Posts Tagged ‘People Who Should Die’

Chatroulette

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Chatroulette is a project created by some smart ass teenager.  I first noticed it on popurls but didn’t bother to check it.  I then saw it on cnn so I had to check it.  ’Coz, I mean let’s be serious, if it’s on cnn you check it out.  Right?

Right.

You are presented with a screen that has a box for your webcam, a box for your partner’s webcam and chat log area.

Let me stop right here and say that I was perturbed by the whole “partner” thing immediately.  It just felt creepy.  Like super friendly greasy cousin kinda creepy.

The premise is you hook up with others who have entered the “roulette” of webcams.  You are connected with someone and you can chat and when you get bored you can “next” them.

Simple enough, no worries.

My first partner pretty much set the stage and standard.

A man waved politely with a generous smile, stood, undressed, turned showing me his bare ass and then gently spread the cheeks.

He presented his asshole to me.

Well hello to you too Chatroulette.  Good ta meetcha.

Now mostly it is just a bunch of guys wanking it and, as is usually the case, pretty much no tits at’all.

What I don’t get is how you gonna put that shit on cnn?  ’Coz between you and me, it’s porn.

Four out of five partners are participating in palm-furring practices.

Chatroulette is NotSafeForWork, NotSafeForHome, NotSafeForKidsUnder42, NotSafeForHumans.

Now, the reason it is going to be popular as hell for awhile is that one in a million.

Like the time I “next”ed over to an image of two keyboards (musical), one on either side of their feet (yes, I know, gag) and they played the most beautiful song, one portion on each keyboard.  It sounded like spring rain.  She was from Italy.

I liked that one.

Then there was the kid who when I asked his age said, “oh I’m legal, I’m 18, OLE MISS baby,” while lifting his t-shirt showing another t-shirt proving his OLE MISS affiliation.  He was the cutest, most innocent thing I had ever seen.  I told him to be careful before I “next”ed him.

I’m a “next”er.  I “next” just about everyone within 3 seconds.

Snap, quick decisions are the way to go with Chatroulette.  Follow your gut instincts.

Or you’ll end up looking at some dude’s johnson and this is not Hollywood people, this is real life.  Not as pretty a picture as you might want to believe.

Block this from your computers at once.

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I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs – I mean googoo for Gaga.

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I’ve never been much of a fan of the girlie pop stars.
Never liked Brittany.
She’s a whore, which is kinda nice, but if I am not to ever benefit from her whore-ish ways, then she is – well – worthless.



 

Never cared much for that Christina Aguilera girl.



 

Well, except for her HUGE fucking rack which I support with great vigor.  ‘Coz ladies and gentlemen, those tits were made especially for motor-boating!



 

I don’t know how the Gaga got past the front gate.  All Jehovah’s Witnesses, pop stars and solicitors are to be stopped and searched.  Their drugs seized and enjoyed by me personally.
Somehow Lady Gaga weaseled her way into my heart and now I can’t shake her.
I first fell in love with her for hosting Alexander Skarsgard in her Paparazzi video.



 

‘Coz Alexander Skarsgard is HAWT.
Damn HAWT.
And for the love of all that is holy, how could you NOT appreciate … this gloriousness?  She’s so insecure she cuts herself.
And we all know how much fun insecure girls are!!



 

I don’t know whether I should spank her or bite her or what but I know I LOVE that tingly feeling I get when I think about her POKEr face.
Hey, speaking of all that is holy and poking and tingly feelings, these fucks are at it again.



 

I have never been afraid of anything more than I am of the parishioners worshiping at the Westboro Baptist Church.
Really, all the hate they spew – I hope the god they speak of mightily disapproves.



 

*  I apologize for any oopsies but I just worked a full week within a full week and I’m fucking tired so deal with it.
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Compensation shall be rendered in the form of salted peanuts.

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Remember being a little kid and plane travel was total super hero shit?

I was 7 when I first flew to Vancouver, Washington to visit T-ma and T-pa.  Baby sister, at a too-early-to-travel 6 months, sat on mom’s lap and slept most the way.

Well, except for when she was vomiting.

The stewardess gave me a pair of shiny, silver wings.  I felt like a celebrity.

So many different faces, accents, flares of fashion and they were all beautiful.  But none as beautiful as the stewardesses.

Perfect hair.  Perfect lipstick.  Perfect a-line skirts that revealed legs long and shiny from their different shades of hosiery.

I looked forward to visiting my west side relatives for the plane ride as much as the family if I am to be honest.

