Thursday, October 05, 2006
Things Zombie Hates Thursday, With Special Guest El Bastardo
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it.
1.) Overtired Whirling Dervishes.
I love that my daughter goes to a nice preschool, where she is now getting swimming lessons and writing her name efficiently and coming home to inform me of Very Important Things, like which kid always spills his milk because he's a big baby and what sort of dress so-and-so was wearing and how this one kid colored his picture of a tiger green, of all things, and can I believe that?
That stuff is awesome.
What's not awesome is the fact that about 15 minutes after getting home, she morphs into Wee Psychotic Whirling Dervish, Princess of Overtired Land. My little girl is a sweet little girl - until she gets so tired that even air pisses her off and she starts shrieking like a steam whistle at even the slightest stimulus.
I keep trying to fix this problem by pushing her bedtime up in fifteen minute increments. We've moved from 8:30 to 8:15 to 8:00 to 7:45 to 7:30 with pretty much no luck.
I figure that, if this keeps up, I'll be sending her to bed before she's even woken up in the morning. And I think that will be fairly hard to manage, unless I can somehow come up with a way to cause a rip in the Very Fabric of Time (which is made of cotton! The fabric of our lives!).
Perhaps if I am able to manage to teach George W. Bush to stop speaking like he's a fucking putz yokel and somehow make him at least vaguely eloquent, it will cause the conditions necessary for the Very Fabric of Time to rip apart, thus allowing my daughter to get enough sleep.
Harrrrr. Like that will ever happen.
The Bush part, I mean. Not my daughter getting enough sleep. I'm pretty sure the heroin will take care of that.
2.) Emo hair.
I've spoken before about how I hate emos, but I saw one with a really ridiculous haircut today and I thought that I should just take the time now to do a sort of public service announcement for all of the emos out there, as well as those that might be considering an emo makeover. I'm a great humanitarian like that. I'm always willing to help those less fortunate (see: Homeless, the Making Fun of and Puppies, the Kicking of and Little Old Ladies, the Knocking Over of for more information on Zombie's Great Acts of Humanitarianism).
If you get an emo haircut (also known as "hair that does that flippy thing"), no one will think you look cool. Well, except for other emos, and they don't count, since they're obviously operating on less than full capacity, if'n you know what I'm sayin' and I think you do.
Here is a visual warning to all those considering making their hair do that flippy thing.
When non-emo people look at you...
...they will not see a cool kid with an edgy haircut that is simultaneously expressing how sensitive, thoughtful, and deep he is while evidencing his utter disregard for conformity and how he really couldn't care less about what society thinks of him, because he's so far beyond all that. Wow. Awesome.
No. When non-emo people look at you, they will see this:
Yeah, that's right. I said you'll look like a fuckin' yak. Or a bison. Or whatever that is. Something that has stupid hair and grazes.
So, before you go to get that haircut, just remember:
Emo Hair = Yak-ish Thing
Don't do it. Please.
Think of the bison.
This has been a Zombie Public Service Announcement.
3.) Shaolin Showdown.
I'm not sure about the specifics regarding this cartoon, or even which channel it lives on. All I know is that I was sitting over here at the computer last night, minding my own business, and my kids were watching this...thing.
It's some sort of anime-ish type dealie, with lots of jerky movements and large-eyed people with big oval mouths and the obligatory very short thing with a weird skin color that's some sort of martial arts master.
I don't usually pay attention to my kids' cartoons, unless it's Spongebob, because I love me some Spongebob like a fat kid love cake - but this one caught my attention for a few seconds. These few seconds were long enough for me to find out that one of the Asian-looking characters on the show is named Raymundo.
I have no more words.
4.) That Lady That Mowed My Lawn the Other Day.
First, let me just say that I appreciate that you mowed my lawn. I do. It was a nice thing to do, really. But...did you have to make me feel so...so...hateful about it?
I know the grass was high. I myself have been looking out the window at random intervals over the past weeks, expecting a roving band of pygmies to appear from the depths of the grassy jungle, carrying a miniature antelope on a spit slung over two of their tiny, sunburned shoulders, as the bones in their noses sparkled in the sun.
So, really, I did know the grass was high. But you see...I haven't got a lawnmower and have no idea where I could borrow one. And I'm certainly not going to purchase one. That's just insane.
Besides, it's October. It's very likely that it will snow in about ten minutes. And do I really want to go to all the trouble of hunting down a lawnmower and possibly beheading some pygmies with the mower blades when it's quite possible that we will have a foot of snow on the ground in less than 2 seconds?
No, I don't think I do.
So, thank you for relieving this burden for me. But, next time, when I come out onto my porch to find out what sort of machine is making all that racket, do not stop the mower for 15 minutes to regale me with your many fine qualities of kindness and love thy neighbor. Do not remark no less than 50 times how high the grass is, because, HELLO, WE COULD ALL SEE THAT THE GRASS WAS FUCKING HIGH. Unless some of us are blind. Which...well, who cares? Right.
Please do not go on and on at length about how the mower stalls a lot and this is inconvenient and how you never, ever mow the lawn, that is man's work, and your husband always mows your lawn, but today he's busy doing other things and you just didn't think you could wait for him to get home to mow my lawn, you couldn't wait to dispense your overwhelming kindness upon me, you couldn't wait a moment longer - huh? Oh, where's my husband? Ahhh, I get it now! You are a clever boots, eh? And still somehow not quite clever enough.
So. While I am appreciative that you mowed my lawn while I wasn't looking, I am just not convinced that this was a hail-fellow-well-met sort of gesture. I think you might've been trying to figure out whether or not I am Quality People. Because you're really nosy. Really nosy. And you didn't need to point out, over and over again, how nice you are for mowing my grass.
Because I get it. Really. I do. You're nice. You're great. You're a good person. You're more humble than Jesus. You're certainly not over here to pry. Of course not! That's just silly.
At any rate, just so you know: I'm not Quality People, however smiley and friendly I may have appeared there on the porch. I may have managed to lull you into a false sense of security and make you feel like I might bring 'round a casserole or some manner of baked goods during the holidays, but that certainly doesn't mean that's what I'm really like. Goodness gracious no.
Because while I'm baking you some cookies (mmm, chocolate chip!), I will also be assembling my meth lab and Gigantic Death Ray of Doom and Destruction down in the basement.
And then we'll find out what is really going to get mown down up in this here biotch, won't we, little missy? Who's the clever boots now, hey?
That's what I thought.
EB's hate will be late again. I think it's because he's realized he has to do something about all the severed legs he's got lying around in the rec room, but I can't be sure.
link | posted by Zombie at 2:15 PM |
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