ARGH!
Take this booyah in yo’ face! I’m LACTOSE-TOLERANT, b*tch!
Thursday May 30, 2013
| As someone who is so mediocre I’m even mediocre at mediocrity, the chance to have a take-this-booyah-in-yo’-face-and-then-watch-me-toot-my-own-horn-while-showboating-like-a-pre-2006-NFL-player-who-not-only-just-scored-a-touchdown-but-also-managed-to-do-it-while-delivering-a-random-stranger’s-baby-and-reenacting-that-Pulp-Fiction-scene-where-Samuel-L.-Jackson-quotes-the-Bible-before-blowing-off-that-white-kid’s-face-all-at-the-same-time doesn’t come very often. I could count the number of times I’ve been able to brag about a certain achievement or accolade on just one hand. Narrow the criteria down to just legitimate accomplishments or accolades and I’d only need an amputee’s stump. And by amputee, I mean “ghost” or “fart in the wind.”
My severe lack of take-this-booyah-in-yo’-face rights has made me so desperate that I’ve had to resort to bragging about all sorts of random sh*t that no one would find impressive, like…
Or…
OMG…what’s this sh*tty feeling I have? Is it…Is it North Korea?! F*CK! Although my overall bragging track record is pretty weak, I think I may have finally discovered something that makes me so incredibly awesome that this one achievement alone will totally obliterate my record of FAIL. And here it is:
And another one!
And this was my immediate reaction:
That’s right! I’m part of the rare group of Asians whose asses don’t explode after they drink milk! Don’t even try that “All Asians look the same” butt-sh*t if you don’t recognize me in a room with 9 other Asians when I’m the only one chugging milk.
I’m a hardcore dairy junkie, yo! I gnaw on blocks of cheese for fun, and then wash it all down with what? Melted cheese! Did someone say Lactaid? What the f*ck?! Do I look like I drink bullsh*t? Because Lactaid is the bullsh*t of milk! I only drink milk-milk, foo! That punk-ass lactose enzyme ain’t got sh*t on me because my small intestine’s a motha f*cking lactase-producing machine! When lactose comes all up in there, my small intestine’s all, “B*TCH! This my house!” and then lactase-slaps that f*cker so hard even Mama Lactose feels it! No, I’m not going nuts over nothing! Being a lactose-tolerant Asian is a huge deal! I mean, hello! Did you not see the statistics that might’ve come from a questionably-reliable website? We’re just a measly 10% of the Asian population! We’re minorities within the minority! Double minorities! Oh sh*t, you know what else? I’m also bad a math! A lactose-tolerant Asian that sucks at math?! That makes me, like, a freak of nature an endangered species or something, right? So of course I’m going to milk (mwaha!) this sh*t for all it’s worth. The second I sense an opportunity to show off my dairy-digesting prowess, I’m taking it hand-over-fist.
MWAHAHA! WIN! Posted 5/30/2013 at 2:19 PM
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10 Comments
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Maybe there’s a connection between lactose intolerance and math ability- got milk, no got math? Haha. If those percentages are accurate, I’m surprised the dairy industry is as big as it is. |
If Facebook Had a F*ck Off Button
Wednesday April 17, 2013
| Hey Facebook! I know you’re busy trying to break into the cell phone market, but could you please divert some time into making this happen first?
GAWD DAMN! I need this button badly. Just thinking about it is enough to make me pee and poop myself silly with glee. My productivity would go down, but my Facebook usage would go way up because I’d be on it 24/7 and partying like an awesomely awesome passive-aggressive Facebook-hater-drunk-on-Haterade of awesomeoness! And I already know which posts I would use it on most. Sick-Baby Posts
I can’t draw, so you’re going to have to imagine the black tornado of death is a picture of a sick baby. I hate these…Well no, sorry, I don’t hate them. What I feel is actually worse than hate, but there isn’t a word to describe it so I’ll just go with hate^hate. That’s right: hate to the power of hate. And what’s not to hate^hate, people? Some asshat got a picture of a sick and/or dying baby that has a breathing tube in its mouth (cleft lip), an IV in its right arm (left one was amputated), and is surrounded by ominous-looking monitors and medical equipment. Freakin’ Stevie Wonder could look at that picture and would know immediately that the poor kid needs a doctor or two. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything in there that screams, “The spring of eternal life is here!” You can’t help but feel sympathy for the little guy, and you’re going to at least hope he gets the care he needs. But then you read the next sentence and your hopes are trampled by a herd of rabid wildebeests…
And then some sort of bullsh*t quote is thrown in at the end because the poster really wants to sound deep and thoughtful, and not like the attention-hungry douchebag he really is.
