somyroommate

I blog. About life.

Tag: comedy

Commercials

So, I was listening to the radio while fighting my way to the grocery store today. And, I heard the old addage “Don’t touch that dial.” Which spurred some thought in me.

  • I don’t like being told what to do
  • This instruction spurred me to actively listen/watch to how many times I was instructed to do something, and I realized that when the commercial tells me to do something, I catch myself doing exactly the opposite just like angsty teenage me did to my parents.

1. Don’t touch that remote
-Telling me to sit through your commercials just pisses me off. I didn’t do anything wrong, why do I have to have a time out? I was having fun. Instead, of watching your shitty commercials I’m going to waddle to the fridge and find something to snaffle. Thanks for making me fat. Or I’m going to look for a new channel, given my short attention span I’ve forgotten what I’ve been watching and all my passion and built up on how much I hate commercials. Business wonders why my age group pirates so many movies, shows, and music. Answer: commercial free entertainment.
2. Keep listening to *insert radio station*
-To be perfectly honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anybody downloading commercials to their IPOD. Why? Cause that’s not why we turn the radio on, that’s not why we turn our IPOD/MP3 on… I also don’t want to hear some senseless, inane radio host babble about how hard it was to shart after eating at taste-e-taco last night. That’s what twitter is for. Play music.
3. Stop in and try out our delicious new *insert same old, relabeled food*
-Why are you repackaging your food? If I went there before, chances are I liked something about they way the food was before. Y U change it?! I don’t want skittles on my taco…. I take that back.
4. Buy 3 for 9$….
-I don’t need three bottles of ketchup. Because your store ordered too many doesn’t mean I want to hoard my fridge full of shit that can’t be sold before it outdates. Yes, I realize I could get another two, but all I needed was one, kthnxbai.

Urrraaah, (that’s an expression of exasperation, btw). I’ve never liked when my parents told me what to do, I didn’t listen to my teachers, and I don’t like when my friends try to dictate what I do. When some corporation implicitly tells me what I should do or what I’m going to buy, chances are that I’m going to intentionally reject it simply because I was told to. I want a choice, not a command. Thanks.

Advertisements

Rainy Daez

Welp, it’s been raining all day, here…

So, I fire that most people are doing all the awesome, lazy-fatass things that you can do on rainy days. It’s the ultimate excuse to be an utter (otter? lol) and total walrus. This is how my brain works on rainy days:

  1. I should go for a run
     –Whoa, it’s raining. Can’t.
  2. Clean the garage?
    -Nope. S’cold… and rainy.
  3. Do the dishes or bathe?
    -No way, Jose! Lightning might strike, flow through the water pipes and kill me dead. Better not risk it. Dishes and hygiene can wait. Survival more important.
  4. Get groceries/run errands?
    And risk hydroplaning into a lightening bolt?
  5. Do my homework or think too much?
    -Negative. The increased humidity has caused the graphite in my pencil to melt. Pens are made from metal and attract lightening.
  6. Do the bills?
    -Can’t the increase in atmospheric pressure puts greater pressure on my brain, and body. Betta not risk a stroke, just-in-case.
  7. Eat? Sleep? Board Games? Drink? Cuddles?
    -Yes, those are safe. I better be productive and do ’em awl.

Point made?

There are much better things to do with rain. Eat cookies. Order pizza. Television.  Cuddle up. Play board games. Build a cozy fire. Drink hot chocolate/tea/eggnog/coffee. Amirite?

Well, I pulled into my driveway after work planning the most epic hot chocolate, cookie, games, sleepy-time, cuddle-gasm my room has ever had. When I pull into my driveway, what do I see my roommate has elected to do with his free pass to be a fat ass?

Raking Leaves.

Yeah, you read it correctly. Raking leaves. In the rain. the fuck?

Plz Aim.

So, most of us learned potty etiquette at a fairly young age. Everybody poops. Wipe front to back. Lid up, Lid down. Flush. Keep it clean. Right?

My roommate missed that memo.

He made one of the most epic bathroom faux pas of all time.

He left some #2 on the toilet seat.

  1. spuckin’ sick
  2. Butt, (pun intended) I can’t help it if this simple equation comes to mind:

I mean, WTF?! How do you miss? How? Does he have multiple openings that make it difficult to guess which one will bestows the gift of organic degradation?
Or, perhaps his post consumer material doorway is slightly deformed… thusly making it difficult to aim…

But, honestly, I don’t give a fuck if he has One Bashillgazillionbatillionmilliontrillion unicorn shaped buhholes. He pooped on my toilet seat.

You know, perhaps, that mundo-super-ultra-grande-ultimate-flaming-hott-nacho-burrito-bean-pizza caused an apocalyptic level shart that ripped your buhhole from your body, suspending every part of your bowel into the toilet. Fine. Understandable. We all have those days. But, wipe it up!