With an optimistic young man and a cynical young woman, this blog is satirical. Both educated, and furthering their education readers get to know the world through these two fabulously witty young adults. --I sound like a critique (French for Critic) I am good at it because I am critical. --E

Monday, August 13, 2012

Where I've been and what I've been doing.

Hello! My name is Rees, and I'm an alcoholic.
I know that some of you have been wondering where I've been, and by "some" I am, of course, referring to Karen Ripple, the love of my life<3. Although I don't owe you any sort of explanation regarding my absence,   I'm going to give you one anyway because my whorescope told me to...FML!

Moving out of my parents' house was the most obese decision I've ever had to make.  I simply could not put up with my family's "openness" any longer--primarily because I'm insecure about the size of my penis as, frankly, it's just too large. In fact, ever since I was a child, people have commented on it, saying things like "You're penis is too large and oddly colored."
Orem is pretty cool if you're into gay bondage porn, but for everyone else, I would't recommend living here. It smells badly, and women breast feed in public, which isn't all bad I suppose.  I did, however, find momentary happiness when I happened upon a Starbucks but was completely torn asunder when I realized that the young, hip, and liberal  that used to occupy the aroma-therapeutic building were replaced with Azkaban wizard prison patients that'd survived all 7 movies. Plus no one here listens to Whitney Houston, which is a crime, and if I had to guess, I'd say they breath through their mouths and fart in the shower.

I still work at Rocky Mountain ATV/MC, and I still complain about it like the bitch I remain.  Other than a certain Hawaiian whose name starts with a 'D' and rhymes with Heybid, things are pretty good.  I got this dope-ass promotion titled "Call Center Supervisor" and now I get to tell those who irritate me that they irritate me.  It does have its drawbacks though:(.  I have to deal with that whole 'more power: more responsibility' bullshit, which is irritating.  To make matters worse, I don't even smell like the Michelin Man's testicles anymore and am really starting to wonder if the pros outweigh the cons.  I think the best thing is that I can now afford Seven (as in Fergie's lyrics, "SEVEN jeans true religion, I say no but they keep givin'") underwear, which give me a lot of "perk" down south.  FUN FACT: I haven't showered in, like, 3 weeks. So, yeah.

#Tired of Headings
I'm no longer going to be categorizing my "Where I've been" blog because I don't want to.  I doubt that anyone will make it this far anyways, but for those who have, blink twice. Fun. My laptop is currently burning my white-ass thighs so I am going to be changing positions. (Brief pause recommended)  I am done now. Oh!! I almost forgot to mention: if anyone wants to give me money, you can.  Also, I love coconuts. Other than work and Orem, not much has changed. I still want black children; I still want to kick everyone in the face; I still dislike most children; and I still kinda suk at speling;  My sister is still married, so that's good. My love life is still nonexistent.  I still have no ambition. I still refer to myself in third under alter ego number 2, "Daddy."

Watching the Olympics.
The Olympics is cool.. I really like black women, so I'm having a lot of fun with it.  Ryan Lochte may be the stoopidedest person that I've ever seen on TV, which is saying something because I often watch Teen Mom. Speaking of pregnant teens, I haven't hear from Elizabeth in a while. Text me at 8018222842 if you see her. 

That is how I am and where I've been in short.  If you have any questions then keep them to yourself...Asshole.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Careers Lacking Everything Important

Everyday of my sad life I am slightly irritated with the jobs some people. I constantly wondered, who the hell gave them this job? It hit me, we did. Society decided these jobs -whichI will lament about below, were acceptable. It made me hate everyone for like a solid 15 minutes. So, of course I wrote a blog about it.

Professional Pencil Sharpeners. Yes, this job does exist, and we are all pretty pissed about it. Why? Because this is not an office appliance, it is a dumb ass who wrote a book. It seems this man is getting paid to be severely OCD. Simply. David Rees, the aurthor of "How to Sharpen Pencils" is one of the largest idiots I have ever seen on YouTube. These idiots on YouTube are all over the damn place. You cannot get rid of them.

