That's just disgusting and unsanitary

So Bitchface is sick. What does Fatass decide to do? He decides to let Bitchface sleep in his bed, using his sheets and pillow. I didn't even notice her curled up into a ball on his bed until a half hour later when I heard an unfamiliar snoring. I look over to the bed and HOLY JUMPING FUCKING CHRIST. There's a sick Bitchface tucked under his covers. It was the most disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

The icing on the cake? Apparently it's Bess's birthday. Happy birthday, Bess. Someone's been sleeping in your douchebag boyfriend's bed.

Pardon me while I go to the Center for Disease Control to get my room bleached.

Video game stupidity

So I get back from class today and I'm enjoying some alone time before dinner. Of course, that's too good to be true. The second I decide it's time for dinner, Fatass comes in. Granted, it's cool that he arrived when I was about to leave, but that's not the douchebag part.

The douchebag part is him saying that he's not going to be here that long, and guess who's with him? That's right, it's Bitchface. So they both come in, even though "we're not going to be here that long." I say whatever, because I'm going to dinner anyway. I get back from dinner, and who do I see? Yup. That's right. Fatass and Bitchface leaning against my bed, playing video games. Apparently, "not that long" will translate until about midnight, and apparently, spring break has taught him nothing about respect for others' property. Not that I expect him to learn anything, because he's a retarded redneck fuck. No, I'm sorry, he's not a retard. That's too offensive... to retards. He's a motherfucking fatheaded, no-brained dickless lunatic that deserves to fail at everything in life forever.

So what are they doing while sitting against the side of MY bed? Well, Bitchface is doodling something unitelligible into her notebook, and Fatass is mashing his fat fingers against a video game controller. It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't so awful. Every 2 seconds, I hear, "God fucking dammit." Literally. Every. Two. Seconds. And then, if he does advance past the bad guys, he makes annoying sounds, like the sound of an alarm or an obnoxious scream or something else that makes me want to drive a railroad spike through his skull.

So what was supposed to be a night of freedom has turned into a disgusting, fish smelly (yes, I think they fucked, because it smells like a wharf) night of misery and hatred. Then again, I'm not surprised. This isn't the first or second time that this has happened, and if I remember correctly, he told Bess that Bitchface wouldn't be over anymore. There are no words that can describe the level of cuntwad this guy is.

And there it is again. "God fucking dammit."

You know what? God fucking damn YOU to the deepest bowels of hell.

Phone Phun, Part III

So Fatass is now stuffing his face with food and asking me about wrestling, and I'm pretty much gritting my teeth as he asks me who Snooki is. Seriously, I fucking hate Jersey Shore, but I know who Snooki is. Currently, he's wearing a sleeveless t-shirt despite the fact it was only 28 degrees out today, and his gut is hanging over the bottom. He buzz cut his hair over break, so now he looks even more like a murderer or pedophile, as I've mentioned previously.

So how was my spring break? Well it started pretty shitty. I had to get my car to an auto parts store to get some oil after my check oil light came on. Turns out I have a cracked head gasket and need to shell out a thousand dollars for the repair. Fan-fucking-tastic.

But on a positive note, I was able to finally see K-Star. We weren't able to do EVERYTHING we wanted, but it was definitely good to see her and unwind. I also got to see the Funkmaster and a few other friends. Ma and Pa Pissy were in Florida for most of the week, so I had the house to myself for a few days, and then I got to spend some quality family time.

Now he's talking about how the Mythbusters did an experiment with a pool of syrup. Again, I like Mythbusters, but I don't give a shit about his awkward attempts at conversation with me. And now Bess is calling, so let's tune in...

... Well, we would tune in, except Fatass realized that he had to go to the bathroom. Now, I'm all for talking to loved ones while on the can. Sometimes I even tell K-Star when I'm sitting on the throne, just so she doesn't question the odd echo from my end of the phone. But in an area where 15 other guys may need to go into the bathroom? I've got news for you, pal. WE DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU OR YOUR PATHETIC LIFE.

