before we begin, join me in the study. put on your finest smoking jacket. i’ll pour us each a generous helping of whisky. now, let’s boot up internet explorer (just kidding, come back) and browse the most horrifying, depressing thoughts that the shockingly real dredges of society have to offer. these stories are absolutely fucking copied verbatim. join me now as we read through…

TALES OF CRAIGSLIST!

i wish i was making up…  EXHIBIT A:
“Gender Neutral Bathrooms (Best Idea Ever)
God I love leaving a huge stink log in the “gender neutral” bathroom for hot chicks viewing enjoyment when I leave.”

hey, don’t forget that that guy votes. here’s… EXHIBIT B:
“Why do homeless people get so mad when I suggest… (WHY DONT YOU GET A JOB!)
When homeless people ask me for money, I suggest getting a job and they get so pissed! WHY?

definitely weird, i agree. on to… EXHIBIT C:
“FRED!! take andrew to small claims court
now go get a judgment,,, you can do it yourself, you don’t need a lawyer.

…and we don’t care.”

it seems that neither fred, andrew, nor the poster have discovered the magic of texting just yet. i hope they at least figure out e-mail soon — communicating through craiglist is… how to put this? stupid as fuck. but hey, “stupid as fuck” seems to be the mantra of craigslist posters. keep on providing me with free entertainment and cynicism, you wonderful wastes of oxygen! join us again next time on: TALES OF CRAIGSLIST

i was gonna arbitrarily practice my PIT manuvers and hit your car, luckily i saw your ‘baby on board’ sign. i also radioed my friend two miles up the five to pull the spike strips off the freeway. just in time.

thanks for letting me know you have a child in your car, i’ll hit your car less now. oh wait, i wasn’t hitting it before. come to think of it, i don’t purposefully hit most cars i drive by… huh. well thanks for letting me know your child is in your car as you cut me off by a foot while moving across two lanes of traffic with no turn signals. i very much care about the safety of your child.

i’m in denial that my eight year old computer is close to death and full of russian porn viruses (my windows defender can’t find them if they use made up letters like ‘ж’, which is fonetically pronounced ‘niekitashimlovum’ and replaces the english letter ‘b’). thanks putin, i don’t even vote, you fucking shill.

so i’m going through my installed apps and striking them from my hard drive like old testament god killing those who were faithful to him and women who were cheated on by their husbands, when i find ‘Microsoft Solitaire Collection’. 16 fucking kilobytes of my precious space, this thing uses. how long has this FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT been FREE-LOADING on my hard drive?

but i realized that, although a piece of fuck that no-one wants, the solitaire collection will actually serve a great dual-purpose as a litmus test when john carpenter’s the thing is finally unfrozen and takes over our earth. if you walk into an office and see your co-worker playing microsoft solitaire collection ™, do not panic. follow these steps:

1. do not panic. OK panic a little, but be cool baby and follow these steps:
2. leave the room immediately
3. get that ‘just in case’ gun from your desk that you bought when jerry was forced to retire for that weird joke no one talks about
4. wait outside the office until your co-worker completes a full solitaire — they will be entranced for exactly one minute and twenty-nine seconds while the cards bounce down. this is your chance.
5. paint their fucking cubicle with their alien gray matter.
6. oh god i was thinking of ‘they live’, not ‘the thing’.
7. you have to burn the aliens from the thing, and you picked a bad day to quit smoking. just run, you can’t kill these aliens.

although in all honesty, we don’t have to wait for john carpetner to be unfrozen. if you ever walk into my room and i’m playing microsoft solitaire collection ™ (16.0kb), go ahead and blow my head off anyway. safe to assume i’m done living at that point.

you know bold pidgeon. if you’ve ever sat outside at a city restaurant or coffe shop, you’ve met. bold pidgeon walks confidently under your table and searches for his share. most trash birds will flutter away with a little movement or a stern look. they doubt themselves. their self-esteem is fragile. but not bold pidgeon.

bold pigeon is taller and fatter than all the other trash collectors, because he goes forth unafraid and stakes his claim. his feathers are ruffled because he’s been kicked more than a few times, but has not changed his strategy. while lesser pidgeons watch from afar, bold pidgon strides forward and briefly, gently touches against your leg, making you feel as though you want to brush at your leg but also you don’t want to touch it.

bold pideon is american. he is manifest destiny and the american dream rolled into one fat ball of germs and grimy feathers. he doesn’t shoo, he doesn’t back down. he takes his kicks and goes back for seconds. that’s why i salute bold pidgeon when he touches my leg and i feel dirty the rest of the day. i kick him yes, but i also nod at him respectfully before i walk away, acknowledging his american tenacious spirit.

next time you’re at work thinking about asking for that raise, in line thinking about telling off that old lady who cut you, or at the park and you see someone drop a good size piece of bagel on the ground and you kind of want it, close your eyes and channel the spirit of bold pidgeon. feel the american spirit fill your soul and ruffle your feathers. and you go and you get that bagel, ’cause it landed cream cheese up and that’s perfectly edible in our books.

