Monday, February 28, 2011
Conference, PopTart Bastards, and The Judgmental Monster.
Sometimes I find it hard to write. I actually will sit down at the computer, write a post, and delete it all because I can. So I have been trying to write for a while and it just doesn’t end up happening, so I have decided that whatever I write now, I will not delete and will post whatever it comes out to be.
I’ll start off with stake conference, which was yesterday. We had an apostle show up and so everyone was all ready to shake his hand and feel his spirit. This concept I don’t understand. Why do Mormons feel the need to groupie apostles? That is essentially what they are doing and I am surprised that the women in my stake didn’t take off their panties and throw them to him while he spoke. I ate poptarts and wrote haikus instead of actually paying attention because I am at my limit of church.
It is stake conference,
Droopy eyes and quick doodles.
Attention? There’s none.
Matched makeup and clothes,
Pleated skirts and curly hair.
These Mormon women.
Showy high heeled shoes;
Platforms and suede and velour,
But can’t walk in them.
These same suits, same ties,
Week after week, all the same.
It reflects their souls.
Boring, boring men
Come to church to wed all these
Boring, Boring girls.
This morning, I was just in a foul mood. I had issues getting out of bed and walked to school by myself while thinking about how much I hate poptarts.” They come in packets with two poptarts, yet the serving size is one tart. Do they expect me to walk around with a loose tart on my person all day? Bastards at the poptart factory…” Then I realized I was walking behind a woman with fat thighs and was wearing corduroy pants. Every step her thighs would rub the cords together, making her chafing thighs an aria. I could barely control my hatred for this woman’s thighs that I decided to take a moment and pretend to tie my shoes until she was out of the range of my hearing. But then a man wearing basketball shorts decided to walk right by me.
I have a hatred for people who think it is okay to walk about in basketball shorts, especially when not properly supported. I can’t avert my eyes from the jiggling mass that is their genitalia. Back and forth it sways, and my stomach does the same until I feel like I am about to vomit. Why do people feel that that is attractive? I was especially mortified by this specific man because his penis was disturbingly small and I had the urge to call up my friend who has had many experiences with measuring for micro-penis.
I continued to walk to my class, and my hatred for the world increased with each passing second: He is fat; Her butt is the size of a baby hippo; I can see your genitalia; Your acne is atrocious, please wear a mask. I became a monster of epic, judgmental proportion. I can feel it in my bones that I am destined to become this bitter, judgmental monster and that scares me more than anything. How can I get rid of this mean monster because I never want to become bitter and mean. But as I wait for this mood to lift, I judge my roommates' hygiene, my neighbor's uke playing, and my friend's driving abilities.
I’ll start off with stake conference, which was yesterday. We had an apostle show up and so everyone was all ready to shake his hand and feel his spirit. This concept I don’t understand. Why do Mormons feel the need to groupie apostles? That is essentially what they are doing and I am surprised that the women in my stake didn’t take off their panties and throw them to him while he spoke. I ate poptarts and wrote haikus instead of actually paying attention because I am at my limit of church.
It is stake conference,
Droopy eyes and quick doodles.
Attention? There’s none.
Matched makeup and clothes,
Pleated skirts and curly hair.
These Mormon women.
Showy high heeled shoes;
Platforms and suede and velour,
But can’t walk in them.
These same suits, same ties,
Week after week, all the same.
It reflects their souls.
Boring, boring men
Come to church to wed all these
Boring, Boring girls.
This morning, I was just in a foul mood. I had issues getting out of bed and walked to school by myself while thinking about how much I hate poptarts.” They come in packets with two poptarts, yet the serving size is one tart. Do they expect me to walk around with a loose tart on my person all day? Bastards at the poptart factory…” Then I realized I was walking behind a woman with fat thighs and was wearing corduroy pants. Every step her thighs would rub the cords together, making her chafing thighs an aria. I could barely control my hatred for this woman’s thighs that I decided to take a moment and pretend to tie my shoes until she was out of the range of my hearing. But then a man wearing basketball shorts decided to walk right by me.
I have a hatred for people who think it is okay to walk about in basketball shorts, especially when not properly supported. I can’t avert my eyes from the jiggling mass that is their genitalia. Back and forth it sways, and my stomach does the same until I feel like I am about to vomit. Why do people feel that that is attractive? I was especially mortified by this specific man because his penis was disturbingly small and I had the urge to call up my friend who has had many experiences with measuring for micro-penis.
I continued to walk to my class, and my hatred for the world increased with each passing second: He is fat; Her butt is the size of a baby hippo; I can see your genitalia; Your acne is atrocious, please wear a mask. I became a monster of epic, judgmental proportion. I can feel it in my bones that I am destined to become this bitter, judgmental monster and that scares me more than anything. How can I get rid of this mean monster because I never want to become bitter and mean. But as I wait for this mood to lift, I judge my roommates' hygiene, my neighbor's uke playing, and my friend's driving abilities.