Open Letters To Some Famous People

Dear Rihanna,

I don’t get it, if you don’t know your own name, how should we? Am I your mother? I am 99.95% sure I am not, and therefore, I didn’t name you, and cannot be blamed now for not knowing the name you refuse to give me.
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Dear Rebecca Black,

I learned the days of the week before I was in preschool. I don’t need an autotuned adolescent describing their order. If you were on the “mentally handicapped” side of the IQ line, I would be proud of you. But because you have become famous for being terrible and are apparently not retarded, I literally could not care any less about you and the days of your week, than I do at this very second.
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Dear Lady Gaga,

I am almost sure you weren’t born this way. 

Now I can’t even eat those steaks because they have been strapped to your body. *sigh* Way to ruin what could have been a delicious meal for at least 8.
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Dear Drake,

I hate you more for YOLO than I have ever hated any musician for any reason. Except Maroon 5, on basic principle alone. YOLO is further ruining an already terrible generation of brats. Go back to Degrassi.

Look how adorable you were on Degrassi!

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Dear Nickelback,

Please, just stop. I get tired of reading all the bashing about you on the internet.
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Dear Ellen DeGeneres,

Rockin' out!

I love you. I want to dance with you.
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Dear Cee Lo,

Agreed. Someone’s running around and cheating on you, screw them. Did the fact that you are crazy rich and famous give you any awkward moments when singing about a gold digging twatwaffle who stepped out with a rich dude?

bwhahaha! I totally didn't even make this!

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Dear Avril Lavigne,

When DID life get so damn complicated? There are so many things I’m sure you wish you’d never said to that sk8r boi. Like “yes, frontman of Nickelback, I shall become wed to you for life.”
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Dear Katy Perry,

This hurts, it really does. I like you! I think Firework is fun and a lot of your songs are catchy and innocuous. Unfortunately, you then came out with the monstrosity of “Last Friday Night.” Let me see if I understand...you drank too much, blacked out, maybe slept with some random, possibly broke the law, and you’re excited about doing it all again next week. Not exactly the fairy tale you like to tell people you live. Way to send out good role model vibes to those millions of tweens, though. Good call.
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Dear One Direction,

I want to hate you, I really do. But, the only thing I actually know about you is “What Makes You Beautiful,” and I actually like it. Ok, then. Moving on.
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Dear Backstreet Boys/N*SYNC/Britney Spears/Xtina,

I sometimes still find myself singing one of your songs. It is nostalgic and somewhat embarrassing. Is there some sort of way for me to forget these lyrics? Songs I literally haven't listened to in 10 years are alarmingly easy to remember, and yet I have difficulty sometimes remembering the combo to my locker at the gym by my apartment.
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Also, can someone tell me...what is a Wiz Khalifa? I don’t get these names some people come up with. Where did you get the inspiration for that, slamming your face into the keyboard?

If I did that, my name would be 9hiwgjolsb.

Because that is what just happened when my face met the keyboard. (It’s pronounced “Seven.” The 9 is SILENT. DUH.)

Get it?? 'Cause Chuck Norris would attack before he could be insulted!

Sheesh. Do I have to explain EVERYTHING to you people?!

And, because I adore puns in a very exciting and wonderful and not at all annoying way, enjoy this:

haha...irrelephant!

Stupidity and the Internet.

I don’t get this thing with swag or the thing with adult men suddenly being into My Little Pony. I was completely, blissfully unaware of these types of things a few years ago, but with being in front of a computer all day at work, nowadays I tend to roam the internet when I get bored. I now know what memes are and how to say that word, and can name at least 3 websites that you can go to to see funny/awkward autocorrect fails (I disabled autocorrect immediately after buying my phone), and am seeing all kinds of weirdness.

