The Remmy Phoenix Relocation Program

Everybody had one of those people in high school that they just absolutely could not fucking stand. You know the one, the hopelessly self-absorbed little waste of life that Mommy and Daddy coddled to the point of rendering them completely fucking useless for the rest of their miserable life. Some people ignored this person. Others poked fun at them. Others still beat the piss out of 'em on a daily basis, attempting to knock the fucktarded right out of 'em.
Me? I drove across the country and moved in with 'em.
Don't get me wrong, California is slowly growing on me. I mean, between the wildfires, the earthquakes, the barren landscape and a populace that is so self-involved that they can't even acknowledge the presence of someone else on the road long enough to not cut them off three times in two minutes, what's not to love? Now I know what you're thinking. Probably the same thing I was on my way out here, actually. Bikini-clad beach bunnies, gorgeous sunsets, the sand, the sun, famous actors and rock stars. Well, if you are, then you're just as retarded as I was. This place is a carefully camoflauged nightmare, and when you finally get over the "OMG, im in teh cali! r0xx0rz!" mentality, you realize it's just a place like any other, with slightly better weather, and people who're barely with the spit it'd take to non-verbally tell them they ain't worth shit.
So it really shouldn't come as any surprise that the bitch that I hated in high school moved here and thought it was incredible. Hell, how could she not? The whole state's filled with people just fucking like her. Yeah, chew on that for a minute. A whole state full of people just like the one that came to mind when you read the first paragraph of this blog. Fuck you, Governator, I just killed your tourism revenue! Try to fix that with some bullshit, pseudo-hippie environmentalist policy.
Anyway, this fucking backbirth is the very epitome of irresponsible. Both she and her husband can't manage money to save their lives, and whooooooo do they come to when they're short on rent? Their parents, whose collective income is indicative of just how much dosh we dish out to people who aren't worth a small fraction of it? No, they turn to the wage slave who's currently looking for a second job in order to make ends meet while still chipping in on their share of the rent. I don't know how many times I've had to throw more money into the pool just to keep this place goin'. Are they paying more than I am? Hell yes they are. There's two of them and one demon seed offspring on the way. Why the fuck should I match them when I can't even leave my room because they've fucking trashed the place, what few square inches of carpet they've left alone being dutifully soiled by their mangy feline demons?
Well, this month I'd had enough. I finally put my foot down. After dishing out an extra fifty bucks, and being told two weeks later in a phone call that Slutty McTootall put in while I was at work that I owed fifty for electricity, I drew the line. And I didn't even draw it that close to me! I drew the fucking thing several feet behind me by telling them I'd split it down the middle with them! For those of you who aren't that stellar at math, that leaves them with twenty-five bucks of my money for doing, what again? Not a damn thing. I told Miss Tootall that I'd crunch the numbers and see what I could do, but I didn't. I just told her we'd divvy it up down the middle and that was that. Well, that led to a brief exchange about how I'm a ginormous prick, but it was brief and I went to bed feeling accomplished.
The next day, I'm not out of my room for five minutes before the little priss chimes in with "From now on, we're going to sit down and divide up all the bills so we know exactly what you owe. I can't keep chasing you around for money." Excuse me? Who's the lazy skank who refused to even try to get a job because, oh my God, she was two months pregnant? And don't feed me that right to nurture bullshit, every woman in my family has worked as long and hard as possible when they were carrying. So, still remaining uncharacteristically calm, I reply with "Y'know, I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't try to villify me because you're only ending up with twenty-five dollars of my paycheck instead of fifty."
Bitch. Flips. The fuck. Out. Jumps off the couch and starts slamming her chubby little hand on boxes that've been sitting in the living room for days because they're too lazy to move properly, screaming about how she's tired of people using her, tired of being taken advantage of, tired of this, tired of that.
The conversation goes nowhere. "Woe is me and my poor husband, blah blah blah" for about fifteen minutes. Finally, I get tired of the sob story and say I've got things to do. I say this with an arm full of laundry, my jacket, all obvious indicators that I don't have time to nurse her royal ego while forking over more money from my treasury. I turn and make for the door, when I hear the words that have fully convinced me that she has absolutely no fucking brainpower left.
"Don't you walk away from me!"
Heh. Heh heh. Heh heh hehehahaHAHAHAHA!!! Bitch, did you just try to tell me what the fuck to do? Did you even just look at me, scream an order, and expect me to turn and pad back to the couch you've planted your ass on so frequently during the last few months that I'm amazed it hasn't taken root, like I'm some kind of domesticated house pet? Newsflash, cunt stain. My license might tell you different, but this is Remmy motherfucking Phoenix you're talkin' to. I turned, very slowly because I'm not wholly convinced I'm not gonna' choke this dumb broad, and start moving my lips. Hell, at this point, I don't even know what's gonna' come out.
"Excuse me? Look, just because you're going to be a mommy doesn't mean you get to be my mommy. Don't you ever try to yell at me and think it's gonna' get you somewhere. Now, I've got shit to take care of. I'm done."
She screams it again. I don't even break stride. I hear "Can't even talk to me, you fucker! I'm you're roommate!" through the screen door as I'm making my way down the stairs. "No, you're the irresponsible chick who has no sense of self-control. Later."
Today, I made arrangements to move in with one of the people at work who rents out rooms. I also found out they'd started looking at apartments. The difference? I actually made an effort to explain to them that they were going to have to find an alternative living arrangement. They didn't even shout a status report at my door, the self-absorbed fucks.
But hey, the sun's great! Come on out, catch some rays, and strike up a conversation with some spoiled, image-obsessed yuppie larvae!
Fuck California. Phoenix out.

