“The Shit I Learn Series.”
Sit the fuck down.
You’re embarrassing yourselves.
NOW STAND BACK UP!!
Ha! Didn’t say “Simon Says.”
You people are stupid.
So, I’ve had a busted wrapped-in-a-cast hand (coming soon from Pillsbury – tee hee!) for about two weeks now.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
1) I can’t type for shit with one hand
It took me three hours to write that one sentence.
With two hands, I can type like lightning without any spelling errors.
Teacher: “You know, Rodney…you should consider the Advanced Typing class.”
Me: “Thanks. But I’m getting my ass kicked enough as it is. Plus, it’s at the same time as my “Intermediate Needlepoint” course.”
Then we made sweet sweet love amongst a sea of empty bottles of White-Out.
63 words a minute.
And one teacher in about 3.
After I type, every sentence looks like this:
“Aft’erI type evrtey senteence looks like thris.~”
I’m STARING at the fucking keys!!
And c’mon…a fucking tilda? How did I manage to get a fucking tilda in there?!?
And not for the GOOD reason.
…it starts to…
Every so often, I stick my nose in there.
Smells. Like. Bellybutton.
Me: “Man…my hand really stinks like bellybutton.”
Barry (no..not THAT Barry): “Rod. I don’t know what bellybutton smells like. But if I find myself smelling my bellybutton tonight because of this conversation, I’m coming after you.”
Like you haven’t stuck your finger in your bellybutton before, pulled it out and then smelled it.
EVERYONE’S done that.
I may have bigger problems than this stupid broken hand.
Not even Rachael Ray.
I’ve found that Button Fly Jeans are the true AntiChrist.
All I fucking OWN are button fly jeans.
What can I say…I got swept up in the craze in the 80’s and have been there ever since.
I am NOT cutting this mullet.
Ever try putting on button fly jeans with one hand?
Taking them off?
Fine. No problem.
Put them back on?
Jesus H. Christ.
You might have well asked me to “fly” or “build a skyscraper with my bare hands” or “please a woman sexually.”
(is this how fat guys find their wiggly?)
…and then do some weird twisting scooching thing so I can work the button with my right hand into the buttonhole that I’m trying to force over with the tip of my left index finger and…
…oh great…my “pinch-an-inch” just got in the way….
…hike pants up…scooch…
…repeat for next 7 fucking buttons.
And it’s Levi Strauss who’s bringing it.
I’m totally flipping him the bird.
With my right hand, of course.
FUCKITY FUCK FUCK.