As I was leaving, Mung Face asked me what book I was reading. She leaned exaggeratedly around my right breast, where I was holding the book with one arm, trying to read the title. I told her the title.
“Ohhhh. What’s it about?”
If there’s one thing I hate it’s small talk. If there’s another thing I hate it’s small talk with people who have wet dildo brains. Especially when they’re acting all interested in something they’re going to forget within ten minutes, and you’re just trying to get the fuck away from them.
I also hate telling people what books are “about.” Especially when they’re idiots like Mung Face who read action adventure paperbacks about sea voyages. That kind of shit is easy to sum up: look at the fucking cover where there is a picture of a boat on water and you GET it.
This had to be written by two people because it was too much "riveting" for one person.
(The weird thing is that Mung Face is clearly in the middle of her action adventure paperback, because that is where she opens it to start reading, but then she talks straight, pointless bullshit to whoever will listen while she holds the book in front of her. THIS is why people think I’m open to conversation when I’m reading, because when dumb motherfuckers “read” a book they don’t even pay attention to the letters and words and sentences within it. They just sort of, you know, hold it out, turn the pages. I don’t understand this. I wish they would stop, so that people would understand that silent reading is not an activity that should invite idiotic conversation. I’m not open to it. I consider you coming up to me and starting a conversation about your new flip flops from Old Navy to be an interruption of a very important conversation I am having with my book. Now fuck off.)
So, yeah. It’s dumb to try to explain the plot of Bel Canto, winner of the PEN/Faulkner Award, to someone who reads Clive Cussler paperbacks. And I’m not even saying that just because she’s a total idiot and I’m a smartypants. I mean, that factors in, of course, but I don’t see why I should waste my breath on someone who doesn’t even really actually care what I’m saying. So here is what I say:
“Oh, uhm, it’s uh, it’s about a dinner party. And some terrorists take everyone hostage, and they’re hostages for a long time…”
And here’s what Mung Face, that fucking pleasant piece of dumb shit, had to say in response to my answer to HER FUCKING QUESTION:
“Oh uuhhhh, WEIIIRD! Whatever!”
Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.
So, I wanted to say, “Eat fucking shit and choke on a rotten, diseased cock, you twat from Hell.”
Instead I just smiled and told her to have a good day. Sometimes my tongue hurts from biting it. So. Hard.
Today I got my new dress in the mail. It’s super cute:
This bitch don't look half as cute as I do in this dress.
I didn’t have a date for Agent Balboa‘s upcoming birthday celebration, so I bought a new dress to wear instead.
I have decided that it is best to throw money at my dissatisfaction with my late 20s until it goes away.
Cupcake Heartbreak 
I wonder if you are as ugly as your writing… You seem fat… Like, reading how you have chosen to write… it just seems, I dunno… FAT… like a loud, fat, stupid white girl…
Did your parents pay your art school tuition? If so, I blame them. Ride that bike (and it’s obvious you must ride a bike) straight into oncoming traffic… it’ll spare you the sight of being 40+ and single and alone and still sad, loud, and pathetic. Ah well, you’ll still have those Strangers With Candy DVD’s. Have fun with life.
Oh, and you’re not fat yet, just you wait.
Bye.
You know what, that’s SO weird! I don’t know how many times people have read my writing and then met me and said, “I thought you’d be a fat girl!”
HAhahahhahahha!
Thanks for the hot dog.
Jesus christ! How in the hell do you have random blog hecklers? What type of person goes out of their way to heckle blogs? Didn’t you have people sniping at you on your last site, too? Hoooooly fuck, I am confused. Will I now have people lurking into my corner of the internet being all like, “Yeah, great words, faggot. I bet you’re a skinny, balding guy who once almost had to go to the emergency room back in 3rd grade for swallowing a ton of hairspray while sculpting your NKOTB-style coif”? Except I hope they’re not that accurate.
By the way, that story about the sex toy had me laughing like a soccer mom who’s been overserved Arbor Mist at a Bunco party. Kudos, my friend. Kudos.
omg was that a real heckler?! That’s terrifying!
I don’t think you write fatly but I was surprised to learn how young you are. You write a bit oldly.
Good work on the dress. I wish I were the sort of, erm, man who liked to buy….dresses……I’m just going to end this sentence here.
“sea voyages” hahahahahaha
People say that to me too! And I get lots of random blog hecklers too! Okay, only on my christian blog. I haven’t quite got that ‘fuck the haters’ thing down, as I was telling Lauren today. Someday after about $10,000 more of therapy.
In the meantime that dress would serve nicely as therapy for me. Where did you get it? Tell me dammit! You son of a bitch!!!
Yay! This is the first comment conversation this blog has had!
The dress IS really cute…and I got it for a third of the price which makes it even cuter. It came from eBay so good luck, Stephycakes!
Oldly?! So, do I write like I’m experienced, or like I’m sitting on a padded chair and resting one elbow on my walker? Does my blog smell like pee?!
ahahah yes, your blog smells like pee.
What, specifically, must one do to procure oneself a blog heckler?
1. Write Fatly. Loudly. And with White Girl-esque flourish.
2. Make statements about Religion.
This could be a fun summer project for me and .m.
Great post!