Oooh! Three exclamation marks? Now I’m even more inspired… …To tell you to F*CK OFF!!! First of all, if you’re going to rely on these types of posts to get “Likes” then you might as well just say, “Please ‘Like’ my post because I need copious amounts of attention to validate my existence.” That’s the message the Sick-Baby Post gives off anyway, but at least you’re upfront about your douchebaggery. I’d actually be more likely to “Like” the upfront post because I find honesty refreshing. Secondly, how retarded are you for thinking the rest of us are so retarded that we can’t see through the sheet o’ sh*t you’re trying to pull? No, really, how the hell would this scenario make any sense?
And this scenario doesn’t make sense either!
Who the f*ck is this doctor? Dr. Pepper? Doc Martens? Oops…almost got caught being a motherf*cker who forgot about (Dr.) Dre! No one is buying your sorry excuse for altruism, dumb ass, so either post something worthy of the “Likes” you so desperately need to survive or F*CK OFF! TIRED-ASS QUOTES
I’d probably be a lot more receptive to Tired-Ass Quote posts if the quotes weren’t so tired-ass, i.e., they weren’t the same ones that were already posted millions of times over. Seriously, if you built your world around Facebook, you’d think the Bible only consisted of the book of Genesis, ten Psalms, and pages with nothing but one-liners or “Moses” written all over the place. You’d also believe Gandhi was the only person who ever said anything inspirational, and that Romeo and Juliet was Shakespeare’s only play. Another way to put it: If you played a drinking game where you took a shot of Mike’s Hard Lemonade every time someone posted a tired-ass quote between the hours of 8 a.m. and 9 a.m., you would die of alcohol poisoning. Alcohol poisoning from Mike’s Hard Lemonade, people, a beverage in which the only thing hard about it is the bottle it came in! You know what quotes I’d like to see? Engrish ones—like, the really bad, doesn’t-make-any-sense English that’s haphazardly thrown onto Asian products. The best ones I’ve ever come across were on fireworks labels. Don’t tell you me you wouldn’t be all over my page-nuts if I put up something like this:
Get some new quotes or F*CK OFF! Honorable Mention: “So True!” Comments on Tired-Ass Quote Posts It’s only two words, but it’s still tired as hell…and that’s “So true!” PICTURES OF FOOD
No one gives a sh*t about what you’re eating, so spare us the photos of your breakfast sandwich, the apple you had for lunch (especially if you’ve got some pathetic caption like, “My sad-ass lunch! 😦” because if you can work a cell phone, you can grab something to go along with that apple, okay?), the candy you had as a snack, and whatever the hell else you ate throughout the day. No one gives a sh*t about what you’re eating, period. The only time someone might remotely give a sh*t is if you’re eating an ice cream sundae made of Chupacabra blood and has Tyrion Lannisters dancing on top of it because (1) who wouldn’t love some Tyrion Lannister on ice cream? No one, obviously, and (2) that would be a f*cked up sundae that most people have probably never seen before (unless they live near a Mexican drug town). But the ice cream sundae you posted a picture of isn’t made of Chupacabra blood, is it? And it doesn’t look like there are any Tyrion Lannisters dancing on top of it, does it? No, it’s just regular ice cream topped with some sort of regular syrup, regular nuts, regular whipped cream and a regular cherry—i.e., the same f*cking sundae everyone else has seen many times before. I get it. Some people may be thinking “But this sundae was huge!” or “This is how they do sundaes in Vegas!”—but to them I say, “F*CK OFF!” No Chupacabra blood ice cream + no dancing Tyrion Lannisters = no giving a sh*t!