Well, I think he may have died in there while taking a shit, so whatever. I'm gonna take off for now, but I'll be sure to post again once he says something stupid. See you all when he gets back.

A short post to prove I'm still alive

No, Fatass hasn't smothered me in my sleep with his fat fucking gut yet, though he does have a creepy assed buzzcut that makes him look more like a child molester than ever before.

I'll have a nice long update at some point tonight, but I just figured I'd check in and confirm my status as one of the living, albeit pissy.

Pinch Hitting: Lewie, Part II

This is the second and segment of Lewie's first story here. She does have another one, but I want to see if there are any other submissions that will trickle in. Anyway, enjoy!

I’m looking back at a journal entry from November 10, 2005 right now. “Someone I can't stand is really starting to get on my nerves... And I might have to stab them.” A direct quote. The room definitely reeks now. Still, I try to extend that olive branch. We still hang out, go to the movies, you know, things friends do but inside the rage is growing. Her family is paying 100 percent for her education; she has not attended a class since God knows when. And she gets mad at me and the other housemates when we suggest she act like a college junior – you know, bathe, clean, learn, things of that nature. She threatens that she will move out, find another place where her housemates will let her be. I keep my fingers crossed.

Have I mentioned yet that she might be retarded? We went to Albany once and she gasped as we drove in, stating that she thought the only city in the state was New York City. She, at age 20, had never been out of her home state. She had to do a project for her science class that involved her drawing a map of the northeastern states and she wasn’t sure what went where. When we finally goaded her into mopping, she just poured bleach on the floor and pushed it around with a mop. I’m pretty sure I used words she had never heard before in everyday conversation. This stupidity plays into the climax of this story.

December 14, 2005 journal entry: “A certain thorn in my side will no longer be annoying me, as of Friday. Halle-fucking-lujah. I was seriously gonna stababitch.” Heifer requested a housing transfer and got it. A happy day! But a smelly one. As were most days with her in our room.

When finals finally wrapped up (she, of course, didn’t go to any of hers) she started packing and I was more than eager to help but pretended to be sad to see her go. As she was clearing the things out from under the bed, I hear her say “Oh, my God, I forgot this was back here.” That’s never a good phrase to hear unless that something is a present for yours truly. She crawls her fat ass out from under the bed with one of my coffee mugs.

(Warning: the following is not for those with weak stomachs.) The stench in the room has grown exponentially at this point. In her hands is a coffee mug overgrown with mold. I’m thinking that it’s just food she forgot about but no, it’s worse. She explains that back in September, her period came early and rather than immediately wash her underwear, she did what her grandmother had told her to do, which was soak the underwear in hot water and soap first. A normal woman would’ve probably done this in a container large enough to actually hold her underwear. Nope, Heifer put it in the mug.

And not only did she put in the mug – my mug, dammit – she put it under her bed so she “wouldn’t forget about it.” Yeah, that’s where I put important things when they should be at the forefront of my thoughts. Over the course of the semester it got pushed back so that it was sitting directly next to the baseboard heater. So it spawned life. And a horrible, horrible smell.

Heifer was kind of flippant about the whole thing, simply pulling the underwear out of the mug and into the garbage. She did offer to wash the mug for me; I said, no, thanks, just toss it. She shrugged, apparently surprised I didn’t want to keep my cup. The second she was officially gone, I threw open the windows (even though it was about 12 degrees) and Lysol-ed everything. I cleaned her half of the room for a solid three days, and, a month later when I got my new (awesome, showering, boundary-respecting, not half-retarded) roommate, she said she noticed a hint of something in the air. I told her this story. She might have thrown up a little in her mouth.

So I feel Pissed Off Roommate’s pain, I truly do. I empathize, but more than that, I sympathize, because I, at least, had another room to stay in most of the time. Pissy, however, is stuck. Stay strong, Pissy, because karma will come back to bite Fatass in his fat ass.