Grizzlie Bear Experts. This title, in all honesty, does not include a degree from any sort of educational institute, rather bestowed upon a person by AnimalPlanet. For AnimalPlanet to knight someone with such a prestigious title one must drink lamb blood, hop around on one foot six times, then sing John Jacob Jingle Hiemer-Schmidt, then once the sacred dance has been successfully jimmied the individual must then eat 24 sticks of chalk. Then, and only then can your application for Grizzlie Bear Expert be considered. Usually, one must endure an "under the tabel job" to finalize the application.

Licensed Professional  Organizing Experts. We have all seen Hoarders: Buried Alive. We have all seen the woman who hasn't lost the baby weight of her last 3 children on the screen explain her position of Licensed Professioanl Organizing Expert, she is there to help Darlene clean her shit off her walls. In reality, her scrapbooking club probably started dividing and feuding, so to compensate for her lost hobby she did the next best thing she was good at: cleaning. You see the likely hood of this woman having an actual set of skills that would maybe matter in the real world is slim to none. She can cook, clean, and glue pictures onto decorative paper. The real definition of a woman. She too is one of the largest idiots on T.V.

Golfing Caddies. Can we be honest with ourselves for 10 minutes? Who wants to carry someone elses shit around. Not only THAT but only to grow up and become the looser. You carry someone elses shit around and on top of that you will forever be the kid that was good at the one thing: spatial reasoning, so all the cool kids use you for your one pathetic talent. "Aim 3 inches to the left and hit it a little harder than usual" "Hey thank's Caddy, thanks for basically telling me how to win and holding everything for me." Not only is it depressing knowing that all a Caddy is, is the kid in your math class that let everyone cheat off of him to be well-liked. Except the kid grew up and didn't become a CEO. I have a feeling a Golfing Caddy is to an intelligent person's rock bottom as heroin addict is to everyone else who had friends in high school.

Guarding Buckingham Palace. This job makes me wonder why on earth is London okay with paying for this? If my tax dollars were going toward boring, unattractive, douchebags standing outside of the white house to just stare out at the horizon, I would throw a fit. This job has nothing to do with anything. There is no point to it, Al'Qaeda is not likely to storm Buckinham palace to assassinate Queen Elizabeth II who never smiles. That woman is even too depressing for terrorists. Still, the day will come when I do whatever it takes to make one of those boring, unattractive, douchebags laugh and loose their job.

Despite the fact that society annoyed me, yet again, I forgave the masses, yet again. I still know my true calling in life, and have always known what I want to be when I grow up: A full breasted woman much like my good friend McKinley Parr.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The Elderly and Automotive Vehicles

Spending the day with a senior citizen, who I love and who will not be named, made me realize the problem our society is facing. Why is it that the general population complains about irresponsible, dope smoking, fornicating teenagers driving like mad men, when the elderly are so much worse. Granted, I have passed my shitty driving days and have moved onto much safer alternatives like seat belts, only going 5 over the speed limit, and blasting music only when alone and ugly crying. Let's be real, we have all been behind the lady going 25 mph in a 40 mph zone, we have all gone to pass her and flip her off. Yet.. once we realize she is almost dead we feel guilty. We have all been stuck behind the car who is at a dead stop in the middle of the road. We always notice the tiny man who can't see past the steering wheel, you see he has shrunk since his prime in 1942, and is swerving all over the damn road. We have been in the car with some of these fantastically sweet individuals, and in the beginning of the drive you love them. Soon, you feel like throwing up, you have a headache. You notice each time they slam on the brakes for no apparent reason. You notice every stop sign they imagine to be in the middle of the road. You start to feel nervous and uneasy when suddenly you are not in a lane, you are driving on the shoulder of the road. Now you don't love them so much, rather you beg them to let you out of the car. But do not worry, you aren't driving because you have only had your license for 3 years!

Who the hell decided that these old folk should have a license?? Logically how is this safe? Publicly speaking this is a problem.

The elderly on the road will drive me to drink, even more. 

