With my work for Charm, I’m on the internet a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. More than I should be. I’m also a championship procrastinator, so I spend more time commenting on funny shit other people write than doing my own, contractually obligated stuff.
And then there’s my Twitter account. Which I have for work. Kind of. Between those things, I don’t get much accomplished.
My craziness, let me show you it.
This Week in Tweets:
- It’s official. #CharlieSheen is bat shit crazy. He thinks he gave his friends a “gift” that infamous night. That gift is, of course, VD.
- The world is not ready for the #McLobster. There will be casualties.
- Oh sweet baby Jesus… Chicken tikka masala for dinner. #SoFull
- Heh. I praise the Lord for chicken tikka masala & now I’m getting Christian dating spam. No good Christian man would want this dirty mouth!
- BTW, I’m already taken. Mr. ChelsieMatthews *really* enjoys my dirty mouth #giggity
- I think Hell just froze over, because my house is QUIET. Thank God for naptime.
- Nope, Hell is still all fiery and shit. My house is loud again. Way to go, loud alarm clock. You made naptime go away.
In Which I Capitalize on the Success of Other Funny People:
- Last night I woke up around 3 AM to a rustling out on our back porch. My first thought was, “Oh, shit! Dinosaurs.” Because of course it was.
- Hobbits and sheeps. Sounds like a good recipe.
- The fact that you still have your Christmas tree up is a total win for the environment. Captain Planet and his gang of hippie douchebags (whom I would imagine smell like a weird combination of corn chips, bong water, and patchouli oil) would pat you on the back and thank you for not chopping down another tree to hang your clothes on. Bravo.
The sad thing is that Red totally encourages my particular brand of crazy. Last week we were driving in the north part of town, where all the signs are in some kind of pointy, swirly writing that I can’t read. The only sign that I could understand was one that said FRIENDS FOREVER PET MEMORIALS AND CREMATION SERVICES.
Chelsie: Hrmm. I wonder what kind of person has their pet cremated.
Red: Probably the kind that doesn’t want to have to dig a hole in the backyard.
Chelsie: If we ever cremate a pet, I’m going to send its ashes to that place that turns dead people into diamonds. Because then when people came over to our house and asked if we had any pets, I could point to the big fucking diamond on my right hand and be all, “Would you like to meet Mr. Kitty?”
Red: No, you can’t turn the cat into a diamond. We’re doing that with your dad. If anything, I’d taxidermy him. The cat, not your dad.
Chelsie: You. Wouldn’t. Dare.
Red: Oh, yeah. I’d have him stuffed and mounted in the standing position so that he could hold a little platter between his paws that I could set my beer on.
Chelsie: You can’t use my cat as a coaster.
Red: And then at Halloween, we could put Mr. Kitty near the front door and put the candy bowl on his platter. That way you wouldn’t have to deal with trick or treaters.
Chelsie: Talk that way about my cat again and I’ll turn your bulldog into a pair of slippers.
Red: We don’t have a dog.
See? That’s why I’m marrying this guy. He gets my crazy and feeds it delicious Indian food.