When there's nothing else better to write about...
I can't think of one damn thing to write about except for my new favorite word, "fucktard" (thanks, Clay!). Everything is now fucktarded and everyone is now a fucktard. (Except, of course, for me and anything I do. But, that probably went without saying...since I'm perfect and my shit don't stink. Duh.)
The jackass in the black truck who blocked two lanes of traffic on Jones Rd. this afternoon trying to make an illegal left turn, causing me to swerve and almost friggen kill myself due to being smashed to bits by oncoming traffic....fucktard.
The cop who thought it was prudent to ride up my ass for 5 miles just waiting for me to goof up so he could flash his lights (which let's face it, might as well be his big blue balls up there waiting to explode around his pencil dick)....fucktard.
The pimple-faced-idiot working the cash register at the pharmacy who thought it was ok to ask if the tampons I was buying "work good"....fucktarded fucktard.
The doctor (and master of the friggen obvious) who likes to point out that I'm overweight like I'm so goddamned delusional that I couldn't figure that one out for myself....fucktard.
And finally, the genius with the wrong number who keeps calling my cellphone just in case it magically turns into the number of the poor bitch he's desperate to talk to...fucktard:
Me: Hello, again.
Me: Nope, you STILL have the wrong number. Face it, buddy, that chic played you.
Genius: Are you sure there's no Jennifer there?
Me: Uhm...let me check AGAIN....yes, I'm sure.
Genius: But this is the number she gave me.
Me: Ok...well, she gave you the wrong number. Sorry.
Genius: Really? I don't think so. Let me try it again. *click*
WTF!? Is this fucktard for real? Maybe he has some loose screws...the lights are on but no one's home...he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer....
Me: Dude. YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER.
Genius: Is Jennifer there?
Me: AHHHHHHHHH! You're a fucktard.
Me: A fucktard.
Genius: Is Jennifer there?
Me: *sigh* Nope, she died yesterday....she had massive hemorrhoid flare ups that ruptured and killed her.
Genius: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Is she going to be ok?
Me: Yeah, she's chillin up there with baby Jesus. She said to tell you to fuck off.
Genius: Can I leave a message for her?
Me: Not with me, honey...I'm probably going to hell. *click*
I blocked him from calling when I finally gave up trying to convince him that he's a fucktard. Some people are simply clueless and don't have the capacity to understand just how fucktardish they really are. A guess that's why I'm here...to enlighten all the fucktards. Hell must be a million dollar mansion full of super hot men and bad ass fat chics with tattoos and killer handbags.