The Crapper

Life was like, I'm here. And I was all, No not right now go away. So Life got in my face and was all like, Tough, deal with it. Then I said, Fuuuucccck. And Life just smiled.

Read more...

The Crapper: Quotes & Phrases That Capture Shit

I want to be out of order. Put a sign on me so people won't even think about using me.

Read more...

Dear Lost,

My, my, my where do we begin? Because I was there, with you, at the beginning of what I thought was going to be a great relationship. I mean two of your characters were named after two of my favorite philosophers, Locke and Rousseau. You had Harold Perrineau and Adewale Akinnuore-Agbje, two of my husbands from Oz. Josh Holloway . . . enough said right there. I could just watch that hotness all day every day. But then it happened. You just sucked. You seemed to have the makings of good characters. Characters that I should care about enough to either hate or love, and aside from Hurley I'm as indifferent as can be about everybody.

I think that's when you know you're in a bad relationship, when all you feel is indifference. I mean if your significant other was in say . . . a plane crash, presumably dead, you should care. Right? It's worse when you tell yourself you should care. Lost, you are merely a simulacra of a good show. Do you see what I did there? I used an atypical word to show you how smart I am. Just like if I told everyone I noticed the PKD book Locke brought Ben to read in the ... oh fuck you. Here's another big word to mull over: pretentious. Yep, Lost, you're a pretentious joke. If you were canceled the day before the series finale, I wouldn't shed a tear.

I attempted a pretentious Lost discussion once with a pretentious dick and do you know what he said to me? "Don't talk Lost if you don't watch the show." Truth be told, a discussion on the show with him would have only made me hate the show more. I feel like I dodged some sort of bullet. And he's partly right, I shouldn't shit talk someone I don't know real well. I do enjoy discussing you with Alison Wonderland and she's the reason I forged ahead. She told me you were worth getting to know a little better. Had I prejudged you? I had seen the first two seasons of you when they originally aired, and I'll admit to loving those seasons. The third season completely lost me. Haha. Lost, you lost me. I kill myself.

I have Netflix and during a bout of recovery from minor oral surgery a few months back, I tackled the rest of the third season high on Vicodin. I got through season four last month, and the the last two weeks I've been plowing through season five like a champ. Here's my main gripe with you Lost, every time you build something up, it turns out to be well, mediocre at best. I'm on the season finale of five, "The Incident"(I & II). I'm refusing to watch it. Lost, this is kind of hard for me to say, but we're breaking up.

You seem to be responsible for this wave of obnoxiousness sweeping the nation. Ever been in the bar and hear one white American tool bag call another white American tool bag, "Brotha?" It makes me want to punch my fist through a wall. If you don't have a mother fucking sexy British or Australian accent (or if you aren't black) shutthefuckup. Seriously. I'm sorry, Lost, but I can't forgive this excuse for blatant douchebagary. You caused it, and you've made no attempt to fix it.

It's odd, because when I initially made the decision to break up with you I suddenly felt better. I had invested so much time lately into our relationship, trying to piece us back together, and there you were, with all your empty promises. No, I'll explain things next episode, I promise. Just keep coming back. Jack won't whine like a baby in this episode, I swear. Michael Emerson won't stare like a deer in headlights into the camera and call it acting. Say whatever you want to me, throw out as many philosopher names you can think of, reference any and all literary greats you think will reel me back in, Hell even drop a ton of pop culture references in there, Star Wars, Stephen King, PKD and all. Yeah, I get it, you're cool. I'm still not coming back. I don't care about the Smoke Monster nor do I give a shit about Jacob. I bet all that shit is going to turn out to be disappointing. I'm finished wondering what really goes on with you between episodes. And don't even try to give me that alternate reality crap. One of my favorite short story deals with alternate realities. The Garden of Forking Paths was about 20 beautiful poignant moments of my life. Not six painful seasons of blah. What I do wonder ... how the hell is Vincent? Yeah, that's Walt's dog. And I hope Rose and Bernard come out on top. I loved them.

See I found the positive somewhere in there, Lost. No need to walk away from this relationship bitter. Well, it's the end. Time to part ways. I'm removing you from my Netflix que. You understand. And if things are still unclear, just wait a week, next week things will be clearer, I promise. Don't call me, I'll call you.

Don't think twice, it's alright,
Cindy Mayweather

Read more...

Dear Mr. David Allan Boucher,

Where do I start? I used to listen to the radio to fall asleep when I was a youngster. My head tends to spin most at night when it has the most time to wander so keeping it focused on something helped bring along the sandman. Your voice was the voice I finally found that brought upon the Z's the fastest. I would make it right up until the last song of your Long Distance 3 in a Row Dedications (right around 11:10ish). So tonight, just for kicks, I tuned into Magic 106.7 a few songs before 11 o'clock. Now I haven't listened to this station at this hour in well over a decade. I think the last 3 in a row had Selena and The Tony Rich Project in it. I must admit, man, you still got it. Deep, rich, soothing voice . . . nobody does Bedtime Magic like you.

But hey, Mr. DJ, I really have to hate on you tonight.

First, Chaka Khan's Through the Fire . . . really? Second and here comes the 3 in a Row you just so happened to pick: From Patricia (fuck you) who happened to want to send to her "not-so-secret crush" (your exact words . . . asshole) Madonna's Crazy For You, Roxette's Listen to Your Heart, and Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville's duet version of All of My Life (fuck you, X 3). You sort of redeemed yourself by playing Daniel Powter's Bad Day which has never really lost its charm for me especially since I haven't heard it in eons. Then, and here's where the true passion of this hate letter comes, you go and play The Fugee's Killing Me Softly. Not just any version . . . that version. You smug son of a bitch.

