Oh Helo

It’s time for the 2nd installment of what is quickly becoming my favorite series of posts in Miss Nihilist’s online world. I present….. specimen #2:


I realize this is my 2nd Battlestar picture, but it features Helo and I love it. So if you have complaints about the pictures I choose, I strongly suggest that you start your own fucking blog. Moving on….

Now, this image features two BSG characters: Chief and Helo. As you notice, Chief is frowning quite intently at Helo. Chief shouldn’t wear his constipated face so forcefully, it’ll give him wrinkle lines and being a cylon won’t protect him from that. Now Chief is concerned because a) Helo has a gun and b) Helo is better dressed than he is. Chief wakes up that morning, rolls out of bed and discovers that there are no costume assistants around to tell him how to dress. Chief runs around, picks up a black and red t-shirt and thinks “I’m a cylon, cylons look good in black and red”. What he doesn’t realize (and what you can’t see in the image) is that the t-shirt has “Battlestar Galactica” written on the front. Uh oh, Chief just violated the cardinal rule: NEVER WEAR THE SHIRT OF THE BAND YOU ARE GOING TO SEE AT A CONCERT TO THEIR CONCERT. Same goes for BSG geek-cons. Chief runs all the way to the fan-con and discovers that Helo came dressed in a military green v-neck t-shirt. Chief is glum, he’s thinking “goddamnit. No wonder Helo is the XO and I just got demoted.” The frustration is clear on his face, he’s thinking “hm….I can’t possibly fill out those arm sleeves the same way.”

Meanwhile, Helo is pressing the gun into Chief’s back. His lips are pursed together, he’s got the “oh, baby” vibe going on. Helo is the man. Mostly he’s excited because he hasn’t held a gun since he became XO, or backup XO, and he’s just excited to be holding a phallic symbol in his hand.

Then the tables get turned:


Chief’s got the gun, he’s feeling it, he’s excited. He’s thinking “it’s not the clothes that make the man, it’s the nice gun in his hand.” He's even got the stance down pat, arms ahead, the gun pointed firmly near the back of Helo's head. Chief ain't messing around. Helo, on the other hand… Oh Helo, he quivers like a little boy. He’s got his hands on his cheeks, his lips are formed into a quiver of fear and surprise. Unlike Chief who is simply unimpressed with armed Helo, Helo is scared of armed Chief. I’d like to believe that Helo has something up his sleeve, but the mouth says otherwise. The quiver/grimace clearly says “Oh shitz.”

I hate to admit it, but Chief 1: Helo 0.

Holy Motherfrakker!

When I say Jesus, you say Christ!

JESUS……………………

A picture speaks a thousand words.

So today, I’m going to introduce a new ongoing feature on the Miss Nihilist Blog. You ready? Drumroll please……….wait for it….. oy! You in the back, quit crapping your pants, it’s coming…….

Miss Nihilist presents….. The Gross Assumptions Game!! Or as I like to call it: the ASS game! See, the very foundation of this game is based on the common knowledge that every picture tells a story and speaks a thousand words. So here at Miss Nihilist’s world, we are going to take an image, any image, and deconstruct it, making gross assumptions about the people in the image and what is happening. Get it? Sound fun? I think so.

Without further adieu, I present the first specimen for dissection:


BSG fans will recognize this image. Our favorite rag-tag crew has landed in New Caprica, prepared to set up a new civilization. Lee and Starbuck have professed their love for each other, and decided to break up with their respective significant others. Starbuck, being the deadly bitch that she is, runs off and marries Anders in the morning. This screencap is taken right at the moment where Adama tells his son that the love of his life has married another man.

Notice the pure look of agony on Lee’s face? Classic. Drink it up. You know what is even more classic? The pure obliviousness of Adama. He’s eating his chips, absolutely engrossed in its tangy Doritos flavour. He doesn’t even notice that the news he just imparted to his son has managed to rip Lee’s still beating heart right out of his chest and it’s still flopping on the ground. In fact, if you look carefully, Adama is looking off into the distance thinking “meow, meow, meow, meow… I want to eat some sardines right about now.”

