The Good Times Had by a Freelance Writer

So, among the many things I do to make ends meet, I freelance write. Now, don't get me wrong, I love it. It gives me the freedom to work on so many different projects that I normally would't get a chance at. It's rewarding and fulfilling on so many levels.

But, sometimes, I hate it. One of these sometimes is when I'm commissioned to write a speech for someone who really didn't want my help in the first place. How can I say that, you ask? They refuse to let me do my job. There is a difference between tossing around ideas and then letting me go to work and deliver you a great speech, and taking over -- basically paying me hundreds of dollars to be your PA and type your shit up for you.

Since everyone always posts up "What If" scenarios, and people, like the incredible author/artist of The Oatmeal, create amazing comics out of their horror stories, I'm going to write the speech that I wish I could give to difficult clients here.. in my blog.. because I like money. I would rather continue to receive money, than lose out on it because I want to post up my issues like I'm grand-standing in a public forum.

You know, that thing I'm doing now, only it's not to a room full of people who already hate me.

Enjoy!


Dear Audience,

Thank you for whatever reason I'm here. I'm a clueless Douchenut, so I really don't have a idea as to why I'm actually standing here, but thanks. Here are a few really awful and extremely stupid jokes to make you question why I am in whatever position I am in; I am quite certain your fake laughter will give me whatever confidence booster I'll need to make it through the rest of the night. I'm not exactly sure I like any of you, but it warms me more than my fist of whiskey to hear your finger claps and discontented chuckles.

Now, here's the part where I should be telling you it's all thanks to you, but no. Fuck that shit. It's all about me tonight, baby. Me, me, me, me, and me. I love me. I'm accomplished at something, but I'm not quite sure what it is. I'm sure it'll come to me in the next however long I choose to stand here, but right now? Total blank. Oh, did I mention I love the way my farts smell? Because I do. They're awesome. More about me. Blahdy blahdy blah blah blah blah blah. Blargh.

I would also like to give thanks to the chick I hired to help me better articulate absolutely nothing. She's awesome. This bitch can type like.. fucking fast. She got a lot of money to help me, but instead, I decided to go my own way. I'm a fucking REBEL! Here's the gist of what I put her through:

 I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm at or how I got here. I hired someone smarter than me to research and write me some pretty words. She's now far more competent than me, and could quite possibly steal my position based on her gleaned knowledge alone.

But, I decided I wanted jokes; lots and lots of really un-funny and extremely offensive jokes. Also, I wanted a small slideshow of ponies and unicorns and rainbow-shitting cupcake faeries to go with it. You're definitely welcome for those. There's also a few images of me spending my insane salary on some equally insane vacation. Do you like my hot pants? Daddy likes.... Let me rub my nipple in a failed attempt at sexual humor and innuendo. I do these things so fucking well, and she knows it.

She also researched the people who should actually be here, and she wanted to thank you all, but like I said, fuck you. It's me time, and I'm cashing in.

Words and stuff.

Man that bitch can type.

Now, I realize that I've completely ruined any chance I have at making you think I have any idea why I should be here.. or grateful.. or even alive, because I'm a fucking tool. Please let me just take the cheap-ass trophy or certificate you made me from some crap-ass Microsoft program, sans speech, and I swear, to Zeus, that this awkwardly painful moment (for everyone involved, mind you) will never happen again.

Also, I'll save $700 on something I could've easily done myself. Which is cause massive embarrassment and give you all something to discuss, at-length, in e-mails and at the water cooler, behind my back, for at LEAST a year. Probably more, depending on how drunk I am right now and who's wife is hottest. I'm grabbing your ass, hot wifey, I'm just sayin'.

Spanx. See?! I'm totally not hilarious at all!
Continue on somehow with the rest of your miserable night,

Douche-y McFuckNut

I Don't Like Your Dress, But I Did The First Time I Saw It

I've been to so many weddings in the past 5 years that I can't even count them anymore. I'm at that age where everyone is getting married, and most of them are doing it big.

Big or small, they've all had one thing in common: The dress. That dress up there, to be exact. Same colours, same dress, almost the exact same veil, and the same bridesmaid dresses to match.

My wedding wasn't big, and I didn't have a dress. Hell, I hadn't even washed my hair yet that day. We got married when Husband got a few minutes off his shift, in a tiny room up a dirty staircase in downtown Waikiki. Hooray Military weddings! We got there just in time to wait in a growing line, and got out of there just in time to make it to the closest McDonald's to grab his lunch. I wore a gorgeous jean skirt by Aeropostale, a tank top from Hollister, and a great custom jacket from Cafepress. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

No, it wasn't the most fancy wedding, nor the most traditional, but it was mine. It was unique and special. I'm pretty sure no one else in the history of ever will have my "dress" because that jacket? It was one-of-a-kind. That makes me feel pretty okay with skipping the white dress and the reception.

