Times have been trying of late. We have had weather. Our hairdos and our hauteur have suffered the indignities of moisture and outfits comprised mainly of padding. Despite this chaos, people desire appointments and apostrophes continue to be errant. Is this to be borne?!? Not without some casual, festive raging. Our favorite cartoon cat knew what it was all about.
Yes, it’s Fuck You Friday. So, no, I will not send out an email when I want to use the bathroom, to ensure that phones are answered. And ho, man who slammed me in the shins with a heavy parcel as you tore through the underground passage, not bothered to cast a glance when you struck me: your time is valuable! I have one message for you, and that is Fuck You.
A very, very special Fuck You to US Airways, on behalf of my Mary. You know what you did.
It feels good to Fuck You. My heart grows light as a feather! Who else deserves a rich helping of Fuck You?
1. Anyone who says, “ok, this is going to feel cold.”
2. Clocks. Always running too slow or too fast, never just right.
3. People who advise you to do things they would never, ever do themselves. Oh, hell no!
4. The crick in my neck, courtesy of the Newark Hilton.
5. Lima Beans, constant loiterers on my plate throughout my childhood, bringing only misery. I will never forgive you for tasting like that.
At least we can always go back to Rebecca Black, to remember that it IS Friday, at least. And that it is very important to deliberate carefully on choice of seating.