Swag is stupid. YOLO is stupid. They are crap. Idiot kids are using YOLO as an excuse to go to dumb things and not think of the consequences. You know what? “Look both ways before crossing a large intersection. YOLO.” or “Tell your mom you love her. YOLO.” I don’t even GET swag. It seems to be some sort of pseudo-cool, saggy pants, hat thing where boys who claim to have it think they can get away with disrespecting women, do whatever they want, and be ubercool. Guess what? NO ONE CARES. Go get a job and stop calling your mom names, because we all know you’re still living with her, since swag won’t pay your bills. In addition, I dislike you a great deal. 

It saddens me immensely that this person exists. And made that.

 

I do love memes. They are so fun! My favorites are “Condescending Wonka,” “Philosraptor” (mostly for the name, haha), and “Socially Awesome Penguin.” I really love penguins. In fact, enjoy this god meme about them. Apparently he likes penguins, too. Also, it’s pronounced “meem.” Not “may-may.”




The internet is a treasure trove of untapped resources, answers for your questions, people, and of course, there are also a bunch of ignorant twatwaffles that HAVE to put their opinion out there, even when it’s terrible or racist or stupid or just plain ignorant, and then the requisite bunch of other people who feel compelled to respond. It is especially amusing when the original poster (often referred to as OP) was just being a troll or joking around or playing devil’s advocate.

There are also a lot of animal pictures. Pretty sure that’s my favorite part! Boyfriend and I were joking around last night that if we got a cat, we’d name him Internet. :) That made me laugh. It’s so apropos! Think about it. What is the internet most used for? Facebook, haterz (with a z), and cat pictures!

But we cannot get a kitty. Unless it was hairless. But I’m not wanting to cuddle with Mr. Bigglesworth. I would more want to snuggle with Fabulous Kitty! 
 



Nonetheless, stealing is wrong and if my cat stole my sunglasses, I would be displeased. And not cat would wish to displease me! Enjoy this picture of my friend Megan’s cat, Cassius Clay. 

Cassius Clay being adorable.

And in the end, I started off talking about stupidity found around the internet that I can’t help but get distracted by and caught up in, and what happened? It devolved into pictures of cats. Like 90% of the internet. Without even trying, I PROVED THE STEREOTYPE!

To counteract the cats, enjoy this cartoon of an awesome fluffy duck-beast.

Crime Shows, Cheese, and Animal Sounds.

Just hearing the name “Sarah McLaughlin” makes me want to hold my dog and sniffle. Thanks, McLaughlin for depressing the crap out of me during Glee. I remember when that song used to play on the radio, and it didn’t make me want to shoot myself. Or someone else. I mean, I watch Criminal Minds and The Mentalist and Law & Order. I could totally murder someone all over and stuff. And you would NEVER EVER KNOW.

Except that I talk a lot and would probably tell someone. Then everyone would know, and that could be terrible. Unless they all thought I was joking? I tend to joke around a lot. Maybe people never even really know when I’m being serious-Jyssica or when it’s sarcastic-funtimes-Jyssica. Phenomenal. :)

You know what makes me feel decidedly and unrepentantly non-murdery? Cheese. I love cheese. I love it so much that I would marry cheese and have string cheese and mozzarella-ball babies with it, upon which time I would be arrested for baby cannibalism. Not that I am a baby eating other babies, but that I would eat my genetically delicious cheese kids. I wouldn’t even need to marry cheese. I mean, single parents are becoming the norm nowadays, and no one would dare call my cheese babies illegitimate, because everyone knows that you can say anything you want about me, but the second you mess with my friends and family, I go from “Yay! 7 year old skipping and twirling on the inside!” to “BACK IT UP, I WILL CUT YOU.” Which is to say, I go from awesome-normal to badass-crazypants. It’s a fun transition to watch, I assume.

That's me eating cheese-babies. They should be on a table or something and not hanging in midair like that. I am a terrible cheesy-mother.

