Tuesday, February 15, 2011

That Isn't Baby Fat

Today was my day off from work. For me, this is a special occasion in which I only leave the apartment if I absolutely must. (This usually means I have run out of beer.) Being that I had enough beer, and would therefore not be required to expose myself to the general populace, I assumed this would wind up being a day off of blogging as well. Thankfully for all of you, my upstairs neighbors find it impossible to go through a day without speaking at decibles that would shame Pavarotti.

Quote of the day?

"They didn't even know I was pregnant!"

Newsflash, it's because you're fat. You happen to be the stereotypical American that sits on her fat ass all day swilling beer and eating junkfood. (All at my expense, because, of course, you're on that bountiful government tit known as welfare.)

People like you are the reason that my children have to grow up with a Cookie Monster that eats vegetables and get served whole grain pasta in the school cafeteria. You're the reason fastfood places have lowered the quality of the food I used to go there for, so that they can cash in on the trend of serving low-carb wraps and salads. Going to McDonalds for a salad is like buying your pain meds from a crack dealer, by the way. The only exercise I ever see you get is walking back and forth from the bar with a six pack in hand and a cigarette dangling from your big mouth.

I wonder why people might not think you were pregnant? Your behavior is clearly that of someone carrying a newly developing life inside them. Your body is obviously a temple. Too bad it's the one Indiana Jones visited with his short asian sidekick. Both of whom could probably, in all reality, fit inside that baby making factory you call a womb. Maybe...just maybe, people assume that prodigious gut that sways in front of you is just that, a gut.

Option B: maybe people that know you just don't want to believe you could be so irresopnsible as to get yourself in that situation again. I've lived downstairs from you for less than six months, we have a barely nodding acquaintance and yet, I know that you should have been a bit more careful.

Let's see... you're on welfare. You are going to have 5 children to 4 different men. Two of your children, from two different sperm donors, have autism, which means you are the one carrying and passing the gene off to your offspring. You smoke so much pot that you set off our smoke detectors at least twice a day. You and your current boyfriend start drinking at sunrise and generally fight until 3 o'clock in the fucking morning over his infidelities.

If you weren't interested in the condom for birth control purposes, maybe you should have been for the disease control factor, huh?

Personally, I feel like the government should be drug testing you and forcing you to utilize an implanted birth control device until you don't need the bulk of my paycheck to get by.

People that don't know you migh be reading this and saying to themselves; "This is so unfair. She clearly can't get a job because she has two autistic children in the home that need constant supervision. And raising children like that is hard work. No wonder she has a drinking problem and eating disorder!"


Listen, I don't know what kind of Hills Have Eyes clan you're trying raise up there, but I can't wait until either my lease expires or you get evicted. In the interim, do me a favor and try to avoid wearing corduroy pants. I'm seriously scared that your congealed thighs will rub together and start a brushfire that will burn down our building, with me none the wiser because I assumed it was your drug use that set off the smoke detectors again.

I wish I could leave you all with an itelligent quote of the day. However, I think its fairly evident that I didn't encounter anyone with anything of value to say today.


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