This damn song has been playing over and over and OVER AGAIN in my head for WEEKS now, thanks to this freaking commercial.
HOWEVER, I need to point out that even though the tune is catchy and relentless, your commercial is a major fail because I get so distracted by the song that even to this day I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT IS YOU'RE ADVERTISING.
I had to Google to figure out who the commercial was for.
And even after watching it and forcing myself to pay attention to something other than the freaking song, I STILLLLL don't know what you're advertising.
This just in: American's have short attention spans. Get to the fucking point without the damn balloons and people in brightly colored really stupid clothes prancing around.
This song is driving me crazy.
Yours On The Brink Of Insanity,
Wow, it felt good to get that out.
My friend Bridget posted this photo on Facebook last week and if I don't comment on it, I'll die.
I am transfixed by the tramp stamp that is so beautifully showcasing the mesmerizing display of ass-crack.
I can't stop looking at it. It's like, it's following me.
Let's break it down, shall we?
I'm a big fan of starting at the top and working my way down, so let us begin with the charming too small striped tee, that oh-so-becomingly nestles in her back fat, allowing the upward tilt of her buttocks to stand at attention as well as leaving the tramp stamp and crack un-obliterated by an unnecessary use of fabric.
Bravo, I say. Well planned, Young Fashionista.
And that brings me to the shorts.
Ohhhh, the shorts.
I wish I could say that words fail me, but alas, that rarely happens. I'm drawn to them, like a bee to nectar.
Or something like that.
I love how boldly they sit, resting happily below the expanse of belly overhang in the front and shoving up the bum in the back.
Then the little come-hither slits in the sides, winking and beckoning and whispering, "Hey fella..."
Daisy Duke is off in a corner somewhere, sobbing for What Might Have Been, if ONLY she'd eaten those bacon rinds, if only she'd married Boss Hogg, if only Jessica Fucking Simpson had gotten as fat as she's supposed to be...
(*Sidebar: Jessica Simpson has TRUE FATTY written all over her, I'm tellin' ya. She is one wedding ring, a baby, and a fried Twinkie away from being the size of a Volkswagon. Mark my words.)
I know, I know, I'm desecrating Holy Ground.
I apologize in before to all my lovely friends who are as addicted to Pinterest as any addict is to crack.
And part of me gets it... all those little crafty things that looks so amazing...
Give it a rest, people.
Nobody needs to eat deviled eggs that look like baby chicks.
Besides, who has that much fucking time on their hands? Three hours to make two dozen deliciously edible baby chicks which will be devoured in five minutes.
Somethings are just not worth the effort. I maintain that deviled eggs take enough time to prepare without adding caps, beaks, and eyeballs.
It's one of those preparation time - eating time ratios that don't add up.
But because it was posted on Pinterest, everybody went, "Oooh, sooo cute!! I'm going to make those for Easter!"
No you won't. You'll plan to, but you won't do it.
Because it simply isn't worth the effort.
|These are ugly. Not cute, not clever... ugly.|
|This is not a good idea. Really. No matter how clever it appears at first glance, DON'T DO IT.|
|Just... no. Please. Your friends will not be amazed or impressed. They'll just think you drink too much.|
|I would point and laugh at this. Sorry.|
|This was actually about the nail polish but let's face it, no one is looking beyond those shoes.|
|Some things are meant to be left as-is. For example, pancakes.|
|Okay, this I actually like. Someone make it for me, please?|
There is no way to end this post gracefully.
So I will leave you with this:
Sometimes a fish bowl is just a fish bowl, an air fern is just an air fern, and a lion cub figurine is just, well, a lion cub figurine.
If you put them all together, it's tacky.
Quit trying so hard.
An air fern is never okay. Invest in a real fern. Trust me on this.