I find it Sorely irritating when some bitch throws a pity party over the littlest shit. Really. There's just no end to it, there is always something to complain about, and I find that attitude most disgusting. So she meets Mr Right, but she can't get over his small dick and cries about it in a series of pathetic Facebook statuses. He gets a job that offers to double his last salary, but Human Resources draw the line on cross dressing. He meets his biological mother for the first time in twenty five years, imagine the drama, but he can't get over her cross eye What if it's hereditary, he asks. Oh motherfucker, please.
|It is bad enough that you are dead, isn't it. We will bury your ceaseless whining together.|
Things find a way of turning from bad to worse. They always do. And if you will allow me, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, let me influence your perspective. We will bury your ceaseless whining together. I hope to hell and high water this exercise helps.
Scenario #1: You're a forty year old gay hair dresser, and you found out that your 16-year old jowa (boy toy) has been cheating on you.
It Could be Worse: He's cheating on you with the 42-year old hair sweeper in the same beauty parlor you work in.
It Could be Worse: That 42-year old hair sweeper is also a gay male, and he's a few years older than you are.
It Could be Worse: You're a forty year old gay hair dresser, and you don't have your own beauty parlor yet.
Scenario #2: You're dead.It Could be Worse: They haven't located your body yet.
It Could be Worse: They have located your body, but it is decapitated. Your head is missing.
It Could be Worse: They have located your body, your head has been chopped off, and the only identification they have of you is your Very small penis. Oh the humiliation. But look at the bright side, Dearly Beloved. You're dead.
It Could be Worse: Two people identified you by your very small penis. They are this forty year old hair dresser (who doesn't have his own parlor yet) and this forty two year old hair sweeper in the same beauty parlor.
Scenario #3: You're a gay man, and you've never had sex with another man ever.
It Could be Worse: Your man boobs have hairy nipples, and you are morbidly obese.
It Could be Worse: You don't have a job, which is why you can't afford to have sex with another man ever.
It Could be Worse: You still live with your parents, and there is always someone home. You don't know where to have sex ever.
It Could be Worse: You're 56 years old.
Scenario #4: You could be losing your job.
It Could be Worse: Your BFF gal pal friends forever "inner circle" Boss quit yesterday, I think. Oh, you didn't know?
It Could be Worse: You don't have any profitable skills except for licking your Boss' boots and then kissing her ass. In that order, from the ground up.
It Could be Worse: Your new Boss loathes no-talent suck-ups like you. She's one of those rare people who hold skill and hard work in high esteem, so yeah, she hates you a whole fucking lot.
Scenario #5: A good friend loaned you P500,000, but she died of some weird cancer.
It Could be Worse: I'm kidding. She's healthier than you are, and you're still in debt.
Scenario #6: Your boyfriend of six years left you.
It Could be Worse: He found you out. Your "second Facebook account" was hardly the most discrete thing, stupid.
It Could be Worse: His phone has 1GB of your dick pics. And each picture is smaller than the last.
It Could be Worse: His "My Cheating Ex -- Dick Pics" folder, the first one, has had 2,753 likes and 620 shares an hour ago. Let's see you Photoshop/Camera 360/Retrica your way out of this, pencil dick.
Scenario #7: Your dick hurts when you urinate.
It Could be Worse: You're suddenly feverish in the afternoons.
It Could be Worse: There are traces of dried up discharge on your boxers. This is when you wake up in the morning, the discharge is yellowish, and it doesn't smell like wet dreams. Think infected wormy cheese.
It Could be Worse: The rashes on your palms make masturbating torturous. Most especially when you're hardly sustaining an erection recently. And the ejaculate feels like balled up barbed wire slowly shooting out of your dick's eye.
It Could be Worse: You've never had sex with another person ever.
It Could be Worse: You're 48.
It Could be Worse: It's a new kind of killer syphilis. And it's airborne. You have it now, and you will die a virgin.
Scenario #8: You remember a handwritten letter given to you, in secret, by one of your most honest, closest intimates. You regard his opinion with an admiring shine on your eyes. He is a well-traveled, well-educated man of the world, a jack of all trades possessed of the regal confidence of a king. Sigh. You treasure that letter to this day, and its message resonates in your being. The four words in that letter, "You are stupid, friend," are worth their weight in gold. You keep it with you, as a rallying inspiration, for you have resolved to modify his opinion of you when you two meet again.
It Could be Worse: That letter was written two years ago.
It Could be Worse: You are still stupid.
It Could be Worse: You cannot find Noble Friend anywhere. He probably blocked you in Facebook or something.
Scenario #9: You practiced your habitual tardiness to perfection, and you are now an instance away from summary dismissal. Anyway, your shift starts at 5am. It is 5:20 am now, and you're still hailing a cab.
It Could be Worse: It's raining harder than your last erection, and you don't have an umbrella.
It Could be Worse: They declared Storm Signal Number 3, and it's funny how you have no idea. Maybe they kept it a secret.
It Could be Worse: The reason why there are no taxis at 5:40 am is because several streets are closed down due to chest-high flash floods. It is the Third World, so what do you expect. It is one of those days when the taxi drivers have a valid excuse. You have better luck hailing an Ark. Meanwhile, it is now 6:05 am.
It Could be Worse: You are three hours late for work, haha, you are soaked to the tits, but you don't really have to report to work today. It turns out that they approved your leave for today, woo hoo, and you didn't have to go to work in the first place. But you did.
It Could be Worse: You are on leave, but you are stranded in the office.
It Could be Worse: See Scenario #4.
Scenario #10: There is no Scenario #10.
It Could be Worse: You found this list rather amusing, and it Needs to have a Scenario #10 because you are beyond obsessive compulsive. This list cannot stop at Scenario #9. That is simply out of order. You are upset now because you are the peak of anal retentive.
It Could be Worse: Let me tell you the truth, Sweet Nuts. This list doesn't have a Scenario #10. Seriously. I wrote this shit, and that's final. There is no Scenario #10.
It Could be Worse: You are now white-hot seething in your OCD panties that this list doesn't have a Scenario #10. You now have this pressing need to let me know how much you hate me because I'm such a cock-blocking jerk.
It Could be Worse: I disabled the comments.