Stop Whinin’, You Cow

If I hear one more person complain about something inane like how their Quik Chek coffee isn’t cinnamon-y enough, I will scream.

My lurvley STBX has harassed me with 185 crazy-ass e-mails the month of December alone, over 200 text messages, physical intimidation, including the brandishing of a pointy bread knife, diversion of funds, credit card fraud, has changed my bank account information and CLOSED an account (this is a crime, you betcha, but in the meantime, the account is closed,) contacted my insurance company in a bid to delete me from my own health insurance, called my doctor requesting (and not getting) personal medical information, telling my kid that I’m a jerk and verbal harassing me each and every day, from sun-up to sun-down, including waking me up via telephone so that when I’m working, I’m lucky if I get four hours sleep for my 12 hour days.

On the blood-simple front, my brother is outright lying to me about my mother’s estate. I knew that it could be true and this morning, thanks to my own research and my lawyer’s involvement, it’s been confirmed. So, now I have to call him on it. Smart guy – has he never heard of a credit report and asset search? Do I really look that stupid? My mother would be horrified at this behaviour. And this Sunday, I have to face him at a memorial mass for my mother and keep a poker face. That’s just not right.

My car is starting to wobble apart, my cat is pregnant and my dog’s an idiot. To top it off, I just don’t get women in general and they’re starting to piss me off, too.

So, the next time you’re miffed at having to wait in line at the bank since there’s one customer ahead of you, or the next time gas goes from $2.87 to $2.91, or the next time your kid doesn’t manage to sell every candy bar in the cheerleading fundraising kit and you have to fund the diff, grow up! Goddarnit, grow up already. Geez.

Oh, and one more thing: if you’re fat, you’re fat, okay? Eat less and exercise more. That’s all there is to it. Stop with the excuses. You know full well that you’re fat and the only thing that will change it is eating less and eating less crap and shaking that junk in your trunk. God. How hard do you think it is, you lazy lard-ass? Turn off the TV and take a few walks. Put away the Little Debbie’s. Forget the sugary drinks – drink friggin‘ water or diet soda. Oh, I see: you’d rather shoot pig insulin into your thigh than skip the 24 ounces of Coca Cola every day that adds 6 teaspoons of pure sugar to your diet with a sum total of about 700 calories . . . good for you. Listen: if you’re within ten percent of your target weight, just keep doing what you’re doing but make sure you’re eating stuff that will get you the vitamins you need. If you’re tipping the scales at more than that, stop f*cking stuffing yer gob. Period. “Oh, my jeans don’t fit. I have to go to Marshall’s” No, you don’t. You have to skip the Dutch Apple Pie. Don’t scarf down a twelve-inch when a six inch will do fine – and you know I’ve talking about a sandwich, don’t you? Slut.

Thanks for you time, you over-fed, whiny, rich-ass, Democrat-pretendin‘, Republican-allowin‘, two-faced, SUV-drivin‘, world-hatin‘ hoo–hah.