Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In Your Fucking Face (Vol.1)

Volume One

In today’s society, you will find a tremendous amount of stress cast upon your shoulders.  Often times, you may ask yourself, “How many burdens can one person carry?”  With the stresses of work, or lack there of, and family, this question is quite justified.  I know from personal experience, the trials and tribulations that life hurls at you.  For instance, as many are aware, I am currently suffering through a forced holiday.  I do not return to work until September.  My concern that I will not have sufficient beer money is troubling, at best.  As it is, I have had to ration my beer to a ridiculous, four cans of Miller Light per evening, excluding Fridays and Saturdays, which on those days, I average approximately how ever fucking many I want to fucking have, fuck you very much!

Volume One of Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In The Fucking Face explores the issue of time management.  Managing time is an important concept that eludes many.  One should think that since the invention of calendars, a person would easily balance their schedules by noting the event, appointment, or what have you, inside the little fucking square designated to the day and number which represent a fucking date.  It isn’t fucking rocket science.  Fuck Blackberries and electronic date organizers.  Those little fuckers are designed to piss people off and make shit confusing.  Go get your ass a damn pen or a pencil, even a crayon will do, and write the shit that is so fucking important to you down on the calendar.  Fuck,  you can prick your fucking finger and make a notation in blood for all I care.

Tardiness is absolutely unacceptable to me.  I could not give a shit less for your excuses unless you are dying or taking the initiative to stop by the fucking store to purchase beer.  If  I have plans to do something with you and you do not manage your time well, it ultimately affects me.  Why is that so fucking hard to understand?  The later you are, the more drunk I become, which really cuts the chances that I will be in a suitable state to mingle in public.  It’s a lose/lose situation, and it is all of your fucking fault.

To stand me up is highly dangerous.  Whether you forget to write our date down on the fucking calendar or you were under the mistaken impression that standing me up to do something with someone else would be more fun, you are going to find a severed horse head tucked in nice and snug at the foot of your bed.  I’m totally “God Father” gangsta like that.

If you would like to avoid as many complications in your life as possible, all you need to do is put some good time management skills to use.  If you do this, you can alleviate a large sum of the burdens that weigh on your weak, weak shoulders.  And remember, if all else fails, take a deep, relaxing breath and shut the fuck up and stop whining because I will punch you in your fucking face.

Smithwick’s, how I adore thee!

I think that anyone who gets fucking blasted on a regular basis would agree that St. Patrick’s Day is the best among all lesser holidays. It is a day in which we celebrate beer; the banishment of snakes; beer; leprechauns; leprechauns who like beer; the color green; green beer, and a guy named Patrick, whom I assume liked beer.

One of the best tasting beers, in my esteemed opinion, is Smithwick’s, (prounounced Smithick’s, Smittick’s, Smidick’s or Smeth-ick’s in Ireland) which is Ireland’s oldest ale. Smithwick’s was originally brewed in St. Francis Abbey in Kilkenny, where monks had brewed ale since the 14 century. It is the oldest operating brewery in Ireland, founded by John Smithwicks in 1710.

Smithwick’s has a smooth texture and a bitter finish. Regarded as a local favorite by Irish pub goers, this delicious, fucking yum-tastic beer is the third most popular in Ireland, and the number one selling brand that isn’t a stout or cider. Oh, Smithwick’s, how I adore thee!

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!

Please be gentle. I’m a virgin.

Being that I am a weblog virgin, I have been agonizing over my debut post for days, which comes as a great surprise to me, as it is an extremely rare occasion that I am at a loss for words.  After some consideration, I decided that perhaps it would be a polite gesture to use my first post as a platform to introduce myself.  This will very likely be the only instance in which I express myself in a well-mannered fashion.  To be honest, I am not even certain that this feigned politeness will  extend much beyond the first paragraph. 

I call myself Polythene Pam.  My infatuation with the Beatles stops JUST short of psychotic obsession.  Hot on the heels of the Fab Four comes U2.  I think that Bono is so fucking yummy, I would lick the sweat from EVERY inch of that man’s body.  When Bono hits the higher notes in the song ”Bad,” it damn near makes me oh.

Another thing that gives me that oh feeling is Q-tips.  I swab my ears with that cottony goodness on a daily basis.  That is most likely why my fucking ears hurt all of the time.  I often curse the name of Leo Gerstenzang, the man who is believed to have invented “Baby Gays,” in 1923, which went on to become the popular brand name Q-tips.  Fuck you very much, Mr. Gerstenzang, for being the possible inventor of such a fucking magnificent product.

Also in 1923, Time magazine was launched.  I am currently a proud subscriber to this particular periodical.  I used to get Entertainment Weekly, but I fucking loathe that magazine.  I looked forward to receiving my EW just about as much as I look forward to finding the fucking Watch Tower magazine crammed in my fucking backdoor.  I have to admit though, that finding a mess of  bullshit, cult pamphlets in my door is much better than finding an actual Jehovah’s Witness peeping in my windows.  I live within close proximity of a Kingdom Hall and these fuckers know it.  I find one or two of them creeping around the homestead at least once a month.

These people are fucking shameless when it comes to forcing their propaganda on those of us who have not yet accepted the “truth.”  THAT is why I have such a distaste for them.  Never-mind the fact that they call themselves Christians but blatantly disregard the fundamentals of Christianity, such as the Trinity, the belief that Jesus Christ is God in the flesh AND the fucking Resurrection.  Never-mind the fact that these wishy-washy bastards had changed their doctrine one hundred and forty fucking eight times in an eleven year span.  AND never-mind the fact that when I was a child and I visited my grandparents, my mother, who had been excommunicated from the Kingdom Hall, made me tuck my cross pendant into my shirt for fear that I would offend them.  For you see, they also do not believe that Jesus died on a cross, therefore they view yet another fundamental aspect of Christianity as false. 

I am a tolerant person.  If Jehovah’s Witnesses want to believe that one day they will live for fucking ever on a paradise earth, where zebras allow snot nosed children to wipe  boogers on their tails and little white lambs sit around and drink Earl Grey tea with lions, then so fucking be it.  Leave me out of it.  I’m perfectly happy being Catholic, despite the fact that the church tells me I’m going to hell because I use birth control.

 

There.  I’m finished.  I hope you still respect me in the morning.