Glitz & Grammar

Life and Times of a Wannabe Writer

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Quickie: Conversation with my mum while watching Iron Man 2

Mom: “Who’s he?”
Jess: “That’s Ivan, or ‘Whiplash,’ the son of a Soviet physicist who dies, thereby instilling in Ivan a desire to build his own arc reactor weapon similar to Iron Man’s in order to exact vengeance on the Stark legacy.”
Mom: “No, I mean who is he in real life?”
Jess: “Oh. It’s just Mickey Rourke.”

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Top 10 reasons Santa is kind of an asshole

Listen guys, there’s something I’ve got to tell you but you’re not going to like it. And I don’t even know how to ease into this kind of thing so I’m just going to go balls out and say it. Ready? Here it goes: Santa Claus is kind of an asshole.

You don’t believe me? Read on.

1.  The dude is obviously a racist. Not only does he completely avoid the houses of Jewish and Muslim kids, but clearly Santa didn’t get the memo about the abolishment of slavery almost 150 years ago. He still runs a sweatshop where he forces innocent little Christmas elves to work in stressful conditions under impossible deadlines, and for ZERO compensation. Hey Santa, it’s called the Thirteenth Amendment, bro. Wikipedia that shit. You’d think someone from the North Pole would have a clue.

2.  He’s a totally awful friend. Santa is the kind of guy who will one minute talk mad shit about you behind your back – about what a freakshow you are with that goofy red nose of yours – then the next minute, when he discovers you have some cool use that benefits HIM, he totally wants to be BFFs!

3. He wears fur, and I’m like 80% sure it’s rabbit fur. #bunnykiller

4.  Those letters you write him? The sweet, sentimental ones where you spill your heart recounting the good things you’ve done all year and maybe, just maybe, you throw a line in there about a thing or two it might be really nice to get this Christmas? Yeah, he doesn’t even read those. It’s true. He pays some guy at the Post Office to weed out the Santa letters from the rest of the mail and then throw them away.

5. He eats all the fucking milk and cookies. Think about it. Even if only one out of every 20 houses still participates in the leaving out of milk and cookies tradition, that’s like 30+ million milks and cookies for Santa. He gobbles that shit up, climbs back up the chimney, and what does he bring back for his reindeer friends? Fucking carrots and celery. You’ve got to be kidding me, you greedy tub of lard!

6.  He’s creepy as fuck. We’re talking about a guy who not only watches people sleep, but someone who hangs out in shopping malls asking little girls to sit on his lap and take pictures with him. What a mega-perv.

7.  Who does this guy think he is determining whether I’ve been naughty or nice? And what the hell is wrong with getting a little naughty every now and then anyway? Let me tell you a secret, Santa. You’re the only dude I know giving me shit for being naughty.

8.  He hates poor people. Santa doesn’t get shit for poor kids, but the rich kids wake up Christmas morning to their own private fucking FAO Shwartz.

9.  Does no one find it shady that this dude’s got more aliases than Charlie Sheen does drug addictions? Santa Claus, St. Nick, St. Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas…WHO ARE YOU, SANTA?!

10.  If you’re still not convinced this dude’s a total asshole, here is one last thing to think about: He’s totally banging my mom. And he’s banging your mom too.

What a jerk.


Quickie: Safe sex

There comes a time in every girl’s life when she must swallow her pride, drive herself to the gas station, and buy a big pack of Trojan Ribbed for Her Pleasures. Some girls hold their heads high and handle this situation like mature fucking adults. I prefer to handle things a little differently: By wearing a disguise. Wish me luck tonight, friends.

20111218-190231.jpgIncognito for condom-buying

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This for real just happened…

I’m sitting in the Starbucks a couple blocks from work, trying to enjoy a highly-caffeinated beverage on my lunch break that may or may not help me stay awake through the rest of this God awful day. Minding my own business with my nose in my laptop Twittering, Tumblring and Facebooking (all the things I do when I should be working) when some lady sitting a few feet away starts staring. Right at me.

“Sorry,” she says once I catch her in the act, “I’m just really picking up on your energy right now.” This is a very normal looking woman, mind you.

She must have mistaken my perplexed expression as an invitation to continue…

“I’m so sorry, your energy is just so strong!” she exclaims. Her friend looks embarrassed for her. But only just kind of. “Do you have a sister?” weird lady asks.

Me – “Nope.”
Her – “Oh, your boyfriend must have a sister then, right?”
Me – “Nope. Don’t have a boyfriend. Got a relatively-recent ex, but he doesn’t have a sister either.”
Her – “Oh. Sometimes I’m a little off. Weird.”

And then she goes back to a discussion with her friend about who has more cellulite on their thighs.

Then I called my mom to make sure she was still alive. She was.

What in zee mother fack?

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