Looooow fucking standards

Fatass on his average
Saturday afternoon.

Howdy, folks.

So it's another day, so you know what that means, right? You guessed it! More unannounced guests who just make themselves at home in my room without my permission. Today we have regular repeat offender Bitchface over. Seriously, it's like the mentally challenged criminal that is caught jumping across the counter at McDonalds to steal fries, getting arrested for it every day, and then coming back to do it again. "Derrrrrrrrrrrp I like being in yer room derrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp." No, nobody likes being in my room, and you know why? Because it smells constantly like either a seafood store or a shit factory. And I got news for ya. It ain't me. I shower and put on deodorant every fucking day.

I got back from school today while Fatass was apparently in the bathroom (no, he probably didn't wash his hands. I didn't bother noticing). I sit down at my computer because that's what I do to drown out the annoying high pitched squealing of Bitchface whenever she's around Fatass. He says "it's back", as if I'm a fucking thing. Pretty sure I'm more of a man than you are, because unlike some of us, *I* don't have tits. But back to Bitchface... she apparently worships him like he's the best thing in the world. Looooooow standards!

That's the problem with people like Bess and Bitchface. I used to think that Bess was a sweet girl that was just misguided and didn't know how to be treated, but nah, she's just a bitch. However, she, like Bitchface have looooow fucking standards. Let's go over, shall we?

(SPOILER ALERT): I'm not Brad Pitt. I am not remotely attractive. I'd say I'm somewhere between Gerard Butler and Steve Buschemi. But at least I know how to act, I know how to make people laugh, and I'm not a toxic fart-ripping, inconsiderate, nosepicking fuck, so that makes me generally appealing to K-Star. I'm cool with that. I treat her with respect and I generally know how to show her a good time that doesn't involve comparing bra sizes.

However, with people like Bess and Bitchface, they're just banking on the fact that somewhere beneath all the folds and hair and sweat, there might be a penis down there. It's like an urban legend and they're the ones that think that they'll prove the world wrong by finding out that Fatass has a cock. Only problem is that it's not the penis that matters when it comes to being a man. It's about doing stuff that benefits your woman and makes her happy. Fatass has yet to grasp this and thinks that because he's got a penis, he's a man. He's also got B cups, so does that make him a lady as well?

It's really kind of pathetic that those two harpies fawn over him like he's the best thing since macaroni with cheese. He's fat, he's a douchebag, he doesn't know how to take care of himself and he doesn't know how to treat others. And now he just farted. Terrific. But because of their low standards, people like him, who should be banned from any form of pleasure, get to have their balls played with. There's something criminal about that. They're still stuck in that high school mindset that the bully and the bad boy is the one to go after, because he may put you down, but he's sooooooooooooo popular. Got news for you, bitches. He's only popular with you two and his drug addict brother, so grow up and walk away.

People like them really need to raise their standards and get out of the high school drama phase of their lives. Sure, that's fine to do between the ages of 14 and maybe 20 if you're really desperate, but once you hit junior year of college, you should realize that it's not all about people who are popular. You should look for things like happiness, love, and not having boobs bigger than yours. But hey, if you want to live in your own little dreamlands where those bitchtits are actually mountains of popular manliness that's your ticket to being awesome, you're just flat out wrong. Those bitchtits are horrendous things that will lead you into a trailer park mothering 8 state-fed babies you can't take care of. Welcome to life, bitches.

The one and only time I'm nice on this blog



Bin of Death



Just wanted to give a big thank you to The Angriest Pharmacist for pimping out my own little pissed off corner of the interwebs. A big welcome to all of you that are jumping over. I would strongly recommend starting the story at the beginning, which, for the sake of convenience, can be found here.

Anyway, the annoying tones of Fatass's snoring are keeping me awake, so I figured I'd offer you a little taste of what's to expect here, now that I've got an actual plan for this damn thing.

• Sundays will be art day. Here you will find my amazing Photoshopping skills on full display with a story to go along with it. I figure it's a great way to wrap up a weekend filled with Fatass.
• On every other day, I'll make shit up as I go. Awesome.

