The Bottomless Burger [noun]: A lot of people attribute their daily fuckeries to a commonly known phenomena called “Murphy’s Law”. However, not only do I consider this a smack in the kisser to anyone named Murphy but I feel like it’s not quite accurate. There have been many occurences in my life that could have gone wrong and didn’t, so my beef lies with specific individuals rather than the intangible, seemingly Irish forces floating around us. This theory can be quickly summed up by one hamburger related incident at a McDonald’s that I used to frequent. I’m a pretty laid back person who will be the first to stand up for the working man and give an employee the benefit of the doubt, however, this one specific McDonald’s made getting my order wrong into a lifelong mission. Usually little things I could care less about, like not giving me a straw, or giving me the wrong drink, which could always be quickly remedied by a quick jaunt back inside. However, on this one occasion I was really jonesin’ for a Big Mac. Nothing fancy, just a plain old Big Mac. However, what I got was a single cheeseburger. So after I went back for an exchange and got yelled at by the drive-through worker, I was finally handed another bag. After two more wrong-burger exchanges and after being huffed-and-puffed at by Ms. Drive-Through, I was handed another bag. Following a burger-check, I was pleased with my Big Mac, thanked Ms. Drive-Through and was on my way. It wasn’t until I got home and opened the box that I realized my Big Mac was missing a bottom bun. While I really wanted to act out in a McFlurry of rage, I ate the bottomless burger that day and I never forgot what it stood for: Murphy’s Law, my Dilly Pickles, is a farce that does not actually exist, however the Bottomless Burger is a testament to the incompetence of human kind, and how it’ll friggin’ get ya, every time.
Call of Duty [noun]: at first glance this may seem like a run-of-the-mill video game however upon further inspection any female will find that it is a thing of black magic which bewitches men for hours on end, turning them into zombies. To the ladies: if your man has never played Call of Duty then there is hope, you must do your best to divert his attentions if he veers toward the purchase of this game. Once he owns it, there’s no turning back. And if he starts calling it COD, you should kiss him goodbye and just move on, because you’ll never see him again.
This is actually a commercial for God of War III, but it sums up my feelings so well:
Crow [noun]: Crow actually became our friend by being the girlfriend of 11 years to Ms. Cardigan’s brother. Ms. Cardigan’s brother usually now refers to us as “the shitiots” since our friendship with Crow has been cemented because we spend the majority of our days eating his food, sleeping on his couch, and returning his girlfriend to him after week-long benders. Her favorite activities include deciding to party 8 hours away from home on a whim, sewing (real sewing, like making quilts and shit—she fills my void in that area), and playing with her transgendered cat, Sophie Jade.
Lady J [noun]: a nurse who can be found most days doing activities that would normally be performed by Crow’s boyfriend—a la, carrying her shopping bags and spending 24 hours at a time with her. She has blonde hair and blue eyes, the beauty of which is offset by her abnormally large feet. We like her because she doesn’t experience any emotion besides “funny” and sadness at the end of “Marley and Me”. She says things that become our little clan’s mottos, such as “Fuck feelings.” and “Oh no, sex turns into love!”
Martha-y [adjective]: An obtainment or appropriation of characteristics and attributes that belong to Martha. Which Martha, you say? Why, the Martha. The only Martha that matters, anyway. The woman of my craft-filled dreams with just enough saucy bitch in her to keep me interested and coming back for more. Rawr.
Ms. Cardigan [noun]: a domesticated beast that has captured the role of my best friend for over 20 years. Ms. Cardigans is a blonde wench that derives her name from a wardrobe consisting almost entirely of cardigans, sensible footwear (arch supports included), and trousers. She is the sunshine of my life– the Betty to my Veronica, ying to my yang, the tits to my ass. Together we make up a power-house team that is unstoppable. She loves science, indian food, and occasionally does my laundry and makes sure I’m presentable for civilized society (it’s practically a full time job).
Punkin Guts [noun]: the no-frills term used for all the goo that lives inside your pumpkin before it’s made into a delightful little work of Halloween art. Some people call it “pulp”, however, this is not an appropriate term, as “pulp” is a pleasant-sounding word that brings to mind orange juice and Quentin Tarantino.
Sophie Jade [noun]: A panther-like creature who refuses to eat anything but the finest, dollar-a-can cat cuisine, wears pink, argyle sweaters and feather boas, answers to Oedi-Puss Rex, and spends her days beating the living shit out of other living beings—humans included.