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Apr. 18th, 2005 02:19 pmC is for cunty. Fucking, parents are the reason Cookie Monster doesn't eat cookies anymore. Because they've made their kids fat pigs while denying having any role in their childrens' obesities. Instead they blame PBfuckingS, the "safest" TV channel their greasy offspring can watch. PBS doesn't buy their children candy and ice cream and strips of bacon. Sesame St. doesn't tell them to eat until they can't eat anymore and then to eat more and more. Cookie Monster doesn't pack their lunches with butter and lard sandwiches with cans of Coke and bags of potato chips. Who does? I think we both know the answer. C is for cocksucker.
So to combat negligence of their childrens' health, they've taken away a part of this and previous generations' childhood. C is for fucking cookie. Not carrot. Not cucumber. Not celery. Cookie, yes cookie. And it's not even like Cookie Monster ate cookies. He shoved cookies into his mouth, chomped them to bits, and spit them every which way. And they weren't even cookies. They were brittle cardboard discs with chocolate chips painted on. And his diet wasn't completely comprised of cookies. He also ate typewriters, Prairie Dawn's doll houses, and the moon. C is for leave golden television alone.
Is it "case and point" or "case in point"? Because case and/in point, parents haul their fat kids to Haagen Dazs and spoon potentially fatal doses of ice cream into their mouth. And they think to themselves, "what can I do to make my child fatter?" so when they're poor, malnourished kids beg for bigger helpings and sweeter toppings, it only makes sense to them to order the next size up or have the ice cream doused with fudge. I swear, some of these concoctions should be combustible they have so many calories. They stuff their kids full of ice cream and call the Children's Television Workshop to complain about a fucking puppet's diet. Because that's the way these people operate.
I worked at the Dizzle all of yesterday and noticed that I no longer want to jam a spoon into my headskull. Rather, I'd like to take a spoon to the heads of everyone else. I was alone until 7pm because Derik fucked up the schedule. It was a fucking busy ass day on account of the beautiful weather. Bitches kept on coming in, one after the other, wanting things from me. And they brought all of their friends and relatives. And I had the worst spill of my life in front of all these people. A Dulce de Leche shake fucking exploded all over me. I guess I had a momentary lapse in being awesome at making shakes, because this shit was everywhere. I'm sure my anger was palpable to the customers, cause I made decent tips.
Evelhin, who wasn't supposed to work, came in upon Derik's request, at which point I left the store for an hour+ to get as drunk as I could at Croxley's. Needless to say, she was understandably angry at me when I returned smelling like booze. It was a dick move to pull on such a busy night, but honestly, if I hadn't left, I would have lost it altogether. I told her to take it to Derik if she had a problem. Survival of the fittest, bietch.
What else what else? Oh yes, my disdain for the Hofstra student body. Namely the members of Bio003 who disregard the standards of respect a university student must have for a lecturer. Especially a lecturer as captivating as Dr. Carol St. Angelo. When someone is trying to teach you something, something that you've paid for to learn, it's best to keep your goddamn mouth shut. And if you must make a comment to your friend about how bored you are or how drunk you were last night, fucking whisper, because nobody wants to hear it, not even the person you're telling. You are being a nuisance. And you're making my desire to oust myself from Long Island stronger by the minute.
Today's entry was brought to you by the letter S, the number 2, the color brown, and viewers like you.
So to combat negligence of their childrens' health, they've taken away a part of this and previous generations' childhood. C is for fucking cookie. Not carrot. Not cucumber. Not celery. Cookie, yes cookie. And it's not even like Cookie Monster ate cookies. He shoved cookies into his mouth, chomped them to bits, and spit them every which way. And they weren't even cookies. They were brittle cardboard discs with chocolate chips painted on. And his diet wasn't completely comprised of cookies. He also ate typewriters, Prairie Dawn's doll houses, and the moon. C is for leave golden television alone.
Is it "case and point" or "case in point"? Because case and/in point, parents haul their fat kids to Haagen Dazs and spoon potentially fatal doses of ice cream into their mouth. And they think to themselves, "what can I do to make my child fatter?" so when they're poor, malnourished kids beg for bigger helpings and sweeter toppings, it only makes sense to them to order the next size up or have the ice cream doused with fudge. I swear, some of these concoctions should be combustible they have so many calories. They stuff their kids full of ice cream and call the Children's Television Workshop to complain about a fucking puppet's diet. Because that's the way these people operate.
I worked at the Dizzle all of yesterday and noticed that I no longer want to jam a spoon into my headskull. Rather, I'd like to take a spoon to the heads of everyone else. I was alone until 7pm because Derik fucked up the schedule. It was a fucking busy ass day on account of the beautiful weather. Bitches kept on coming in, one after the other, wanting things from me. And they brought all of their friends and relatives. And I had the worst spill of my life in front of all these people. A Dulce de Leche shake fucking exploded all over me. I guess I had a momentary lapse in being awesome at making shakes, because this shit was everywhere. I'm sure my anger was palpable to the customers, cause I made decent tips.
Evelhin, who wasn't supposed to work, came in upon Derik's request, at which point I left the store for an hour+ to get as drunk as I could at Croxley's. Needless to say, she was understandably angry at me when I returned smelling like booze. It was a dick move to pull on such a busy night, but honestly, if I hadn't left, I would have lost it altogether. I told her to take it to Derik if she had a problem. Survival of the fittest, bietch.
What else what else? Oh yes, my disdain for the Hofstra student body. Namely the members of Bio003 who disregard the standards of respect a university student must have for a lecturer. Especially a lecturer as captivating as Dr. Carol St. Angelo. When someone is trying to teach you something, something that you've paid for to learn, it's best to keep your goddamn mouth shut. And if you must make a comment to your friend about how bored you are or how drunk you were last night, fucking whisper, because nobody wants to hear it, not even the person you're telling. You are being a nuisance. And you're making my desire to oust myself from Long Island stronger by the minute.
Today's entry was brought to you by the letter S, the number 2, the color brown, and viewers like you.
