Dear Smarty and Mrs. Birdman:
I have a problem. I’m a sniveling sack of goat shit. I get into these weird moods sometimes, and even when everything in my life is good, I still find something to bitch about. While these concerns seem to be valid when I have them, on further inspection they are just a pile of tears and lack of sleep. I am debating on whether or not to submit this to you because I know how mean you can get, and I just don’t think that I can handle mean right now.
I think it has to do with not working, but especially the feeling that I’ll be back on the highway soon. I realized after driving to Toronto today that I fucking hate that job. I know that you aren’t allowed to take down license plates and give cops handjobs to find out where the people live, but I was oh so tempted today. Anyhow, I am going to hit the pavement on Tuesday, and I’ll be taking whatever the first job offered to me is. I’m not concerned about how much it is, but benefits would be a huge tipping point.
So there you go. I’m a happily depressed mess, and I can’t imagine things being better than they are right now (except for a job, and possibly a speed reading course). My blog is experiencing a nice, gradual upswing in numbers, and I’m sad about losing some old friends. I guess I shouldn’t be, because I’m not writing it for those cunts, am I?
Do you have the time to listen to me whine, about nothing and everything all at once,
I’m just going to come right out and say it: “This is a First World Problem.” It is like you are trying to find shit to be depressed about. You are happier than you have ever been, (except for the job part) and the rest is gravy, baby. Yes, we need two incomes in this family, and I am sorry you have to hit the bricks this week, but just because we settle for the first job that comes our way, doesn’t mean that is the job you are going to have for the rest of your life. We will keep searching for something that works for us as a family, and that you actually enjoy. Maybe it won’t be great for a little bit, but it will get better. You’ll be coming home each night to all the love you can handle, and that ain’t half bad. This has been a great opportunity to grow your blog and to really focus on writing and being creative. I’m so proud of your stuff, and I often go back and re-read old posts just to relive them. I love reading your work, and I am continually amazed and impressed by what you can accomplish when you set your mind to it. I know there is nothing you can’t do, especially with me by your side. 🙂 You can identify and define yourself by whatever crappy job pops up next, or you can think of it as a segue to the next amazing adventure in our lives. I am so happy in this life we’ve created, and I am so proud of you and all you have accomplished. I love you, and I will always be your number one fan.
Don’t stop believin’,
Smarty Pantaloons’ Turn (Make me a graphic too)
Dear Poopy-Pants McGillicuddy:
Smarten the fuck up and quit worrying about who likes you. Look at me. I’m despised by multitudes of people for a number of reasons. Do you see me changing my life for them? No fucking way. When the family sat me down for my 7th intervention, I said ” I didn’t quit all of those other things when you tried this shit before. What makes you think that I’m going to quit giving myself Lysol enemas because you want me to? Now hand me that hose Aunt Becki.”
That’s right, Lysol gets you high when you hoop it. Stop by sometime if I’m at the lake, and I’ll blast you one. I’ll be under the tarp over by the grey shack.
Are you worried that people don’t like the excessive use of profanities like cunt, cock goblin, or jizz factory? Well then, I’ll start to loosen them up for you.
Another thing you need to do is to write a rant about those kid diddling Catholic priests that the church is always covering for. Fuck them up their papist assholes. Throw them in a cell with Jerry Sandusky and see who comes out on top.
I hope it’s this guy.
Before you say anything, I found the pic on CockBoys, so that proves he’s gay, right? I tell you one thing. I’d never be able to get away from him if he decided to grab a hold of me with his big, muscley arms, and pin me down on the ground in an effort to have his way with me. I sure hope he doesn’t, but I’m just saying that I’d be powerless if he, or anyone else, really, ever wanted to do things to me in a sexual way. I wouldn’t be able to fight them off, but I would want to. For sure I would. Mmmm, fighting… them… off. Sigh.
Anyhow, quit your fucking boo-hooing, and go crawl on top of that fine filly that you married, or me, whatever you want.