I'm also in the process of adding more pictures to the blog so that it breaks up the long ass blocks of text. Therefore, for your viewing pleasure, I've taken a picture of the creepy bin he wants me to put my returnable bottles and cans in so that he can cash in on me and my diet soda drinking habit. Fucking schmuck.

Anyway, hope you enjoy. But if you don't, meh, whatever.

Phone etiquette

So we all know that Fatass has some serious verbal abuse issues when talking to Bess on the phone. What I never expect is Bess giving me attitude just because Fatass isn't there to take her call. Granted, I get why she's pissed. Fatass is probably off porking Bitchface in a dirty basement, and Bess isn't happy about it. I understand. And the other big problem is that Bess is just a hint above the age of consent, so she doesn't know any better. Fatass is her sweetheart while she was in high school (even though he was in college when they started dating). So she's got these rose colored glasses on and he's just fucking with her. However, don't shoot the messenger, bitch.

Honestly, I haven't seen much of Fatass today, aside from 10 minutes after I got back from dinner. He had his shirt off and started talking to me after I had my headphones on. However, Bitchface wasn't there, so the Trifecta of Annoyance was not complete. Anyway, he left to go do some stupid thing, so it's actually been a pretty Fatass free day. However, I still feel rage bottling up inside. I must really have issues, but I'm going to do the healthy thing that millions of Americans do every day and let it out on somebody else. It's only natural, right? Bess does it to me when I answer the phone, so I'm gonna let out my rage on another person that should have his body dragged through the streets of Rome.

I have no fucking clue why, but I am Facebook friends with a highly annoying excuse of a person who seems to think that his minor accomplishments are stuff of the gods and he should have his feet kissed for them. As a part of his Facebook bio, he proudly states that he was the "Valedictorian of Senior Magazine Sales" at his high school. I am not making this up.

I'm tempted to write on his wall and say, "Hey, Mr. Self-Important Bag of Shit Nobody Cares About! I think of your senior magazine sales on the same level as the latest guy or guys the Kardashians are banging." For those of you who are wondering, I don't give a flying fuck about either.

Nobody freaking cares about high school, not even high school professionals. Now, before I get angry comments and emails saying that I don't understand the rigors of the high school teachers in Big State, let me tell you this. I know enough about public education to see someone get pushed through if it's needed. I've seen enough "star athletes who struggle just a wee bit" get forced through trig and calculus just so that they can get their diploma and then the big scholarship so that they can go to a big school and put tiny little East Bumfuck on the map as the Hometown of Joe Beercan. I've also seen enough shit go down in guidance counselors' offices to be shocked and appalled at the way transcripts are treated. I've seen situations where transcripts weren't sent out at all because, "Oops, I forgot." That's not to say that there aren't dedicated, caring individuals working in public education. It's that the great majority of them don't give a shit.

Anyway, back to our original tangent. The only people that care about high school are college admissions offices, and even then, they don't care about high school if you're transferring in. If you're a freshman, they don't even care if you were the "valedictorian of senior magazine sales". All they care about are SAT and ACT scores, your high school GPA, and they want to see that you did a few extracirriculars just to make sure you weren't just twiddling your dick for four years.

So here's the deal, Mr. Facebook Fuckhead. Do something notable in college aside from making minor things into delusionally earth shattering life events. Maybe get a hobby or stop masturbating into condoms and go get laid for real. No, on second thought, I take that back. People of your breed should not be permitted to spill your seed into the gene pool.

Yeah, I'm probably being hypocritical right now. I'm probably not giving people the proper consideration to make fair decisions. Hell, I'll be the first to tell you that I make things out to be a big deal, but not on this scale. You don't see me bragging on Facebook with the accomplishment, "Biggest Dump in Pissy Household, 2008".

And now guess who's back in the room. He's now laying on his bed "studying", but is really talking to himself and humming to himself. Oh, and yeah. He took his shirt off right after walking in the door, so don't even bother asking. Today just keeps getting better and better.