But that’s the interpretation you have because you’ve watched the episode. What would you assume about these characters if you’ve never watched an episode of BSG? It’s difficult, but I’m shaking my head rapidly side to side right now, trying to eject all BSG knowledge out…. Okay… I think I’ve got it…..

Okay, notice how the character on the left has left his uniform slightly unbuttoned? He’s a ladies man, and oh boy, he just came back from a night of hot sex. The character on the right? He’s evil. He has a mustache. Mustachio men are always evil. He also appears fixated on food. He’s evil and he likes food. The character on the right has just told our ladies man that he has cannibalized his cat! And the character on the left is in agony, thinking “oh no! Not Fluffy!!!! She was a gift from my great grandmamma! I’m such a momma’s boy!” Evil Eating Man laughs and gleefully continues to consume the poor remains of Fluffy.

And scene.

Yes, I just wanted an excuse to post this image because it makes me laugh every time I see it (I’m evil, I laugh at Lee’s pain), but ooohhh yes…. This game is gonna be fun. Prepare yourselves.

Wee! Push me higher!

Q: My husband is a good friend with a couple who swing. He’d like us to start swinging as well, but I’m very uncomfortable with this idea. I think this lifestyle would be very unhealthy both physically and emotionally. We’re at an impasse. He says I’m too narrow-minded, and that exploring his sexuality is very important to him. He says his friends have the strongest marriage because they allow each other to step out.
-Confused in Edmonton

A: Dear Confused in Edmonton,
I must admit that your letter made me confused too. I’m not sure what the problem is here. Your husband wants to swing. Why do you feel it would be unhealthy for your relationship? Physically, I get; prolonged swinging can really make your ass hurt, but emotionally? Does the wood hurt your soul?

So Confused, here is my advice to you: loosen up! Sometimes what a relationship really needs is a good swing! You get your husband to push, you swing your legs out, dangle them over the side, and feel the wind through your hair. I agree that your friends likely have a strong marriage because they are considerate towards each other. They “step out” together, one person pushes the other, and the other person swings. It’s like being a child all over again. So relax and have fun with it. Make weekly trips to the playground if that helps.

Lastly, I’m concerned that your husband sees swinging as part of his “sexuality”. Is it the child/adolescent aspect of it? Have you talked to your husband about pedophilia? I suggest that you have your husband contact me for advice STAT. In the meantime, I sincerely hope you thoroughly enjoy your swinging.

Simply Exquisite!!

So Tom Waits recently did an interview for The Independent. The interviewer? Tom Waits. The interviewee? Tom Waits. I read this interview where Tom Wait interviewed Tom Waits and I was struck by the sheer genius of it. Everyone should interview themselves. I could insert some sentences about the journey to self-knowledge and wax philosophical about how no one knows you better than yourself, but what is genius about interviewing yourself is this: it’s arrogant and self-important. And I love it. I think everyone should interview themselves. Which leads me to my post a la today (in case you were still straggling behind….):

I conceitedly present…. Miss Nihilist interviews herself:

I admit that I went into this interview a little apprehensive. Miss Nihilist, THE Miss Nihilist herself! She has developed such a persona and has achieved such inconceivable heights of success that I wasn’t sure what to expect. Was she going to be a Diva? Was she going to be humble? Was she going to be a Diva who pretended to be humble? What I discovered is that Miss Nihilist is one of the most kind, intelligent, witty, beautiful, insecure, secure, neurotic, and amazing people I have ever met. And, she smells like heaven.

Q: So you’re relatively new in the blogging game, how do you keep your posts fresh and relevant?
MN: The trick is quality over quantity. I never post anything unless I am fully ready to bring my A game. You will never find a C+ post on my blog. It’s quality shit all the way. Think of it this way… if blogging is like a crystal goblet, then competitor blogs are like tap water. My blog? It’s cristal. It’s the finest aged whiskey you ever did taste. See? Quality.

Q: Let’s do a word association game…. I will say a word, you tell me the first word that comes to mind. Dog.
MN: Shit.
Q: Bye.
MN: Nos-Chin.
Q: Berry.
MN: Much.
Q: Foundation
MN: Death.
Q: Accountants.
MN: KILL.