Now … well … good lawd where to start on air travel in the 21st century?

To insure I am able to white knuckle the edges of serenity, I’m NOT going to get started.

‘Coz sometimes I don’t enjoy getting started.

No.

Today we are going to talk about one of the last great treasures of the friendly skies.

Skymall Magazine.

I want, but can not afford, every-single-thing in the Skymall Magazine.

Geeky gadgets?

OH YES!

Strange outdoor furniture?

OH YES!

Heck, they even have clothing.

Now, before I continue, you must know something.

Michael don’t talk much.

Most probably because I don’t give him an opportunity to talk that much.

I am wired like a nicotine fiend.

If Michael speaks, it’s about to funny.

Always.

No matter what.

Okay … back to the story ..

So we are traveling to New Orleans, shoved entirety too intimately to the person beside me and flipping through a Skymall yawning intentionnally trying to get my damned ears to pop when …

“Hold up, turn back.”

Before I could move to turn page, he flipped back 10 pages .. then back again 4 pages … “that’s the most horrible invention.”

“Why would you do that?”

“What baby, what!!”

He flips to CoverTiques.

CoverTiques

“THAT IS HORRIBLE – WHY?”

“You just went from ‘hey sexy’ …..

CoverTiques - tallhotblond

to ‘no grandma, I do NOT want any of your butterscotch’ …

CoverTiques - grammaThis, lovelies, is reason number 17,540 why I keep him.

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Fear the white man. And woman.

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I have spoken before on how you can never trust white people.
As this is the season for drinking [wait, that's just my house? shit ...], I thought I would remind you why you can never, ever, evereverever, pass out around white people.
Not only do white people fuck with you when passed out, they enjoy it.

They pose with you to insure you know EXACTLY who fucked up your wedding photos!
shaming 1

Then there’s always THAT guy.
[The nose picking is just classy.]
shaming 2

If you think that is the worst white people can do, you are so very wrong.  Wrong in ways that may well come back to haunt you.
[You see that long ass phone cord?  When was this picture taken, 1987?]
shaming 3

Finally, for today’s lesson kids, we have this fine example of why white people can NEVER be trusted.
[THEY TAPED HIS FUCKING EYES SHUT!]
shaming 4

NEVER trust white people.
Especially drunk white people.
You’ll regret it.

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I believe the word you are looking for is rotund.

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Went downstairs to grab a milk so I may enjoy same with lunch ….

ME:  Smiling (yes, that’s right, smiling) with milk in hand, tapping toe of my super high, super cute heels awaiting the ding of the elevator.

StupidMotherFuckerOverThere:  Hey, where you been hiding? We’ve missed you.

ME:  Oh, I quit smoking like two months ago. *chuckle* I don’t see anyone anymore.

StupidMotherFuckerOverThere:  Well, that explains it.

ME:  Explains what?

StupidMotherFuckerOverThere:  Well, umm, I mean, uhhh …. *while putting his hand under his chin to grab the excess skin*

ME:  The weight gain?

StupidMotherFuckerOverThere:  *schew* Yeh, you know, it’s not bad, but you can tell. I’m sure it will come right off.

ME:  How bold of you to presume that I would strive to lose it. I have no insecurities about my weight because when a size 8 is fat, I want to know about it.

StupidMotherFuckerOverThere:  You were a size 8?

ME:  *exhale slowly* No, I was a size 6. Now I’m a size 8. ” *dip head to where I can barely see him over the upper rim of my glasses* And cocksmokers like you is why I quit. I rather be fat than hang around you fuckers.

Hey – did I forget to mention that I got to ride the elevator by myself today. Yahoo!!

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An Unkindness of Ravens*

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After my (almost daily) lunch trip to the library I decided to stop for a quick bite at a deli across the street.

As I live in my own little world most days, I did not realize that I was the only person eating alone. The other tables were filled with male/female combos as today is Administrative Professional’s Day.

ME: Reading, eating, minding my own goddamned business.

BusBoy: So sad you eat alone today.

ME: Excuse me …

BusBoy: Your boss no take you to lunch *as he flails about with his arm showing me all the lucky ladies whose boss is taking them to lunch*

ME: Oh, no, my secretary is having her nails done right now, that was my present to her.

BusBoy: With red face turns on heel and scurries away as quickly as possible.

* If you have an opportunity, pick up An Exaltation of Larks by James Lipton – wonderfully fun, easy read.

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The next person who goes on about global warming is getting a knuckle sammich.

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There are certain things in this world that should not be.

