Herpes is for life. So are Mondays.
I've sort of realized that a lot of jokes geared towards herpes or STDs in general are made here at Content Unrelated. I'd apologize for it, you know? Say I was sorry, or whatever.
But I'm not sorry.
Besides, gonorrhea is just fun to say.
It's no secret that Monday exists for the sole purpose of crippling your soul, consuming your will to live and then projectile-vomiting all over your hopes and dreams. In order to totally perpetuate this disdain for the first day of the week, I will (assuming I don't run out of ideas) provide a list of three things that totally suck each week.
This week's post is brought to you by this fucking pissed off cat:
1. Peanut butter getting on the knife handle.
If you're like me (and I'd almost pray -- for your sake -- you aren't), then you really enjoy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Maybe toasted? Maybe. Or, peanut butter and banana! Damn. Elvis loved that shit. Fried. Not sure I'd be willing to fully commit to a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich, but I fucking digress.
So, that peanut butter isn't getting out of the jar all by itself. You need a tool -- like, say, a knife.
Because the economy took you behind the dumpster and had its way with you, you've been making PB&J for a couple weeks, and your supply of buttered peanuts (okay, I'll admit, that didn't really work) is dwindling. You really need to dig deep in order to get full satisfaction off this sandwich you're about to consume.
You start scraping the bottom of the jar, when you begin realizing the grip you had on the knife isn't nearly as good as you thought it was. Looking down at your hand, you figure out what the fuck just happened: The old peanut butter residue that hung out near the top of the jar has had e-fucking-nough, and is making its escape via your knife and hand.
An inconvenience that must be dealt with post-haste, you chuck the knife in the sink and curse the very thing that has been the staple of your personal food pyramid ever since Economy-Man took a shit all over your parade.
See also: Fucking mayonnaise. Only, you know, not literally. The "fucking" is there for enhancement purposes only. Content Unrelated does not condone condimentiality.
2. Getting busted with/watching porn.
First of all, you fucking deserved it for not hiding it better. Asshat.
Imagine you come home and you walk in on your roomie double-clicking her mouse or pumping his soap dispenser (fucking gross). If you had any respect for yourself, you would immediately and relentlessly give that person shit until the day their filthy, porn-watching soul leaves this Earth and goes straight to Hell (depending on who you talk to).
Backdoor Broads 37 just doesn't sound as appealing with eternal fucking damnation attached to it.
While catching a guy or a gal in the self-act is equally embarrassing for them and equally hilarious for you, society views chicks watching porn and dudes watching porn in totally different lights. The scientists over at Cracked.com have discussed this in full.
Look. I don't condone pornography. The dialogue is damn near awful. I'm just saying, if you get caught, you will hear about it for the rest of your fucking existence. And if you're the one doing the catching, make sure they hear about it for the rest of their fucking existence. That's what friends are for.
3. Losing that one fucking Post-it.
Let's say you have a borderline unnatural obsession with writing stuff down on Post-its. You've seriously lost friends because they can't deal with your shit anymore.
You use these sticky yellow papers for everything. Appointments, addresses, phone numbers, directions, the name of that one movie you pretended to give a shit about but never actually saw because it was the hottie in aisle 12's favorite fucking flick (mmm, that alliteration is delicious).
You have everything within your grasp in the controlled chaos you've created -- until today.
You have this hot date or something, and all the necessary information is on a Post-it, in a sea of other Post-its. You thought you stuck it up there but maybe it fell. Yeah, it might be on the ground. Shit. Do you even remember what time you're supposed to be there? Better check the bathroom. Your stupid ass sticks those things on the mirror too, you know. Nope. Not there. Kitchen? Oh, my God. The refrigerator is a damn Post-it note colony. The one you need could be fucking anywhere up there. Fuck! Why are there so many of them? Did you really need to remember that many bits of information? Are you really that stupid and forgetful? You should've sprung for a decent planner like a normal person. Now you're going to be late, and this girl was totally The One.
Better make a note to take down some of those old notes, ass.
Seven/Eight. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.Look. I don't condone pornography. The dialogue is damn near awful. I'm just saying, if you get caught, you will hear about it for the rest of your fucking existence. And if you're the one doing the catching, make sure they hear about it for the rest of their fucking existence. That's what friends are for.
3. Losing that one fucking Post-it.
Let's say you have a borderline unnatural obsession with writing stuff down on Post-its. You've seriously lost friends because they can't deal with your shit anymore.
You use these sticky yellow papers for everything. Appointments, addresses, phone numbers, directions, the name of that one movie you pretended to give a shit about but never actually saw because it was the hottie in aisle 12's favorite fucking flick (mmm, that alliteration is delicious).
You have everything within your grasp in the controlled chaos you've created -- until today.
You have this hot date or something, and all the necessary information is on a Post-it, in a sea of other Post-its. You thought you stuck it up there but maybe it fell. Yeah, it might be on the ground. Shit. Do you even remember what time you're supposed to be there? Better check the bathroom. Your stupid ass sticks those things on the mirror too, you know. Nope. Not there. Kitchen? Oh, my God. The refrigerator is a damn Post-it note colony. The one you need could be fucking anywhere up there. Fuck! Why are there so many of them? Did you really need to remember that many bits of information? Are you really that stupid and forgetful? You should've sprung for a decent planner like a normal person. Now you're going to be late, and this girl was totally The One.
Better make a note to take down some of those old notes, ass.
---
Now, go forth and carpe the fucking diem. Get some caffeine in your system because Monday's here all day, so you're just going to have to buck up and deal with the harsh reality of it all like the rest of us.
Keep hating Monday with previous Things that Suck posts.
Think Monday sucks as much as I do? Feel free to comment with your own list of things that suck. If I think it sucks as much as you do, I'll write about it in a future Things that Suck post. Seriously! What an honor it would be for you!
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1 comments unrelated:
I've said too much, so I'll let you take it from here.