An Open Letter to Hot Sauce

You spicy little bitch, you.

I see the way you sit there on my shelf, taunting me with your red glow, beckoning me to pick you up and cradle you in my arms. I see the way your label warns me that you’re going to burn, and you know what? I don’t even care. I don’t love you in spite of the pain you cause, I love you because of the pain you cause.

You get me. You get inside of me like no one else. (Heh. Gross)

You play on my food like a drunk skank on the dancefloor. By which I mean, you’re messy and I like it.  You get all over my fingers (let’s back away from the skank analogy now) and I’m okay with that, but we have an agreement, remember? Stay the fuck out of my eyes. I know you’ve stuck your spicy self in there before, and we managed to get through it, but times were rough for awhile and I didn’t like not being able to trust you.   Please don’t make me question you again. We have something special.

Together, you and I are invincible. The tasteless, grey world of cheap, shitty food is not of concern to us. We dominate that shit and make it our bitch. When all is said and done, I can bask in the orgasmic burn of my stinging tongue, satisfied by a job well done. You kick me from the inside to remind me you’re still there. Thank you for that. I remember you fondly when you’re gone. (Mostly. I’ll avoid talking about burning poop. For now.)

But you know what, you crazy, firey SOB? There once was a time when you and I were not friends. I’d look right past you in the fridge; I’d turn you down at restaurants. I’d walk by your slender, crimson body as I wondered what was missing from my bland, melancholic pizza. It was you all along. You were the banana to my peanut butter.  I could tell from your demeanor that you had been waiting for me to grab you and envelop your spicy, glorious juices with my eager taste buds. And you know what? I did just that. Oh yes, I fucking did. And you were everything a person could ever want in their mouth. And you still are.

Just stay away from my snatch, k?

XOXOXO

Love,

Britt

Tell me, friends, do you like it hot?

I Hope You Like the Taste of Slaps

I’m going to be honest with you guys, there is a lot of shit that pisses me off.

You can pretend to be surprised by that statement, but I’ll know you’re just being polite- and quite frankly, if you’re the ‘polite’ type, I’m not sure we’d get along. You should just call me a crazy bitch like the rest of ‘em so we can move forward and develop a normal relationship.  

Good.

What was I saying? Oh right, a lot of shit pisses me off.

I don’t think I’d classify myself as an ‘irrationally angry’ person. Generally speaking, my anger is entirely rational and it spawns from other people’s ignorance and general douchebaggery. If you’re going to parade around like you’re the motherfucking king of Asshole Castle, then chances are I’m going to want to slap you. Really fucking hard.

I decided to make a list.

People I Want to Slap Really Fucking Hard

• People who don't know how to walk

A word to those of you who decide to randomly stop walking to check your phone/pick your ass, if I’m behind you when you stop, you might wake up with a new hole.

• Loud cellphone talkers

Seriously. Shut the fuck up. No body wants to hear about Becky’s questionable decisions and your inability to hold down tequila. You’re just as slutty as Becky and you know it.

• People who let their kids run amuck in public washrooms

Your 4 year old can’t be trusted not to piss on everything. Keep that thing on a leash.

• Girls who relentlessly look at themselves in the reflection of windows they're walking by

 Let me make this easy for you: You look like a bedazzled asshat. With a cameltoe.

• My Landlord

To put it lightly, this man deserves a hot iron to the testicles.

• Guys who are constantly 'adjusting' themselves

Everyone knows you have a penis. Congratulations! Chances are if you need to touch your junk that much, you should probably get that checked out. Or you need to lay off the G-Strings. One of those.

• People who drink light beer

Fuck you. Drink better beer, pussy.

• People who always try to top your story

Listen, I understand that something sort of, kind of, not really at all similar happened to you once, but I don’t want to hear about it and quite frankly, you’re about to learn what my foot tastes like. I hope you’re hungry.

• People who breathe really loudly at the gym

Seriously, broseph, are you giving birth?

• People who wear UGGs

You’re wearing boots named after the abbreviation of the word ‘ugly’. It is no coincidence that they’re motherfucking ugly.  People really will buy anything, won’t they? Maybe I should start a purse line named “VAG”. (You can bet your ass they’d all be made with a soft, pink lining.)

• Elderly people who chew really loudly

Just kidding. I’d never hit an old person. Probably.

• The guy that never toasts my bread correctly at the sandwich place where I get my breakfast

Who the fuck likes burnt toast? Probably your mother. I hope you like the taste of slaps.

*

I know you guys will have some good ones, so let me hear ‘em. What makes you want to shove your fist through someone’s face? (Now there’s a sexy mental image!)

Sexier Than a Drunk Chimpanzee

Everyone envies someone, for something, sometimes.