Thursday, May 10, 2012

The Test Takers.

Everyone has had to take a stressful test. We have all been there. Are we all stressed about it: Yes. Do we regret it: Maybe a little. Did it make us all want drink a gallon of bleach: Most likely. There is something I noticed while taking the AP Literature exam, there are always the same roles to filled when taking a test.

You have talkers, these people will take any chance they have to start shoving out their verbal vomit. These people will always say useless, trivial things. Not only do they saying exceedingly annoying things like what was your grade, you see they are also very competitive. These people always have a voice that's noise will suck the life out of you, a speech impediment of a sort, maybe even both. It is at this moment when you realize the Talkers ring leader is sitting right behind you. This is getting serious. As you listen to this person explain the timing of these three 40 minute essays you have to write, you realize the test proctor is struggling. This is beginning to get very serious...

Side Note: Test proctors are either very sweet or bitches. These people don't really know what test you're taking, nor do they particularly care. They don't care because the likelihood that they won't understand the subject matter is usually pretty high. As you sit, staring at your test proctor wondering why in the world the state is paying someone to tell you how to bubble in your own name, it hits you. There are a few people surrounding you that make this, otherwise useless job, necessary.

Next, as the test proctor is reminding the class the rules of proper scantron bubble filling technique (it's not as though we have been doing this for 12 years?) You begin to appreciate the proctor as they remind the Talker behind you to shut the hell up.

You have the Point-Whores/Noticers, these people make talkers competitive streak look pathetic. They will harass the proctor for each tiny detail of something that is not spelled out clearly. If something is implied they will ask. If something is brushed over they will continue to ask. If something is skipped they won't allow it. They stall everything, and piss everyone off. The truth is, no gives a shit if your ethnicity is not explicitly stated. Let's be real, if you're not African American, or Indian, you are white. IF you are white then you better make damn sure you ace the test, else no scholarship is coming your way.  No one really cares if you are 1/32 Native Alaskan. Just fill in an effing bubble.

The Point-Whores and Talkers will often play off of one another, Point-Whores give something the Talkers to talk about and talkers give Point-Whores their incompetent comments to pick flaws off of.

You have No Shows, these are usually my favorite people. They make me happy, mainly because they aren't talking or wasting my personal time. If anything they are at home sleeping, this makes me jealous but I get over it. However, the No Shows do allow the Talkers to expel more worthless garbage out of their mouths. This subsides when the Proctor reminds the Talkers that no one gives a shit.

The test is so close, you have told the College Board basically everything about you: You have given them your full name, social security number, address, ethnicity, religion, you have practically sold you soul to the devil just to try and get to the test. It almost seems as though every normal individual in the room wants to take the test, not because they care about the subject matter, purely for some peace and quiet.

You begin the test. The test proctor, due to lack of ability and civility will mention a few things as you are obviously taking a test. But after a few minutes you forgive the proctor because you have accepted the fact they are flawed and are nothing like you. Finally it seems quiet.

Then you remember the final category of test takers.

The Coughers, this group is the easiest to hate but the hardest to openly despise. At first you brush them off, suddenly they continue. They have loud coughs, soft coughs, long coughs, short coughs, wet coughs, dry coughs, and you abhor every single one of them. Every single one. This breed of test takers turn the whole test taking experience to a new level. You were fine with them before, they even blended in, you never heard them cough. Suddenly, they decide to get a cold, or a tickle in their throat. This selfish act makes them the most hated people in the room.

Luckily there are the few that understand your pain, you make eye contact with them as if saying "Hang in there, there is hope." Without these connective glances you would consider accidentally choking on your pencil, taking your own shirt off to make a noose, or even slapping the loud breather sitting next to you across their freckled face.

Once the test is over, you get the hell out of dodge, you do not want to hear the Talkers talk about which questions they got right and which they choked on. You do not want to hear the Point-Whores convene evaluate each essay prompt and decide their AP score on the spot- these people believe themselves to be All Knowing. You want to go find the No Shows, get a cup a coffee and repress the entire experience.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Mr. Cooper from C214: Equal Employment Opportunity Fail.

