(Answer: I hate them.)
Argh. I’m so grumpy. Probably because I’ve been corporate bloggin’ about how triple sheeted beds and Google are similar. Don’t ask. Unless you’re in the hospitality industry AND are a huge SEO nerd (hand raised sheepishly), you don’t care. Every friggin’ time I type, “sheeted,” though, I first type, “shitted.” Yay, spell check. You know, for a quasi-writer, I’m a hella bad speller. Seriously. I still can’t spell “knowledge.” Nope. Just fucked it up again.
There’s gotta be another reason I’ve been so generally pissed off today? All damn day, I’ve struggled to keep a smile on my face. Yes, it’s probably PMS. No, you probably don’t want to mention that to me. Ever.
I picked two fights with Jed. About diabetes. No, really. Oh, you know what else pisses me off? The way Bret “this-is-a-wig” Michaels says, “Diabetes.”
Please stop saying it.
“Die. Ah. Beht. As.”
Just like that old guy that was on that old show that…you know. That show. With the girl and the brother and the mom. And the oldie. This guy, this guy here. Wilford Brimley: