Water Can Go To Hell

You know what I hate?

Water! Yes! I'm looking at you, Water! Fuck you!

Don't give me that look water. You're ridiculous. I'm so tired of your bullshit. Everyone is all "Water is so good for you" and "Water helps you lose weight" and "Water makes your skin look good" and "Water tastes so refreshing!"

You know what tastes good, Water? BEER! Beer tastes good. Wine tastes good. Lattes taste good. Milkshakes taste good. You only taste good when you've been brewed with yeast and hops and barley and then fermented and placed in a brown bottle. You taste like the fucking junk coming out of the pipes of my century old house! Minerals and dust? MMMMMMMMMMM.

NO!

But your body is mostly water! FUCK YOU water, I never gave you permission! I have to have you, or I'm going to die?? How fair is that? I'm born with this addiction and it's all your fault, Water. You know what I want to be mostly made up of? PIZZA. Pizza tastes good.

Oh, look, here's another form of you, Water! SNOW and fucking ICE!

You just know how to make all KINDS of friends, don't you Water? I KNOW it's fucking you, I almost finished fourth grade, motherfucker - you can't fool me with your temperature changy-trick! Now I have to wear ten layers of clothing because I'm freezing my ass off AND I risk my life every day when I leave the house because I have to drive on you! And since you're totally transparent it makes it a huge guessing game! HAHA! Russian Roulette FTW, right Water? You sadist. We'll see how fucking smart you are in the next month or two!

"Drink one fluid ounce of water per pound of body weight per day!"

JEEEEESSSSSUUUUUUSSSSS. Yeah, drinking over a gallon of water a day is totally doable. You know what else is doable? Having to pee every fucking hour. SO MUCH FUN!

We're DONE, Water. This relationship is over until you get your fucking act together. And please leave us alone when you see me out with beer.

Open Letter to Shamansky Real Estate Holdings

Dear Shamansky Real Estate Holdings,

I'm not even sure if you're the actual owner of these apartment buildings because they're so shitty they don't have any name, sign, or webpage. The Auditor's webpage tells me that you are the proud owner of this mark of land that God shat on to create in 1963, so this letter is addressed to you, assuming you are responsible for the maintenance and cleaning work done here.

As you may or may not have noticed, your shitty little apartment complex is totally surrounded by houses. As such you not only need to think about your own jobless / crazy cat lady / sex offender residents, you need to be considerate of everyone else on the street whenever you are doing work that could be considered a disruption.

You know what this morning was? Monday. You know what I was doing at 5:29am?

SLEEPING! Good! Reasonable too, I might add, that you would think I was SLEEPING at FIVE TWENTY NINE AM.


Okay, now guess what I was doing at 5:30am?

SURPRISE! I'm startled awake by a horde of African killer bees descending upon my house!

Wait a minute.... that isn't a horde of killer bees... that sounds an awful lot like a snowblower. Maybe if I just wait a minute it'll stop and I can fall back asleep.

HAHA! NOPE! 


So, Shamansky, I got out of bed and went into the guest bedroom to see what could possibly be making so much fucking noise and GUESS WHAT? It was your maintenance team! Scraping the sidewalks and snow-blowing SO LOUD it sounded like you were cleaning out my eardrums.

If it was that loud in my house, across the street and one house down, I can only imagine how loud it was for your residents. One of your guys had taken his snow shovel right up to the door and was scraping against it. I'm guessing the residents had been up all night drinking and hitting the crack pipe and were too far gone to hear him, because if I were living there I probably would have opened my door and punched that guy in the face.

Now don't get me wrong, I understand that the service you provide here is a totally necessary one, and frankly, I wish someone would come scrape and snow-blow my sidewalks. However, I think maybe you can understand that FIVE THIRTY A.M. might not be the most appropriate time to be performing these services.

In closing, Shamansky, I just want to let you know that I'm going to be making a trip to my local hunting supplies store to pick up a high-powered rifle.

Then, if I ever get jarred out of my bed again by the sound of a snow blower at FIVE FUCKING THIRTY A.M., instead of lying in bed wishing hell would open up and swallow your entire shit-hole apartment complex, I will instead spend my lost hour of precious sleep brushing up on my target practice.

Thank you, and fuck off, you inconsiderate ass-hat bastards,

<3 Cake Betch