The fact that tonight we will be in the low 30s. In April. In Houston-fucking-Texas is one of those things.

The fact that I worry more about the fiber content in cereal than the deliciousness content. Where’s the fun in that? Let me be clear when I say – there isn’t any!

The fact that when I take my xB to the dealership this morning for a routine oil change I am informed that I need new brakes. To the tune of $315.

This will not do!

Is it that everything in the entire world has gone shitfaced crazy since I stopped smoking or does it just SEEM like everything in the entire world has gone shitfaced crazy since I stopped smoking?

Either way life sucks donkey dick.

And not the good kind.

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Fresh as a daisy.

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ACT I

My drive to work was serene, sunny, warm and downright magical. It was the type of morning where you drive to work and think to yourself, “Like is pretty darn good and you know, maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be fine, everything is going to work out, life is a terrific thing indeed.”

Then I got to work.

I step into the elevator and for once, it wasn’t wall to wall perfume, cologne, body mist, aftershave, scented lotion and the like. Just me and what looked to be a sweet lady with purple leggings and a matching, purple sweater. Flat, purple shoes with shiny gold buckles. Large, ceramic cat earrings with purple trim.

As soon as the elevator doors squeak shut, the lady leans over, too far for my comfort. Totally invaded my personal space in a spacious elevator. She takes a deep breath through her nose, crinkles said nose, and says, “Ewh, you smell like cigarettes.”

After leaning back quite content with herself, I moved into her corner of the elevator. Taking a step in closer than either of us enjoyed, I took an equally deep breath through my nose, crinkled my cute button nose, and said, “Ewh, I smell death on you.”

I didn’t realize there was more room in the elevator but there surely must have been as she shrank from me as her eyes flew open. Maybe she’ll think twice before trying to ruin someone else’s perfect Monday morning.

ACT II
The mailman comes to visit this morning, chipper and perky as always. Happiest mailman on the planet he is. Loves his job and loves his people. By the time he rounds the corner, I am bouncing with him. A package. For me. That isn’t work related!!

The package is from Mom. Wow, Yay, I got a package from Mom. I am hootin-n-hollerin so of course everyone wants to know what’s in the package, right? So they are starting to come closer, right?

It could be anything!!!

Much to every one’s collective surprise when I pull out the Self Breast Exam Pad and Kit.

Nice … real nice …

ACT III
I religiously (heh) check our accounts every morning. Checking, credit cards, etc. All of them. Each and every morning. Many years ago an unauthorized charge appeared on our account so I got nervous and got smart. Thanks but no, we did not order $80 worth of t-shirts to be shipped to the Philippines.

So this morning I examine our checking account and notice a charge for $59.95. To a wholesale online pharmacy. I call the bank, place a fraud alert on our account, contest the charge, get the retailer’s information and then call the retailer directly.

A charming lady named Sue spoke with me, we determined the inaccuracy and she reassures me that the money will be returned (within 7 – 10 days of course, quick to snatch it but take your time getting me my shit back, right … whatever). In the conversation with Sue, I asked what the retailer specializes in, or, what was purchased to say.

Colon cleanser.

Wait, one more time for the audience please.

That’s right … colon cleanser.

I need a lot of things in my life, a lot, but one thing I am pretty sure I don’t need is fucking colon cleanser.

FIN

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Today was a good day.*

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So, you must be asking yourselves in quaking suspense, “What was so good about it?”

Work?

That’s not it. [Heh, that's what she said.]

Financial status?

Nah, haven’t won the lotto yet.

Then what?

Okay, what.

Today I can say, without hesitation, that I have never been more proud of my baby sister. Her ability to adapt, to improvise in the face of adversity, amazes me. I wish I were half as confident, half as willful, half as, well, just strong, as she was today. Things that cripple others, things that just don’t fucking happen to people outside of a big screen setting merely fall behind her with a laugh.

So, to my sister, I say with a scream – YOU GO GIRL!

* Ice Cube.

[Note: I can say all this as she does not read my blog(s) so it's not like I'm sucking up. Which I would. I mean, fuck, she's my sister.]

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Let’s recap shall we.

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In the last two weeks, we have been dealt:

- $400 dryer;

- $1,300 stolen laptop;

- $1,200 dental bill for me;

- $1,100 bill from Midas for a catalytic converter, O2 sensor and manifold; and

- $1,900 dental bill for H1.

Okay, I don’t know who got the wrong memo but let me crystal clear when I state that we can not afford this nonsense. World, Gods, Fates, who-the-fuck-ever, cut dat out. RIGHT NOW!

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