Q: How did Princess Diana die?
MN: She got eaten by Kimono Dragons.

Q: What do you want your readers to take away from your blog?
MN: I want my readers to come away from my blog, feeling as if they can do anything. That is the message that I try to instill in all my readers: YOU CAN DO ANYTHING. I want them to think positive, I want them to draw positive energy towards them. I want my readers to know that if they think they can do something, or achieve something, they CAN achieve their dreams. It is a new way of thinking that I am trying to commander. I call it “The Secret”. It’s a revolutionary concept that I came up with. I’m positive that this is going to put me on the map. I’m trying to get it patented, but I haven’t received a call back from the office yet.

Q: What can’t you live without?
MN: sushi, books, music, and a fine pair of tummy tucking-in underwear. Some condoms. It’s no glove, no love.

Q: Who is the final Cylon?
MN: That guy (Miss Nihilist points at the hot dog vendor).

Q: I understand you live in a multicultural home. What’s it like living with Koreans and Welshians?
MN: It’s annoying. Fuck multiculturalism, this is not the residence of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt! Sometimes I just want to fly my China flag and fly it high, but then I get accused of bigotry and Chinese supremacy. Hey! Just what culture do you think gave us pot stickers, huh?!

Q: This just came in from my editor…. I’m not sure how to tell you this… but The Secret? It’s a major franchise of books and DVDs that has been hyped by Queen Oprah herself.
MN: Wha…..? Shit.

Q: Well, we’re running out of time, and I just wanted to close by asking you… what is that intoxicating scent you are wearing? What do you call it?
MN: I call this Eau No Bathe for 4 Days.

So that’s that. Miss Nihilist should bottle that wonderful, heavenly scent and sell it. Then she could add “perfume designer” to her already extensive resume and achievements. I’ve learned many things about Miss Nihilist doing this interview, and one thing remains crystal clear: she’s here, she’s kicking ass, and she ain’t going nowhere. You go girlfriend!

You get an A+!

Good day ladies and gents! It’s a checklist today, so get out your pens and pencils…. Got them ready? Okay, let’s start:

Have you done any of the following sometime in the past, today, or plan to do any in the near future….?

• Cut someone off in traffic? Or raced down the closed lane and cut into the lane that continues simply because you didn’t want to have to wait your turn?
• Bitched about someone at work despite the fact that you are guilty as charged of the same crime?
• Taken up two parking spots in a parking lot that is busier than a whore’s twat? Or better yet, parked in the driveway of a shopping centre because you couldn’t walk the extra 20 feet to the door? Or parked in the handicapped spot?
• Made someone wait or do extra work even though this someone is doing YOU a favour?
• Interrupted someone while they were talking because you couldn’t wait your turn? Or talked ad nauseum about yourself? Or even better, talked to a person while they were on the phone because you were simply too important to wait?
• Complained about someone’s house, or their hospitality, while you were a guest in their home?
• Taken for granted something nice someone has done for you, without offering a thank you for their efforts?
• Cut in front of someone already in line?
• Dumped someone named Nos-Chin who just wanted the pleasure of company from someone of the female persuasion?
• Called someone during dinner, or any time during the day actually, to sell them something, and REFUSED to take a polite “no” as an answer? Or when someone doesn’t speak English, keep asking to speak to “the lady of the house?”.
• Loudly spit in public? Perhaps, over your balcony while you are having a giant loud party with your stupid friends?
• Let your dogs run rampant, and go wherever, in the yards of houses you don’t own? Not train your dogs to shut the hell up?
• Blasted your car music at ungodly hours of the night? Not give a damn whether your neighbours are sleeping, or whether you wake them up?
• Been too lazy to lock your doors the quiet way? Instead relying heavily on your key fob, subjecting your poor neighbours to the incessant BEEP BEEP of your car horn?
• Not bothered to remember your neighbours’ names, despite the fact that you regularly take money from them?!!
• Taken two seats on the bus, completely ignoring the feeble senior citizen standing beside you who is desperately clutching to the bus bar, trying not to fall down? Or just ignored the fact that the bus is completely packed like a sardine can?
• Talked loudly on your cellphone while in a bookstore?

