My friend sent me this screenshot of a Nextdoor post from one of his neighbors:

Here’s a question I’d like to ask Kristina the Racist C*ntbag: Did you say this to the elderly Asian lady when you were in front of her so she was aware you were uncomfortable, or were you just expecting her to have the Nextdoor app, read your comment, and realize you were talking about her? I’m going to guess you said nothing because you didn’t want to be publicly called out for being a racist.

F*CK OFF WITH YOUR PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE SH*T.

GWAR! You know what? I’m going to download the Nextdoor app right now to see if I can slide into this neighborhood’s posts even though I don’t live there.

Update (3/11/2020): Turns out the Nextdoor devs have their bases covered to prevent people who try to fake their residency. DAMN IT.

I get it: The pillows had the American flag design on them, but they’re still pillows. And yes, it was nice of the guy to take time out of his delivery schedule to rearrange them. But. They’re. Still. Pillows.

Were there no other adjectives available other than “hero”? That’s a rhetorical question because within the article the word “patriotic” is used, so it’s not like the writer wasn’t aware that “patriot” was a word.

And if rearranging the pillows into the correct order makes one a hero, doesn’t that mean the homeowner–who I am going to go out on a limb and assume is responsible for her household decorations–is the villain in this story? She left her flag pillows out of order! That’s unpatriotic in comparison to the delivery man’s patriotic deed!

“But what if one of her guests did it,” you ask? Then that makes the homeowner an accomplice. “What if a nefarious individual snuck onto her porch and put the pillows out of order,” you aren’t asking but I’m going to pretend you did because I need a transition? Then that Ring footage would be in the news instead, probably with the link title, “Terrorist Puts Stars & Stripes Out of Order. ICE called.”

Apparently today is National Fruitcake Day, which is most likely a sister day to National Cat Pee Day and National Stab-Yourself-in-the-Eye-With-a-Rusty-Nail Day—things that are about as equally enjoyable as fruitcake.

According to the website for this holiest of days (yes, there really is one), “Across the United States, fruitcake lovers young and old, observe National Fruitcake Day each year on December 27.” Uhh, what? Was this originally written when some great famine had overtaken the U.S. and people had to choose between eating locusts, dirt and fruitcake? Because I haven’t met anyone in my entire life who actually enjoys eating one of those nasty-ass, soggy bundt cakes of sh*t. And “fruitcake lovers young and old” must be code for “victims of child and elder abuse.”

Fruitcakes are disgusting. They’re one of the major downsides to Christmas, and will instantly turn a festive holiday home into a demon horde’s bloodletting cavern. That’s why the only reason anyone has a fruitcake in their home is because someone hideously evil gave it to them—which was how my parents ended up with one last year after a “friend” gave them one as a Christmas “gift”. My parents didn’t look terribly enthused at the idea of eating this giant, Christmas version of a middle finger that was loaded with those nasty candied fruits, and oozing some sort of noxious liquid whenever you just slightly pressed on it to make sure it really wasn’t the steaming turd pile it totally looked like.

No way was I going to let my parents eat it, so I instead paid back the debt I owed them for their gift of life by stealing that damn fruitcake and feeding it to the birds in my yard, effectively committing animal cruelty eradicating its existence from the face of the planet. That’s right, I saved humanity by making it possible for us to live with one less fruitcake in the world. Give me a medal!

Sandwiched somewhere in the history of stupid debates no one should be having is whether it’s better for people to shower in the morning or at night–which is just dumb  because unless you want to be a disgusting swamp donkey that only showers in the morning and goes to bed covered in the filth you accumulated on your skin throughout the day, you shower at night. 

Such basic hygiene should be obvious to 100% of the population, but remarkably, it is not. I knew a guy in college who told me that he only showered in the morning because he believed the human body actually got dirtier during sleep than it does when it’s being active during the day. Yeah, I don’t know how the hell that’s possible either, but this guy claimed he read some scientific study that said a person sheds a ton of skin cells and sweats so much while they’re asleep that they wake up dirtier than they would be after a day of working, classes, using public restrooms, sitting in chairs other people have sat in, being around others who may have colds, etc. I’m not sure what scientific study it was that he read, but I’m pretty sure he found it in the book section of a Whole Foods, and the group being studied was a small population of diseased people who sweat pee and had skin made of sh*t. 

