Zero tolerance

Our own problems are always the worst, right? I am an angry wolverine, ready to bite the next person who says they’ve had a hard day when what they really mean is “They were out of toasted coconut iced coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

Whatever. At least I can poo, even with a parasite attempting to force all my internal organs up into my left arm somewhere. There are people in this world who don’t poo, you know. Poor kids in China. We’ll always have regularity.

My mother sadistically gave my email address to an aunt, and that aunt has been bombarding me with religious spam. Funny, right after this started, I GOT FORCED OUT OF MY HOUSE. Thanks, St. Theresa. Today’s installment slipped past the junk filter, and it also contains a gem about her grandson’s neck fold staph infection and her son and “his use of coffee grounds to grow beautiful blueberry bushes in his yard.” My cup, my cup, my cup runneth. Over. And around. And through. Behind and before. My cups actually leak now. That’s another problem for another day. The solution is a humiliating system of bra stuffing.

How many more disgusting things can I put in one post? I am dying to see what the sponsored links comes up with to go next to this one. Speaking of which, I am so glad I am monetized. No fair that you get to enjoy my bad mood for free!

5 responses to “Zero tolerance”

  1. you could just reply and type out “Undeliverable: your computer is too dry. Please moisten your harddrive to allow future e-mails to stick to the internet.”

  2. A religious revelation: the billboard down the street says “The cross you bear may not be your own.” I didn’t get that, for like a week. But then today I went to the post office again. It’s all clear!

  3. Google AdSense decided you or your readers needed Affirmative Action Help. Anyway I thought you deserved an ad-click today so please spend it wisely.

  4. What! I see ads for sandwiches. Google must simply read my mind. Thanks, I won’t spend it all in one place.

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