Before you go bitching at me, let me explain my disdain for this dress so maybe you can understand where I'm coming from.

If I had worn a dress, and if I had had a wedding that was all match-y and decorated, I would've gone for something that was original. I don't want to look back at my wedding pictures and notice that ALL MY FRIENDS had the exact same dress and colours as I did. That would make me feel weird. We don't match on a daily basis, why would we want to match on the most wonderful day of our lives?

Isn't anyone noticing that for every ten weddings they go to, they're going to nine carbon copies, including their own? Doesn't that bother anyone? There are a thousand dresses with pickup skirts and satin fabric and sashes in millions of colours. Do you all have to wear the exact same one, with the exact same shade of red?

And, for the record, it's kind-of crappy to make your friends lie to you. When you ask me "Don't you just totally LOVE my dress?!", from now on, I'm going to tell you no. I'm sorry, but if I tell another person I do, I'm going to hang myself from my own tongue. I shouldn't have to lie. At this point in time, if I saw the ugliest dress ever made, and it was on my friend, and they asked me how I like it, if it was different than that dress up there, I would think it was the most amazing piece of shit ever. Because, despite the trends, they went with a dress that was unique and fit their personality.

That dress up there? It's not for everyone. I've seen a lot of weddings where the dress looked awful and the bride looked just miserable in it. However, her friends? They loved it. You could tell they were the ones who picked it out. They see the trends, and they make decisions based on what's hot, not what's special. I've even seen this dress recreated into bridesmaid dresses or prom gowns.

YOU'RE TAKING IT WAY TOO FAR, PEOPLE! OMHMYGOD!

When you try on a dress and you're standing up on that platform, staring into the mirrors, turning and twirling, don't look at the dress like a fashion statement. Please, for the love of all your photos and memories, look at that dress like it's an expression of yourself; like that dress is going to be on you forever and it's the last thing you'll ever put on. Would you want to look just like everyone else for the rest of your life?

Probably not.

I realize I sound awfully mean, and full of hate. I am full of hate.. for that dress. I sat here for a few minutes and tallied up the times I've either seen it in person, or seen someone's wedding pictures, and the count comes to 140. Yes, I'm completely serious. And the saddest part? at least 90% of those times, the girls know each other.

I liked the dress the first time I saw it; I liked the red pop in the sea of black and white. Now? I wish someone would've picked blue, green, pink, yellow, orange, cream, grey -- SOMETHING DIFFERENT. How about some gunmetal grey? What if you go with some deep purples and blues? Have some bright pink?

Anything? Anyone?

Whatevs, it's your wedding. I would suggest making it actually your wedding, but if you want me to come and say how much I love your dress, or the colours you chose, don't expect me to go crazy for something I've seen before -- so many times I'm just plain sick of it.

Where's the open bar? I need enough tequila in me to not rant on-stage about your cookie cutter wedding.

I Have No Life.

Really. I don't.

I take care of the bill paying and the housekeeping and the keeping everyone sane, but I really don't have any semblance of a life. I just spent hours trolling Google Images, making random meme photos on a generator site, and creating my own iGoogle theme.

I think it's awesome, but then again, I suck.

All my friends live in my computer. I don't go out anymore, I rarely talk to anyone, and I stay in my pajamas until someone complains that I really shouldn't go out in public in a paint-stained PT shirt and boxers.

I mean, it's not that my friends don't exist or I don't have any, I just never go out and do things with them. I can't even have an actual date with Husband that's normal. We go to the hardware store and maybe get something to eat; we're usually home by 8:30 and in bed by 10.

That sounds so completely lame and I think I'll just go resume the fetal position now. I mean, even the Munchkin seems to think it's normal to throw on boots and a coat and go play outside in her pajamas now.


Someone save me. Please. Before I make another meme picture...

bro cat likes to party

oh, obama.. make your own goddamned sammich.

and my favourite by far...

dumbass...

Seriously.. do you really think I should be doing this at 3 in the morning?

What Do You Call Stalkers On Twitter?

Seriously.

I stopped using it like, a while ago, like, seven months to be exact, right? I got a follower request and went to scope it out and BAM! My psycho ex-husband's new vicitim, err, I mean wife, is trying to follow me.

WHAT. THE. FUCK?!

Do I look like I want to be friendly with you guys? I wouldn't shed a tear if you jumped off a bridge. I loathe and despise you, sir. And yes, that DOES in fact mean your wife as well.

It got me so weirded out that I decided if Twitter is THAT big these days I'm going to start using mine again. Mainly because I'm kind-of burnt out my Facebook but, yeah, you know.. change of pace and all.

Sooooooo..... FOLLOW MEH! @BAMFtASTiC.

See you on the Twit-side!