*sigh* The dream that Facebook might let us have a F*CK OFF button is one that will never come true, so I guess I’m going to have to rely on the next best thing: ┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐ Ugh…it’s just not the same… Posted 4/17/2013 at 10:11 PM
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22 Comments
Tuesday April 9, 2013
| I think I’ve been pretty vocal about not wanting to have kids anytime soon, but in case I haven’t already said enough, here’s the rundown on where I am in terms of motherhood and maternity: I want kids like I want AIDS. That sounds pretty mean, but it’s a response that tends to get my point across while also killing off the follow-up question “Why not?” before it can even be asked. And you know that one’s coming if you say anything along the lines of “I don’t want children right now” because for some reason, people with kids will interpret that as “I want children right now, I just don’t know it.”The worst offenders are parents who are within your age group because they seem to be most interested in making sure everyone who is about as old as they are has at least one child. Seriously, they are the worst. I don’t know what it is, but they’re always like, “Having kids is the best thing I’ve ever done,” and then they get really door-to-door religious-salespeople on your ass and try to convince their childfree friends to join their cult.
Count me out. I just took my do-I-want-kids litmus test and the results came back a resounding “HELL NO”… By “litmus test” I mean “I met my cousin’s one year-old daughter,” and by “HELL NO” I mean “I would rather drive a rusty nail through my left eyeball than spend another second with that.” And my left eye is the one that doesn’t have astigmatism! Yes, it’s the good eye! But I’m not kidding when I say this: My cousin’s kid was a freakin’ monster. She was super demanding, always trying to grab at things and throwing awful screaming fits whenever she couldn’t get her way. It was a nightmare being around her. And this little girl is related to me by blood, people, by blood! So I went in already liking her just by virtue of our family ties–and yet she still managed to not only make me dislike her, but also dislike the prospect of having children of my own. Seeing as how I can’t stand kids I’m actually related to, I take that as a sign that I’m not ready to be a parent. It’s going to come up eventually, though. That’s usually the way things work after marriage, right? Great… I’ve got a few ways of handling it though…kind of like conversational ninjutsu that lets you say “yuck” without actually saying “yuck.” THE CONVERSATION I imagine it will start out like this… (Yes, I drew him as a hamburger and not a half-assed stick figure. Why? Because I love hamburgers!)
Strategy 1: Wait it out and then answer the question you would’ve preferred to have been asked instead.
Strategy 2: Get all social issue-y and then bust out the Discrimination Card.
Strategy 3: When in doubt, there’s always Halle Berry.
BWA HAHAHAHA! WIN (?)! Posted 4/9/2013 at 9:42 PM
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23 Comments
R u gonna be one of those crazy cat ladies later on in life?
Don’t u want little ones with triangle dresses and rectangle pants!
Saturday March 30, 2013
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Posted 3/30/2013 at 6:36 PM
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22 Comments
Do the kitties like dragons!
Saturday February 2, 2013
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Which I guess could be the same thing…? Posted 2/2/2013 at 3:47 PM
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52 Comments
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Congrats Congratulations!!! Beautiful backdrop & picture. I love your dress and veil combo. They look amazing on you. |
Marriage is quite an adventure.Tuesday November 13, 2012
| Hello, Xanga! I have returned! Not that it really matters since I was only gone for about 3 weeks or something. I was attending a destination wedding in Hawaii, but decided to stay a few weeks longer since that is actually where I’m originally from and where my parents still live. You know, because they really seemed to miss having a free-loader around.
