I’m having one of those unfunny days. This happens to me a couple times a year, and there’s nothing that can be done to stop it. I’m just not funny today. I wrote a cumulus cloud joke for crying out loud. When jokes start involving barometric pressure and moisture, it’s all downhill from there. It’s science. Literally.
On normal days, I laugh at names of rare bird species, or whatever disaster of a clothing ensemble I came up with in the morning. On top of not being funny, I have an Ashton Kutcher-eque rat’s nest of a beard on my face. I seriously have the facial hair of a Hungarian woman. Granted, they are pretty hairy. I digress.
I almost wrote last night, but remembered that I had to make a frozen pizza, drink a handle of rum, and berate pre-teens on X-Factor. Look, I’m not proud of it. It just has to be done. These asshole kids need to hear a bitch-slap of truth. Parents have to stop telling their kid that they’re the greatest. All this does is deliver a false sense of entitlement, and an unrealistic grasp on their talent…or lack thereof. I mean, don’t ruin their dreams or anything; just knock them down a peg or two. It wouldn’t hurt to tell them their voice sounds like a mix of a hissing possum and a Vietnamese automated bank teller. It’s for the greater good. Actually, I don’t care. You’re going to fuck them up in the head one way or the other.
Okay, back to me not being funny. It’s affecting my text game. I’m the master of funny texts. Not being funny renders me useless. I’m running out of animals to paint my junk like. I’m sure nobody appreciates my zoo of dick pics. Anyways, I have to get back to crying. BYE!
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