I know you are all gosh darn peeved at me because it takes 47 jillion years to translate my horrible life into a word document for the whole world/ my only 10 followers to read. Whatever. You don’t drive a big white van, and you didn’t get yelled at by Jared the Subway guy so your life rocks and mine is less than stellar. Plus the other day my dog threw up in my shoe and I put it on while I was wearing my new awesome knee-high socks that cost me $12.95. So yeah, I just like really didn’t want to right my blog after my socks got wrecked but here I am so you're welcome you ungrateful scab pickers .
Any-flippin-who the other day I was just trying to do my mom a solid because she really urgently needed exactly 12 muffins to bring to her annual Celebrate the Beauty of Staplers party at the office. Well as im driving my big white whale of a car the snow is just pouring off my rear car butt, similar to how fairy dust flows gracefully off a unicorn in heat, because obviously I did not take the time to wipe off its snowy white afro. I admit there were some big chunks flinging off there that were potentially dangerous to other drivers, but If you had scrawny little chicken arms like me and were trying to do a job that was meant for 15 people, cleaning off that darn van, you would do a lousy job too. Well, after a mega…and I mean MEGA…chunk of snow practically broke some lousy soccer moms windshield, I saw it happen in my rearview and so I sped up real fast because I could see her jaw tighten in my mirror. Then just my luck wouldn’t you know it I hit a red light and the crazy lady pulled up right next to me.
“Are you crazy driving around with that much snow on your car you could kill someone, pull over and clean it off!”
Well I was not about to let all of the cars around me watch me get a new pooper torn by some crazy tom, dick, or harry soccer mom so I rolled down my power window, yes the big white does in fact have power windows, and I says:
“Excuse me lady, if you haven’t noticed I’m barely 20 years old soaking wet, and I haven’t had the time to pop out the gosh darn brady bunch or a Dugger sized army to help me clean off this humungo van when I run errands for my mom, it’s just me and my super unhelpful chicken arms trying to de-snow a garage-size rolling white turd”
The lady got so mad, and I was feeling pretty good with myself right about then, but then I decided to put some icing on my devil cake that I was serving up, so I threw a quarter into her little mini-van (mini-vans are for people who can’t handle the real thing) and I says “Oh and lady, why don’t you take that quarter, go down town, and pay a rat to gnaw that thing off your face! Muahahaha! The problem was she really had a nice complexion with no unsightly moles or anything so my insult was a little off-base, but I was going through a real Uncle Buck phase so it popped out anyways. I really wanted to speed off in anger and evilness but I was making a right turn into the grocery store parking lot and you shouldn’t make turns to fast in large white vans because they are a little top-heavy. So instead I made a slow and dramatic right turn making sure to signal my intentions properly into the parking lot of Market Basket.
I finally made it inside the store and had to fight my way to the muffin display, and wouldn’t you know it there were just 12 bran muffins left, and one of them looked like a real goner all crumbly and pale and weak with little pieces of bran scattered. I felt really bad for that muffin with all its brans falling out, almost like premature baldness or something. So I gathered all my little muffin soldiers including the weakling and rushed off to the express lane.
Everyone was already in a bad mood because it was mayhem and lines were backed up the wazoo. I saw everyone eying my muffins, counting them real sneaky ready to pounce in case I was one of those unfortunate individuals who can’t count to 12. With a gloatingly large yes I can count smile pasted on my big white ghostly complexioned face, I placed all the muffins on the belt. Right then and there, like a disaster happening in front of my virgin eyes, the weak little band muffin self destructed and split in two and it was like I had made a bomb threat in the middle of an airport, people jumped on top of me like hair on soap.
13! You have 13 items! Get out of the express lane you rude little tweenie bopper! You think you rule the whole gosh darn grocery store! Were you raised by piss ants! Get out of here before you get a whoopin you stinky bag of rotten peanuts!
“Get back you crazy bargain shoppers before I bran the s*** out of your faces with my regulation 12 muffins! Then it got real heated, boy I tell you! I ONLY HAVE 12 ITEMS! ITS NOT MT FAULT ONE OF MY BRAN MUFFINS DECIDED TO SELF DESTRUCT ON THE CHECK OUT COUNTER. IF ANYTHING YOU SHOULD BE MOURNING THE LOSS OF A FINE BAKED SPECIMEN YOU INSENSITIVE BABY SPANKERS!
The managers caught wind of the express lane uproar and came over and instead of removing all the crazy monkeys who were accusing me of disrespecting express lane etiquette, they grabbed me by my arm and escorted me out the automatic door, asking me to next time please refrain from calling their paying customers “baby spankers”.
When I got home and told my mom I didn’t buy her muffins because I called a line full of shoppers baby spankers and got yanked out by the managers, I don’t know why she did this but she grabbed me by my hair and threw me in the sun room and walked away. I heard her tires screech out of the driveway, and twenty minutes later I heard the door open and she came in and threw 3 chocolate chip muffins and a package of diapers at me. I sat in the sun room for a week not knowing my punishment or lesson I should be learning, only to find out my mom had forgotten about me in the sun room and had a great time at her party after deciding on making a pizza dip instead.
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