So, cheese. My favorite is string cheese, as a snack. Or as my whole dinner, whatevs. I also love it on meat, veggies, potatoes, inside meat, on top of stuff, and in my salads. Not so much on fruit, though, that sounds weird. Sometimes, if I eat too much cheese, it makes my stomach all sad and rumbly. I am actually mildly lactose intolerant. Found out when I was about 16, and it was a sad, sad day in my household. Well...at least in my head. I can still eat it, just not in large quantities all at once. So back to yay!

You know what I really love? Comedy. Standup, sit down, improv, funny movies, you name it. I’ll take a comedy movie over horror (eek!) or sappy romance any day! I love to laugh and I find so many things funny, and it just makes me happy. I used to watch Whose Line Is It Anyway ALLLLLL the time, and I just found out about this blog that is dedicated to it, fuckyeahwhoseline.tumblr.com that is supercompletelyamazeballsfantastic. You should totally go there. It has .gifs and clips and quotes. I like comedy in general. I’ve seen a lot of amateur standup, because it is so fun. I have a secret dream of being this sarcastic, witty stand up comic! I don’t think it’ll happen, though. I have this way of telling stories that ends up going off onto random tangents in the middle before eventually (and sometimes not at all) circling back to the original story to make it all wrap up nicely. People who know me: shut up. I said it, no need to elaborate!

I just thought of something else that’s really weird. My friend Megan and I suddenly happened upon finding ourselves in an animal-sound fight. Now, I know a lot of animals. But it’s harder than you think. Once you get past the Old Macdonald farm animals, it gets tougher. How do you type out (the animal-sound shenanigan happened over IM, not verbally) a penguin, a koala bear, a kangaroo, or a clownfish sound? Whales I can do. It’s like this: oooOOOOHHHoooaaaahhAAAOAOAOOOAAAOooooAAAaaahh. BAM. Whale.

I shall leave you with a cheese joke:
Q: What is a cannibal’s favorite cheese?
A: Limburger!
(lol. but not me, limburger, ewwww.)

And a line from Whose Line Is It Anyway? (from my favorite, Ryan Stiles!)

How To: Make Your Baby Awesome

Example of a baby. A bored one.

You want an awesome baby, right? You don’t want some lumpy blob of no fun. Everyone wants to have the “cool kid,” but we all know that there is a caste system in life and not everyone is going to be a rock-awesome-of-funtasticness that I am. Or maybe, that you were. Or are. I don’t know you, you could be terrible. I can’t make sweeping generalizations about you and your kind. That would just be rude.

So, to begin, do you have a baby?
Go and check. 
Yes or No?


If yes, read on to learn how to mind-control your baby into a sphere of awesome known only as “Bouncy House of Awe-Inspiring.”

If no, I have to take a moment and question your place in this world. Are you hoping to have a baby at some point, and want a jumpstart on figuring out how to make it into one of the cool kids who wear light-up shoes and say funny things? Do you have friends who have lame babies and are hoping to aunt-or-uncle them into coolness? Do you have no baby on the horizon and are just reading this to creep out the people who do have legitimate kids and may or may not be reading this over your shoulder while you are on borrowed wifi at some trendy  overpriced place like Starbucks or Target or Babies R Us? Obviously, I understand the goal of reading this blog in order to be cool, as that is always the end result of reading it. But don’t be creepy.

I can tell you from personal experience, and that of everyone I have ever known and will ever possibly know: Creepiness very rarely pays off for you. You remember back in the day, when you were young, and you’d go to a bar or a club all dressed up and young and pumped full of adrenaline and tequila, and you’d be dancing along, no rhythm but lots of enthusiasm, and you look up and THERE, right across the dance floor, is the creepy old man/woman who is about 3 decades older than anyone in a 2 mile radius, bopping along, pretending to “get” the music like all those young whippersnappers, and then you’d accidentally make eye contact? And you think to yourself “what is this old person doing at a rave?” Before you remember it’s not a rave, it’s a public bar and they have as much right to be there as you, if not more, given they’ve probably been going there since before you were born, and that just adds to the creepiness factor.

allisonladolcevita.blogspot.com/2011/06/scavengers.html

Perfect example of Creepy-old-man-at-bar Syndrome. Or, COMABS.



