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Let's Curse the Mofos Out!

A lot of us seem to be having bad days.

I vomited all over my bathroom this morning, went to work and the kids were at their neediest, got dizzy a few times, vomited again at work, got stuck in snow traffic and now the smell of downstair's neighbor's smoke is making me even sicker.


So I'm going to curse the motherfuckers out.

  • Fuck you, long ago sea dwelling creature who looked at the beach and said, "Hm...maybe I should become a land creature."
  • Curses upon your head, architect of this house that decided the full bath had to be as far away as possible from the bedroom.
  • Eat shit and die, dude who standardized toilets 'cuz they're too fucking low to catch all my vomit!
  • Goddamn you to hell, Ted Turner and the writers for Captain America who to this day make me feel guilty about any shower lasting over 5 minutes! (A special shot out to Levar Burton, though, for being the voice of Kwame. I <3 you. Call me. Let's get salmon).
  • I poo in your skull, NFL person who decided the SuperBowl should be on a Sunday.
  • And whatever weather pattern we're having that means 3 storms in a week—you're a shit stain.
  • Eat my butt, guy who decided we could no longer travel on the breakdown lane on 128 from rt.24 to rt. 9. I hate you more than people who call it 95!

I feel better and so would like to send out a hug to Misters Peter Dragone and John Sylvan. Your Keurig machine has brought the only joy to my day. Hugs.

Who do you guise need to curse out?

If it doesn't make you feel better, I'll give you hot tub pictures that will.


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