Hits and Shits

WE ARE STARTING WITH THE GOOD STUFF THIS WEEK CUZ EVERYBODY NEEDS LITTLE RAYS OF SUNSHINE TO KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON.

The Hits

ILLINOIS LEGALIZED MARY JANE

LOOK AT THIS DOPE GRAPHIC (lol get it?)

SOMEBODY GOT IT RIGHT. I’m sure there are tons of stipulations and lots of tiny print to wade through until we start to actually see anything like what Colorado has in ways of dispensaries and clubs, but we’re on the right track, Illinois! Huzzzzzah for the green stuff (FOR MEDICAL USE ONLY OBVZIES?)!!!!!!!!!!!!

SAY YES TO THE DRESS

I won’t apologize for the love affair I have for this show. CAN’T STOP. WON’T STOP. DON’T EVEN WANNA STOP. I like pretty things and wedding dresses are TOPS when it comes to pretty things. Also, fake reality tv drama is sooooo good especially when everyone cries because dad is dead or mom can’t afford the dress or the bridesmaids are jealous or the fiance is blind or a bride can’t decide between lace or beading on and on and on. It gets really juicy when they have blowout sales, too. SHIT GOES DOWN. Also, I finished Orange is The New Black (WHICH WE WILL BE REVIEWING IN DEPTH THIS WEEK) so I have nothing left to live for EXCEPT FOR SAY YES TO THE DRESSSSSSS.

DELIVERY

I googled “sexy pizza delivery man”

UGHHHHHH MY LIFE WAS NOTHING BEFORE GRUBHUB. If you don’t know what GrubHub is… I’m sorry. I’m truly from the bottom of my heart sorry that you don’t know the glory that is GrubHub. It’s based out of Chicago so boo 4 you if you don’t live in the Second Hand City, but WHATEVAHHHH. GrubHub is where you go to get all your delivery/take out needs/desires/cravings/addictions satiated. It’s perfffff. You can pick from hundreds of yummy restaurants and they deliver to you and that’s about it, but IT’S SOOOOOOO PERFECT because it’s hard to cook for a single household so I just get my grub on with the hub and I’m happy.

I’m getting worse at these. Fuckkkkkk.

The Shits

NOT BEING IN COLLEGE/SCHOOL/WHATEVER

I googled “lonely college student”

IDK how the real world does it, but fuck summer or any other time that there is no school in session because summer is my boring, hot, anti-social hell and I FUCKING HATE. I’m bored as shit and finding it sooooo hard to get motivated to even like… talk to people so I need school to start again so I have stuff to do and people to do… I mean talk to. This sleeping in until whenever and Netflix-binging is taking its toll and I am not sure how much longer until I am just wandering the streets of Chicago in my housecoat and slippers. My housecoat being a very sad, revealing 4XL purple shirt and hairy-grey-brown-moccasins and nobody wants that. Nobody.

DUST/DIRT

NOT an accurate representation of floor cleaning

GET OUT OF MY LIFE. WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHY DO YOU NEVER LEAVE? EVEN AFTER ALL THE BACK-BREAKING-SWIFFERING? Honestly, though, please go away. I’m trying so hard to keep you off of the floors of my apartment but it seems like NOTHING WORKS. Like why?! My feet should not be gray after walking around my itty bitty studio apartment. They should just be normal feet color, but NOOoooOOooo, THEY ARE DIRTY AS HELL. PLZ, MR. CLEAN, SAVE ME. TAKE ME INTO YOUR BURLY SHINY (weirdly not hairy at all anywhere) ARMS AND VANQUISH THESE DIRT DEMONS FOR ME. I will give you kisses. (Maybe.)

NICK JONAS

JUST LOOK AT THE HASHTAG. KILL ME.

JUST LOOK AT THE HASHTAG. KILL ME.

STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPP. So whatever, you have “sex lines”. CONGRATULATIONS. You’re still my least favorite diabetic in the world right after Wilford Brimley or whatever that old man’s name is who still does NOT know how to pronounce diabetes. (You can shut the fuck up any time now, Wilford.) Idk. Maybe it’s that pretty boys annoy me or that I just can’t find enough shit to hate on this week because I’m in a weird rabbit hole of life at the moment, but Nick Jonas has and always will rub me the wrong way. So stop trying to top Hugh Jackman’s shirtless photo (BECAUSE YOU CAN’T) and just go back to doing whatever it is you do exactly because are you and the other musketeers even touring anymore? IDK IDC STAHP.

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