Back to the babies. As we get older, our friends start getting married, some are having kids, some are denouncing children all together, some get knocked up by accident and then have really rad children, some may possibly have lame kids. They say at some point our biological clock starts ticking and we feel an urge to spread our seed, our last names, and our political leanings into the next generation. I don’t know when your clock starts ticking, but mine is impressively silent right now.

Babies are a lot of things. They are funny looking sometimes, they are interesting, they can be fun, and they are often silly little children doing silly little children things. One of my favorite lines from a movie is from Knocked Up, and it’s “I wish I loved anything the way my kids love bubbles.” I still love bubbles, so there.

But you can change the course of fate! You CAN make your baby rad. You can help guide and form your kids into supercool little mini-humans who look and act like little droids full of awesome.

1. Sunglasses. Sunglasses make everyone look a bit cooler. Buy your kid some baby sized aviators, maybe some Ray Bans, slap them on the face of your child, and watch him or her or it walk a little taller.

2. Chucks. Put your kid in converse. Little tiny baby shoes are already adorable. Make them cooler by making them Converse and/or light-up sneakers. You gotta start them out young. Also make sure to include a lecture about what hipsters are and how not to become one if they still want to be a member of your family.

Epically cool bearded child.

3. Tiny beards. You should find a baby hat (they make tons of them, apparently babies really need hats) and sew a tiny baby-sized fake beard onto the hat and have your child wear a fake beard. This ups the levels of mind-blowingly cool in multiple ways. For one, beard are always cool. Especially fluffy ones. Secondly, it is even more hilarious if yours is a girl-child, and the confusion from strangers will be more than worth it. And lastly, it can serve to keep your chubby-cheeked small ones face nice and warm and fluffy.

Caution: May become a bearded adult.

4. Dress them ironically. Your child’s clothing is a reflection of both the kid AND YOU. We know babies can’t dress themselves. They’re too short to reach the hangers in the closet, you fool! Have your kid wear ironic T-shirts like “I am an 80s kid!” and “I remember Nixon.” DO NOT ALLOW SKINNY JEANS ON YOUR CHILD. If your baby seems to have a preference for skinny jeans, you better stomp that tendency out of them YOUNG. Do not allow your child to become a hipster, or you will forever be hearing such things as “I was into this music WAY before it was cool” and “Mom, can you buy me some more guyliner?” And yes, you will even know what guyliner is. Whoa.

5. Make them listen to cool music whenever they are trapped in a car with you. Expose your kid to your favorite types of music and have them grow up listening to it. Unless you have bad taste, then leave it to classics like Beatles, The Temptations, Sinatra, all 80s music, and of course, epic hair band power ballads. If your kid doesn’t know “Total Eclipse of The Heart,” then I don’t want to know your kid. And neither will you.

That kid is having a good time.

6. Toss your kid high in the air. The other part of this instruction is to CATCH the kid. If you miss the second part, then you are probably mentally and physically scarring your kid for life, and setting yourself up to pay thousands in therapy later on. But be a little rough with your kid. Let them play, get hurt a little, scrape knees, jump high, get thrown around. It’s normal, it’s fun and you don’t want your baby to be scared of those kinds of things once they aren’t babies anymore. Start them young. Wrestle, play, whatever. Maybe don’t allow them to go hang-gliding at 2 years old, but yeah, let them play like regular kids, and teach them how there’s no crying in baseball when there’s blood. Or bandage and kiss it and send them back to play. Whatever works.


So, there you go. I, a childless 20-something, has taught you a valuable lesson here. Go forth and apply these methods to yours or other people’s (possibly not complete strangers, again: creepy.) children. Let me know how it goes.