Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Brokeback Mountain

     I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I happen to live in the South. Rednecks are part of the local wildlife and the easiest way to aggitate them is to simply mention a little film known as Brokeback Mountain. This will usually result in said redneck responding, "Fuck that shit. I don't want to see two motherfuckers kiss." (They're not the most eloquent demographic).
     This got me thinking. They're gay. The last person they're going to want to kiss is a mother. Wouldn't calling them fatherfuckers, be more appropriate?

     These people have no concept of political correctness, I swear.
In unrelated news, I learned how to add pictures to my blog. And the union between two attractive people is hot, no matter what their gender.

Monday, January 16, 2012

2011 In Review

   A new year has begun. Traditionally, this is the time to reflect on the good times of last year and the promise of the year to come. However, no one ever said I was traditional so I can safely say that 2011 was a pretty . . . eventful year (I'm unsure how it falls on my shitfest to fucking-awesome meter). In no particular order, I . . .

1. Lost my best friend (in the she acted all bitchy and I stopped being friends with her, not the 'passed away kind of lost)
2. Got my first kiss (at eighteen. Don't judge me)
3. Graduated high school.
4. My wrecked car was fixed and returned to me.
5. Got a 4.0 GPA for my first semester of college. (Totally bragging right now)
6. Got myself a job.
7. Accidentally cut myself a lot at said job
8. Decided "what I want to do when I grow up"
9. Saw the Lion King in 3D!
10. Joined a writer's workshop and produced some of my best short stories there.

   You know, I initially looked on the past year with some major pessimism (number 1 was kinda traumatic) but most of those things are good things. Even the things I didn't include because I thing ten is the perfect list number. Good to know that my brain is doing a good job of repressing bad memories.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Hell's Roster

            I truly believe there is something fundamentally wrong with telling someone (no matter who that person is) they are going to hell. It is scientifically inaccurate (probably), dehumanizing, and just not very nice. The following story will demonstrate a . . . less general reason for this pet peeve of mine.

             When I was little, my mom answered the door to see a recruiting preacher. He asked her if we went to church, a standard question. She told him no, the truth. The preacher then proceeded to inform her that she had condemned my sister and I (too young to even remember this incident) to hell. The number one way to get on my Shit List is to make my mother cry and this “holy man” had the audacity to do that on our property. I’m pissed just thinking about it.

            However, I recently discovered a group of people that I truly believe are going to hell. Before I earn my hypocrite label, let me explain. These people are drug dealers who surgically implant drugs into puppies in order to smuggle them. Most of the time, the puppies don’t survive the removal process. I will gladly put aside any and all of my moral convictions when faced with a dead puppy.