Pinch Hitting: Lewie, Part I

This is the first of the guest blog posts that will be happening throughout spring break due to the absence of Fatass. The blog will return to its regular schedule next Monday. First up is Lewie, with a story I've chosen to divide into two parts. Enjoy!

Let me paint a picture for you (for a picture does not come with odors…unless it’s scratch-and-sniff… this picture is not, thankfully).

It was a simpler time, the fall of 2005. Britney had not yet gone coo-coo bananas and pop-punk bands ruled the radio. I, at age 20, had just transferred from my community college to a four-year institution. I would no longer be living at home. I would, for the first time in my life, have a roommate.

My college sent out letters to all roommates about two weeks before the start of the semester so we could call or email each other to try to get to know one another before we were suddenly sleeping in the same cramped quarters every night. A good idea in theory, I suppose. I called up the roomie (let’s call her Heifer) one gorgeous, sunny August afternoon, sitting on the stone wall in my backyard and chatted with her for about an hour. She seemed nice enough – we laughed, we discovered common interests, all seemed well. Unfortunately, that idyllic setting I was in proved to be much like a scene in a movie – everything was too perfect.

Move in day: I’m with my parents, she’s with her entire extended family. Okay, whatever. They linger a bit longer than they should in the room, but my parents linger a little too long on campus but I suppose that’s what family does. We lived in a townhouse, so we had 1.5 bathrooms and a kitchen and a living room and everything, so of course we needed some additional things we didn’t bring with us. Heifer and I took a road trip to Walmart. Everything seemed to be starting off well.

I managed to find a boyfriend within a week of classes, which, even though he turned out to be the Douchebag of the Decade, was ultimately a good thing for me, because if I hadn’t spent so much time at his place I might have stabbed Heifer. It started innocently enough with her – she would nap all day and then stay up all night. I got used to the light from her computer screen … but once she started having long, schmaltzy phone conversations with her boyfriend at the other end of the state starting at 1 a.m. and listening to dance music sans headphones, I started to become irked. I like it dark and quiet when I sleep, as I’m sure many people do.

Not a month into the semester, she apparently falls gravely ill and asks me to take her to the hospital, since I have a car and she does not. She looks like she’s in pretty severe pain, so I take her and wait in the emergency room lounge for four hours for her. She finally comes out, sobbing. She has a disease that rhymes with Burpee’s but she has no idea how she got it, since she definitely would never cheat on her boyfriend. I am now afraid to touch anything in our room.

This is where things start to fall apart, a mere three weeks into our cohabitation. I have a mini-fridge under my bed I brought from home – she apparently thinks it’s a shared item and not only puts her food in it but also eats my food, without asking. Because I spend so little time in the room, between classes, work and time with Regrettable Boyfriend, she starts to spread her stuff onto my furniture – meaning books on my desk, clothes on my bed; she even used my laptop once because she was too lazy to sit in her chair and use her desktop. I confront her on this stuff and her reply was “Well, you’re not here so it’s like it’s just my room.” No. No, that’s not how it works. I’m still paying for this room. That is my computer, my comforter on that bed and my goddamn fridge.

October comes. Yes, it’s only been a month. There is a hint of an odor in our room. I’m guessing it’s from her Chinese leftovers in my fridge and the laundry she never washes. And, despite the fact that our bedroom is right next to the full bathroom, I’ve never once seen her shower. A quick poll reveals no one else in the house has witnessed this either. We have a house meeting to talk about cleaning, since the rest of us sweep, mop, wash dishes, etc., and the reason Heifer can’t help? “I don’t know how.” This does not surprise me.

At this point, if I remember correctly, she has pretty much given up on going to classes altogether. She literally sleeps all day and is up all night, eating, talking, typing, being a waste of space. Again, most of the time I am not there but when I am, Jesus, I wish I could get a little decency out of her. By the end of October, still not a single report of a shower.