A bit of drama involving my cousin and her boyfriend came up while I was away though, the details of which kind of bother me so I really would like to hear your insight on whether I’m just imagining things and need to calm the hell down. This all started about a week before I left for Hawaii, when I received an e-mail with the subject “Hello Sylvia” sent from someone whom I will refer to as Apple. I didn’t know who this Apple was, and didn’t want to open the message for fear that it would unleash some kind of crazy cyber attack that would wreak havoc on my computer and spread its evilness to all the people in my address book. Yes, I have zero knowledge of how computers and computer viruses work. But after I did a quick search on Apple’s name and found a bunch of Linked In profiles–none of which were of people who had “shady computer hacker” listed as an occupation–I thought, “I can view this e-mail without fear!” (See previous “I have zero knowledge of how computers and computer viruses work” comment above). When I opened the e-mail, however, all I saw was this:
Okay, no–that’s not really what the text looked like. It was actually written in Chinese and not little pictures of a sumo wrestler, geisha, and other icons depicting the bastardized notion of Japanese culture. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t just use Chinese text when I threw that image together, it’s because I can’t read Chinese. And thanks to my illiteracy, my initial reaction to this e-mail was, “Nigerian scam written in Chinese!” and “I bet it says this!”
Pretty freakin’ sad, I know, but points for throwing in “swamp donkey”? Maybe? While I might be illiterate in both computers and Chinese, I was at least capable of knowing that my interpretation of what the e-mail said was all sorts of wrong. So I cut-and-pasted the text into Google Translate and was able to figure out from the really bad English translation that Apple was actually my cousin’s–let’s call her Orange–boyfriend, and wanted to ask her to marry him for. He knew that Orange and her mom (my aunt–a.k.a. “Aunt Orange’s Mom”) were going to be attending the same wedding that I was (Orange was a bridesmaid), and came up with a plan to surprise Orange by showing up right before the ceremony and proposing to her. His window of opportunity was limited because his flight back to Taiwan was later that afternoon, and he had to leave immediately for the airport afterwards. But he had never been to Hawaii before and did not know how he could make it to the ceremony in time. He was therefore hoping I could help him by fine-tuning the details so that everything would be perfectly timed. Apple sounded sincere, and I thought his plan was very romantic and something my cousin–who is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet–definitely deserved. The problem, however, came in one of the final lines of the e-mail, when he asked me to keep this a secret not only from Orange (obviously) but also Aunt Orange’s Mom (*alarm bells*). Okay, I get the part about keeping Orange out of the loop because the point of Apple’s plan was to surprise her, but to ask me not tell her mom anything did not sit well with me. Sure, maybe Apple was afraid that my aunt would be too excited to keep the surprise from her daughter, but something in me made me believe that wasn’t his reason. It felt much more likely that Apple didn’t want me to say anything because he knew my aunt didn’t like him. And if my suspicions were correct, then (1) Apple had not gotten approval from Orange’s parents but was going to propose anyway, (2) I would be enabling this disrespect if I helped him, and (3) if my aunt didn’t like him, what if my cousin didn’t either? What if she and Apple were actually exes, and this surprise thing was Apple’s way of winning her back? I wasn’t sure how to respond to Apple’s e-mail, so I instead took the politician’s route and “kicked the can down the road”–i.e., I called my mom for help. She and Aunt Orange’s Mom are sisters, so I knew she would be able to handle it better than I could.
In the end, my mom thought it would be best for Apple to propose in Taiwan instead of Hawaii. It wasn’t because she thought he was crazy or anything; she just wasn’t sure if we would be able to help him at all because all of us were already going to be really busy that week, and it would be difficult for us to help him perfectly time his surprise when our own schedules were going to be constantly changing. Plus, Orange was in the bridal party so even if Apple was able to arrive before the ceremony started, there was a strong possibility that he would still not be able to see her because she would be taking pictures, or lining up for the processional or something. The chances of Apple’s plan not succeeding were much too great, and my mom just didn’t think it would be fair for Apple or Orange to have their engagement moment be anything less than perfect. (My mom is obviously a lot more positive than I am…) Anyway, Apple agreed with my mom, told her he would revise his plan so that he could propose in Taiwan instead, and hoped to meet us the next time we were in town since he no longer had to fly to Hawaii. I felt like a total ass afterwards. Fast forward to the day Orange and Aunt Orange’s Mom arrived in Hawaii. My mom was outside waiting for them to exit the airport and drive them to their hotel, but just when she spotted them, a young man dressed in a suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers quickly walked over to Orange and asked:
It was Apple! He had reworked his plan so that the timing thing was no longer an issue! How sweet! And of course, Orange accepted. How the hell could she not, right?