So I did a little research and looked up your profile on the Magic 106.7 website. Wouldn't it just figure you're the mysterious dip-shit in a hat? And I'm not quite sure . . . but is that a rapist moustache you're trying to hide? A friend and I discussed this yesterday actually (and I've mentally added exceptions to this rule) but moustaches without beards just scream sexual deviant of some sort. Don't get me started on your Q&A.

Now look, you and I have never had beef before. So just knock this shit off right now or I'll send in my Long Distance 3 in a row email and I guarantee tears will fall on someone's pillow. Guarantee. Don't test me Frenchie.

Sincerely,
Cindy Mayweather

Oh and a few things for after you click the links:
1. What the fuck is Aaron Neville wearing?
B. The video to Powter's song was probably my favorite part . . . not the actual song and I'm sorry I'm too lazy to look for it right now.
And lastly, Burt Reynolds was the first male centerfold . . . and yes he's there twice. Just wanted to give you all something to drink about on Thirsty Thursday!!!

Quick note . . . I have no idea why the timing is all jacked up on this post but I most assuredly sat right down after Mr. Boucher's little blitz attack and poured my heart, er . . . hate, out. But I don't mind palindromes so 8:18 is cool.

Read more...

Dear Theraflu,

If I wasn't already engaged to Target, I'd marry you. While typically you hear things said like "you take my breath away," "you make me weak," or "you leave me dizzy" as a way to describe "falling" in love, with you it feels different. You make me believe in a whole new thing called love. You make breathing easier by breaking apart the mucus wall, you give my white blood cells a fighting chance, and you are a guiding light through the sinus haze. Sure you might be a little bitter (even the berry best flavors of you) and hard to swallow, but somehow that "bite" you have seems to lend itself to your cause. You are still warm and comforting and the way you fit so nicely in my cow mug leads me to believe this was always meant to be. You are the reassuring relief that while sickness knows no rhyme or reason, there will always be something within reach to aid in the battle to live. Thanks for helping me fight the good fight!

Sincerely,
a fan for life,
Cindy Mayweather

Read more...

Dear Pink-Hooded Robe,

Before I count all the reasons why I love you, may I inquire as to why you have a hood? Admittedly, it IS one of the reasons I love you, I'm still confused as to its function. Like nipples on men . . . I'm always left with, why? I do, in fact, wear the hood; I enjoy wearing the hood. It's just more out of obligation. I never wear you outside (I'm not ashamed of you, it's just that well . . . you're a robe) and it doesn't rain in my house.
There is nothing better than getting out of a hot shower or steamy bubble bath and wrapping you around me. When it comes right down to it, if I had to choose between cuddling with you and another human being . . . well, this letter isn't about hurting anyone's feelings. Let's just say there's a reason you're still in my life and others are not. Nobody does it better, Pink-Hooded Robe.
Even between the other two robes in my life . . . you take the cake, breaking the mold for comfort, form, and durability. You love me when I'm up, you love me when I'm down. I'm sure there have even been days when you've felt like turning me away, but you never could just leave me cold, wet and shivering, could you? That is why it is to you I cry, I put that hood right over my head and I let the tears fall. The love is unconditional and you're still with me in the morning when I wake up, extra tissues in the pocket just in case. Thank you for just being you (a little superfluous with the hood in all, but endearing nonetheless).

Sincerely
all my love,
Cindy Mayweather

Read more...

Dear Town of Salem,

Normally I write letters to the things I love . . . you are not one of them. But I am writing in hopes to make amends. You see, I'm sick of saying, I Hope My Car Isn't Towed Prayer whenever I park somewhere. I hate that you actually have to get out of your car and read the fine-print on your cryptic street signs. I hate that when I get tickets in your tourist-trap of a town that my insurance (that is already higher because I live in Lynn) goes up. I hate that NO ONE pulling out of Salem State on that part of Loring Ave knows how to drive. Why yes! There's a whole world towards your left, look at it. I have the right of way and I will hit you. Fuck it. I hate that when a friend and I got stuck in the mud at Pioneer Village some yuppie with his white dread-locked girlfriend with Peace, Love, and all the good stuff plastered over his shitty 98 Honda Accord was pissed that I got a little mud on his car while pushing my mini-van out of the mud. Actually asked for me to wait a minute so they could get into their car (mud free) and drive away. Sorry for the inconvenience buddy. Go to the fucking car wash, and while you're there, have your girl friend stick her head out of the window. Did you suffer centuries of racial inequality? Are you actually taking a stand? Nah. Didn't think so. Because in Lynn I don't think I know a single person, no matter their race or nationality that wouldn't lend a helping hand in that situation. My car wouldn't start for a whole week in the winter and every time someone (a different someone each time) gave me a jump. One time it was even the gangsta down the street. Another time, some man who didn't even speak English just pulled over and pulled out his cables with a questioning look on his face. If I didn't have to drive through your stinking town and towns like yours Salem, I wouldn't even need my AAA card. You know what Salem? I don't care if we're friends anymore. You know you're only cool because the world is sick and for some reason glorifying the court sanctioned murders of people falsely accused of shit because some of your earlier inhabitants were fucking "bored"is fascinating to people. Note bene: some of that shit actually went down in parts of MA that is now Danvers . . . don't even get me started on that town. I wouldn't mind it if people actually learned from history. But typically people just go to stare at the wax figures and to say they've been there. I hate you, Salem.
Sincerely,
Cindy Mayweather

This in no way expresses how I feel about certain people who live in Salem. This is just in general. For real (remember nothing personal).

Fuck you witches.

Read more...