MissyPhillips.com

I’m reading John Elder Robison’s book, “Look Me In the Eye…” and I’ve realized that perhaps I really have a gentle, innocuous form of Apsbergers. Not only do I randomly cuss out people I can’t stand, like clerks at stores, but I have absolutely no governor on my mouth when it comes to things I should. I say shit and fuck in public. What’s the big deal? If I had a better word than shit or fuck, I’d substitute it for that. But sometimes the best word is a generalist word like shit. As in, “You pre-date your items for sale? That’s wack and I don’t need you to explain your shitty system to me because it doesn’t make any sense.”

I should wear a button that says:

Which in Minnesota gets you kicked out of a store. Even if it’s a second hand store and there goes their sale. But it was 03 December 2007 and the item was marked 05 December 2007 and my logical brain goes, “WHOA, it’s not 05 December 2007 yet, was this mismarked and they meant 03 December 2006?”

Frankly I didn’t fucking care what the owners lackey’s excuse was about why she pre-dates items. I mean when I walked into the store she was talking to a woman about her vagina. She said vagina and a customer heard it. I figured she could handle the word shitty. But no, she told me, my husband and son to GET OUT. Well, fine, I don’t want your stupid pre-dated green silk pillows then! Even if they are cool and inexpensive by silk throw pillow standards. I’ll just have the pea run in and get the half-priced pink silk ones instead, with cash, no paper trail. And never GO BACK THERE AGAIN.

Instead of telling her she was a bitch when I was leaving the store, I should have told her she was the biggest douche in the universe. But those epiphanies always occur AFTER the fact.

So, I’m reading Robison’s book and it’s obvious I have no governor on my mouth, I like to make up weird names for my family and friends (although Unit 2 for Jack would be just wrong, and god only knows when I’d get laid again if I called him Unit 2), I have to have several generous Strongbows or Diet Cokes in my system to deal with people. Too much Diet Coke is like being on coke, it helps me function. My god if I was a drug addict I’d bankrupt us. But no, I can go to a pub and drink eight Diet Cokes in thirty minutes and act completely normal in the eyes of the people at the pub.

I also can spill ridiculous details about things like Hitler, WWII, France, The Tudors (longest reigning monarchy in England), and various other things I read about. I prefer books and movies to people, any day. But yet, I’m seen as a complete extrovert. Yet, when I have to deal with people in person I’m just exhausted after it. I want to sleep for a month. People wear me out. They are so boring and bloody self-absorbed and rarely can impart interesting details about things like I can. Should I hold other people up to my high standards of intelligence and hysterical knowledge? Well, yes, I think I should, Hol and M&M seem to be fine with it and they always have their own stories that are so bitchy and critical you can’t help but love them. Lala always tells me I have a big mouth, but that’s because, yup, you’ve got it, I have no governor on it, since I must have some form of Asperbergers. Shit.

Actually I think the problem is summed up by this fortune:

And NONE of those are my lucky numbers.

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Jack lines his beer bottles or cans up like he is lining up pussy conquests. What’s up with that?

So he didn’t get much pussy action in his life, but this deal with lining up the beers is really pissing me off.

And this is Jack’s motto:

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And if I get one more SPAM about penis size, ejaculatory volume and erections I’m going to scream!

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Or how about breasts?

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And this one I get all the time, it sounds definitely attractive. I think they mean cervix, but who am I to know what they hell they want to say?

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Well fabulous is definitely not what I’d call some fuckhead driving his cock into my cervix, I’d call that damn painful. Unless I was getting paid for it. Wait, strike that. I should never have said that.

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Courtesy of The Register:

A new videogame has been developed which aims to simulate the experience of drunk driving. The game, named “Booze Cruise”, was coded as an academic project aimed at social betterment, rather than a sick commercial stunt to cash in on the worst aspects of human nature.

“The basic story is that this person is absolutely pissed and woke up in the trunk of their car and now is going to drive home,” according to Calgary digital media prof Jim Parker, quoted by Reuters.

“Booze Cruise” simulates the effects of drunkenness by the use of blurry and narrowed imagery, annoying lag times etc. Challenges include pedestrians, other cars and a police checkpoint.Apparently there are also “distractions on the side of the road, like pink elephants”, which Parker added “just for fun”.

Ha ha – what a card. Some kind of virtual puking experience might have been a tad more gritty, perhaps.

Well, just as an interjection, this is what happens when you drink too much vodka and take out your mother’s fucking car and wrap it around a light pole:

Yes, that’s my car, driven by a drunken 16 year old. I mean I got a Beamer out of the deal, but I sure did like that Jetta. My AC Compressor was left at the scene of the crime.

It seems that Canadian plods assisted in the design of the game, “trying to make it as realistic as possible”, according to Reuters. The Alberta coppers apparently reckon that “Booze Cruise” could help cut down on drink driving.

“It’s going to be a great tool,” Constable Rob Haffner told the wire-service scribes.

“Whatever education that we can get out there is always going to be beneficial as far as drinking and driving goes.”

Parker acknowledges that many teenagers are very familiar with driving videogames – games which might well be more fun to play than his, as the graphics aren’t crippled and the lags are minimised. But he still thinks that his software “will persuade them that alcohol will affect their skills”.

That may be true, but surely it would be even more persuasive for an overconfident youth to polish off a few tins of lager and then take on a sober opponent in the racing videogame of their choice. By comparison, Parker’s game wouldn’t seem to really prove anything about alcohol, just about the developers’ view of it. The pink elephants may not help much with the credibility issue, either.

Nonetheless, the media prof is undaunted.

“This is aimed not at adults, this is aimed at people who are 13 to 16,” he said. “We want to stop them from doing it in advance.”

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OK, so the Prodigal Son asks if he can Mylar his bedroom closet, get some grow lights and bingo, we have a cash crop in a couple of months. I think he’d prefer hydroponic, but none of that shit is gonna happen. My electric bill would be astronomical to grow these babies.

Sure, they’re attractive and all that jazz, but god I hate weed. Can anyone say rehab?

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Yup. This is classic. All I need to do is run to Sam’s Club or Costco and pick up some big bag of multi-roll Bounty, renew my gun license and plan a sneak attack.

He’s such a douche nozzle, which ChaCha, the Prodigal Son’s friend, says is worse than being a douche bag. I see the logic in that thinking. Really, I do.

Say it ain’t so!

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