Quinten... You da man!

Inglorious Basterds was both inglorious and bastardly. Of course, I mean this in its most flattering of definitions.

The movie was sah-weeet.

Thanks, that's all.

A big "Fuck You" with frosting on top.

No fancy stuff.
It’s just going to be pure, raw bitching.
Watch out!

I was in the mood for some cinna-baked goodness today and there wasn’t a fucking single

frosted cinnamon roll left in the place nor was my close, second favourite; the glazed cinnamon roll. For the past couple of weeks, all I have tried to do is kick old habits and by-god; I’m getting good at it. However, no fucking frosted delight for me. The only thing I wanted to reward myself with. Something I’ve stayed away from for quite some time and never seem to be there at the right time.

Whenever I should have stayed away from them, they were always there, taunting me, telling me it was probably going to go straight to my ass and I didn’t care. I was stuck in an oral fixation, as Freud put it. This ... baked morsel of fucking awesomeness was what the consumer side of me looked forward to every morning for almost a month. Then, the conscience and the reasoning side of me, kicked my rationalizing consumer side’s ass and now here I am; battling two headed dragons and digging myself out of the pits of assignment after assignment after test, after readings, after assignments, after tests (and, I might add... I only have nine weeks to accomplish it all). If that wasn’t a run-on sentence, I don’t know what is. Fuck it, let’s move on.

So... of course, now that I deemed myself fitting of a tasty treat for all the hard work and mighty battling I’ve been doing these past few weeks, it’s not there. I have no vice other than this blog. That’s not, at all, a bad thing. Sure, I realize that tomorrow, they will have a new batch of cinnamon rolls in the morning but I doubt I’ll have one. Just because I can doesn’t mean I will. Also, I may, in some weird, maybe pathetic way, feel good about myself for not being today’s fatty that ate all the fucking frost-fuck! I just wanted a god damn cinnamon roll from Tim Horton’s! That’s all I wanted today. Is that too much to ask?

Here's some more fun inspiration.

Dear Jerks

Aha... yes, a very worthy topic; annoying customers. Let’s get right into it, shall we? I think, as a fun exercise for stress relief, I will write my grievances in the form of a letter to certain idiots that frequent my store (I maybe apologize if you're one of those idiots).

Dear Jerk # 1,
You are a very arrogant and annoying woman. Don't discuss your political viewpoints with me on gay marriage and same sex fucking. If you chose a movie that just happened to have gay sex in it, it is not my fault. No you can’t have your money back nor exchange it for a copy of something “more tasteful”. Furthermore, I do not care if you do not want to talk to your son anymore because he's gay and you are a homo-hater. However, I would love to have his number, as I happen to have many fabulous men in my life who would be very interested in your "fag of a son".

P.S You always return your movies late. Maybe you should learn to accept homos. This would extract some more of your free time away from the hating and you can get your movies in on time.

Signed,
-That Movie Store Clerk, with the happy-go-fuck-yourself-attitude.

Dear Jerk # 2,
Chew with your fucking mouth closed. Do not smack away at your gum in the middle of a sentence when you bitch at me about how you've seen all the movies in my store. For the love of everything that preserves my sanity, keep your lips together when you chew your gum and especially when you're talking to me. :) Last week, when you came into my store and gave me forty cents in pennies, counting out each one as you CHEWED LIKE A COW, I had visions of submerging the credit card machine into your cranium. Please, for your own safety, stop chewing gum in my store.
On a gentler note, I realise that you seemed slightly offended when I asked you to close your mouth when you chewed. For this, I apologize. However, I asked you nicely and you could have at least had the courtesy to chew like a human being. Instead you gave me a snotty look and chewed mid-ugly snarl. You are gross.

Signed,
-My name is not Heather!

Dear Jerk # 3,
You're going to be one fat fucker. Why? Well, in terms of being a complete ass, you take the cake, the whole cake, and nothing but the cake. Not fat free, low-sugar icing cake either. Big, fatty, sugary, mass produced in grocery store bakeries cake. The one that costs like 20 bucks and everyone can only eat a small piece of before they are induced into a sugar coma. You get the whole fucking thing. Shall I list why? I think I shall.

Reasons why you are a fat donkey:

1. 
   

· You bitch at me about your ex-wife, every time you come into the store. All I ever hear about is her. I’ve never even met her. Man, I am not your counsellor. I hear they are quite useful though, so maybe you should start renting movies from them instead.

You have the cutest dog in the world and you kicked it one time when you were in my store with him. I thought I was going to shit a tsunami in my pants. You kicked a dog. You take the cake in any jerk-haters bakery, my friend. I might even upgrade you to a wedding size.

You called me a brat because I made you put your movies back on the shelf when you told me you decided you didn’t want them anymore. Apparently brats come in fifty-something age too.

When you came in the store last week, you were standing behind a young boy, in line. He had a stutter. He was having an exceptionally tough time talking that day and it took a little longer than usual to get through his transaction. You told him to hurry the hell up because you were in a hurry. Hurry to go where? Need to fill your quota for dogs kicked in a day? Fuck you.

Lastly, when you come in and start talking to me (when I’m clearly busy serving the three people there before you) and make a fit because I’m not paying attention, I tell you to stop talking and wait your turn. Somehow, it looks to me that every time I say this to you, it surprises you. Whoa! Everything’s not revolving around me. How strange!

Signed,
-The girl whose shirt you look down all the time, like she doesn’t notice.

That felt good. I think blogging might be for me. Now, off I go to live my life, until something else blog-worthy comes my way.

In the meantime, here’s some more fun inspiration.

First Blog Ever; Choke on it.

So, I have been on this planet for 19 years... cause you know, I'm originally from Venus. Since my landing I've made many exceptional friends and a few sweet enemies. Many of both, are worth keeping. While my friends make life more enjoyable, my enemies give me something to bitch about, thus a blog is born... double-thus, life stays interesting when friends are too busy fucking or sleeping off the hangover from a great time with me last night.

Having said that, I suppose my first blog must commence. However, a topic must be chosen. Choosing something to bitch about is like trying to choose between the same fucking Ferrari, but all with different amounts of gas in the take- there's only so far each of them will take you.

Wish me luck.

In the meantime, here's some fun inspiration.