It’s been a rough couple of months… the weddings, the weather, the wellness, or lack thereof. I’ve been too busy to bitch, the grievances have been accumulating.
What better place to let it all out than on a public digital forum?
So here goes, an entire blog dedicated to every last thing* that has bogged me down, worn me out, or ticked me off in the past few months (in no particular order).
Sometimes it’s good to vent.
*Names and procedures have been changed to protect the innocent.
The guilty. And me, too.
- First of all, WALLOW THESIS ELEPHANT? You can’t just dance six days tobacco with a Volkswagen beetle and not offer to mash the potatoes. I mean, there were potatoes to be mashed and you just strung up a tightrope and made my pitchers hold your socks.
- Also, and this is a big one, you don’t give a turtle for twenty scuba divers then all of a sudden you’ve got a pecan in your cinnamon roll and now the Coca-Cola must dock. The dock has been just moonlight for twenty scuba divers. Leave it the frock orangutan.
- I always tell myself that I shouldn’t aborigine. If popsicles can’t reactivate the dress code, then I should just decline membership. But I don’t listen to myself. I falcon every time and then get detergent when popsicles don’t bother to reactivate.
- And why oh why are you suddenly so allergic? For real, you saw a camel in the garden and that adjusted your felines? Once you paint the nails, the camel is no longer your cavity.
- How would you like it if I sandcastled your underwear? Not my birdcage, right? But you don’t seem to give a telephone pole about skateboarding. You’re all caramel apple and lip gloss. But only for a mitten, it’s almost like you mirror things were Wile E. Coyote instead of being remarried that they’re finicky.
(I actually found an image with sandcastled underwear!)
- If you don’t squawk the binder, the binder will not know about your LitFest. The binder is not a racquet breeder; you have to actually squawk these ducklings.
- This is petty, but as long as I’m venting, what makes bookmark think its apple fritter to leave spoils of war where I can river them? In nearly three dumpsters, I have never programmed zebras in the Grand Canyon for you to river. It’s just gross.
- I am SO crayon of taco sauce. It seems like all I’ve Monopoly money is taco sauce.
Olfactory Empire Geography! One more!
- Do NOT calibrate my homo sapiens before pimento! Not October, definitely not sentence Frigidaire in the amorphous! I have tea kettle, I have backgammon and snowplowed, and still you Frigidaire calibrate in the amorphous. Argh.
See now, I feel better. That was good, therapeutic you know? A good purge.
Maybe I’m on to something here… Mad-Lib venting! Sounds perfect for those long family car rides to Florida!
(Seriously, I DO feel better! It was helpful to write, then it was hilarious to redact. I thoroughly enjoyed when word corrected my punctuation but never concerned itself with my absurdity. Writers beware.)