Heifer asked to “borrow” a pair of my black underwear for her Halloween costume, which was a fat, smelly pirate hooker (I added the “fat,” “smelly,” and “hooker” to that description). When she asked when she should return them I said, “No, it’s cool, you keep them.” Erpes-hay!

Spring Break

I'm on spring break holiday for the
rest of the week into next weekend.

Hello, my pissy blog followers from across the United States and the world! Just wanted to let you know that I'm on my spring break holiday for the rest of the week into next weekend. It's been a crazy weekend, but you'll hear all about that in the blog I have cooked up for the day I get back, which will feature not only my angry experiences from spring break, but also whatever Fatass does to piss me off between the time I get back to university and the time I blog.

In the meantime, I've talked to a few people about being guest bloggers, since Fatass isn't here to make fun of. You'll see the first guest blog post up later tonight. If any of you are interested in guest blogging and sharing a story about a horrific roommate experience, please email me at angryatcollege[at]gmail[dot]com. If there's a major flood of submissions and I can't get to them all, I apologize in advance, but if turnout is how I expect, we should be able to fit all of you in.

That's it for now. 'Til next time, what do we always say?

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, FATASS!"

There we go!

Sure, call anytime

Durrr wut's this magicy thang
I can hear muh freeyinds in?

So it's 12:24am and Fatass receives a phone call. If you think it's Bess, you're wrong. It's the other blind, deaf and dumb girl that gets a jolly off his fat stank.

It appears, from their conversation, that I'm not the only one that thinks Fatass and Bitchface are fucking. Maybe that should tell them something. That if they aren't fucking... yup. Just said, "I love you to death, Bitchface." Well, not Bitchface, but her actual name. Still, why is Bess still with this fuck?

He's blathering on like an idiot about how college is all drama and he's been here too long and he's seen so many things and knows about the shallow-minded and uninformed and how their narrow views of life are like a cancer. UH... HELLO???????? Do you even listen to the shit seeping from your mouth? Maybe if you spent a little less time sucking on your own tits and actually did something to benefit society rather than waste space with your fat fucking body and douchebag attitude, you'd actually amount to something decent that might do something besides suck on the state tit for the rest of your life.

Ah, now he's saying that Bitchface can call at any time, and that I may not like it, but whatever.
I can deal with an upset roommate. It's a little easier." Yeah,  you know what else is easy? Ripping out every single greasy hair follicle on your fucking bulbous head with my bare hands to make you look like the prick you are. Suck on that you fucking twat.

So you know what I'm going to do tomorrow night? I'm going to fucking unplug the phone from the jack right after he goes to sleep. Fuck you, you piece of redneck shit. Thank fucking Christ that I'm leaving for spring break in two days, otherwise Fatass might have the debilitating condition of a towel rack going through his tits.

Seriously, at this point, I'm only living with the nasty smelling fat fuck because it's a challenge. I think of myself like the presenters on Top Gear that have to brave the Amazon rain forest or the African salt plains or something, except this is much more foul smelling and with a much worse attitude.

So tomorrow is Ash Wednesday for those in the Christian faith, and I'm taking advantage of that to cut class and be like down on my knees day and night scoring points for the afterlife. If Fatass even thinks about waking me up like a douche, I may just stab him in the eye. Music break!!!

Oh! Now here we go again with the een-veen-cee-bull shit! Still talking about how he threw boots into a bathroom and got a slap on the wrist. And now he's saying that some chick is ugly and how if her feet are any uglier than her face or some stupid thing. Again, have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You aren't exactly Prince Charming there, fuckhead. Hell, you aren't even halfway decent looking. All I see is a bulbousy fuck. No, I take that back, Fatass. When I see you, I see a zit that's just dying to be popped.