Now, at this point in the story–which was told to me by my mom because I wasn’t there at the time–I thought Apple was a really decent and nice guy, and was happy knowing that Orange would be marrying someone who seemed to really care about her. But then this sh*t went down, as did my opinions of the guy whom I will now refer to as Asshat Apple.
That’s some heinous f*ckery right there! Nine hundred dollars?! That’s a lot of money for anyone–friend, family, fiance–to be borrowing, and the person who is asking for it is automatically an asshat until proven otherwise! …Right? To be honest, I desperately want to be wrong about this guy. I want someone to tell me that I’m just overreacting because Orange is a member of my family and I want her to only have the best things in life. But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not a good person. So which one is it: Should I be wary of Apple’s intentions or just calm the hell down? It’s not like I’m going to say anything because it’s not really my business, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry, you know? Posted 11/13/2012 at 3:37 PM
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27 Comments
Tuesday November 13, 2012
| Hello, Xanga! I have returned! Not that it really matters since I was only gone for about 3 weeks or something. I was attending a destination wedding in Hawaii, but decided to stay a few weeks longer since that is actually where I’m originally from and where my parents still live. You know, because they really seemed to miss having a free-loader around.
A bit of drama involving my cousin and her boyfriend came up while I was away though, the details of which kind of bother me so I really would like to hear your insight on whether I’m just imagining things and need to calm the hell down. This all started about a week before I left for Hawaii, when I received an e-mail with the subject “Hello Sylvia” sent from someone whom I will refer to as Apple. I didn’t know who this Apple was, and didn’t want to open the message for fear that it would unleash some kind of crazy cyber attack that would wreak havoc on my computer and spread its evilness to all the people in my address book. Yes, I have zero knowledge of how computers and computer viruses work. But after I did a quick search on Apple’s name and found a bunch of Linked In profiles–none of which were of people who had “shady computer hacker” listed as an occupation–I thought, “I can view this e-mail without fear!” (See previous “I have zero knowledge of how computers and computer viruses work” comment above). When I opened the e-mail, however, all I saw was this:
Okay, no–that’s not really what the text looked like. It was actually written in Chinese and not little pictures of a sumo wrestler, geisha, and other icons depicting the bastardized notion of Japanese culture. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t just use Chinese text when I threw that image together, it’s because I can’t read Chinese. And thanks to my illiteracy, my initial reaction to this e-mail was, “Nigerian scam written in Chinese!” and “I bet it says this!”
