(no subject)
Universal Donor knows what's up. I don't deserve a blog anymore. The baton should be relay-raced to the next generation. I can't seem to work myself up into the requisite rage to write anything here. Because everything is ok. Not, like, eyes-glazed-over Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory everything-making-sense; also not like Mel Gibson, ever. There is nothing scandalous going on. Even the stressful things are too boring to report, because by the time I finish explaining hiring processes the bitching about them is too little too late, like an Andes mint chocolate after a meal of lard ox tail.
Is anyone still reading this? I stopped paying attention in the last sentence.
I could complain about students. Students! An endless source of annoyance and therefore pure comedy gold. Except that they're so repetitive. Remember my last post, like a year ago? Nothing has changed. It's like Michigan received an air drop of Uggs, leggings and pancake makeup in 2005 that still hasn't run out. Lines form weekly in every dorm for fresh butt-length tee shirts to wear under cropped pseudo-crocheted fuzzies. Feet are stuffed into new Uggs on the daily. And to extend the season of my personal aesthetic hell, these have now been invented.
But lest you think this is just a boring recycled post c. the era what I'm ridiculing actually started, you have to also look at these.
If there were a secret government project to make me go insane, part of it would probably involve these. It would be hard for me to overstate my hatred of the flip flop in every form. It has been documented as far back as 2003, when I used to observe freshly-showered commuters on the L train tapping their free-to-be feet in vomit and human feces. Whatever! I can't find it, but you know how to stalk people, don't you? But I hated them long before that. Back when Birkenstocks, aka Nazi Shoes, became a point of self-righteousness. Look what qualité, I am wearing expensive orthopedic fugg-boats. I am confident and vaguely Black Forest. I am wearing unterhosen. There is something about the attitude of sandal-wearers that makes me furious. Here is a checklist to see if I hate you:
Are you on a beach?
Are you at home?
Are you very far away from me?
Is it really hot out? (I mean really hot out, not 56 degrees...Michigan. You go from Ugg to flip flop in 2 degrees.)
If you answered yes to any of the questions, I forgive you for wearing flip flops.
But:
Are you wearing a suit?
Anything fancy? Did you debate flip flops vs. high heels?
Are you also wearing any of the following: handkerchief blouse, silk, a toe ring...
God help me: a toe ring.
Flip flops don't go with everything; they don't go with anything. They are not supposed to be worn in the city, or anywhere. They were imported by a hippie in a rucksack from a land where it is routinely a million degrees, wherein such a foot slide was sensible. Now they are on your feet. See also the Ugg, the wooly foot mammoth imported from Australia, where everyone is a retard.
Eh. There's something missing...the rage eludes me. Can't you give me some kind of topic? Since my own creativity fails, I'll give you this, courtesy of nervoustic and jf_franklin. Because they are the best.
Is anyone still reading this? I stopped paying attention in the last sentence.
I could complain about students. Students! An endless source of annoyance and therefore pure comedy gold. Except that they're so repetitive. Remember my last post, like a year ago? Nothing has changed. It's like Michigan received an air drop of Uggs, leggings and pancake makeup in 2005 that still hasn't run out. Lines form weekly in every dorm for fresh butt-length tee shirts to wear under cropped pseudo-crocheted fuzzies. Feet are stuffed into new Uggs on the daily. And to extend the season of my personal aesthetic hell, these have now been invented.
But lest you think this is just a boring recycled post c. the era what I'm ridiculing actually started, you have to also look at these.
If there were a secret government project to make me go insane, part of it would probably involve these. It would be hard for me to overstate my hatred of the flip flop in every form. It has been documented as far back as 2003, when I used to observe freshly-showered commuters on the L train tapping their free-to-be feet in vomit and human feces. Whatever! I can't find it, but you know how to stalk people, don't you? But I hated them long before that. Back when Birkenstocks, aka Nazi Shoes, became a point of self-righteousness. Look what qualité, I am wearing expensive orthopedic fugg-boats. I am confident and vaguely Black Forest. I am wearing unterhosen. There is something about the attitude of sandal-wearers that makes me furious. Here is a checklist to see if I hate you:
Are you on a beach?
Are you at home?
Are you very far away from me?
Is it really hot out? (I mean really hot out, not 56 degrees...Michigan. You go from Ugg to flip flop in 2 degrees.)
If you answered yes to any of the questions, I forgive you for wearing flip flops.
But:
Are you wearing a suit?
Anything fancy? Did you debate flip flops vs. high heels?
Are you also wearing any of the following: handkerchief blouse, silk, a toe ring...
God help me: a toe ring.
Flip flops don't go with everything; they don't go with anything. They are not supposed to be worn in the city, or anywhere. They were imported by a hippie in a rucksack from a land where it is routinely a million degrees, wherein such a foot slide was sensible. Now they are on your feet. See also the Ugg, the wooly foot mammoth imported from Australia, where everyone is a retard.
Eh. There's something missing...the rage eludes me. Can't you give me some kind of topic? Since my own creativity fails, I'll give you this, courtesy of nervoustic and jf_franklin. Because they are the best.