"After this bullshit, they should go die. Just go get eaten by a bear." Yeah, I think you should too. Now he's telling Bitchface to have one of her friends Facebook me. I'm glad he sees that I don't desire to be any sort of friend to him and doesn't even try. "Stupid fucking abusive whore." Have you listened to ANYTHING you've goddamn said in the past 50 minutes?

(need-to-take-a-shit fart)

Now he's talking about how one day, someone's attitude is going to get them in trouble. Hey Fatass! I see a red truck! Time to reap what you sow, motherfucker!!!

Why I hate snow days

The Trifecta of Annoyance



 You're probably asking me, "But Pissy! How could you hate snow days? They're glorious inventions you can only get while in school and your schedule for the day is completely free!" Here's how.

I woke up at 7:30am to find that Big State University is closed for the day. I then went back to bed. Fatass MUST have heard me, because I was farting the entire time as payback for his shit farts. So I go back to sleep around 8am, and then sleep until about noon, because hey, it's a snow day. BUT!!!! At 10:30am, Fatass opens the door and goes, "Hey... you know it's a snow day, right?" Nope, I'm just sleeping through my 9am class and 10am lab for the fuck of it! Jesus fucking Christ. Do NOT wake me up for stupid shit. He's lucky I didn't cut his tits off with his own knife.

So then, after rudely waking me up, he turns on the god damn fucking TV. Why? Because he's Fatass and he's up at 10:30! Fuck everybody else! There are only two people in this world I will listen to when they tell me to wake up, and that's Ma and Pa Pissy. If Fatass wants to be a complete cock and try to wake me up by example, I'm just going to keep doing shit he hates, like not take out the trash and not give him my empty cans for free.

So when I roll out of bed at noon, I find that I have the room to myself, figuring that Fatass went to go pork Bitchface in her room or something. But at around quarter after, they're back in the room. Still no asking me if it's okay. Still no common god damn courtesy. Just a condescending "GOOD AFTERNOON" like Ma Pissy would say after I stumble down the stairs at the same time. Seriously, a TV to his fat fucking face is sounding pretty good right now.

Then enter both him and Bitchface. Bitchface plugs her laptop in and is now sitting at the side of my bed while Fatass is laying on his bed with his gut flopped out all over it. Asscrack is, of course, in full view. I'm listening to my iTunes with my headphones in, so what does he do? You guessed it! He asks me the same god damn thing he always does. "Oh, I didn't wake you, did I?" Oh, no. Your obnoxiously loud stupid assed statement about school being closed did NOT wake me up, even though I mumbled something incoherently and then threw my head back down on the pillow. Shut the fuck up, you fat inbred hick. The Trifecta of Annoyance has been complete. I mean, the Triforce is right there, and I'm making a wish for them to get the fuck out until my dying day, but nooooo. I guess I don't possess a balance of the virtues. God dammit.

So yeah, in a nutshell, fuck snow days.

You watch shitty movies, I draw better art

In your fucking face, fuckwad.

"You'll only see me for a few seconds"

So on Friday, Fatass gave me some good news, but as you should always be wary of with this fat dickless fuck is the fact that there is always, always, ALWAYS a silver lining. For example, Friday he said, "Oh, you'll be able to enjoy the room all to yourself this entire weekend. You may see me for a few seconds, but that's it." Yeah, I've heard that one before.

So today, as I'm relaxing by playing a video game, guess what I hear? That's right, the familiar punches of the lock to my room. And who comes in? Not only Fatass, but Bess. Hey, there goes the few seconds! Fat fucking fuck. Remember how he was going to kill Bess if she was sick and contagious? Well, she's here now and she's coughing and sick. If she gets ME sick, I'm going to be really pissed off at both of them. Bess may be a confused little girl, but she doesn't put Fatass in line worth a damn, so fuck her too.

So I figure that maybe Fatass was just dropping off his books or something, but no way! He asks Bess what she wants to do. Obviously they want to fuck, but they won't say as much because apparently the cows that raised them taught them it's not polite to bring that up in conversation. Besides, you two mash hideous bodies every god damn weekend. It's been three fucking months since I've even TOUCHED K-Star, let alone massage her naughty parts.

