I bought a cupcake shake last night from Burger King. I didn’t get a picture of it because there isn’t a camera in existence that would’ve been able to capture it in the time before it was devoured. The cupcake shake mimics the taste of cake batter, but the best part is that you don’t have to worry about getting salmonella or diarrhea from the raw eggs (well…it’s Burger King so you probably still do BUT it’s totally worth it). There’s a dollop of whipped cream with sprinkles on top and what I think is ACTUAL CAKE at the bottom. Oh and it comes with what they call a ‘BK Pipe’ (straw) which is about the size of a hot dog. Full disclosure? I’m typing with one hand right now.
I had to fight for this shake. My boyfriend was skeptical and so was hesitant to take the plunge with me. But cake and I are total buds and since I’ve never been let down by anything that tastes like it, my faith didn’t waver. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Can we get a cupcake shake from Burger King?
Him: No, we have to eat dinner first.
Me: Ok, well can we go after dinner?
Him: Maybe.
Me: Ok so we’ll go after dinner.
Him: We’ll go a few hours after dinner.
Me: NO, AS SOON AS DINNER IS FINISHED. AS SOON AS WE PUT OUR FORKS DOWN.
Him: But we’ll be full from dinner.
Me: I’ll break everything you love and make you watch.
Conclusion? I was inhaling my shake within the hour. The point is – I know how to negotiate. Sure, I have to resort to petty threats and sometimes even pretend I have a gun, but I get results.
In a related and less violent note, I’ve been nominated in the 2009 Weblog Awards for Best Humor Blog. When I see shit like this I usually have an in-depth conversation with myself about the nerve of some people to ask me to stop refreshing Twitter for the 52nd time in the last half hour to leave the page and click on something else. Then I’ll egg myself on to say something and finally take these people to task, but talk myself out of it so I can listen to ‘Candy Rain’ again. So I know it’s a pain in the ass. But you have until November 20th to click here and vote by clicking the green button next to this comment:
I’m dropping all my weapons. I couldn’t ever threaten any of you because honestly, I love you more than cake.
This is what I see…every day.
OK, so Mother wouldn’t help him put his hilarious Halloween costume together. Now he’s waving his dick around like a gun, holding the entire internet hostage until someone lonely enough accepts his offer to mix some “stuff.” I mean, I didn’t get invited to any Halloween parties this year (don’t worry, these are happy tears), but I have to think that if I did, then I would have enough friends to help me make a lifelike mold of my genitals. That is how friendship works…right?
Anyway, I’ve assisted in making a penis mold. The only difference is that it wasn’t kind of kit where you can make a usable (or chocolate) replica of your penis, because I chose the cheap route and bought one of those precious memories kits from a craft store. So instead of a baby’s foot or prayer hands, I got a ceramic dick that was at least 2/3 of the way to pleasure town. But that’s not the point.
The point is that I had to perform a sex triathlon to keep my dude at the time hard enough to get my $15 worth. It wasn’t easy and I’m pretty sure one of those soft-core Showtime pornos where everyone is dressed like Charles Darwin only sexier was playing in the background as I touched myself like I was on fire. So there’s more than mixing involved. Oh and I love his preference to have a girl who won’t “freak if by chance they saw anything.” Yeah, because what are the chances that I would see your dick while you are MAKING A MOLD OF YOUR DICK.
But whatever – you don’t have to do anything “nausty” (except, you know, maybe penetrate him with the finished product) and there’s probably some free Long John Silver’s in it for you.
So…ladies?
I talk about being unemployed a lot. Part of this is because I have this idea that if I seem really sad, then someone will read this and give me a job where I play video games, eat pizza flavored Pringles and make snarky comments about Brooke Hogan. The other part is that I’m unemployed, so when I am playing video games, eating pizza flavored Pringles and making snarky comments about Brooke Hogan, I have a lot of time on my hands to think about how I can’t possibly stand one more day of this.
As a side effect, I get handfuls of emails asking me why I don’t have ads because I could totally monetize my blog. By monetize I’m sure they mean, ‘Spend years waiting to exceed Google’s $100 minimum so you can finally buy those Air Jordans’ but whatever. Usually, I’m asked what kind of traffic I get (I’m assuming in order to determine whether I can make .10 or .40 a day), and somehow, it never stops feeling like instead, I’m being asked to wear a mesh thong for 24 hours and send it off in a Ziploc bag in exchange for pictures of someone jerking off into it.
Either way, I don’t have ads on VD because I hate them. It’s not about being anti-corporation or anti anything, really. It comes down simply to the fact that I actually read my own blog (douche) and sometimes I even giggle so I’d rather not be distracted when I’m trying to think about how many more times I can get away with mentioning Boyz II Men. My writing is the only tool I have to reconcile the reality that my life is mine, no matter how many times it deviates from the plan I originally mapped out, and I would be wasting everyone’s time if I were motivated by making $2.50 a month. The thing is, I don’t care about attracting the hundreds of visitors who come here searching for pictures of my cunt, but I definitely care about that one person who comes here to read about what I have to say when it comes to Jesus themed porn.
There’s understandably a lot of opposition to ads dealing mostly with how they are kind of like a mix of Insane Clown Posse’s Greatest Hits and the stench of Mickey Rourke’s weave in your internet all the time. There’s even a collection of tasteful icons you can display on your blog, proclaiming to everyone that you are “opposed to the use of corporate advertising on blogs”, “feel the use of corporate advertising on blogs devalues the medium”, and “do not accept money in return for advertising space…” If I ever decide to submit completely to the fact that I’m full of shit, maybe I’ll put an ad on my blog proclaiming that I don’t condone ads on my blog. Until then, I can only promise two things–I will never try to sell you weight loss pills or funny but not really t-shirts, and when I inevitably swallow a dick with my ass, I will take copious mental notes throughout so I can share every single detail.
