As I sit here, drenched in sweat, I wonder to myself if this is what a Thanksgiving turkey feels like. Although, if you cooked a full turkey at 103.5f, you’d probably end up with some rubbery shit. Then I continue my pondering and begin reciting the Happy Days theme in my head. ARGH! I’m fucking humming this song!

But I’m conflicted. TV sucks and I want to be able to watch shows such as Happy Days, M.A.S.H. and Bugs Bunny cartoons on more regular basis. Even “TVLand” sucks now, playing Fresh Prince, Family Matters and Full House. I could give a shit less about coke whores, Will Smith or any of those fat fucks with the piece of shit, annoying neighbor. If you ask me, there should have been a drive-by on Urkel’s house every fucking episode. Someone would be bound to hit that fucker.

I’m ordering renting downloading a couple seasons of each right now, I’ll let you know how pumped I am if I don’t die of heat exhaustion first.

Doctors, if you’re reading this, stop for a second and pull your heads out of your asses. I’m getting fucking tired of you assholes telling me you won’t take my tonsils out. “Here kid, have some more antibiotics.” Quit condescending me with that kid shit, I’m a fucking adult and I’m not your typical clueless patient. I at least research shit and self-examine before I make a rash decision that my world is ending and I have to undergo a dozen MRIs to find out my fingernails grow slower than my sister’s because we’re not the same person.

10 cases of tonsillitis in the last 3 years. 10 fucking times I’ve been to either the ER or clinic of sorts. And each fucking time these cocksucking doctors look at me with shock at how fucking swollen my tonsils are, but not a one of these overpaid fuck-faced physicians will register me to have them lanced out of my skull.

I understand it’s a nasty, painful operation, I really do. But at the point where each time I get randomly infected it literally immobilizes me for days on end, there should really be another option to counter balance the pill-form antibiotics. Hell, they’ve even given me anti-inflammatory shots in the ER just so I could swallow a fucking pill.

Are tonsils supposed to touch? Hell, are they supposed to fucking abscess their way into my mouth, bulging around my molars? Is it in their nature to feel like I’m swallowing a bucket of razors? How about the pressure it’s applying to my teeth and ears, any excuses for that? All the regular bullshit symptoms on top of the above mentioned are just icing on the cake; fever, running nose, sneezing, body pain. If I didn’t know better, I would think that this is how someone with cancer would feel.

But 10 visits, 2 near life threatening, and all they have for me is medication? Tonsils are about as fucking useful as a woman who can’t cook. TAKE THEM THE FUCK OUT! I’m not fucking worried about the pain, I’m a man and we laugh at pain. Laugh right in its face as if it were witness to the fat kid who just tripped up the top step and face-planted himself square between a crowd of immature peers. And waaaah, dehydration and no desire to eat? Hahahahaha. Bitch, please. I’m a fucking man, I retain water like I’m pregnant. And if you think the pain is going to stop me from drinking or eating, you’re wrong. 20 minutes after the surgery I want a hot plate of venison and a Labatt Extra-Dry.

So come on doctors, it’s been long enough. You’ve spent thousands of dollars and wasted better than a half-dozen years training to make judgment calls, make one correct this time. It’s not like you’re not being paid here, because my insurance covers everything you greedy fucks charge for. Golf season is over, fishing season is gone, no more excuses to feed me until Christmas.

Oh and as some food for thought, I will be dragging my new(grandfather’s old) buck knife to the doctor appointment. No, I’m not stabbing the Dr., even though I should, but instead I’ll be putting the knife in my mouth if he says no. Let’s hope he stops me before I fuck it up.

