Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Perhaps it is a pull of the moon, the extensive rain, or just luck itself but I've got a disproportionate amount of friends wearing tin foil hats as of late.  I mean, their local grocery runs out of white bread and it turns into a conspiracy to make them fatter and starve them out.  The aforementioned rain makes the wifi slow, it must be government spies looking in to see what they are buying online.  And then, while using an iPhone, proclaiming that we are all being controlled by machines.  Yeah, there's a relative tin foil hat parade happening around me. I look to my left.  I look to my right.  I've got a match people. Late last week I thought that, perhaps, I was at the apex of it when some ballsy assed mother fucker blew on my shoulder blades.  Why yes, while on the seven train and sporting a sundress on a 90+ degree day, I clearly needed a fucking burka.  I know . . . I know . . . I totally asked for it. That being said, I came up with ...

Sometimes life has a way of becoming a shit show.  A prolonged one.  This past week and a half has been one of those for me.  Some of it involves first world, white people problems like trying to upgrade my phone and encountering corporate robots, the grocery being out of my favorite beer, running out of coffee, and exploding coffee all over my kitchen (yeah, there was coffee on my CEILING).  More problematic things involved nearly everything I touched becoming a prolonged, nightmare of a project; having the fucktards at my CVS pharmacy act like I was a lunatic when I asked for a prescription refill and where the muscle ointment was (seriously, when someone asks for something like an ace bandage and you work in a pharmacy . . . as you say you have to get the manager--after she asks three times--because you are too stupid to respond . . . ); middle aged malarkey; medical hell; and learning that you aren't worth the time, hotel room, or moment away you start to wonder ...

In the larger realm of all things white people, there is little funnier than a white woman--usually of the clean cut appearance--throwing down to gangsta rap.  And, in that regard I mean messy bun, old sweats fuzzy with holes in them, a white Hanes tee that's probably snug up top as it's from an old lover or some such, and that hair . . . yeah, that's like three day old hair that hasn't been washed.  Yeah, when that woman throws down, starts dropping gangsta signs, slipping out motherfuckers, dicks, and tits while jumping around her house in pure single girl, moment alone, who gives a shit fashion movies always tell us that shit is about to become epic. In that regard, that has been my week.  Epic.  Coffee, bun, sweats, and mother fucking gangsta rap.  Yeah, I dropped that out earlier this week and people who claim to know me jaw dropped like a fat kid salivating for cake.  Except, they weren't wanting cake.  Instead, they were downright flabbergaste...