People who waste air that we breathe

Just when you think the story of poor little 10 year old Zahra Baker can't possibly get any worse...it does. If you want to know the story and don't, google it. I just...can't.

Here's where my mental illness shows itself. Be warned. It's not pretty.

I do know that I have several ideas for her gaping useless cuntslime of a stepmother that involve razor blades, salt and rubbing alcohol and ALL of her bodily orifices. AND OMG WHY HASN'T HER WANKSTAIN DOUCHECANOE FATHER BEEN ARRESTED ALREADY? Even if he didn't actually kill the child, you know he knew. People like this just need to stop wasting air, seriously. If you ever have a thought of doing these things to a child, or letting these things happen to a child around you, do the entire world a favor and kill yourself now. Preferably by rolling in broken glass, taking a salt bath, dipping yourself in gasoline and setting yourself on fire. Then have your bodies dumped in a large hole in the ground so that every abuse victim in the world would have the option of taking a huge dump on your remains. After that, open it up to include everyone else in the world who had to crap. I, myself, would eat a very large mexican meal and bring along some ex-lax.

Because everything I just said in the above sentence...preferable to what happened to this child.

This guy gets off on my worst nightmare

I found this video through The Ranter's Box, who I found through Vegetable Assassin. I need to update my Blogger a hell of a lot more often than I actually do.



I don't know if I've ever shared my absolute terror of balloons. I fucking hate them. I hate them with the white hot intensity of a million supernovas. If I could take every balloon, balloon manufacturer and the technology that allows balloons to exist and fire it into the middle of a black hole, I would do a naked happy dance. In public. This guy has a balloon fetish. I have a balloon phobia. I'm not so much afraid of balloons, as I'm afraid of the bigger-than-the-world noise they make when they pop. I have been known to bust out crying, tears and sobs, the whole works, if one pops in my general vicinity. Especially before or during visits from the aunt in my pants named Flo, but not neccessarily during those times.

I have a child. She likes balloons. What kid doesn't? (Me as a kid, that's who. Yes, I was a child balloon hater.) Maybe I should say what normal kid doesn't? Because of my abnormal hatred of balloons and my mightier than thou fear of big booms, if there is a balloon in the house, it automatically gets transferred to her room. And there it stays. Until she leaves for her weekend with her dad and his family and I take the fucker downstairs and either a: let it go if it's a helium or b: toss it in the outside bin if it's not. I can't help it. It's like having a suicide bomber in your house.

Funny thing though. I can watch this video. Because the popping balloon is not in the same room with me, I can laugh at this happy asshole getting off on overinflating a balloon until it pops in his face. And I can simultaneously hope to hell he loses an eye or a hand or maybe his dingaling doing this one of these days. Maybe then people will understand what a fucking menace to society these colorful pieces of satanic rubber actually are.