Most of my skills are outdated but I can still swear like a drunken sailor and run like a mother-fucker unless it’s the other way around
It’s okay. I looked it up and contrary to what you might think, it’s okay to say mother-fucker. It’s perfectly fine. Please pass it on.
The real culprit is mofo, a lazy-ass short-form if I’ve ever seen one
According to Urban Dictionary, mofo is slang for mother-fucker – so I guess IT has been the bad one all along – which is good to know in the same way it’s good to know that chocolate and red wine are actually good for you. But I will start off slowly – just like I did with the wine – and add mother-fucker to my to-be-approved pile and will use sparingly, as I’m sure you can tell I’m already doing, until all doubt is removed. After all, I don’t want to jump to conclusions or anything else, especially since I already went to the gym today.
Looking-it-up used to involve leafing through nearly see-through pages searching for words that you didn’t even know how to spell which often seemed counter-productive for a very long time until you sometimes forgot the word or ceased to care
When I was a kid, Scrabble was one of our favourite games and my mom and sibs and I played it all the time. Sometimes my dad would join us – plunking down words we’d never heard of – and somebody would have to look them up and there they were, all of them, all the time. The only one I remember is YETI and it’s been showing up on my Scrabble racks ever since – way more times than the odds say it should – and I plunk it down just like he did all those years before which is weird and wonderful and wistful and as I write this I wonder if Yeti is Canadian for Leprechaun which would make a sort of divine sense and I’m just going to go ahead and believe it. Please feel free to pass it on.
Aside from swearing – I was just kidding about the running – I am pretty good at insults, I have a flair for hyphens and dashes, I have excellent aim, and can type 165 wpm including numbers, symbols, and all your passwords
I think the quiet zone is cancelled today so the woman behind me can complain about the heat as she melts, which I hope she proves to be efficient at. You know. In the same way I am efficient at ending sentences with a proposition, or – and this time I’ll say it correctly – a preposition.
Because ending sentences the first way would only bring about confusion, scandal and hard feelings. Good thing I can run
You should have seen the way I just spun around – in a very effective way that involved acute agility in the neck department – and glared (another of my specialties) at melting woman who looks exactly the way you think she does. She clearly has no sense at all, and of course she’s melting inefficiently, as in not mouth first.
Where’s brooding guy when I need him?
I suppose he made it on the earlier train. Of course he did. He’s probably never late for anything except manners but it’s a good thing I missed him today (do you think he missed me, too?) because all those endorphins I got at the gym are making me type so loud and fast he’d think I was doing it on purpose, knowing him.
And he’d be at least partially right, knowing me
Good thing about the gym for another reason too, because tight clothing in this weather is enough to make anyone bitchy. This humidity is clause for claustrophobia (I know) and is the third most prevalent reason bras are slingshotted soon as people get home.
As I already mentioned, I am an excellent shot. Just ask Daisy or the cat, both of whom have a built-in bullseye
I just read this blog over – right from the catchy and perfectly acceptable title to the little bullseye problem right there – and if you’re still with me, here’s some watermelon, spiked.
