I’m a HUGE fan of Allie Brosh (aka Hyperbole and a Half). She’s hilarious, beautiful, and broken. She’s perfect. I would crane-kick ice cream out my nephew’s mouth to meet her.
These are my new prized possessions:
It’s alot of mugs!
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Every sip of coffee from my new favorite mug leaves me feeling warm and tingly in my tummy. As I glimmer into the thoughtless eyes of my Alots, I can’t help but wonder…
Where the HELL is MY BOOK, TAMS?!
It’s getting close to TWO YEARS since I let my sister “borrow” my book.
Why do older sisters always take and never return? Why doth sisters not honor baby-bro belongings?
I’ve even lost so many sweaters and sweatpants per a sister’s prerogative. Why?! It’s not like my size is comfortable. Girls like their men’s clothes baggy. I’ve got a lady’s figure.
Do older sisters really find comfort being cloaked in a baby brother’s girlish despair? I should have some things of my own. Let’s break the cycle. I’ve already lost so much.
Let’s learn some etiquette.
Sure, I’ll drive. Hop in. Don’t slam my door.
Let’s learn some basic passenger etiquette:
1. Don’t slam my door. For fuck’s sake, don’t slam my fucking door. Stop calling upon your inner Samson. It really doesn’t take much force. Nudge the door and let it close itself. Stop slamming my door like you’re trying to flip my car onto its side. Jesus.
2. Don’t touch that dial. The radio, air conditioner, my nipples…anything in the car with a knob…you no touch. Have you noticed how all of the controls are centralized closer to the driver’s seat? It’s because they’re mine. I control. You listen to my music, at my volume. If you want me to hear the mindless jabber out your yapper, speak louder. Scream. Don’t touch me knobs.
3. The trash is yours. I am appalled at the large quantity of passengers that “forget” their trash in my car. Put the receipt in your pocket…not my cup holder. Hold onto your Cactus Cooler…don’t put it in my cup holder. Eat your god damn candy wrapper…don’t shove it into my god damn cup holder. The moment you step out of my car, the stuff you leave behind becomes garbage. Have some respect and stop acting like I’m driving your own personal garbage truck. My car’s cup holder ain’t your trash bin for ants.
4. Get your dirty fucking shoes off my dash. Cross your legs. Get comfortable. But keep your $2 chucks away from the dash of my car. Would you appreciate it if I stood on your pillow with my shoes on? Would you be okay if I pressed your face onto used urinal cakes? Take those filthy, public bathroom stepping soles off my car’s forehead.
5. Stop singing. Are you Anna Kendrick? No? Then stop singing along to “Hey, Ma” on the radio. If I ain’t driving you to help me break-in a mattress, I don’t care to hear your singing voice.
6. Don’t vomit.