Oh theeeeeere you are! After what seems like months of hibernation, it is lovely to see your shining face again, o' glorious Sun. I'd almost forgotten what happiness felt like until you peeked your golden face out from behind the clouds this past week. I want you to know that we all missed you very much and are so glad to have you with us once more. And hey, The Sun, one more thing: if you ever fucking disappear like that again for an extended period of time, especially during Spring Fling, I will take out my frustration by destroying your likeness on every box of Raisin Bran I can get my pale, freezing hands on.
Right on
Opposable Thumbs
Boy, that apple looks delicious. I want to eat it. So what do I do? I use my opposable thumbs and pick the fucker up and eat it. Oh no, I have an exam to take! I've studied hard, memorized the quadratic equation, and I'm ready to go. But wait, what's this? I have to write all the answers down on a piece of paper? That's OK! I'll just use this pencil ... which I pick up and hold with my opposable thumb. Imagine if you were a pig or a whale or a marmot. No way you could get an A on that test without an opposable thumb. So, opposable thumbs, thanks for allowing me to eat things and do well in school. Without you, I might as well be a marmot.
right on
Jodie Sweetin
Ah, Jodie Sweetin. What a "sweet" young face you once had, during the good old days when you played Stephanie Tanner on Full House. What a strong moral fiber and heart of gold you had. When Becky was supposed to take you to your Honey Bee slumber party, but Joey had to take you instead, you threw a shit fit, and yet, we still loved you. When you gave Uncle Jesse a haircut which caused him to get in a motorcycle accident and break both his arms, we still forgave you. Even when Danny, Joey and Uncle Jesse were all too busy to watch you break a Hula-Hoop record, so you went and tried to marry your friend Harry, we still embraced you. And now, fair Jodie, though your sitcom days are over, you've still found a way to bring us that old Stephanie fun by becoming a chubby Meth-addicted whore. And let me tell you -- we couldn't be prouder.
right on
Elementary School
Not in the Catholic Church way. I'm talking about race car beds, baseball cards, fucked up teeth, questionable hygiene and irresistible inclinations to sing about "greasy grimy gopher guts" in the middle of Mrs. Livesey's third grade science lesson. Oregon Trail anybody? Tell me you didn't love fording the river or dying of dysentery. Does anybody even know what dysentery really is? It's diarrhea in the blood. I just looked it up on Google. We used to love dying from diarrhea in the blood. Good times. Seriously though, my apologies to anybody with relatives who died from dysentery. That sucks.
right on
Titties
Who doesn't love titties?
Fuck you
Matzah
Who likes this shit? If you say you do, you're a fucking liar. The only people who actually like matzah are those freak chicks on Gastineau Girls that live on a box of Saltine crackers everyday, which by the way apparently works for them, so props to them. Seriously though, just because Moses was too neurotic to wait an extra five minutes to let the bread leaven, we have to go a week without corn syrup? Does that make any sense to anybody? What the fuck do corn syrup and bread have in common? To all who plan on keeping Passover: good luck with your constipation this week.
fuck you
Guitar Solo in "Juicebox" by The Strokes
Goddamn this piece of shit. I sat in my room for two freakin' hours trying to play this thing. After all the hard work, the stiff neck from looking down at my hands, the calloused fingers, and the mounting frustration, I finally nailed the fucker. But then, I tried to play along with the song and guess what -- I had been playing this one note wrong every time it came up, which is like 10 times during the solo. So I had to figure out a whole new fingering to play this goddamn solo, which to this minute I am still unable to play. So, Strokes' guitarist Nick Valensi, fuck you and your fucking solo, you soulless demon.
fuck you
Part of a flip-flop that
separates the big toe from the
second toe
I've tried 20 different brands of flip-flops in all shapes and sizes. I've tried band-aids, creams, adding moleskin, what have you. But no matter what lengths I go to, I always end up with a stupid blister on the insides of my toes because you can't help but scrape away at my skin all day whenever I walk. How am I supposed to be all cool and laid-back in my sandals if you're constantly tearing my fucking foot apart? If you keep this up, I won't ever be able to walk again. You're like polio, part of a flip-flop that separate the big toe from the second toe. You're like goddamn polio.
fuck you
Actual "Greek Lady"
I've never been more scared that someone will spit in my food than encountering this Medusa. Yes, I'm talking about the REAL Greek Lady, who sometimes emerges to take orders. If her massive overbite/oversized upper lip doesn't faze you, maybe her unchanging expression of, "You fuck with me, you turn to stone" will make you think twice about coming in wasted and saying you'd like a JY-row. Her eyes, like two black olives of Hades, shoot hatred out to every Penn kid. All we'd like is a little respect. I mean, Wharton kids literally moved your ass from your street cart to a mini Mount Olympus -- a paradise for drunks. Just take that lamb kebob out of your ass, smile and ask how you can help me in a charming Greek accent.
fuck you
Quadratic
Equation
Now you listen here, you miserable piece of mathematical refuse: I learned you. I fucking memorized your shit. I even learned the stupid song to the tune of "Wheels on the Bus." And now what the hell am I supposed to do with you? I'm a flipping English major, for fuck's sake! You think you're so high and mighty, with your x's and your abc's and your radical sign and your stupid other things. Well, guess what. I'm going to dedicate the rest of my college experience to getting so blunk that the brain cells that currently house your obsolete ass will have no choice but to spontaneously explode, thereby eradicating your existence from my life. So, three cheers to you, Quadratic Equation. I'll see you in hell.
fuck you
Diarrhea
Perhaps you're sliding into first and you feel something burst. Or maybe you're climbing up a ladder and you feel something splatter. Or possibly you're walking down the hall and you feel something fall. Or you know what? Maybe you're trying to write an article for 34th Street and you have to stop every two seconds because something turned your rectum into a liquid shit Slip'n Slide. Either way, you're a grown man with a whole lot of doodie in your pants.