Truant delinquency has been an enticing idea wafting in front of me all my young life. This year, senior year, it became too much to handle. Granted my arrogance still makes me believe that I was never on the edge of "I am going to stick it to the man by damaging my own future" but who can really say? It all started it Financial Literacy. I am financially literate. This class was a waste of time; the only reason I went was to listen to Rosa Shoeman (name has been changed, obviously it rhymes..) talk about how much fun it is to be rich but not famous, and how awesome her life is. I really love listening to people talk about how awesome their lives are. Who doesn't? Meanwhile, I am stuck at home washing my sister's shit off the wall. I began to realize that anything was better than listening to everyone talk about their prophet, credit card horror stories, and how their cousin's ex-boyfriend's dog's previous owner's Mexican cleaning lady's baby's daddy's credit card was once stolen at Cabelas, and was used to purchase a lifetime supply of ping pong balls, hair spray, and anal beads. Therefore, naturally, I found better things to do. For example; watching 16 Candles-wishing John Hughes directed my life, doodling on bathroom stalls, playing Bop-It, washing my hands 17 times, eating mysterious food at Los 4 Amigos, taking pictures of ridiculous people in public, spending figurative money on things I wish I had, breaking my phone, listening to babies cry, listening to babies cry at the movies, hosting my imaginary talk show, making lists of things that bother me, making lists of things that don't bother me, melting down an entire 24 box of crayons just for fun, hacking my brother Facebook, and (last but not least) ripping out my eyelashes. Financial Literacy made me want to die, so I quit going. I literally quit going.

Soon, I realized I had 40 hours of detention, naturally I went to lunch detention. 

First Mistake: Taking responsibility of my actions.
Second Mistake: Going to lunch detention.

Day One: I walk in only to be greeted by a man who resembled Dwight and Voldemort, I took the liberty of morphing the image:
Said man was barking out the time as so: 10:55, class its now 10:56, alright it is now 10:57. This is Mr. Cooper, wanting to make sure no one ever gets one minute closer to serving their time in his version of debtors prison. I take my seat, log into my computer, begin to think about what to Google and waste my time on, while I peel a seemingly innocent banana. "Miss! Miss, blonde girl with the banana!! Miss you cannot eat that in here, you need to sign out and eat that somewhere else, MISS!" His verbal vomit made me want to hit (open hand of course, I'm 18 now and can in fact go to jail.) the permanent squint off his face. 
It was a Goddamn banana. It is lunch detention, am I supposed to starve? What if I were a recovering anorexi-addict, I could have been addicted to not eating food and he could have damaged my health forever! I observed his God awful social skills and class room management curriculum resembling that of the communist Russian leader, Stalin. I had to eat the damn banana, I ate it in the hall way and ended up serving 23 minutes of detention, instead of 30. I began to feel something inside me want see Mr. Cooper fall down 6-7 stairs, not enough to do any permanent damage but just enough to make me laugh.

Third Mistake: Going back to Lunch Detention.
Forth Mistake: Giving Mr. Cooper a chance to redeem himself.

Day Two: After realizing something as trivial as a banana was getting in between Mr. Cooper and I, I went back. I started off with a clean slate and an eagerness to try and give this another shot. I entered the room only to hear his nasally voice expressing the importance of each minute, God forbid I walk in at 10:54 and write 10:54 as the clock turns to 10:55. I see a nice young girl opening a small bag of Chexmix. Bad Idea. Mr. Cooper gets right behind her barking his codes and rules, meanwhile at his computer there is a nice warm thermos full of soup, crackers and even some fruit snacks. This nice young lady is kicked out for eating "one more" cracker in front of him. 

This man literally does not allow anybody to breathe. Can we Google, "how to tell my mom I am still a virgin" No. How can he tell? You're smiling. I ask- who would smile with that kind of problem, this problem you you had to Google. But either way if Mr. Cooper sees a smile, senses a glimmer of happiness, or even smells your jovial disposition you are OUT. 

