Fuck you, chores
Fuck you, paying bills. Every goddamned month? Are you kidding me? I barely even watched TV this month, I still gotta shell out all that cash? And, while I'm at it, fuck your pathetic little late fees. They're small enough for me to easily ignore them but they add up over time. So thank you for the electricity, water and internet, but fuck you for your constant demands.
Fuck you, deleting old porn to make room for new porn. What man can make this decision? It's like choosing which of my kids to leave behind on the sinking ship. Am I tired of that one slightly chubby girl who doesn't make much noise? Fuck, this is killing me. I hate my old ass computer.
Fuck you, changing light bulbs. It's 2006, right? I was pissed when I wasn't issued a jetpack in 2000 (where's my fucking raygun?!?), but I figured by now technology would've at least advanced to the point where I don't have to stand on my wobbly chair and deal with this crap. Two bonus fuck yous: for scaring the crap out of me when I walk into a darkened room, innocently flick the switch and get momentarily blinded by that huge flash and terrifying pop! Also, for somehow convincing your lightbulb brethren to join you, causing a chain reaction that means I'm filled with fear whenever I turn on a light. Pop! Pop! Pop! What, did you all join in a suicide pact while I was asleep?
Fuck you, washing dishes. Yes, I know, you smell funny, and I know the longer I wait, the more weird slime stuff is just gonna accumulate on you. That's why I've pretty much switched to just using paper plates (fuck you, environment) and eating with my hands. I'm a caveman in an apartment.
Finally, fuck you, writing this rant.
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