I hadn’t met anyone else who was exclusively a morning showerer (read: swamp donkey) other than that guy, so I assumed for years that he was an outlier within the otherwise clean, nighttime-showering population. Fast foward to a few weeks ago in  2018–when most of us were going through a heat wave–and I found that I was actually quite wrong. There is, in fact, another person in this world who only showers in the morning and she works at the bank I go to. And it was during a visit there that I had the misfortune of overhearing a conversation she was having with one of her coworkers:

First of all, let’s give props to the coworker because he was being incredibly nice the whole time when the appropriate reaction would have been to recoil in horror and run for the nearest HAZMAT suit. Secondly, OMG, THIS WOMAN SLEEPS IN HER OWN FILTH BECAUSE HER BED IS SO TAINTED AND NASTY THAT IT’S NO LONGER PRUDENT FOR HER TO TAKE SHOWERS AT NIGHT BEFORE SHE GOES TO SLEEP. And she seriously thought that was just fine because she then went on to explain her sad-ass hygiene habits to her other coworkers, and all of them said there was no way they could could live like that. One of them even went so far as to say, “Oh god, no.”

It’s not up for debate, people: TAKE YOUR FREAKING SHOWERS AT NIGHT.

So this sh*t popped up on my parents’ cell phones 25 minutes ago:

Which of course caused them and the thousands of other Hawaii residents who received the emergency text to panic. But according to the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency:

That’s nice. How about you f*cking announce this on the radio and television and whatever other media is available, instead of just posting this “Oops, our bad!” on Facebook?

F*CK YOU, HEMA! F*CK YOU! F*CK YOU! F*CK YOU!

UPDATE

Looks like an all-clear text was sent…

More than 30 minutes after the emergency text was sent. Thirty-f*cking-minutes! Unacceptable. F*CK YOU PEOPLE SOME MORE!

Halloween is tomorrow so yesterday I caved and decided to go buy some candy to give to all those raggedy-ass children that will show up at my door. I hate Halloween precisely for that reason—that I’m somehow obligated to buy candy with my own money to give to kids I have never seen before just because it’s October 31st. You want your kids to have candy on Halloween? Go buy it yourself. I have better things to do with my money…like, I don’t know, buy candy for myself.

So I say even though I dragged my ass to the supermarket on Sunday and begrudging bought the cheapest bag of candy I could find: a $20 bag of fun-sized chocolate candies. Twenty-f*cking-dollars. For 155 pieces of which I will most likely get to eat zero. GAH! That really pisses me off!

You know what? F*ck this. I’m not going to give any candy away this year. This year is my year to take a stand for what I believe in: Halloween candy is for the people who buy it. I bought those 155 pieces of chocolatey deliciousness, so why shouldn’t I get to enjoy them? I do when I buy candy on any of the 364 days of the year, right? October 31st shouldn’t be any different.

I’ve spent all day trying to figure out how I can get away with being the Grinch Who Stole Halloween without actually being known as the Grinch Who Stole Halloween—a Grinch on the DL, basically—and have managed to come up with two plans.

Anti-Halloween Plan #1: Make it Look Like I’m not Home

This one is a no-brainer: I’ll park my car on the street instead of in my garage, turn off all the lights in my house so that it looks like no one is home, and then spend the rest of evening pretending to be a method actor prepping for a role in a movie about post-Hurricane Maria life in Puerto Rico. No one is going to waste time visiting a house that is empty! It’s a school night! Haha! This plan is perfect!

…Wait a minute…Aren’t pedophiles supposed to do stuff like this to dissuade children from trick-or-treating at their houses? So by making it look like I wasn’t home in order to keep kids from hitting up my house and away from my precious candy, couldn’t it also potentially open me up to being labeled a pedophile house or something? And knowing my luck, my passive-aggressive attempt to make it clear that I am anti-Halloween ala Grandpa Get-Off-My-Lawn could actually have the unintended consequence of making me instead look like I’m pro-tricker-or-treater, a.k.a. Creepy Uncle Cho-Mo. (Yes, I watch a lot of prison documentaries…)

ARGH! This plan is a no-go.

Anti-Halloween Plan #2: Leave a Candy Basket Outside My Door

(Plot Twist: It’s Empty!)