Well, if you have done one, or more, of the above things….. Congratulations!!!!!!

YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE. YOU’RE GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL. And there is a good chance that your name is either Randy, Grant, The German, Lydia, or Scarlet. And yes, people name their kids “The German”.

Put your best face forward

o I’ve been thinking about celebrities lately, and about what it would take to be a celebrity. Good looks, check. Outgoing personality, check. Rabid megalomania, check, check, and check! I’d make an excellent celebrity.

But mostly I am thinking about types of celebrities. On one hand, you have celebrities that demand “privacy”, denouncing tabloid magazines and being general assholes to fans who approach just wanting an autograph. And when that is done, they turn around and give interviews to magazines discussing a wide range of private issues such as their relationships, their pregnancies, their kids, their heartbreak, etc…. Nicole Kidman, I’m looking at you here. Come to think of it, Justin Timberlake, you’re mega guilty too.

The reality is, when you are “famous”, celebrities exchange a certain modicum of their privacy for the opportunity to get paid god-awful amounts of money for 3 months of work. I’m not minimizing the hard work involved in 4 AM-2 AM shoots, but still $20M for say… 900 hours of work? And on $20M, you would never have to work again. Say, you are a B-list actor and only make $100,000 (for example), make 15-20 movies, and you’re still set for life. The point is, being in the public eye is the price actors/actresses pay for being actors/actresses.

That’s not to say they deserve to be hounded by paparazzi and owe the public all the private details of their lives. The truth is, some people are born with the gift to act, and they act simply for the beautiful and joy of it, not because they want to be celebrities. These people manage to live their lives in relative obscurity. When fans approach them, they are kind, courteous, and graceful about their celebrity-dom. They sign autographs, do their press circuits, but refrain from discussing their husbands/wives/children/dogs/etc. You want to talk about the movie I was just in? Sure, I’ll tell you what it’s like working with Joe Blow. You want to know when and where I’m getting married? You want to follow me with your camera when a loved one dies? No thanks, that’s private.

But you can’t have it both ways. You can’t declare that you deserve privacy, and then discuss your numerous miscarriages in an issue of Rolling Stone. Hm.. last time I checked, having a miscarriage was a hell of a lot more private than say having a lavish multi-million dollar wedding. But what do I know? I’m not a celebrity.

The other thing I’ve been thinking about is how much celebrity lives suck. Take for example me… I am cooking dinner…. I ran of cheese and need to run to the supermarket…. Uh oh… I’m only wearing a ragged pair of pj pants, and a ratty tank top. Who cares? I make my superstore run, and come home to finish supper. However, if I’m a celebrity… I run out in my pj pants and my ratty tank top, and suddenly my red-faced, badly-dressed self is plastered on the front page of People magazine, and fashion “experts” are analyzing my style within the pages. “Gasp! Doesn’t she know that those cheap $10 superstore pants do not match her spring complexion?” Celebrities are expected to be fully coiffed, best-dressed at every moment of their day because who knows who is there to flash pictures at them? Especially in the days of the camera phone, everyone can be the paparazzi these days. It doesn’t matter if you just endured a 12 hour flight from Europe, you’re expected to look like you just walked off the runways of Milan.

I guess this is where my dream of being a celebrity ends, because I certainly couldn’t go out in public looking like this (and this took hours of coiffing so I shudder to think how I’d look sans coif):

Aw shucks.

Three Strikes, yer outta there!

Q: I met a man from NY online; though not initially attracted to him physically, he grew on me and we fell in love. We were together for one year and both flew back and forth to each other’s cities, and talked every day. I ended it because of things that bothered me. He was totally surprised and devastated. I realized I’d made a huge mistake, apologized and tried to make up, but he said to “give it time”.

Recently, on his myspace page I found a post from a beautiful woman saying “hey, you have a great weekend.” I’ve been crying constantly since. I miss him terribly. Is it really over?

A: Let me get this straight… despite the fact that he eventually “grew” on you, you still felt a need to point out that you weren’t physically attracted to him when you initially met. Is this one of the reasons why you ended it with him? Because you found that he didn’t grow as much on you as you initially thought? Instead of growing into your partner, you found that he was more like an ugly mold spore?