Pretty freakin’ sad, I know, but points for throwing in “swamp donkey”? Maybe? While I might be illiterate in both computers and Chinese, I was at least capable of knowing that my interpretation of what the e-mail said was all sorts of wrong. So I cut-and-pasted the text into Google Translate and was able to figure out from the really bad English translation that Apple was actually my cousin’s–let’s call her Orange–boyfriend, and wanted to ask her to marry him for. He knew that Orange and her mom (my aunt–a.k.a. “Aunt Orange’s Mom”) were going to be attending the same wedding that I was (Orange was a bridesmaid), and came up with a plan to surprise Orange by showing up right before the ceremony and proposing to her. His window of opportunity was limited because his flight back to Taiwan was later that afternoon, and he had to leave immediately for the airport afterwards. But he had never been to Hawaii before and did not know how he could make it to the ceremony in time. He was therefore hoping I could help him by fine-tuning the details so that everything would be perfectly timed. Apple sounded sincere, and I thought his plan was very romantic and something my cousin–who is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet–definitely deserved. The problem, however, came in one of the final lines of the e-mail, when he asked me to keep this a secret not only from Orange (obviously) but also Aunt Orange’s Mom (*alarm bells*). Okay, I get the part about keeping Orange out of the loop because the point of Apple’s plan was to surprise her, but to ask me not tell her mom anything did not sit well with me. Sure, maybe Apple was afraid that my aunt would be too excited to keep the surprise from her daughter, but something in me made me believe that wasn’t his reason. It felt much more likely that Apple didn’t want me to say anything because he knew my aunt didn’t like him. And if my suspicions were correct, then (1) Apple had not gotten approval from Orange’s parents but was going to propose anyway, (2) I would be enabling this disrespect if I helped him, and (3) if my aunt didn’t like him, what if my cousin didn’t either? What if she and Apple were actually exes, and this surprise thing was Apple’s way of winning her back? I wasn’t sure how to respond to Apple’s e-mail, so I instead took the politician’s route and “kicked the can down the road”–i.e., I called my mom for help. She and Aunt Orange’s Mom are sisters, so I knew she would be able to handle it better than I could.
In the end, my mom thought it would be best for Apple to propose in Taiwan instead of Hawaii. It wasn’t because she thought he was crazy or anything; she just wasn’t sure if we would be able to help him at all because all of us were already going to be really busy that week, and it would be difficult for us to help him perfectly time his surprise when our own schedules were going to be constantly changing. Plus, Orange was in the bridal party so even if Apple was able to arrive before the ceremony started, there was a strong possibility that he would still not be able to see her because she would be taking pictures, or lining up for the processional or something. The chances of Apple’s plan not succeeding were much too great, and my mom just didn’t think it would be fair for Apple or Orange to have their engagement moment be anything less than perfect. (My mom is obviously a lot more positive than I am…) Anyway, Apple agreed with my mom, told her he would revise his plan so that he could propose in Taiwan instead, and hoped to meet us the next time we were in town since he no longer had to fly to Hawaii. I felt like a total ass afterwards. Fast forward to the day Orange and Aunt Orange’s Mom arrived in Hawaii. My mom was outside waiting for them to exit the airport and drive them to their hotel, but just when she spotted them, a young man dressed in a suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers quickly walked over to Orange and asked:
It was Apple! He had reworked his plan so that the timing thing was no longer an issue! How sweet! And of course, Orange accepted. How the hell could she not, right?
Now, at this point in the story–which was told to me by my mom because I wasn’t there at the time–I thought Apple was a really decent and nice guy, and was happy knowing that Orange would be marrying someone who seemed to really care about her. But then this sh*t went down, as did my opinions of the guy whom I will now refer to as Asshat Apple.
That’s some heinous f*ckery right there! Nine hundred dollars?! That’s a lot of money for anyone–friend, family, fiance–to be borrowing, and the person who is asking for it is automatically an asshat until proven otherwise! …Right? To be honest, I desperately want to be wrong about this guy. I want someone to tell me that I’m just overreacting because Orange is a member of my family and I want her to only have the best things in life. But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not a good person. So which one is it: Should I be wary of Apple’s intentions or just calm the hell down? It’s not like I’m going to say anything because it’s not really my business, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry, you know? Posted 11/13/2012 at 3:37 PM
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27 Comments
Saturday October 20, 2012
| I’ve always considered children’s drawings to just be fugly by default, but I didn’t realize how truly heinous they can be until two days ago, when I was first introduced to a company called Child’s Own Studios. Child’s Own Studios makes custom plush toys based on kids’ drawings. If you think this sounds like a terrible business concept, you are not alone. The first thing I thought was, “This is doomed to fail.” Let’s be honest here: children can’t draw for sh*t. You know this, I know this–anyone who’s ever seen a child’s drawing knows that 99.9999% of all kids’ art is really bad. Like, you could be looking at what you think is a crayon sketch of some monster straight out of a Guillermo del Toro movie, only to find out that it’s a kid’s attempt at drawing a circle.
