Paying bills sucks! So I stopped paying them. Now I have more money to buy wine.
I used to go through the daily ritual of opening mail and throwing it down in disappointment upon learning that So-and-So wants $$$ by XX Date. Now I just drop everything in the shredder. The grinding sound of a bill collector’s dreams going up in smoke is liberating.
Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’t end when you don’t pay your bills. I stamped my unopened power bill “Return to Sender” and nothing bad happened. Now instead of using those hot ceiling lamps at night, I light a candle. It’s a cool tribute to the middle ages.
Before, I would have to wait for my ice cream to reach that perfect half melted stage before I ate it because the coldness was a shock to my sensitive teeth. Now when I open the freezer, my ice cream is at the perfect temperature.
Television used to be such a distraction, especially during football season. Now that we no longer have cable, my husband has no choice but to talk to me.
Student loans, shmudent loans. If the Gov’ment wanted that money back they’d have given me a higher paying job. Sheeit.
I am still paying rent, but only because I enjoy living in a house. But if someone let me move in with them I’d tell my landlord to kiss my ass too.
So to all those Suckas out there still giving your money away for no apparent reason: Stop paying your bills.
My husband left me a present. No, not flowers. Not chocolates. Better.
I came home from work and noticed that he had left some closed tupperware containers in the sink. I decided to wash the dishes so I could make some dinner.
When I opened the tupperware, I was completely overtaken by frightening fumes. A horrible stench.
Something had died in these containers.
Upon further inspection, I noticed that the mashed potato residue inside one container was green. The other container appeared to have once held spaghetti but it was now filled with white. fuzzy. mold.
Shocked and horrified, I fled the kitchen and called my husband. “What was in these dishes?” “Where did they come from?” “How long have you had them??” “Why???”
He found them in a lunch box in his office. Who knows how long they had been there.
I was so traumatized that I forgot to make dinner.
Once upon a time, there was a piece of cheese. His name was Georgianofalugaped, but his friends called him Roberta. He was born on the mountain of Lampio to his parents Swiss and Provolone. Now, people had warned Swiss and Provolone about the dangers of breeding across species, but they were so in lust that they refused to listen to anyone. And so, Georgianofalugaped was born.
Georgianofalugaped wasn’t like all the other kids. While Bobby Joe and Carly Sue and all the other boys and girls rode in their red wagons during recess, Georgianofalugaped would sit on a plate with Bread and wait to be eaten. Nobody called him Roberta back then. Nobody called him at all.
One day during recess a new kid showed up. Butch Muthergunner from East West Virginia. He was the sweetest, politest bully you’d ever meet. Unless you’re a piece of cheese, that is. The moment he stepped onto the playground, he ran right up to Georgianofalugaped and Bread’s plate and glared down.
“I ain’t had my breakfast today!” he declared. And with that, he swallowed the two whole.
Life carried on as usual for weeks. Nobody noticed that Georgianofalugaped and Bread were missing. Well, Georgianofalugaped and Bread knew that they were missing, but they also knew that no one cared.
One day 5 years later, Bobby Joe looked up during a math test. “Where’s Roberta?” he wondered aloud, “She’s gonna miss the exam.” Nobody knew who he was talking about. The teacher thought he was trying to cheat somehow. Actually one person knew, but he was doing time
…s tables in the classroom next door. He smiled to himself.
RAEZYN 