In the first volume of Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In The Fucking Face, I discussed the importance of time management.  Reading it back, I have decided that I am unhappy with the use of the word volume, as in Volume 1 of Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In The Fucking Face. A more proper word, in my esteemed opinion, is installment.  However, I cannot change Volume 2 to Installment 2 because Volume 1 must remain Volume 1.  Due to my compulsive need for things to match up, I simply cannot have the words installment and volume scattered about in the same series.  I fully understand that I have the ability to go back and edit the first installment of Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In The Fucking Face. Replacing Volume 1 with Installment 1 would be really fucking easy.  But I am fucking lazy.  I don’t fucking feel like taking the 30 fucking seconds out of my day to make that correction, which raises the next topic of Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In The Fucking Face.

It could be said that laziness is a plague on society.  It is a plague of which I, begrudgingly admit, sometimes suffer from.  Laziness can be split into two categories.  The first category is Sporadic Laziness.  I feel that this type best describes me.  I feel that after a full five day work week of fucking working at work, working at home, working on shit on Saturday afternoons and binge drinking on Saturday evenings entitles me to a bit laziness on fucking Sunday.  If you, too,  fall under the category of Sporadic Laziness, and you find that others often bust your balls about lounging around one day out of the fucking week in you fucking panties, then do what I do.  Say, “Fuck off, you fucking fuck.”  Don’t stand for their incessant whining.  Don’t allow them to bark orders at you.  Crack open a beer, pour yourself some scotch or whatever the fuck it is that you like, and say, “Hey, bitch face!  Get the fuck out of my face before I punch you in the fucking kidney!”

The second category of laziness is Chronic Lack of Motivation, also known as Good For Nothing Lazy Ass Mother Fucker Syndrome.  Good For Nothing Lazy Ass Mother Fucker Syndrome can and does directly coincide with lack of time management skills.  If you can recall, I stated in the previous installment of Shut The Fuck Up And Stop Whining Before I Punch You In The Fucking Face that tardiness and absenteeism are harshly frowned upon.  When my plans are postponed or canceled due to Good For Nothing Lazy Ass Mother Fucker Syndrome, heads start rolling.  Horse heads.  People heads.  Heads.  Heads. Heads.  I’m totally “Queen of Hearts” gangsta like that.

The characteristics of category 2 laziness are as follows:

1.  You are too un-fucking-motivated to scratch your own ass.

Reading back, I noticed that in the second paragraph, I implied that I am only lazy one day out of the week, that day being Sunday.  In the first paragraph, I stated that I am too lazy to go back and replace Volume 1 for Installment 1, which blatantly disproves my statement in the second paragraph, for today is not Sunday, but Monday.  I am making mention of this because I know that some asshole is going to read this and say, “Hey, that Polythene Pam bitch is a fucking liar.”  To which I would have to reply, “Fuck you, cunt.  Who’s blog is this?”  And then a juvenile war of words would ensue, which I would ultimately claim victory… but at what expense?  At the expense of my TIME, that’s what.  I refuse to waste my partially nude lounging time on berating a fuck nut that doesn’t even deserve to see a big FUCK YOU from Polythene Pam burning a fucking hole through their computer screen.  And guess what?  I can be sporadically lazy or I can be a Good For Nothing Lazy Ass Mother Fucker all the live long day if I fucking feel like it because I’m on fucking vacation!  So shut the fuck up and stop whining and crying that I fucking lied to you before I punch you in the fucking face!

Volume One

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!

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.