Secondly, when your ex-boyfriend told you to give him time, you translated it as: please stalk me on myspace?

Lastly, is it really over? I don’t know. That depends on whether you genuinely believe, in your heart of hearts, that wishing someone a great weekend means that they are involved in a relationship. Because if so, then yeah, it’s over. Your grip on reality, however tenuous it used to be. That also means oh shit, Miss Nihilist is a giant slut-taroo. She’s involved with, and being “frisked” by, 6 random people who work in the same building as her, the grocery boy, the mailman, her boss, the receptionist, and the book store clerk. And that’s just today. DAMN, I get around. Look at me go!

I leave you with this parting question: if wishing someone a great weekend translates into being a relationship, what does “being together for one year” mean? Did your NY man accept your myspace friend request, poke you a few times on facebook, and maybe.. oh gods…. Left you a message on your myspace page? Because dude, I think you just got to third base. SCORE!

Bros and Cheesaritos before hos!

It’s me, Nos-Chin. I know, I know, I haven’t been around for a while. To be frank, my dating chronicles have been thin lately.

Why, you ask?

Meet E-moe. E-moe is my best friend. A few weeks back, we met at Club Malibu, boozing it up, trying to mack on the ladies. As usual, I was having zero luck so I bought the guy next to me a beer. Enter E-moe. Turns out E-moe and I have a lot in common. E-moe likes music like My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy. E-moe likes to wear tight, tight pants. E-moe likes to cry himself to sleep. He also weeps while he plays the guitar. E-moe likes to wear his hair long and swept to the side. When he has money, he will dye part of it blond, and leave the rest pitch black. E-moe likes to wear eyeliner and paint his nails black.

As for me, well… I don’t like or do any of that, but still, E-moe and I have a lot in common. We’re both lonely, pathetic bachelors. And you’d be amazed how misery unites people.

So E-moe and I have been hanging out a lot. We’re bros! Bitching about women, hammering back beers, ahhh, it was the life. I was starting to believe that I didn’t need women. Bros for life!

That’s until E-moe met her.

E-moesha.

E-moesha likes music like My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy. E-moesha likes to wear tight, tight pants. E-moesha likes to cry herself to sleep. She also weeps while she plays the guitar. E-moesha likes to wear her hair long and swept to the side. E-moesha has part black/part blonde hair. E-moesha has black nails and wears eyeliner.

The two of them figure that they are meant to be because E-moesha is E-moe with the letters “sha” added onto the end. Shit, go figure, eh? What are the damn chances?

But now, E-moe can’t go to the bar because he is crying with “his girl”. E-moe doesn’t want to bitch about women anymore. He just wants to share eyeliner and nail polish with E-moesha. E-moe doesn’t want to drink beers anymore because it interferes with his and her “misery time”.

FUCKING ASSHOLE.

So it’s just Nos-Chin once again. One is the loneliest number you’ll ever do….

Moo!

It’s storytime kids, gather round….hey you! In the back… quit slouching and join the group. Let’s begin…

Once upon a time, there was a cow. She wasn’t a calf mind you, she was getting on in cow years and was starting to show a little around the edges. Her name was… well, let’s just call her A. A thought she was the crème de la crème of cows. She had ruled long in the grassfield and had perfected the art of pretending to mulch, while all the while sleeping and mooing to her cow friends who would listen to her. The cow herders had no idea that A really did very little in the grassfield, and continued to keep her alive because they believed she was such an excellent cow.

Years passed and A’s head just got bigger and bigger. When the cow herders asked her to learn new tricks, A would just moo loudly at them and turn her back. She mooed at the other cows, thinking that her cow stories were so funny and important, and wouldn’t let the other cows get in a moo otherwise. She would spend her days lounging in the grass, mooing to anyone who listened that other cows didn’t work as hard as she.

