Welcome, Whiners!

Welcome, Whiners!
Are you tired of hearing, "Quit yer bitchin'?" Goood. You've come to the right place. Whiners, moaners, complainers, venters, and crybabies are all welcome and invited. No matter how petty and immature and insignificant your rant, you now have a place to post it. Or you can just enjoy my daily grousing. Yay. Let the bitching begin.
Showing posts with label Duck Dynasty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Duck Dynasty. Show all posts

Sunday, September 8, 2013

I Have Figured Out WHY I am Unsuccessful!

A flat head belongs ONLY on a screwdriver.


You know what sucks worse than Tara Reid’s performance in Sharknado (or anything, really) and her botchy, liposuctioned stomach put together? Having a flat head. Apparently, when I was a baby, my mother never turned my ass over, so practically my whole pre-ambulatory life I lay on my back in my crib or in this crank-up baby swing that had a seat made of turquoise canvas.

According to a news report I recently read, I’m not the only one whose caretakers just left them endlessly lying there while their heads flattened out. The article, entitled, “Nearly half of babies have flat spots, study finds,” does not make me feel any fucking better to know that I’m not alone. 50% of the population don’t have flat heads, and those are the successful people.  You don’t see any runway models who spin around and make the crowd gasp because the backs of their heads align perfectly with their necks. Like mine.

And although mega-gazillionaire, Donald Trump, has gasp-worthy hair and it SEEMS like part of his brains have been shot out, when he turns to the side, he doesn’t look like a gunshot victim who had poor reconstructive surgery. Like me.

I can’t wear a hat because I look like a deck-post. I can’t rock a high ponytail like Jennifer-fucking-Aniston. And when I lie on one of those rounded, neck-supporting pillows, it’s like I’m being positioned for CPR.

Even though the study in the article I’ve mentioned was conducted on two-month-old Canadian babies—and who the hell knows what kind of babies they have in a place where there is no “ow” sound—there is at least one American company that manufactures orthotic helmets to reshape a baby’s head before it hardens permanently into the shape of the capital letter D. Like mine.

Unfortunately, the helmets cost thousands of bucks and make your family look like child abusers or hockey freaks, which are equally bad.

The cheaper option is just to turn the damn baby. I mean, what are you doing that you can’t rotate the baby every hour or so? Even the laziest sumbitches can get up off the couch at the end of every episode of Duck Dynasty or Teen Mom 6 and turn. The. Baby.

The Canadian study showed that when their flat heads were not caught in time, the babies’ facial features were also affected. Great! You lazy assholes are creating children who are all chainsaw accident in the back and Quasimodo in the front. I hope you are proud. Your children will suffer a lifetime of mediocrity, a hand-to-mouth existence, the failure of all of their hopes and dreams, no cute hats in their futures.

I now know exactly why I have had limited success and why I have a face that incited my grandmother to say things like, “You’re pretty to me.” Flat head. Thanks. When my grandmother was teaching her own daughter—my mother—all those parenting skills, she might have spent a little less time on left-handed compliments and more time on turning the flat-headed baby.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

It May Be Time for a Diet...




See? This is what happens when you  have a fat ass.  Men in ugly coats try to shoot you with rifles.


I was waddling around Boston this week when I realized…I was waddling. I’m afraid that I may have gone a little too far with that New Year’s resolution about getting sloppy fat just because I knew it was one I could keep. The truth is that if you put a couple of sticks between my thighs, I could make it in the wilderness because the friction would start a nice fire. But then, the goddamned duck hunters would find me.

So. Before I end up with an ass full of buckshot, I’m thinking it’s time to get serious about losing some of my ass. Now, it isn’t that I haven’t been thinner before or that I don’t know all about dieting. I admit that the past year’s expansion has been due to my inactivity. BUT. Said inactivity isn’t completely my fault as I am not the fucktard who spilled water in the drink aisle at the big box store I shall call Fall Mart. Nevertheless, it is now I who must take charge of the mess otherwise known as my body.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people say that if you want to lose weight, “Just watch what you eat.” So I decided to try it. I huffed all the way down to Dunkin’ Donuts, and I watched the bagels. I watched the croissants. I watched the pastries. And I did not lose a freaking ounce. In fact, I’m pretty sure I gained poundage because I got bored watching the crullers, so I ended up buying 3 chocolate cake, 2 Irish crème, and a jelly-filled. Obviously watching what you eat does not work. Fucking liars.  

I’ve also tried that brilliant advice about “burning more calories than you consume.” First, I calculated the number of calories I take in during a typical day. Then, I looked up the number of calories burned per hour of doing my favorite exercise. So at 86 calories per hour, I would have to cook, like, 50 hours in a day to lose weight. Obvs, someone didn’t think this shit through.

And another thing is that the more you weigh, the more calories you burn per hour. A 100-pound person burns 114 calories per hour of housecleaning. But a 250-pound person burns 284 calories for the same damned thing. That is not fair. By my figuring, I’ve got to weigh, like, 750 pounds and clean house for 5 hours a day to get thin. I just don’t see that happening because I can barely vacuum now.

I don’t know. It’s getting critical since I have to buy my clothes in the camping section now. The color selection in pup tents is butt-ugly. I know this because I was just at the sporting goods store looking for an official Duck Dynasty Duck Commander Duck Call. Hell, while I’m trying to surround myself with a paddling of ducks for protective cover, I might as well be trendy.