Drama Drama Drama

Have a secret soul crushing emotion you’re just dying for mass amounts of people to ask you about, but you don’t want it to be obvious you’re digging for attention so desperately you’re about to reach China? Well, I’m here to help.
Following is a list of simple steps that any Facebook savvy drama-child can use. Guaranteed to up the number of “what’s wrong” Questions you can get from people who don’t really care, but are nosey as fuck.

Step 1) if you really want people to know how tortured your soul is, but don’t want to ruin all the fun you can have milking this for all it’s worth, first you must find a poetically written banner to share. Preferably, this banner will be along the lines of….
“I hide my emotions so people think I’m strong, even though posting this tells people I have my sad face on and defeats the whole point”
“It’s the ones who smile the biggest who are mascara drenched wrecks in private”
It doesn’t have to be these exact messages. Anything to draw people’s attention to your internal plight will do.

Step 2) post vague and depressing song lyrics. If you aren’t convinced this will peak anyone’s interest enough to get you the successful number of comments, feel free to add a sad face.
Once again, if you’re still not getting the necessary amount of attention, you can always up the ante by adding a tear.
😥
Well fuck, at this point you may as well cry a river…
:”'(

Step 3) Once you’ve exhausted the use of situational lyrics, you might have to get a little more direct. Begin posting about how awful everything is. By no means explain what is so awful, or why it happened. This lets people know for sure you want attention. Need an example?
“Why does everything always go wrong'”
“Good things never last.”
“Why :'(”

Step 4) Wow, if you’ve made it to step four without anyone paying significant attention to you, you’re in trouble. You must do this like, a lot, because your friends are past the curiosity part and are reaching this “this shit again?” Part. Quick, start making vague references to suicide.
“I’m just giving up.”
“I’m ending it all.”
IMPORTANT! Never actually say you’re going to kill yourself. This level is something you can’t come back from, and people get really pissed about it.

Step 5) so you’ve finally got someone to ask you what’s going on huh? I bet they text or called. You have high standards and would never be satisfied with a Facebook inquiry. No, you need more quality attention than that. Now that you’ve reached this goal, listen to me very carefully and repeat these words…
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Salami Swami

Sometimes unplanned nights are the most memorable.

To the girl, whose name I can’t remember atm, but who’s favorite color is navy, I shall always cherish our in depth discussion of our love life history. This, despite the fact that at the time you were quite intoxicated and peeing, and I was standing in a bathtub cowering because i met you 23 minutes ago and I’m excruciatingly uncomfortable with peeing around/being peed around. Don’t worry about not getting 25 facts on that guy you were kissing. You had 18 written on your arm and I still think that, if you round up, 20 is a perfectly acceptable number of facts to have written on you before playing tonsil hockey.

To the lady half-heartedly charging 5 bucks to get into the bar, it was an honor to blow bubbles with you. I was relieved that you agree that concave nipples are weird. Charlie was intoxicated and his nipple theories are obviously deranged.

To the waitress at ihop, I give you the award for best response to a cheesy pickup line for you’re performance in
“You have beautiful eyes.”
“Thanks, they’re poop colored.”
Your response was eloquent, deadpan, and efficient in shutting him down. I’m sorry he licked both your bottles of tabasco sauce and blueberry syrup. If it makes you feel any better, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t have any communicable diseases, and he’s house broken. I swear he didn’t mean to be racist when he called you salami swami.

Thank you, and good night.

You People

I like my new job. I love the kids. They’re sweet and cute, and when they reach out and take my hand I feel trusted and good.

Other things, not so much. Working this job you start to see just how many people will let their morality levels slide just for an easier work day. People’s (entirely false, I’d like to add) sense of superiority oozes out of the shadows and into the bright of day, and it’s deeply disturbing.
So,
To the girls who leave a child in a dirty diaper for hours, until it leaks all over their pants…
To the people who yank on the kids and don’t explain what you’re doing or why, just because you think they don’t care or don’t “get it”…
To the people who leave them strapped in a chair because its easier, even though they are wiggling and cooing, and obviously want down…
To the people who never say a word to these kids just because they don’t respond in the way you’re used to…

I have a few questions. First off, why the fuck are you in this line of work? If you don’t give a shit, why are you here? It doesn’t pay that much. Seriously, go work somewhere else where your actions won’t result in diaper rash and a crying child you lazy fuck.
Secondly, did your conscience just fall out your ass when you were younger or something? Would you want to sit in your own mess and stink for hours? Would you want to eat the same, unseasoned, goop every day? Would you want to be strapped in a hard chair even though it’s totally safe for you to lay, comfortably on the couch?
But really, don’t bother answering. I know the answer. You know the answer. Everyone knows the damn answer.
You’d be angry and appalled. You’d be hurt and confused. Hell, you’d probably sue.
You piss me off.
You suck.
The fucking end, because if I keep typing my rage might explode my computer.

Kardashian Doom

Let’s face it, whenever Kim kardashian finally gives birth, and whatever cult her first born has been promised too, wrenches the little kimye wedashian loose from her innards and bathes it in fame-glitter, forged in the fires of mordor and spit shined with the tears of orphans, it will be the end of the world.
Until then, lets have a bit of fun mocking them.

It’s Not A Hickey I Swear

No, really, it’s not a hickey. One of my clients bit my shoulder. Twice. Aren’t I the lucky one?
And when I told the clients parent he goes “Oh yeah, we’ve had some trouble with that.”
Gee, dude. Thanks for the heads up.