One day, the cow herders brought in a new calf. Well, she was more a new(ish) cow than she was a calf, but she really wished she was still in the later stages of being a calf. Let’s call her G. G came into the grassfield, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to mulch grass and work hard. Immediately, G and A did not get along. A was threatened because G was brought in as Cow Tier 1, which was way above A’s Cow Tier 2. G was very frustrated. While G was working hard, toiling in the grassfields, A was lazing around near the fence, swishing her tail and counting down the hours until all the cows went back to the barn. And A couldn’t even swish her tail quietly! All day long all G could hear was the “swish, swish, swish” sound as A did nothing. Throughout it all, none of the cow herders noticed.

G snapped. She had had enough.

Now here’s where things get interesting….

G had a secret. No one knew that G came from a very interesting family of angry cows. One night, G broke out of the barn, and climbed into the tractor the cow herders kept stored on the side of the barn. It took all night, but G learned three very important skills sets that night. She learned how to turn the tractor on, how to shift it into drive, and what pedal would accelerate the tractor. When that was done, G laid in wait….

Finally it was morning. A was let out into the pasture and immediately went out to the fence to lie around and do nothing. Suddenly a loud sputter sounded from the barn, and all the cows stopped their work in surprise. The tractor roared to life, and G aimed the tractor straight for A, the gas pedal held down firmly by her cloven hoof. Everyone except for A moo-screamed and dived out of the way. A was too busy grooming herself to even notice.

With a loud, guttural moo, G slammed the tractor front into A’s unsuspecting form. Blood and cow bits flew, and A never even had a chance to cry out. Soon, G was covered in a sea of red, but it wasn’t enough. She reversed the tractor and ran over A’s tattered cow parts, still thick with membrane and bone. When that was done, G got out of the tractor and located A’s head near the wheel. The initial impact was so sharp that it severed the cow in half. G made her way to the mangled body part and surprisingly, A was still alive. G kicked her hooves into A’s face, and stomped on her face. Mercifullly, A died shortly after.

G made her way to the cow herders, and the other cows nearby. Fully expecting to go on the chopping block for her crime of passion, she was surprised when one of the cow herders smiled and nodded at her. “Thank god the bitch is dead!”, he shouted! The humans cheered and all the other cows mooed. He, and a handful of the other cow herders, lifted G onto their shoulders and cried out “hip hip hooray!”.

The moral of the story kids? COW KARMA IS A BITCH.

Girls just wanna have fun

Here is a truth that I believe wholeheartedly: I think life would be so much easier if I was a man.

Observe:
1) Men can be chubby and aren’t judged for it. Got a ponch? A beer belly? Oh, that just means you are virile and masculine because you can hold your alcohol. Come here santa….
2) Double standards. This double standard applies to many things. A random selection includes A) being able to date and sleep with several women, but still be regarded as a “catch”. B) overwhelming hot weather? No problem, men just take off their shirts. Women try that stunt and get arrested. Where’s the justice in that?!! C) Glass ceiling? What? Where?
3) Men don’t have to stand in line to go potty. Having to go into a poo stall simply because you don’t have any other choice SUCKS. I’d love to pee standing up, except I hate having to scrub my pants.
4) Men don’t have periods, don’t have to be responsible for taking a tiny annoying pill each and every single day, and aren’t forced to carry a little wee one in their stretched womb. In addition, men aren’t forced to stretch their genitals oouuuuutttt to push out the same little wee one. They just get to sit on the sidelines while us women have to do all the work. Bastards! This shouldn’t be a spectator sport!! One where men come in during the intermission, fondle the women who play, and thus “prep” the players for the big game.
5) Pants with pockets. Men are given the luxury of wearing pants with deep pockets. Hear that fashion industry?!!! Not all women want to carry big handbags and little itty purses just for our shit stuff.
6) Men wear t-shirts and jeans. For work, men wear dress pants and dress shirts. Men could wear the same pair of pants and shirt every single day, complete with hot dog stains, and no one would give a shit. Women, on the other hand…. “pssst… did you see Cindy wearing the same shirt twice this week? Could she be more of a hobo?!”. I’m not a hobo! I just really like washing my clothes every single night!
7) Men sit around together, watch tv, scratch their balls and burp. Women get together and they want to talk about their feeeelllliinngs. I don’t have any feelings, I am a non-feeling blob. I don’t watch Oprah. I don’t watch Sex in the City. I didn’t read Wally Lamb’s latest novel. I don’t care about your children. I don’t like doilies. I think you look hideous in your clothes. Your face makes me want to projectile vomit.
8) Men are excused from the stigma of having social and mental deficiencies simply on the basis that they are men. Observe: “Oh, Rod? He is a klepto… but it’s okay, you know how men are.” “Ewwwww…. Cassie is a necrophiliac! Crazy, insane bitch!”. Fair? I think not.

