I’ve never claimed to be the smartest person in the world. Well… actually I have, on several occasions. But rest assured, I was entirely drunk when I did so.
My point is I am at best above average on the intelligence scale. But there are still several things in this world that confuse me. So I would like some clarification on the following.
Why the hell do my maxi pads have diagrams?
For men and really stupid women, a maxi pad is something that teenage girls and lazy writers with tilted pelvic bones use during their monthly menstrual cycle. What confuses me is that the inside of my maxi pad looks like this;
Is my menstrual flow supposed to be reading this diagram? Are my unfertilized eggs that smart that they know exactly where they are supposed to go? If so, should I feel guilty for the fact that I’m flushing them down the toilet? I mean, I won’t eat pork because pigs are smarter than dogs and that bothers me. If my unused eggs are smart enough to follow the diagram on a maxi pad, should I be throwing them away at all? Or should I be enrolling them in an Ivy League school?
Also, why blue for the diagram? Trust this people, the second I start seeing blue stuff leaking out of me; I’m not worried about staying ‘dry and fresh.’ I’m more worried about the fact that apparently I’m miscarrying an alien’s baby.
Why do people play the lottery?
I used to consider playing the lottery, then I elected to start lighting my money on fire and flushing it down the toilet instead becuase I realized the lottery is for idiots.
I’m not talking to you occasional hopefuls who buy a ticket on the way home from work. I’m talking to all you fucktards out there who choose scratch tickets like you’re choosing your first born’s name.
You know who you are. You show up at the gas station at rush hour and take 45 minutes trading in tickets to buy more tickets to a lottery that you will never win.
Listen fuckers, in the time that it takes you to pick out those tickets every day, you could have written a novel, created a cure for cancer or more realistically, GOTTEN A FUCKING JOB.
The house always wins. Whether you’re playing at a craps table or scratching off little grey boxes, you will always lose. But the lottery commission depends on one thing to keep selling tickets.
They depend on you being a fucking moron. Stop playing right into their hands.
Where the hell did Tilapia come from?
Ten years ago, I had no idea that this fish existed.
Now, it’s everywhere. At any restaurant I go to, tilapia is on the menu. When I was in the hospital, I even got served tilapia during the daily meal I ignored because I was too drugged up to eat. As I recall, it smelled like feet and tasted two items as bad.
The best way I could describe the flavor is ‘cardboard flavored death.’ But now it’s popping up everywhere. It’s like reality TV shows. One day I saw one, and the next day, the world was overrun. I’m pretty sure the government manufactured tilapia out of cardboard and old ashtrays in an attempt to make fun of hipsters.
What does the ‘power of prayer’ really do?
This week, Tracy Morgan was seriously injured in a car accident. That isn’t news. But what I saw in the comments is news, because apparently there are idiots who feel they can save Tracy Morgan through the power of prayer.
First of all, the fact that Tracy Morgan is a celebrity does not make him any more important than the people that were on the bus with him, who were also seriously injured (or killed).
Next, what the fuck are your prayers supposed to do?
Let’s be honest. You don’t know Tracy Morgan. If he dies tomorrow, you might open your Facebook page and be like “oh, so sad, I will pray for his family. 😦 :(”
But you won’t really pray and you won’t be sad. You’re just saying that. You don’t know him, his family or what they’re going through. You’re just using him as an excuse to sound like a good person.
My bible knowledge tells me this. You can’t pray for someone to live or die. It doesn’t work like that. According to the Catholics, everything is predefined and whatever happens to one person will be god’s will, and can’t be changed. You can only pray for your own acceptance of that fate.
So why the fuck are you idiots wasting time praying? If you really want to honor Tracy Morgan, head to Vegas, get wasted and snort some coke off a hooker’s ass.
Above all, stop bringing god into this mess. It isn’t your place to pray for Tracy Morgan, no matter how much you liked him as Brian Fellows. It’s his family’s place so back the fuck off and let them grieve in peace. Stop stealing their grief so you can get attention.
That’s all I had to say. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I need to go buy some lottery tickets so I can buy candles for Tracy Morgan at midnight mass, because he is the most important person in the world to me. My menstrual eggs are also coming. They followed the maxi pad diagram right out of my pants and used a very complicated algorithm to buy their own winning lottery tickets.