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.

Transforming klutz to a superpower

I have come to the conclusion that walking with boxes in my arms is now beyond the limits of what I can do. First of all I had way too many boxes. I was up the stairs and made a wrong turn and slammed my head into the corner of the wall. I heard a crack, saw stars and actually cried a little, it hurt that bad.

Now I have a marble sized bump on the top/right of my forehead. And I took preliminary Excedrin to ward off a little of what will be the headache from the darkest pits of hell I'm probably going to experience later today.

I told my boyfriend I'm glad I didn't have to go to the ER. How would that look? First I "fall down the steps" a couple of weeks ago and now I"m in for "running into the wall!" You know they'd be asking me if my boyfriend was beating me. *snort* Who, this big bad sweetheart? Impossible!

I'm just one of those rare people who is the living embodiment of Murphy's Law. I have transformed klutz into a damn superpower.

Maybe that's my key to world domination.

My friend Patty and I agree

I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy.

Farts are hilarious. So are burps.

So when my boyfriend stopped up the toilet today after taking a massive shit, I was rolling on the floor.

But there is a limit.

My darling boyfriend ate some salsa tonight and has been having rank salsa burps all night long.

By the way, the tags should've been a clue.

Love ya!