So they're trying to get back at me for being in the room by turning on a shitty Vin Diesel movie while I'm trying to watch TV. What do I do? I turn up the TV louder. Says Fatass, "this isn't too loud for you, is it?" Nope, I'm just turning up the TV because I've developed sudden acute deafness.

So I've moved to my bed, and guess what I see? That's right, asscrack ahoy. He's got his shirt lifted up so that his belly is flopping against Bess's back (because hey, she might be into that), and he's rubbing her sides and making out with her and all this stupid shit, thinking that I'm just going to magically leave. Ah, it's apparently The Chronicles of Riddick, which ties into their love of shitty sci fi that everybody else hates. At least Judi Dench (M in the James Bond films) and the guy who voices over the Marines commercials is in it. That makes me laugh a little bit.

So, the point is that I'm not being sexiled this weekend. They had two fucking nights at Bess's grandma's house to fuck, so they're getting no action tonight.

Oh, did I mention that when they first got here, Fatass just left for five minutes to talk to someone, leaving Bess alone with the room with me? Hey, I'm not a fucking entertainer here, so I just sat there and played my game while she sat on his bed. I didn't say a word to her and I didn't even look at her. Eventually she left. Maybe she thinks I'm creepy, but fuck that bitch. I don't even care. Fuck them both in their necks.

You think you're a tough guy?

Fatass thinks he rules. He shall
suffer the same fate as O'Doyle here.

So on top of being the world's biggest incestuous douchebag, Fatass is a pretty big bully, especially to those who are smaller than him. There have been plenty of stories from sources other than me on the campus of Big State University about how Fatass has pushed them around, threatened them, and threatened their friends and family. Now, the reason why he hasn't done this to me is because I just don't give a fuck. He could say "well hello there" in his creepy assed way, or he could say "I'm going to kill you" in his creepy assed way, and all I'll hear is just a droning noise because I have my headphones on. You see? I'd be more apathetic if I weren't so lethargic.

But he doesn't think he'll ever get in trouble for anything forever, because he's Boris Grishenko. He's een-veen-cee-bull.

But there's one thing that scares the fuck out of Fatass. And no, it's not just soap. Every other night or so, Fatass will spend at least 20 minutes staring out at the parking lot to make sure nobody comes out. He constantly asks me, "Hey, do you see a red truck out there?" Again, I don't hear a thing because my headphones are fucking on, so he looks himself, and then sits back down on his bed like he's about to wet himself.

My guess is that he tried his Grishenko shit to the wrong redneck and he thinks they'd form an angry mob that's going to come track him down. Unfortunately, he still suffers from delusions of grandeur, so the mob is all in his head. Besides, if they haven't showed up and he's been waiting since August, shouldn't you get the hint? Or are they the mafia or something? Either way, nope, I still don't care.

So Fatass, you have to decide. Are you gonna be a bully or are you gonna be a pussy? Oh, wait. THEY'RE ONE IN THE FUCKING SAME. Go back to the sewer you came from, you fat fuck.

Phone Phun, Part II

So redneck we need a retard in
our room playing a banjo.

Fatass is being obnoxiously loud while talking on the phone to Bess, so I'm going to be a dick right back and post all of his retarded comments on the blog. You know it, you love it. What you'll read is exactly what he's said on his phone conversation to Bess, and then my comments about it.

Let me set the mood for you by telling you that he's laying on his bed in his boots, the mud dripping down onto the place where he sleeps. He lifted up his shirt so that (surprisingly) his bitchtits are covered, but his gut is flopping out, and he's playing with his bellybutton. Gee, why did you get an ear infection, Fatass? Maybe you should stop picking your bellybutton and/or asshole then shoving your finger in your fucking ear.