Oooh, this plan would be great because I could accomplish two things: (1) I can show off this cute cat-shaped basket my sister gave me (Yes, that’s a basket I drew!) and make everyone who sees it totally jealous and wish they were dead, and (2) it would make me look like I was full of Halloween spirit and giving out candy, but oh no! Looks like I ran out and you children can go beg someone else for free stuff. Uwee hee!

…Ugh, who am I kidding? As if kids are going to see that empty basket go, “Looks like we missed our chance this year. Maybe next time.” Yeah, right. They’re not going to miss shaking down every single house they can find on Halloween because a missed out house means missed out candy. Doesn’t matter that they’ve been warned since birth about not taking candy from strangers, or how many times they’ve heard the horror stories of people giving out treats laced with glass or needles. Those kids are coming for your candy, and nothing—not the threat of danger or preservation of self-dignity—is going to keep them from getting what’s rightfully yours.

We all know it’s pretty much a given that kids are going to see my empty candy basket and go, “I bet there’s more in the house!” But haha! Guess what? Anti-Halloween Plan #2 actually has a nefarious secret Part B…yes, it’s so evil and heinous that the very thought of doing it should be considered a criminal offense, and so horrific that I’m literally hunched over my laptop like a comic book villain as I type this…

So what is this nightmarish Plan B?

CANDY CORN!!!! *Cackle!* *Cackle!*

That’s right! Those kids who don’t heed the warning of the empty cat-shaped basket and make the dire mistake ringing my doorbell in hopes that they can get free candy from me will instead receive candy corn! And not just one little bag because that’s not traumatizing enough–I’m giving them at least 10 bags each!

Bwahahahaha!!!! I told you it was evil!

Seriously, candy corns are the worst things you could ever give someone, period. They’re the f*ck you of candies, and probably invented to give adults a way to tell kids “I hate you” without saying it outright. I mean, first of all, it’s a candy that’s shaped to look like a corn niblet—which is f*cked up right there because who the hell wants candy shaped like a vegetable? Uh, no one, which is why you don’t see things like M&M’s Vegetable Garden Edition or Cadbury Crème Tomatoes.

Secondly, there is no way in hell that whoever invented candy corns was like, “These should be yellow and orange because that’s whimsical!” Hell no. Orange and yellow are the colors you usually see on things like traffic cones, crime scene tape and other items that are used to indicate things that should be avoided. Candy corns are yellow and orange, which makes them worse than radioactive waste, and therefore the best way to tell trick-or-treaters, “Don’t ever f*cking come here again.”

Mwahahaha!!! This is the plan I’m going with! And I’m not even going to put the candy corn in the basket because I want to see the horror and disappointment on their faces when I personally punish them for thinking I work my ass off to give them free candy.

Happy Halloween!

I think the Olympics are boring as sh*t…actually, no, I take that back, because I’ve actually taken dumps that were exponentially more entertaining than watching a bunch of runners, gymnasts, swimmers and horses do sh*t I don’t care about. I mean, one time I pooped a solid kernel that was a perfect circle. A. PERFECT. CIRCLE. Also, the diameter was slightly wider than my butt exit, so I was literally sitting on the toilet for, like, 20 minutes, hands clenched into tight fists and my face red and sweaty, as I tried to squeeze this petrified poop orb out of my butt. When I finally succeeded–OMG, it was like I won the freaking lottery–it was exhilarating and amazing, and without the downward spiral of drugs and murderous prostitutes that inevitably follows lottery winners.

And then right after I celebrated by throwing back fistfuls of fiber caps and several cups of Activia because as glorious as my epic fecal feat was, it had left my butt hole TORE UP.

Anyway, that’s how negatively I view the Olympics, i.e., I would rather anally give birth to a stone doot that shreds my anal walls on its slow way down than watch a minute of some athletes doing athletics.

I wrote this on my phone which is why there aren’t any Paint pictures, so instead, here’s an irrelevant picture of Scrambles with a Pokéball I put on her head.

I may or may not have made the Pokéball. If it looks awesome, I made it…if it looks terrible, Scrambles made it.

Is the phrase supposed to be “A whole other level” or “A whole nother level”? (Please don’t be nother…please don’t be nother…)