God, I wish my uterus would fucking drop its bloody load, already. I've never had regular periods, and the only two ways I've found to regulate my hormones have been either taking the pill, or getting fucked on a regular basis. I broke up with my boyfriend two months ago (thus, no fucking and no need for the pill,) and haven't bled since.
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Instead, I've just been existing in PMS'y limbo. I'm puffy, I'm cranky, I'm tired, and I cry at the drop of a fucking hat. Anything will set me off: Spilling my glass of juice. The squirrel that keeled over and died in the neighbor's yard. (one week later, and it's still there. why don't you take care of that, you morbid fuck?) Ernie singing "Somebody Come and Play" on Sesame Street, this morning. (yes, I watched Sesame Street. No, I don't have any kids. I was feeling Nostalgic...shut the fuck up.)
Speaking of Sesame Street...what the fuck happened to this show? Sesame Street was where it was at, when I was little. It was the SHIT. Now, it's just shitty. I'll admit, there are still a couple of choice bits, such as The Adventures of Trash Gordon (Jee mo Cree, Gordon has been on Sesame Street since the Dawn of freaking Time. What do they do? Keep him in a vat of formaldehyde when the cameras aren't rolling?) as narrated by Oscar the Grouch. That was very clever. But since fucking when does the fucking pet worm fucking TALK?! That's no good at all.
And Elmo gets his own fifteen-minute SHOW?! WTF?! Kids these days must be borderline retarded. I HATED Elmo. Even at the age of four, I could tell that he was just an annoying little narcissistic fuck. Talking in the Third Person, like some kind of dickhead NBA star with an overinflated ego. "Elmo wants to draw a picture." "Elmo can count to three." Yeah? Well, whoopee shit. Elmo can kiss my ass.
The Cookie Monster is, like, 5000% cooler than Elmo. He's my hero. Where's his fucking show? Everyone should take a page from The Cookie Monster's book. He just doesn't give a fuck. You want to laugh at his googly eyes and broken english? Fine. He doesn't give two shits. Just give him the fucking cookies and get the fuck out of the way. And yeah, bitch, he's gonna eat the fucking plate, too. You have a problem with that? Well, you can go directly to hell. He's hungry. And no, Prarie Dawn (you waspy, anal-retentive, puritanical, repressed bitch,) it doesn't matter that the letter M isn't a cookie. If the Cookie Monster wants to eat it, he's gonna eat it. You can't stop him, because he's the fucking COOKIE MONSTER. Stop trying to control everything. Cunt.
Holy shit. I need some chocolate.