SHE NEVER FUCKING INVESTS IN ANYTHING. how much is she getting paid just to say “i’m out”? no wonder she’s rich, let me sit on the shark tank and get free dope ass products that’ll never see mainstream use and i’ll make up some bullshit reason before saying “i’m out” too. plus when the entreepenours leave the tank, i’ll a) call kevin a never before spoken insult that can be copywrighted by ABC, and b) flirt with lori for some much needed romantic tension for the show.

ABC, i know you frequently read this blog, give me a chance. don’t make me have to invent a product to get on your show. lori isn’t responding to my tweets but i know i could be a shark. wouldn’t that be the shark tank pitch of the century? give me your job barbara, you miserly fuck.

i had to destroy a spider’s web to take out the trash. the web was enormous, it probably took 36 hours to make, which in spider hours clocks in at just under 2.7 years. that poor goddam schmuck. i didn’t kill the spider ’cause i don’t seek to vent my frustrations about life on small harmless creatures — i just broke his web down with the empty pizza box and set him on the fence.

but he didn’t run away. he just sat there.

and i realized he was experiencing the same emotional crisis i do when i’ve been working on my willem dafoe fan fiction for 9 hours straight and forgot to save before my computer crashes. then i just sit there and realize i wasted hours upon hours of my life creating something that will never fully be re-accomplished. even when i was done taking out all the pizza boxes, he was still sitting there. just contemplating every decision he had made in his life leading up to that point.

then as i turned to go inside, i saw a small spider hiding behind a potted plant on the porch. he was only a fraction of the size of the other spider. his web was so small. but he was happy, safe, and catching bugs. his web didn’t have to be huge for him to survive. he didn’t worry about being the biggest spider in my backyard. he just… existed. and that was enough.

so i destroyed his web too, ’cause life is chaos and no one gets a break on my watch.

nobody consulted me on this. i seen like three pairs of overalls a day when i go out, and this is (pardon me while i format)

FUCKING

UNACCEPTABLE

do you people have no GODDAMN SHAME? yeah i wore overalls a few times… when i was like three years old in the 90’s and had only like 0.45% say in what i wore (literally had to SHIT myself to get a different outfit). you FUCKS have NO business wearing overalls of your own free will, that is disgusting. these are the same oxygen-wasting people who think vaccinations give you autism. we had eradicated overalls with vaccinations and you dumb fucks brought it back. i hate every single one of you.

except for that hot chick i seen who wore overalls with no shirt, that was cool.

you always say you’re gonna plan ahead and then a week before the ‘ween, you’re scrambling around with all these great ideas but no time to make the costume. yeah, that would be cool if you dressed up as optimal prime or whatever fucking stupid technoporn character stars in whatever CGI trainwreck michael bay is releasing next (maybe literally, he is so fucking up his own ass he’d release a three-hour film of a CGI trainwreck. bet.)

too bad you wait ’til you actually get the FB invite to kristy’s halloween party to even think about costumes. you’ll fuck it up again this year, we all know you. so don’t fucking scroll, don’t fucking close your broswer, don’t fucking walk away from your phone or computer, until you’ve decided on a halloween costume. you know we demand excellence. how many years are you gonna use that shitty wig and construction paper and go as “three-hole-punch jim”? that joke is wearing thin, just like that wig.

anyway, fuck michael bay.

i don’t know why i put a question mark in the title, snapchat is absolutely photoshop for lazy narcissists. i’m not here acting like i’ve never photoshopped out the jared leto tattoo i have on my neck for my linkedin picture, but i actually fuckin’ put in work to learn photoshop like the “go-getter” narcissist that i am.

ever since people realized the “chat” portion of “snapchat” is useless and every single social media app does their service better, snapchat was like “oh fuk we gotta EVOLVE baby” and added filters for women on dating apps.

and this is how we get a lean mean beautifying machine that rivals adobe’s stalin-esque (apologies to stalin) hold on the digital image medium. that’s how people still have snapchat on their phones, despite it being less than useless. thanks for listening to my TEDtalk on longevity in the digital ADHD age. in summary, stop fucking “texting” me on snapchat, it’s worse than drawing a laugh emoji on a pidgeon and throwing it in the relative cardinal direction of my house.

except when the fuck we want it differently
’cause we’re goddamn americans
english is chaos, only the strong survive FUCK YOU WE’RE SPEAKING