If you pretend for a second that you don’t envy anyone, ever, then I’m going to recommended you get the fuck out of here and go look in a mirror for a few minutes until you can accept that you’re not a real human and your life is probably a pretty big joke.  I’ll wait for you to come back.

….

Back?  Okay good.

Now that you’ve come to terms with all of the people you envy all the fucking time, we can get down to business. While I don’t believe that envying is productive, I do believe it’s inevitable and ‘normal’. And shut the fuck up if you’re thinking of lecturing me on the use of the term ‘normal’. I don’t give a circlejerkingmonkeyfuck if it’s not PC to say “normal”.  I do what I want.

Now that I got that off my chest, let me tell you about some of the things I wish I could do.

Some might say I “dream big.”

I Wish I Could Draw/Paint

I don’t think people with drawing ability appreciate it enough. Sure, I can draw ridiculously awesome pictures of squirrels using MicrosoftPaint, but that took me more time than I’d care to admit, and quite frankly, these basic abilities aren’t enough. If I could draw, I’d draw constantly. I’d sketch everything, all the time, and everyone would fucking love it, OK? I’d drawn to explain myself, I’d draw myself punching the assholes on the subway, and  I’d draw what I’d do to your face if you fucking shush me.  I’d spend a lot of time illustrating my feelings.

For example: If I was hungry (yes, that’s a feeling, shut up), I’d sketch myself eating a giant burrito. I’d be sure to include some helpful arrows, pointing out the different components of the sketch so that people could look at the image and know exactly what the fuck was being shoved in my piehole. I would point out the burrito sauce dripping off my chin and the lone jalapeño that tumbled onto my shirt, celebrating its escape from my angry, chomping teeth.*  Oh, what a glorious life I would live. With my current amateur drawing abilities, there is just no way I could ever successfully draw burrito sauce dripping down my chin without it looking like I’m eating a jizz sandwich.

Damn you incapable, non-artist hands. My dreams=shattered.

*I’d just like to note that if I’m ever eating and a jalapeño falls onto my shirt, I eat the shit out of it. No jalapeño left behind!

I Wish I Could Dive

That’s right guys, dive. I’m talking about the diving that occurs off of a diving board at the end of a (probably) public pool. Easy, you say? Believe me when I say that I’ve tried. Believe me even more when I say that I’ve failed. Relentlessly.

As an adult, I don’t really swim. It’s not a ‘hobby’ or even really something I enjoy doing, but I’ll admit that sometimes I wonder if all of that would change, if only I could dive like a motherfucking mermaid. I’ll tell you this much: I can do that Ariel hair-flip move like no one’s fucking business. 

I Wish I Could Speak Spanish

Everything sounds sexy in Spanish. If I could be a Spanish speaking mermaid diver, I’m pretty sure I could rule the world. With sexiness.

I Wish I Could Punch Christina Aguilera

To my knowledge, I don’t have anyone in particular to be envious of for this one, per say, but I think it should be known that I’d really like to punch her in the face. And in the left boob. Why not the right boob? Because I don’t fucking know. The left one just looks like a giant asshole... Figuratively speaking.  

Watch your back, Christina. And your face. And your boob.

 

I Wish I Could Walk in High Heels

Ever wonder what a drunk chimpanzee looks like in high heels? Well look no further! I’m your girl! (... minus a lot of the body hair and feces slinging. Probably.)

The deceiving thing about heels is that for the first 2 minutes I wear them, I feel like a motherfucking diva.  I walk around like I could school Tyra Banks and my farts are made of glitter. But once those 2 minutes are over, it becomes painfully clear to me that Satan himself made my shoes and has plotted out my downfall in the form of numb toes, burning arches and throbbing ankles.  To the women (and men) strutting your stuff around in your fancy high heeled boots/shoes, I just want you to know that I want to be hate you.  I hope your heel gets stuck in a subway grate, bitch.

While I realize it’s a waste of time to long for the unattainable, sometimes it’s impossible not to. So, if you see me staring at you from across the street, or glaring at you on the subway, it’s probably because I want something you’re wearing, wish I could do something you’re doing, or I hate your fucking face and you need to learn how to shut your mouth before I come and shove my unheeled boot in it.   

Either way, you're going to get slapped. 

Or should I say... De cualquier manera, te vas a una bofetada.

Sexy. 


UPDATE!!!

When I started this blog, I decided to post my updates on Facebook so my friends could find out how truly annoying funny I am. 
BOY, am I glad I did! 
Today, the wonderful Madison Conlin surprised me with my very own portrait. Eating a burrito. 
And from the looks of it, that burrito is motherfucking hilarious. 

My hands aren't that small, that burrito is just MONSTROUS. The way I like 'em.