Now that you mention it....

Stewie: "Well, let's see what fascinating pubescent treasures Chris has got hidden away. Oooh, Hustler Magazine. I finally get to see what a vagina looks li--AH! AH! Oh, God! Oh my God! Ah!

(Stewie blows the issue of Hustler to shreds with an Uzi)

Stewie: "You...can't hurt...anyone...anymore..."

Y'know, maybe it's the beer talking, but this is by far the funniest scene from The Family Guy that I've ever seen.

Ignore it. Just a new song, and if I post it here no one can steal it.

Wake up in the mornin'
Alarm's shoutin' a warnin'
You better stay in bed
If you get out, beware
Wipe your tired eyes
You're still hypnotized
Remember once upon a time
And wish you were there
Memory will decieve you
And no one will believe you
When you look back
And say it once was great
You romanticize
Lend credence to the lies
You tell yourself
While you sit and wait

(Chorus)
You wait, you wait
For happily ever after
You wait, you wait
For somethin' to make sense
You wait, you wait
Around for things long past
You wait, you wait
For somethin' to believe in

Shuffle out the door
Gearin' up for more
Of what you've become
Opposed to fate
Sea of empty faces
All runnin' the races
Goin' through the motions
Earn your hate
Hell from nine to five
Tryin' to survive
Head above water
Keep your hold
Routine wears on you
Walkin' through the zoo
Try to get out
With a shred of your soul

It's that time again.

Y'know, I don't ask for much. A better paycheck, maybe my own place in the middle of a decent part of town, world domination, y'know, the simple things. The simplest of all, however, is something that every able-bodied female on the face of the planet has the power to give, and given the amount of time that's passed since the last time one of them gave it well, it probably wouldn't even take that long.

I'll keep this short. Tomorrow, I'm turning twenty-five. So help me God, if I have to get myself off instead of having it done for me by someone with tits, you're going to see a very, very unhappy (see also: angry, bitter and generally disdainful of the opposite sex in it's entirety) Remmy Phoenix, and don't feed me all that "Sex is supposed to be a beautiful thing shared between two people blah blah blah I can use my twat to make ice cubes" bullshit, we've covered this before. I've got some of the most funny moralled people on the planet in my social circle, and damn it, I deserve a blowjob to celebrate surviving a quarter of a century in this God forsaken land of disappointment we call Earth.

...Please?