Saturday, January 23, 2010

Forgive Me Father, For I Have Flipped My Shit

People may say, "don't sweat the small stuff," but an intelligent psychologist of whom I've been studying recently by the name of Dr. Nat Ashafer Rier says, "DO sweat the small stuff; DON'T sweat the big stuff," and that's exactly what I tend on doing. I am going to scream into pillows, throw electronics at walls, kick and scream, and show every stranger who happens to walk by me my middle finger, all because of a minor issue I encountered earlier and will soon forget about completely. Why fret over a huge dilemma that you have no control over whatsoever? You're never going to be able to fix it, so I see no need in getting all worked up over it. With small problems, you can more than likely make them better, so why not channel your hissy fits toward something that you can make disappear! Getting ridiculously upset over something you can easily mend is a wonderful feeling! I love it, I do! It's not that I have an anger problem. And if you think I do, THEN FUCK YOU I'M NOT AN ANGRY PERSON SO EAT MY SHIT AND SHIT IT OUT AND THEN EAT IT AGAIN. I just like to express my emotions from time to time, that's all.

It was the summer of 2009 when one of these emotional expressions of mine occurred. (Some folks call it a temper tantrum, I call it an emotional expression.) I was driving in my car with my sister; it was a beautiful day and we had just spent the entire afternoon stretched out on blankets and basking in the sun at one of our favorite parks. (I describe the scene to you so you know I was harboring no fury.) There was a building to my right where cars were driving out of, onto the street of which I was on. So THEN, some bitchassmofo decides to pull out onto my street (yes, my street.) even though I obviously had no intention on letting her in, so at the same time that she decides it's a brilliant idea to pull out in front of someone as they are still driving, she also brilliantly [almost] hits my car. This is when my outburst occurred.

"FUCK! YOU!"
I scream and casually toss up my middle finger, then I thrust my other middle finger upwards, and simultaneously move them up and down at a high speed, as if they were doing a little dance. The Middle-Finger Mambo, as I like to call it.

Then, in my petulance, I turn towards my sister, to alert her of my infuriation in case she had remained oblivious during my Middle-Finger Mambo.

"FUCKING. BITCH."
I say these words slowly, so the message really comes across, and point to that vexation of a woman ahead of me, hoping she would see my profile in her rear view mirror and not only be able to tell that I was talking about her, but be able to tell that what I was saying was that she was a FUCKING. BITCH.

Then it hits me that we are still in front of that line of cars waiting to pull out from that building.

Then it hits me that there was a mini-van at the front of the line facing towards me as I had so blatantly cussed out that woman.

Then it hits me that that mini-van was jam-packed with people, and not just any type of people.

My sister turns and looks at the mini-van, then slowly turns back to me and utters:

"Nuns."

We both cautiously look back at the 7-seater mini-van that had every one of those 7 seats occupied. With nuns. Elderly nuns. Elderly nuns looking right at me. Elderly nuns looking right at me...and laughing.

"Are they laughing?"

"Yeah...it looks like they're laughing..."

"Are they pointing at me?"

"Yeah...it looks like they're pointing at you..."

"Are they pointing at me and laughing?"

"Yeah...it looks like they're pointing at you and laughing..."

"What kind of nuns ARE these, man!"

"Laughing nuns. Seven of them."

"Well well well...nuns aren't as innocent as they say they are..."

"We need proof of this!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"What?"

Click!

"Quit taking pictures!"

"We need PROOF, Natasha."

Click!

"STOP IT THEY CAN SEE YOU DOING THAT!"

"And they're still laughing and pointing! It's perfect!"

Click!

"Stop!"

Click!

"Stop it!"

Click!

"They're probably laughing because they know you're going to Hell for having a nun photo shoot."

Click!

"They think you're going to Hell, too, for cussing out that woman."

"You're right. Keep clickin'. "

Click! Click! Click!

"Okay, that's enough."

"Now how do I forward these..."

"You can't FORWARD pictures of nuns!"

"Why the hell not?"

"It just seems wrong..."

"If anything is wrong here it's the fact that 7 nuns just witnessed you being disrespectful to thy neighbor, and instead of being appalled, they started laughing and pointing at you."

"You're right. Forward that shit pronto."

Some may say it is wrong to have random fits of rage over trivial matters, but I think we all know what is truly in the wrong here: the fact that nuns have been lying to us for years and really they are sinful, sneaky, masturbating perverts who find joy in the animosity humans have towards one another. Why do you think they have to go to their Father and ask for forgiveness? BECAUSE THEY HAVE A LOT OF SHIT TO CONFESS, THAT'S WHY. I can just imagine those nuns later that day...

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been 2 minutes since my last confession; I just can't stop sinning today. This afternoon, I saw a young girl blurt out profanity at a woman she did not even know, and I laughed about it, and then posed for pictures her friend took of me as I pointed at them. Oh, and I masturbated to a picture of Jesus. Please, I ask for your forgiveness."

Yeah, DO you? Do you, BITCH? Well guess what. You're NOT forgiven. What ya gonna do about THAT, huh? Huh?! Yeah. That's what I thought.


video

3 comments:

Ellie said...

have you ever entered your lip-syncing skills into a talent show?

Natasha said...

"Skills?!" Okay-that just made my day. Seriously. And if you count the billions of talent shows I've conducted in none other than my very own bedroom for the past 15 years of my life...then yes. Otherwise, no.

Julie said...

this is seriously the most entertaining thing i've seen all week.

and yes, i still read your blog now that high school is over.