Joke Time!

Seven wise men with knowledge so fine,
created a pussy to their design.
First was a butcher,
with smart wit,
using a knife,
he gave it a slit,
Second was a carpenter,
strong and bold,
with a hammer and chisel,
he gave it a hole,
Third was a tailor,
tall and thin,
by using red velvet,
he lined it within,
Fourth was a hunter,
short and stout,
with a piece of fox fur,
he lined it without,
Fifth was a fisherman,
nasty as hell,
threw in a fish and gave it a smell,
Sixth was a preacher,
whose name was McGee,
he touched it and blessed it,
and said it could pee,
Last was a sailor,
dirty little runt,
he sucked it and fucked it,
and called it a cunt.

Fu*k you!

Fuck you, cleaning the fridge. How the hell do you get so dirty? I don't eat in there, I simply store food. What the fuck is that stain on the bottom shelf? Do gnomes have parties in here when I'm at work or something? Nasty little gnomes. And, for some reason, I feel really, really vulnerable when I'm bent over, scrubbing your gross shelves. Don't know why. So thank you for keeping my beer cold, but fuck you for making a mess of it.

Fuck you, paying bills. Every fucking month? Are you kidding me? I barely even watched TV this month, I still gotta shell out all that cash? And, while I'm at it, fuck your pathetic little late fees. They're small enough for me to easily ignore them but they add up over time. So thank you for the electricity, water and internet, but fuck you for your constant demands.

Fuck you, deleting old files from my computer. What man can make this decision? It's like choosing which of my kids to leave behind on the sinking ship. Fuck, this is killing me. I hate my old ass computer.

Fuck you, changing light bulbs. It's 2010, right? I was pissed when I wasn't issued a jetpack in 2000 (where's my fucking raygun?!?), but I figured by now technology would've at least advanced to the point where I don't have to stand on my wobbly chair and deal with this crap. Two bonus fuck yous: for scaring the crap out of me when I walk into a darkened room, innocently flick the switch and get momentarily blinded by that huge flash and terrifying pop! Also, for somehow convincing your lightbulb brethren to join you, causing a chain reaction that means I'm filled with fear whenever I turn on a light. Pop! Pop! Pop! What, did you all join in a suicide pact while I was asleep?
Bastards.

Fuck you, washing dishes. Yes, I know, you smell funny, and I know the longer I wait, the more weird slime stuff is just gonna accumulate on you. That's why I've pretty much switched to just using paper plates (fuck you, environment) and eating with my hands. I'm a caveman in an apartment.