"I keep hearing the word "terminal" and I think about guns and killing you." That's what he just said to Bess. Seriously, Fatass has issues. Normal people think of computers or airports or something else. For a psychology major, you think he'd pick up on the fact that he's as fucked up in the head as they come.

Oh, and here we go with two minutes of "I loveums you". Hooray. My night has just become fucking fantastic. Clearly, Fatass hasn't taken Penn Jillette's words. Sorry, Penn.

And now he's telling Bess that he refuses to see her when she's sick. "It better not be contagious or I'm going to kill you." Nice. K-Star, if I ever say that, you have permission to castrate me with a rusty knife, okay? You'd think that Fatass would want to make his girlfriend better, but nope. "I'm sorry, I can't afford to be sick."
Yeah, his state healthcare hasn't kicked in. Yep, he told me about it, so it's not just a guess here. He wants to suck on the state tit. Too bad the application hasn't gone through. Good to see that Big State justice still works. He doesn't have health insurance. Cry me a river. You know what? I got fucking swine flu without health insurance. You know what you do? You take as much over the counter shit and pray for the best. He's bitching about a little cold. Fuck you and everyone that looks like you, Fatass. Just thought I'd throw in another disclaimer, letting everyone know that I don't hate fat people. I just hate obnoxious selfish douchebags and I will make fun of anything and everything about them.

(really loud obnoxious yawn)

"I'd very much love to go see my sister and my niece and nephew." Yup, get the condoms and sex lube ready there, Fatass. Apparently, he's completely ditching Bess on spring break and refuses to see her at all the entire week. "I just need to get away from the area." Wow. What a bitch.

Now he's doing some cutesy voice saying, "I wanna play!" Yup, predatorial instincts. It's time to play the game, bitch, and this isn't one of those fun games. It's all about the pain and who's gonna make it. And now he's telling Bess that he's leaving to go visit Bitchface. Funny, I thought you told her you were never gonna see Bitchface again. You must have been a controlling asshole and told her that she doesn't have a choice.

(really loud obnoxious yawn)

(annoying fart noises into the phone)

"Am I bothering you," he asks Bess (I think). Yes you are, you god damn piece of monkey shit.

(obnoxious yawn)

"I loveums you." Yup, and now Bess is in a bad mood because Fatass is hanging out with Bitchface. Now Fatass is getting pissed and verbally abusive.

Apparently now he's sorry and they're talking about herpes. Hooray. "I'm sorry, I just go to school with a bunch of fucking children, and they need to be fucking beat." Yeah, and so do you. You're the biggest fucking child of them all, you self-indulgent redneck cunt.

Now they're talking about when they met, and how Bess felt that Fatass was more like a big brother to her. Yup, more incest and now rape. Awesome. This is so redneck we need to have a retard in our room playing a banjo. Another "I loveums you". Yuck.

(belch, then fart noise)

Yeah, I'm done with this fucking shit. Hope you enjoyed, but I'm off to go do something that doesn't rhyme with "unching him in the face", because that may result in a hefty lawsuit. Get it? Yeah, he didn't.

Piece of human garbage



Fatass, if he knew how to use a computer

 So yesterday was a peculiar day, because Fatass wasn't around. It wasn't long before I was able to realize why. He was off to visit Bitchface, but if Bess called, I should let him know. Uhh... how? Not only do I not know where Bitchface lives (nor do I care), but you don't have a fucking cell phone, computer, pager, or anything else that would connect you to modern civilization. It's just as well, you're just a piece of human garbage anyway.

So anyway, I gather that he's still sneaking around on Bess, spending hours on end in Bitchface's room, yet continually wants to string Bess along for the ride while he rubs clits with Bitchface. Seriously, this kid has issues, and I really want to just remove all of his teeth with a pair of pliers. Yes, I know. It's shocking he even has teeth.

But he was bragging to Bess on the phone yesterday that he had lost 30 pounds since the beginning of the semester. Funny, I don't see any new clothes, belts, or any change whatsoever in his weight. He's still a fat fuck with tits just about the size of K-Star's, and still proudly shows off his fat asscrack. That isn't a sign of losing weight; that's a sign of a broken scale.