Well the time calls that I give yet another dumb bitch a piece of my mind. Hi Gina, this blog is about you. Now before I get too far into this, there are 2 Gina’s that will probably see this, one of you is safe. Strangely both Gina’s have an L that begins their last name, so I can’t use that. Instead, Pure Romance Gina, you can relax. Also, while you’re reading this, field test some toys. I’ll get all hot and feisty knowing that some hot chic is diddling herself to my blogs. *grunt*

To the tool: What more can I say about you? Really, besides the fact that you’re a lying, manipulating whore, I don’t know much about you. Oh wait, yes I do. Where should we start? How about where you pissed me off? Yeah, that’s a good place to begin.

Listen cunt, don’t call me out and accuse me of shit if you don’t have your facts straight. Hell, if you even had half a fucking truth to anything you spit, I’d be a little less compelled to chew you out. And I can’t remember, what was it that you said to me today? Oh no, don’t get up, I’ll find it.

man jake you need to keep your comments to yourself…..you lost all respect from me the night that you n dan called me n were sayin comments about me and my kid….grow the fuck up

Keep my comments to myself? I forgot that my witty touch of dry sarcasm was offending to you, especially when I said it without your presence, to someone who’s more than capable of standing up for herself. If I were to keep my comments to myself, I would expect you to keep out of everyone else’s business. If you really wanted to be a super hero, protecting everyone, I think you’d need a lot more than a fat ass and an unborn infant anchor.

NOW I have insulted your child. I lost all respect from you for something I never took part in. I don’t know your number, nor have I ever called with Daniel to comment about your love child. But seeing as how you have put me on the defensive, I really hope your bastard child turns out to be autistic, left-handed and gay. Not just curious gay, but flaming, costume wearing, parade marching gay.

You say I need to grow up, well this is me playing like a grown-up. I’ll fight fire with gasoline. I don’t like you, your attitude or your forefivehead(seriously, I could land Air Force 2 on your forehead it’s so large). You’re a stubborn, snot-nosed brat who has been spoiled for far too long and babied for even longer. You want me to grow up? Maybe take a gander at your own image, take a peek at how dire it is to straighten up your own life and immaturity. So is being a single mom-to-be everything you hoped it to be?

Now I know you’ll probably get a list of things to complain about here, starting with telling all your protective, disrespectful male friends that I’m a piece of shit and I deserve a beating. Well let me have you know that I’m the wrong person to fuck with. If I even think for a moment that I may be in some sort of danger, I will bust open more skulls than you can imagine. And don’t think that I can’t handle myself, because when it comes right down to it there hasn’t been a single man who’s attacked me with intent who hasn’t hit the ground in a manner that is descriptively detailed as sickening.

You’d better believe I’m serious about this too. I’ve struck friends in anger for far less. A perfect stranger would make it that much easier to annihilate.

Gina, you used to be a good kid. I don’t know where the apple went rotten, but it’s far beyond help. And seriously, how the fuck did you get knocked up anyway? I can’t understand how a flat-chested, fat-assed, bitch with the personality of treebark, could ever get a dick inside of her, let alone a load left. Congrats though, you’ve joined the millions of other dumb bitches who aren’t intelligent enough to prevent a pregnancy. Way to screw up your child even before it’s born.

Yeah, so my mother has had MSN messenger for god knows how long, probably a year, but I just added her today.  This might have been a bad idea, because I have the constant urge to tell her that she sucks at the internet.  Hell, she sucks at messenger, and that’s not easy to fuck up.

I think it’s mostly just her internet personality.  Talking to her on MSN is like chit chatting with a fucking bar of soap.  Even a bar of soap would learn to use an emoticon or even some sort of !! punctuation to express emotion.  But no, my mother cannot figure this out.

Ever look an Army Ranger in the eyes and tell them they’re a fuck-faced faggot?  It’s about the same feeling as instant messaging my mother.  It feels cold and uncomfortable, kind of like the first time you fuck a corpse.  I think I’m going to have to block my own mom just to prevent any flashbacks from unmentionable scenarios.  I’m going to go wash my asshole now.

Oooh, and uhhhh Sarah, if you read this, don’t forward it to mom. I’ll kill your husband and your cats if you tell her. >: (