Due to some immigration baloney, I'm currently stuck at my parents' house, which is also home to two dogs who I will call Michelangelo and Kevin. I really like dogs, but these guys are kind of retarded. Though if my mom found out I was talking shit about them, she would be really sad.
I'm holding off on the roaring bum till next time. This next one is going to be an open letter to the shit-eating sons-of-bitches who live at my parents' house, where I'm currently stuck. Coming soon...
If you haven't already, read Part 1.
Sure, it would have happened sooner or later, I just wouldn't have ever imagined that my departure from the cupcake shop would happen the way that it did. I had been really sick all week, my voice on the brink of being lost, everything congested and muffled and tiresome. I shouldn't have gone in to work that day.
Against all better judgment, I once worked in a cupcake shop self-described as "magical." The vomitous use of magical, however, was only a garnish to the misplaced apostrophes, syntactical catastrophes, and excessive exclamation that already made the help wanted ad alarming enough, never mind that a job requirement was to "like pink!!!" and the unit of quantitative measure was “galore.” Galore? What was I thinking?
Hi everyone. Dickheadz #5 is coming soon, I promise. It's just that it's gonna be a big one, with cupcakes and psycho bums and fat kids and more. So to hold you over 'til then, here's a quick mini-dickheadz. Consider it "fun-size."
All right, we're gonna take a break from dissin' on the kids. Don't worry, I've got plenty of li'l shitters saved for later, but today, and next week, in a special two-part post, Dickheadz is going ape:
You know, sometimes I get Dickheadz guilt. Sometimes I wish there was a Pepto-Bismol colored drink to soothe the quease of my moral qualms. Church folk have it easy. All they do is confess their sins and everything's cool. So when selecting Dickheadz, I try to make sure I'm not overlooking any potentially redeeming qualities. Luckily for me (and you), Tucker rhymes very immediately with “fucker” and this I took as an irrefutable sign of fate, because Tucker the Fucker lived up to his name.
All right, you've waited long enough. Here's the second installment of Dickheadz.
Jaspar Logan* was responsible for making a number of 12-year-olds very, very angry. Do you know what it's like to be small and full of rage? 12-year-olds get furious. They think of bloodshed. They will come and get you. The wrath they seethe is fucking potent. So if you ask me, dickhead Logan had it coming.