that fucking poison the fuck away from me.  You have every “right” to kill yourself, sure, fine, whatever.  Mock me because I want you to stay away from the shit that’s killing you.  Thanks.

Fucking perfumes, most of the soaps and shampoos that you “clean” people use are fucking you up, too.  Your skin is your biggest organ, and you go slathering it with oil derivatives and chemical god-knows-what.  Your “deodorants” mask (poorly, by the way) the toxic shit that comes out of your pores, the exact same shit you put into your poor little body through your eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and skin.

Ok.  I think I might be able to log on now.

Over and out!

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-11-29 (Monday).

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