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again: Life would be so much easier if I was a man. Sigh.

Are we there yet?

I am disgusted with the human race. Only human beings could ever be as depraved and selfish as we are. I believe we’re all going to hell.

I hope I get my own room.

HELP! I need somebody!

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MUTHAFUCKA

I’m here! I’m here! I know it’s been a while since my last post, and for that I apologize. Apparently, between actually doing some work, and trying to get the creative juices flowing enough for a story, there isn’t a whole lot of time to complain on my blog. Oh, the complaining is there, it’s just not being written down as blog fuel.

As you all know, I am thisclose to going crazy lately. All bark and snapping make Miss Nihilist GO CRAZY. AND CRAZY. AND CRAZIER. I’m two marbles away from opening cans of whoop-ass on unsuspecting folks, wearing underwear as tanktops, and adopting a lot of cats.

So in honour of my crazy-dom, I thought I would write an entry about pet peeves. Though for the purposes of this entry, I will not refer to them as “pet” peeves. Pet peeves imply little tiny things that upset you. Pets are little cutesy animals and tacking it onto a word like “peeves” diminishes the whole body-shaking, mind-blowing frustration and annoyance level you feel when you interact or witness these so-called “pet peeves”. So from now on, I strike the word Pet Peeves from my vocabulary. PPs are now to be called “fuck-I-hate-you-motherfucker-I-can’t-believe-you-are-such-a-douchebag-and-I-wish-you-and-all-your-offspring-would-die-and-go-straight-to-hell-because-your-behaviour-and-mannerisms-make-me-want-to-poke-holes-in-my-spleen-despite-the-fact-i-don’t-even-know-where-my-spleen-is.” Or, MUTHAFUCKA peeves for short. So here are my Muthafucka peeves:

1) Gum snapping. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, I am going to come over there and shut it for you. Don’t blame me if you lose your teeth and get skinned in the process.
2) Standing in the middle of a hallway/aisle. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY. If you are pushing a grocery cart, move it to the side. If you met a friend and want to catch up, move your dumbass to the side, or better yet, a coffee shop. Either way, stop thinking you’re the centre of the world and that people should move around you.
3) People who talk very loudly (on cellphones or not) need to quiet things down. Use your inside voices people! And similarly, people who talk very loudly on cellphones while they wander up and down bookstores, up and down book aisles, need to shut up. A bookstore is a holy place. I don’t go into your holy place and disrespect, so don’t do it to me!
4) Not signaling when driving. Guilty parties, step forward. And this includes people who believe the signal light is only an “indicator” of where you are going and should be turned off prior to actually completing the signaled action. Yes, I’m talking to you. STEP FORWARD. This includes similar driving offenses such as a) not wanting to wait in line like a non-jackass and cutting people off b) running through crosswalks c) not waiting for ambulances d) basically anything a red-necked Albertan would do while driving.
5) Being a hypocrite. Enuff said.
6) Being an intolerant asshole. There are no excuses for being a racist/misogynist/homophobe in the year 2008. NONE whatsoever. You all immediately go on my shit list.
7) Dog owners who feel like they shouldn’t be dog owners. If you don’t want to live up to the responsibilities of being a dog owner, don’t own a dog. It’s simple logistics people.
8) Parents who don’t teach their kids the simple meaning of responsibility and humility. Oh, do you really need that ipod Suzie Q? The brand new car when you turn 16? Well, maybe you could exchange the computer, and the movies, and all the other electronic widgets you have to the little orphan kid in Africa who hasn’t eaten in 7 days.
9) Ignorance. It’s 2008. There is the internet, there are books, there are documentaries and expert sources, there are a million different ways to access information and zero excuses for not doing so.
10) Thongs. I dunno, I just don’t get ‘em.