Fifth Mistake: Putting up with his bullshit.

Many Days Into Wanting Mr. Cooper to Fall Down Those Stairs: There I was, trying my best to keep my heart rate down so I didn't have a sudden out burst of rage as Mr. Cooper literally badgered the shit out of everyone. I was working on my Pharmacy Tech flash cards, Mr. Cooper approaches me and asks what class this was for, I explain that it was for no class and was for my PCTB test. Suddenly I am told my time does not count for the day because my work was not school related. I hate this man, I damned him to hell over and over and over. 

As my days went on in Lunch Detention I became more and more irritable, if Mr. Cooper quizzed me one more time on whether the work I was working on was school related or not, he was getting back handed. If I had to hear him talk about how he (the Computer Room God) was the only man aloud to eat food in this room  I was going to make it a known fact that I suspected he had Aspergers Syndrome. For this day forward, every time Mr. Cooper pissed me off, remotely made me cringe, I would nonchalantly print off 12 copies of a list expressing the symptoms of Adult Aspergers Syndrome. Did he see them, yes, Did I put them on his desk, yes, Did he get my heartless hints, Of course not, he is socially retarded. Mr. Cooper literally acts as though he had to pass a series of tests to become a "computer guy", one of the test being walking on water. The power trip going on in C214 is straight up on a celestial level. 

Ever since I wrote a strongly worded letter, in my father's name, to the administration I have not had to put up with Mr. Cooper. Has Brenda Burr actually sat down and had a talk to Mr. Cooper like she says she will, probably not. She has seen him walk across Salem Pond while downloading spyware software. (That's how he got his "computer guy" job.) 

I understand that in Mr. Cooper's time the autism spectrum wasn't around. Don't get it twisted I love special needs individuals, however I do not think that there is an excuse for denying young impressionable teenagers happiness or crackers. 

Salem Hills High School, you failed. You have shamed the Equal Opportunity act. This act serves a purpose to provide competition in the work place. You have proven to the world that this school is not be taken seriously due to the fact that AN employee is allergic to happiness (in any form), cannot tolerate fun, refuses to adhere to personal space, actively discriminates against everyone who enjoys eating during lunch hours, squints constantly while wearing glasses, and believes himself to be the closest thing to God. We all know that nepotism and a "let's create diversity in the workplace by having someone special be our computer guy" attitude motivated his hiring. Diversity my ass.  

Mr. Cooper, I still want to witness you slip, trip, or stumble at least once down 6 or 7 stairs, just to reassure myself that there is in fact a God, and he is nothing like you.

That is all.  

Thursday, January 19, 2012

You can't tell anybody?

I think we can all agree that when someone tells you the latest "down low" on a sitch (slang for situation) and they say "You can't tell anyone" that is just plain bullshit. I can't tell anyone but you can? And if YOU are choosing to tell me than obviously YOU would be the +1 I would choose (we can only hope). It seems like this formality really needs to go... She has sex with her dog but you can't tell anyone? Why? That is disgusting and GOD KNOWS you should inform someone or something that can stop that atrocity...like.. Sarah McLaughlin's charity for hardly abused animals. Do some justice. Her parents are going bankrupt but you can't tell anyone? Oh you mean that one girl that constantly brags about all the shit her parents own? Don't they have a yacht? And didn't she get a Maybach for her half 17th birthday? Oh okay.. I won't tell a soul that Karma is a large bitch. Wait you mean that he has gonorrhea and I shouldn't tell anyone? Man whores who whore around deserve the humiliation. But girls who are dumb enough to get down with that jerk off..... Yeah I won't tell anyone.

I suppose its just something you should say, kind of like saying mind your P's and Q's, or don't touch that, it's still wet paint, or sort of like saying some countries need maps.

It is pedantic. You are not going to remember that bit of useful "advice" as you touch the wet paint, TELL someone to grab you a drink or sound like a moron on national TV. It's a waste of time. Stop wasting our time. You know damn well that someone will tell. That is why you told.