Thursday, April 8, 2010

The Problem With Here is it’s Where You Are(n’t)

It’s just one of those days; feel free to take it personal(ly).
It’s raining, and it’s not that sexy, “lets dance in and/or make out in then cake in front of a fireplace” rain either. Oh no. This? This is that basement floodin’, make your roof leak then drive you crazy with the pitter patter of of water droplets hittin’ the bucket kind of rain. The kind of rain that I loathe, detest and generally despise. Awesome weather we’re havin’ here in Michigan, huh?
Along with the sound of the rain against my window pane slowly driving me insane drip-drip-droppin’ into the bucket in my living room, I’m not exactly in the best of moods. Shocking isn’t it? My little sister is gonna make me choke the eff outta her and I can’t wait til she goes back to school cuz this spring break thing ain’t gettin’ it.
I have cramps like a muhfxcka and since I know that there are guys that randomly hit The (Infamous) Life from time to time, allow me to illustrate for you and them what my body does to me every twenty-eight days or so.
My reproductive organs are beating the fxck outta me. It feels like someone is playing double dutch with my fallopian tubes while my uterus is doing the A-Town Stomp, Cupid Shuffle, Chicken Head, Wu-Tang and Stanky Leg. In high heels. That also happen to be cleats.
That’s right. There’s something roughly the size of a pear doing the A-Town-Cupid-Chicken-Tang-Leg inside of me right now in high heeled cleats, so before another one of you boys tries to talk to me about pain, here’s what I want you to do. Gather up three of your best soccer playing mates, put ‘em in cleats then have ‘em do the Soulja Boy on your junk. After that, have one one ‘em heel toe on it for good measure then rub a paste that’s three parts salt and equal parts lemon juice and bleach into the gaping hole that was once your manhood.
Not that it’s gonna come close to to you understanding my pain or whatever, it’s just a lot nicer than what I’d do to you for coming reckless at me. Plus, I think it’d be funny, but then again, I’m a sick puppy.
Anyway, I’m off in search of some Midol, a Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate bar and a heating pad to ease my pain so…I’m out.

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