So last night, after returning from his whatever-the-fuck-he-was-doing with Bitchface, he comes in. I'm watching a TV show on my computer, which means my headphones are in. Why do I listen with my headphones in when nobody's around? Meh, I don't know. It's habit from back home, I guess. Anyway, what does he do when he walks in? That's right! He starts talking to me! And then guess what? Wow, if you guessed, "he took off his shirt to give his tits some air," you're 2-for-2! So not only is he talking to me about Lord only knows what, which makes me pull my headphones away, he then proceeds to say something about, "oh, my night wasn't too bad."

I don't know how I can make this any clearer, so maybe outside intervention will help. Ladies and gentlemen, to try to get the message across to Fatass, I present to you Penn Jillette...

Fatass,

That is all.

Littering, plus Fatass masturbating. Fatassturbating?

So it appears that Fatass's busy day is Tuesday. Why am I just realizing this? Because I generally don't care about his life in any way, shape, or form. I didn't see him at all today, save for when I got home from work. I've been thinking lately, and I've come to the conclusion that in order to make my blog more well-rounded, I have to release my anger about more things. K-Star says it's theraputic, and I tend to agree.

Anyway, The Pissiest Workplace is in one of your typical supermarkets that doesn't have a goofy fucking * in its name anywhere. Tonight I had the good fortune to both clean the bottle return room AND round up all the fucking carts in the parking lot. You may think that the worst part of the night was the bottle room, but you'd be wrong. That was actually pretty tame, compared to what I found in the carts. It was so nasty, in fact, that it's time for another open letter!

Dear Fuckass Twatwaffle Customers With No Sense of Decency or Respect,

If you leave the box to your kid's newest Barbie doll, your food, or your fucking used tissues in your god damn grocery cart, you will be put on the automatic shit list. If you are ever CAUGHT doing this, you will be shot on site by the staff. Got it? Good.

I mean, it's one thing to litter. Just take your damn boxes and put them on the ground in the parking lot. The maintenance guys will be pissed (and rightly so), but you will not be the subject of an open letter on an angry blog.

But about the food. Seriously, do you really think that it's my fucking job to handle those last little bits of watermelon slices you couldn't shove into your fat mouth? What about that yogurt that was half eaten? We have trash cans all over the god damn place, and you had to leave it in your cart? Seriously? How about you do what normal people do and just finish your god damn fucking food! Am I really the only person whose parents told him that wasting food would kill kids in Africa or some stupid thing? It was total bullshit from Ma and Pa Pissy, but it did get the picture across. But even still, you don't fucking leave it in your grocery cart for the help to chuck.

Used tissues. Seriously, that's a what the fuck right there. Sure you could be an old lady who has no business driving a car, let alone a grocery cart. But if you leave your bloody snot tissue in your cart, you're just creating a breeding ground for disease and another opportunity for public humiliation. If you are using tissues, yes they're disgusting after one blow of the horn. PUT THE GOD DAMN TISSUE IN YOUR GOD DAMN POCKET. I do not want your biowaste anywhere near my person, and I swear to Christ, if I find you leaving your tissue, I will sit on the hood of your fucking car until you remove it. If you try to drive away, the cart will be flung as hard as I can into your doors.

Are we clear? We better be.

Yours,
Pissy


So anyway, I get back to the room, and I'm nearly on the floor due to the raunchy smell of rotting fish in the room. I... don't think that's the smell of rotting farts. I think Fatass tried to rub one out, but since he eats so much beans and cabbage, it can't help but smell like high tide at the wharf. First thing I did without even fucking talking to the bastard is throw the window open. If he's going to finger his clit and stink up the joint, I'm going to make sure that he doesn't get to enjoy wafting in the stank of it.

People like Fatass should've been genetically designed to never be able to experience pleasure.