Summer Time, Where the Living Sucks Ass

I haven't written in forever, so I'm going to be a little rusty. The usual brilliant, superior, cocky comedic genius you all have grown used to is now back to being a mere fetus, and I do NOT. Look good. As a fetus. (You may be wondering, 'Who does look good as a fetus?', but trust me, I've seen some sexy fetuses out there. So sexy. You have no idea. If they weren't minors and I a wise, old, 19 year-old, I'd be holla-in at dem fetuses and tappin dem undeveloped asses. So squishy at that age. So mushy. So perfect.) Speaking of fetuses, it's summer time.

(See? I'm rusty. I can't even make a smooth transition from one paragraph to the next. Fetuses and summer time have absolutely no relation to one another. I know this. And now so do you. In case you thought maybe they did. Because they don't. You moron.)

Summer! A time for joy! Freedom! Sunshine! Smiles! Raging hormones! Body odor! Sweat! Sweat in clothes! Sweat in beads! Sweat on arms! Sweat on face! Sweat on balls! Would you sweat in a box? Would you sweat with a fox? Yes I would, Sam I Am, because it's 110 fucking degrees outside, asshole. But for me, summer has also meant some other things.

What Summer Has Brought Me Thus Far

1. I now have a job.

YAY! JOB! NATASHA IS FINALLY EMPLOYED SINCE SHE SHOULD HAVE DONE THAT 4 YEARS AGO LIKE EVERYONE ELSE HER AGE! Fuck you. I was busy then. I'm not busy now. Well, now I am, since I have a job, but I wasn't before. And I am now. Washing dishes. Sweeping floors. Cleaning tables. Wiping mirrors. Washing windows. Scrubbing toilets. I thought the term was busboy, not busgirl, and I didn't sign on for this shit, anyway. (I mean that in the figurative and literal manner. Little kids. Don't. Aim.) Today a pipe busted while I was washing dishes and of course I wouldn't notice the 2 feet of foam around my own damn legs until my boss came and pointed it out in a high-pitched voice. I thought of making up the fact that I go temporarily blind every 30 minutes, but I thought that was taking it too far. I thought of saying my legs had been numb since birth. That's why I didn't feel the bubbles. I came to the conclusion that that was stupid. So I said I was getting ready to take a bubble bath. He did not laugh. He handed me a mop. I laughed. Because I had never mopped before. I decided not to tell him this. Or take the bubble bath.

2. I now pay for my own gas.

I understand that I SHOULD be paying for my own gas, but it still sucks. The other day I went to the gas station with eight dollars that just happened to be in dimes and nickels and pennies kind of a lot of pennies so the fuck what. They told me they could only accept 5 dollars worth of change. WHO THE HELL ARE THESE PEOPLE DO THEY NOT REALIZE THEY WOULD MAKE THREE MORE DOLLARS IF THEY WEREN'T SUCH COINISTS. (like racists. but against coins. a rare breed.) So I gave them the 5 bucks. Pumped away. Drove to my pump's neighbor pump, then went in and asked for 3 dollars of gas. (I put on glasses the second time hoping they wouldn't recognize me. First, I was Superman. Then, I was Clark Kent. But apparently that only works in the comic books. Assholes.) My daydreams have now transformed from ones of riding on a gondola in Venice, living in a world of vampires and werewolves where everyone dresses in leather and looks fucking sexy (this particular one is Underworld-inspired, NOT Twilight-inspired, thank you very much.), and extreme dance-offs where I kick everyone's ass with my secret move "The Natasha Kicking Everyone's Ass Move" - to ones of filling up my gas tank until it is full, and then celebrating by gazing at my fuel gage and talking to it...

"Oh, fuel gage,

How sorry I am,

to only give you minimum wage,

my fuel gage, my fuel gage...

Dear fuel gage,

Please don't be in a rage,

I have freed you from your cage,

my fuel gage, my fuel gage...

Sexy fuel gage,

Now you shall never age,

at least not for a few days,

cause I just put in 40 bucks,

And now let us fuck."

Then I would stroke it. Lick it. Flick my tongue at it. Other things I shall remain kept to myself. And stare at it for 2 hours before deciding to drive everywhere I can and waste it all that day. Because that's just something I would do. Which is exactly why a full gas tank is a fantasy and not a reality.

3. I now shave my legs.

And it sucks. Legs are what? HALF of the body? That's like if I shaved my entire upper body: arms, neck, chest, and belly-button, which I wouldn't even know how to go about doing. Who decided that legs should be shaved out of all the body parts? How about elbows, instead? That would be easy. Quick. Hassle-free. If you cut yourself, you wouldn't even feel it. Since elbows are inexplicably numb whereas the area under the knee is DEFINITELY NOT. And on top of all that, no one would notice if you had FORGOTTEN to shave your elbows since there is no hair on them to begin with! It's perfect, if you ask me.

4. I now have decided to write again.

It's been too long. I guess writer's block is a real thing and not just some excuse that shitty writers use for never getting their "life's work" published. If it really was your life's work, you'd be dead by the time it got put on the shelves, anyway so what the hell is the point of that especially since all the profits would go to your pretentious grandchildren anyway who would then get all of their shitty shit published because they'd have your millions to bribe the publishing companies I AM NOT RANTING. I'm just explaining without using any type of punctuation whatsoever. Who needs to pause anyway? It's a complete waste of time, if you ask me. You might as well get all of your thoughts out while you can. Pausing only leaves room for other people to talk. Who the hell wants that? Well, other than right now, that is. Since this post is over.