pretty girls poop too

Sometimes, when I drink, I get really nice. And I start to think that everyone around me is also REALLY, REALLY NICE. This often leads me to talk to people for great lengths who I normally may not necessarily have talked to for that long. Or at all. Ever.

This is what happened to me a few weekends ago. Feeling a little sorry for myself, I went out with a girlfriend (and her boyfriend) to a club. The place wasn’t really my scene but I was determined to make the best of it, which you do by drinking enough Coronas to keep Mexico’s economy afloat for the next decade and dancing like you’re trying out for a music video. Naturally.

So I meet this guy and he’s just full of compliments so why wouldn’t I keep talking to him all night, right? Everyone likes to feel good and shit. We danced for a few songs and by “danced” I mean he awkwardly stood behind me and tried to mimic sexual behaviour with my back. He really wasn’t my type, physically or… anything-ly. By the end of the night he was asking for my number and thanks to my senses being dulled by cheap beer and the fact that I have seemingly forgotten how to be single and strategic — I gave it to him.

Realizing my mistake, I ignored each one of his three texts messages. He said he wanted to take me out – no reply. Then he said that he really hoped I would answer him because he really liked me – no reply. Then a third and final message a few days later about how I must have thought he was ugly or something (?!) and how he had really hoped he could get to know me.

All good. Done. Passive aggressively denied. Whatever.

Today, my girlfriend stumbles upon a Craigslist ad in the “Missed Connections” section from him, looking for me.

Because that’s normal.

In the ad (which I’m obviously not linking you assholes to), he mentions that we danced to a few songs and he got a really good vibe from me. Then he says: “Wanna see if fate exists? Tell me my name or something from the night to let me know it’s u.”

FATE? First of all… does fate use Craigslist? I’m not so sure about that. Second, I love the way he instructs me to tell him his name or something from the night to let him know it’s really me. I almost want to write back: You were wearing a weird leather jacket and had a bad haircut and I DON’T REMEMBER YOUR NAME BECAUSE I’M JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU.

He also calls me a “not-so-bad-looking girl” in the ad. Is he trying to balance out the weirdness of posting a Craigslist ad about me by inferring that I’m only slightly above average in the looks department?

Either way – he’s persistent and I guess that’s a bit endearing? I’m definitely flattered but also worried. If I don’t post again after this by May, please call the police. And Craig, who needs to know that he is responsible for this.

S.

Tags: WTF?

Yes, thank you Google. Because that’s exactly what I was looking for.

S.

Tags: WTF?

I love rap music. I really do.

I love the conscious, lyrical shit that makes you rewind it eight times just to catch all the double-entendres and I love the offensive, ignorant shit that makes me feel worthless simply for being a woman.

But rappers these days are lazy, which makes me mad because I’m lazy too and I don’t get millions of dollars for it. But whatever. To prove this, I’d like to take a moment to break down the lyrical complexity behind a popular song – B.o.B feat. Bruno Mars – “Nothing on You.”

Let’s take a look at the second verse, shall we?

Hands down there will never be another one
I been around and I never seen another one

Another what? We’re so non-descriptive these days that we can’t even refer to women as broads, bitches or hoes anymore? They’re just…ONES? I like the way he rhymed “one” with “one” as well. Deep.

Because your style I ain’t really got nothin’ on
And you wild when you ain’t got nothing on

What the fuck does this even mean? Did we seriously just rhyme one + one + on + on? Artists, I beg you. PLEASE JUST FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND – TRY.

Baby you the whole package plus you pay your taxes
And you keep it real while them other stay plastic

So this chick has impressed you because she’s the whole package. Cool. But wait! There’s more. She pays her taxes. Congratulations on following standard rules of modern civilization, bitch.

You’re my Wonder Woman call me Mr. Fantastic
Stop.. now think about it

I don’t know if B.o.B should be encouraging people to think about his lyrics too much because if they do, they might realize that Wonder Woman and Mr. Fantastic have NO RELATION TO ONE ANOTHER AT ALL. In fact, they’re characters from two entirely separate comic companies – DC and Marvel, respectively.

I give up. But I still sing the song in my car.

S.

Tags: WTF?

Oh, is that a fact?

S.

Tags: WTF?

Most of you are familiar with our Greetings Perverts! page, where we regularly update the ridiculous and often horrifying list of search terms that have brought people to this blog.

The latest search terms I wanted to share with you are actually, surprisingly, not so disgusting they make you want to wash your eyes with bleach. But they’re hilarious, so I took a screen shot to prove to you that people are actually Googling this shit.

MAKE THE GIRL POOP GAME?! Notice how they lowered their standards and refined their original search term from yesterday (I’m assuming this was the same person, if not – I want to kill myself).

Your boss broke the rules of a Christmas game and so…you decided that Googling it would present you with options on how to discipline them?

I’m used to doing things alone. So are we, dear reader….so are we.

S.

Tags: WTF?

Remember how I picked Kevin Federline in the last edition of If You Had To [D-List Fatties Edition]?

OH DEAR SWEET AND SALTY JESUS – I TAKE IT BACK.

This man used to be a dancer. If this isn’t a wake up call for me to replace this family-size bag of Cheetos on my lap into a regular-size bag of pretzels, I don’t know what is.

Kevin Federline’s shirtless girth (via The Superficial):

Ugh.

I’m hungry.

S.

Tags: WTF?