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Television: Donde esta la biblioteca? Rapido! Muy! Verdad!

Him: What are they saying? Hey! Hey! Tell me what they're saying.

Me: Uh.... "Fast.... Something about donuts.... Saturday... Saturday donuts? Birthday... dollar."

I'm sorry I was so rude. See, your taking 20 minutes at the self-postage center just to mail one package made me think you were incredibly stupid. Now that I'm reflecting on the situation, I think you may actually be illiterate, instead of intensely pondering the possible answers to each question the postal calculator was asking you (my original assumption.)

None of that matters now, though. Because despite your deliberations over insurance and proof of delivery options, you stupidly did not check to make sure your package could fit in the slot for the self-postaged packages. You blatantly ignored (or, again, perhaps could not read) the giant red sign that says "Please make sure your parcel fits down the chute before tying up the line with your asinine antics, ass."

So when you tried mailing your shit, and it didn't fit in the basket, and you shoved it in there anyway and jammed up the lever for the chute -- thereby making it impossible for anyone else behind you who had already purchased postage to mail their packages until the next morning -- it certainly could have NOT been your fault. You could quite possibly just be illiterate, instead of a complete asshole.

But probably not.

Even since I was two years old.

I light the filter end accidentally even to this day. Stupidity is like, so cool.

Today I had to admit that I post on a message board that's designed to make fun of a message board that makes fun of a different message board.

And then I hung my geek head in shame and cried tears full of dork.

For some reason this movie was only released in negative five cities and 20th Century Fox can bite me. I mean, uh, 20th Century Fox didn't bother to promote its own fucking film, and if you lived in L.A. or New York for ten minutes last summer and decided to catch a flick, you may have seen this movie on the marquee. More likely, because the ball-less pussified wieners people at Fox failed to stand by this film, most of you probably not only haven't seen it, but have no idea what I'm talking about.

It's a Mike Judge movie. It's just as good as Office Space. It stars Luke Wilson pre-Me-Wanting-To-Smack-Him. It stars Maya Rudolph whom I love. Everyone is funny. Everything is satirical and therefore brilliant. For some reason this was not acceptable to Fox. COMEDY IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!!! ESPECIALLY COMEDY THAT MAKES FUN OF AMERICANS!!

You should see this movie because it's more gooder than Wild Hogs. (I assume.) Netflix it immediately.

Yesterday we got a new treadmill. You can turn it on, and it makes a grinding noise, and the display lights up with lots of different pretty red lights, and sometimes it'll beep at you, but the actual "treading along in a mill-type motion" thing doesn't really happen so much.

Today we called the manufacturer and they informed us that it was probably a "short" in the Emergency Oh My God You Fell Off Let Me Just Stop Moving Now button. They're sending a "technician" out to fix it next week, but to correct it for now, we had to put some electrical tape over the button. Which means that it won't suddenly turn off if one of us falls off while treading.

Which means that I've completely spun a theory in my head about brand new out-of-the-box home gym equipment suddenly gaining self-aware intelligence and plotting to kill whatever poor fat soul purchased it. I fully expect to get on this thing later tonight and be thrown backwards into the couch in its attempt to take over the living room. And since I'm a complete doormat, I will let the treadmill conquer the first floor of the house if it means I don't have to hurtle the coffee table every time I want to sweat for fun.

If Stephen King is reading this, don't even think about doing Christine 2: The Treadenning. I have to have something to work on for NaNoWriMo.

Last night I was complaining about how PMS makes my back hurt and makes me crave things that are sweet, yet crunchy.

Him: Don't talk to me about back aches! My back always aches!

Me: Bring me something sweet! And crunchy!

Him: I don't think we have anything like that in the house.

Me: GRANOLA BARS MAKE IT HAPPEN!

And so he brought me a bag of stale brown sugar from the pantry. Technically it was both sweet and crunchy. To be fair, this conversation took place at 4am. Also, I ended up satisfied with stale caramel corn. But still. Granola. It needed to happen.

Why did it take me so long to finally see this movie?

Oh yeah, because I'm an asshole.

If you're a fan of Things That Don't Suck, then you'll like this flick.