Considering all the sh*tty children’s drawings I’ve seen, it was hard to believe that any parent would willingly pay money to turn his or her kid’s nightmarish pictures into nightmarish toys. So when I checked out the Child’s Own website yesterday, I was expecting to see an “Under Construction” banner that was put up in the early 2000s, or a message like “We are no longer in business because our idea was awful.” I didn’t, however, see either of those things on the website. In fact, Child’s Own didn’t just survive; it was actually thriving. You might be thinking, “Well, not all children’s drawings are sh*t storms on paper. There are talented kids who can actually draw out there.” And indeed, I found two drawings that were quite impressive, and turned out to make pretty cute stuffed animals. An 8-year-old’s dragon:
I would actually buy this for myself. An 11-year-old’s dog:
Wait, did I say I found two drawings impressive drawings? I meant I only found two. Yes, there were only two decent pictures on the entire site. The rest of them were pretty much what you’d expect of typical kids’ art–i.e., fugly as hell. As for the plush toy versions, those were literally some of the most f*cked up things I’ve ever seen…And now they will become the most f*cked up things you will ever see. Artist #1, Age 5
Okay, this is either supposed to be (1) a person sexually assaulting a horrified human-ficus hybrid, or (2) a deleted scene from “Powder” in which Powder discovers that the giant cyst on his left shoulder and hand-shaped skin flaps covering his nipples were really the head and arms of his symbiotic twin, Crack. I looked at this and was like, “This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” but then I saw this:
What the f*ck is that?! And really, the best thing you could do to cut the creepy out of the drawing was to make two plush toys instead of one?! Why not throw in some free therapy sessions while you’re at it, because that’s what this kid is going to need when he sees these f*cked up things in the dark! Artist #2: Age 10
I’m guessing the only reason why the kid named this beast Mud was because he wasn’t aware of the word “sh*tty.” It appears that Mud was a plesiosaurus who got too close to a narwhal, crocodile, a colony of marine tube worms, and the Fukushima I Nuclear Power Plant. And look! The kid even drew arrows to point out the burns Mud suffered when he came in contact with nuclear waste. As if Mud’s life isn’t already bad enough, he also can’t afford a dentist and therefore must live with five rotted-ass teeth and four yellow ones that are on the verge of joining them. Here is Mud as a plush toy:
On the one hand, I have to give props to Child’s Own for replacing Mud’s jacked up coal-teeth with porcelain veneers. On the other hand, he’s still Mud. And on the third hand, if we sent a 100 of these to Iran, it would be more than enough to convince them to kill their nuclear program. Artist #3, Age 9
Noooooooooooooooooooo!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Artist #4, Age 5
First of all, is this a homework sheet or something? Because it says “F Words” at the top, so I assume this was used to teach children the alphabet. Secondly, a good indicator that your child’s school isn’t cutting it is when—of all the f-words he could have gone with—he chooses “fart”…not “flower,” “frog,” or “fire,” but “fart.” And then he draws a backwards ass that is farting piss. As if this picture wasn’t enough of an abomination, here it is as a plush toy:
Yes, someone paid for this…with real money. What the f*ck?! And not only that, why the f*ck?! It doesn’t help that Child’s Own fixed the backwards ass problem. I mean, look at it! It’s farting yellow tulle! Imagine how a kid would look hugging a fuchsia-colored butt with legs and feet, and seemingly frozen in time mid-piss/fart. Now imagine that same kid also hugging the stuffed human-ficus monster/Powder and Crack tag team. Why? Because they were both drawn by the same child. Bleach! I need bleach! My eyes need cleansing! Posted 10/20/2012 at 7:37 AM
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36 Comments
It’s a good way to keep fostering creativity in a child. I am not against that at all.
@chronic_masticator – You crack me up girl! Hahahaha 
Tuesday October 2, 2012
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Posted 10/2/2012 at 9:45 PM
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22 Comments
Thursday September 20, 2012
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Posted 9/20/2012 at 2:8 PM
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13 Comments
absolutangel64 