Archive for the ‘Profanity’ Category
That expression formally endswith six. Someone I worked with used to say it all the time. With six.
He’d do it out of frustration, when he’d made a mistake, when somebody was going through a hard time to help or cheer them up, and always while joking.
I never understood what the expression meant. I’d never heard it before up until that point in my life. I’d always gone along with everyone else at work. I laughed and smiled. Inside? I felt like a total goofball.
At one point, he and I were alone. I felt totally awkward and ashamed (why?) We both loved each other. A lot.
NOTE: some Asperger’s behaviour with all of this? Can you see that? Plus, a lot of my colleagues were mean. Must hide.
So, I finally asked him.
“S., what on earth does that expression mean? You’re always saying it, everybody else seems to know. What the ‘fuck’…hahaha…is it some kind Orgy Rule?” We were both in stitches when I said that.
After we both gathered composure, he told me to think about it. THINK ABOUT IT???You, little… I have thought about it! That’s why I’m asking! Doofus.
We were both in our 20’s. He was a few years younger. Since we were so close (damn near in love with each other) he enjoyed with great pleasure to tease and embarrass me while working. In front of the public! Anything to make blush. Which can happen before a hat enters a room to drop anyway.
I told him to fuck off and just answer the damn question. Otherwise, I would beat it out of him. Which would be impossible without many weapons. I’m tiny. Even though he was thin, he stood about 6’1″ To hug me, he’d almost have to pick me up. Especially if I wasn’t wearing shoes.
Anyway, for those who do not know, the expression means that you tell everyone in your life to yes, fuck off, screw themselves, go to hell etc. Except for only six people.
Why? You need six Pallbearers to carry your Casket when you die.
I was almost on my knees, laughing so hard. I could barely breathe. It was a good thing he was right beside me so he could pick me up. I really was that close to falling. He just smirked, satisfied he’d almost made me look, once more, like a fool in front of the public.
My number two? Well, I’m wearing almost “Death Bling.” Two of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen.
A very close friend I met so long ago “gave” me his Cross. He was also a very close lapsed Catholic. I dare you to find me a bigger one. However, his Mother was extremely Devout.
She gave him his Cross when he went fully through all the Stations. Confirmed as a young boy. If she ever saw him without it, the Bible and more would hit the fan!
One night we were drinking and fooling around, being our idiot selves and I took it. I put it on, making jokes about how Catholic he was, I was the better one by not being Catholic at all!
I went home, and realized I still had it! HIS MOM!!! I called and left a voicemail. Nothing. This went on for YEARS.
Constant contact back and forth.
“Yeah, later.” ‘Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.” “Let me send you an email in a couple of days.” “Don’t worry, I know it’s in a safe place.”
He died and I found out after the fact. What about his Cross?! It was “missing.” His Mother. Did G. tell them anything? I never got a phone call. Granted, my number is unlisted. But he knew where I lived.
Some people later told me after all those years, the constant excuses, never coming to get it, questions before dying? It meant something. What? I was totally clueless.
They said it was because he wanted me to have it. I still didn’t understand and couldn’t grasp that concept. In fact, it still seems a bit odd to this day.
After a few years though, I think I might have figured out why.
I knew he had ADHD roughly 10 years before I knew I had ADD! He confided in me, something he’d never told anyone else. His Mother had Mental Health Issues. And all around, I was the only person who really understood him. No words were ever said about it. I don’t think he could have put any letters together to start a sentence for it!
The cross is gold. 14K. Maybe an inch high so proportionate. It has the entire Lord’s Prayer in Relief on it!
ASIDE: Relief is a Coin Collecting Term. It means any part of a coin that is raised. The higher you can feel it, and the cleaner it is on the coin (and the cleaner the coin itself) the better Relief. Then, it is extended to all metallurgical engraving.
The second piece of jewelry is from my Nana. My Mom’s Mother. I loved it so much, even as a child. I actually became so bold when a teenager, I asked if I could have it when she died! She just laughed and said of course I could.
It is beautiful and obviously sentimental. A locket shaped as a shield. 18K. I can’t even begin to describe its complicated and intensely gorgeous engraving.
Inside, there are two little pictures. One of her husband, my Grampa, a dashing, young man. The other, a baby picture of my Mom.
Neither of these are coming off until? Definitely not until we take care of Mom’s Estate! And probably longer. Definitely longer.
An afterthought to my last Post “Forever Bullied.”
MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH talks a lot of trash. It’s like backward primordial ooze but coming out of a Heroin Junkie’s Wormhole. Or some hole.
I could get her to pour her ooze out through her fists. C’mon small talker. I dare ya.
Here, when someone reports any type of assault, no matter how big or small, legal action does not hold between the parties involved. As soon as you make a telephone call, it’s immediately out your hands.
After that call, you might have completely wished you had never made that call. At all!
That’s because any assault reports are directly handled by the Police. You have no say, except for what happened. Then, they do a full investigation and prosecution for any and all charges are their decision.
What an evil thought. I know she’d be screwed though.
Oh, what an evil thought…
Went out tonight. Getting ready to leave. This one guy I know through association from a friend (they work together) was there. So, yeah. Nice guy, and we got on well too.
Another guy I’ve known for a few years got into this game about, “Which one wanted to go out with me more?” A totally stupid game as one of them was married!
Enter, THIS FUCKING BITCH.
Now, I had tried to be nice to her since Day One. She was sometimes on, sometimes off.
I’d like to say she’s a total, MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH. In fact, I will.
So, nice guy by association and, well, MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH pulled this bizarre “thing” recently.
We were sitting at the bar, I had my sunglasses on for head-injury-photophobia, and nothing was happening. Just silence, watching the TV, I’m not even close to him or saying a word to anyone. Then, she snaps a picture of us on her mobile phone.
After done, begins howling MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH LAUGHTER! Almost like she was ready to fall off her barstool. I asked if I could see it. She showed it only to him.
I said I had littler things that I could care littler about. I mean, what was MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH going to do? FB, Twitter, Instagram or whatever this “harmless” picture?
Well, tonight was a real topper!
Association-Dude-Small-Cock-Oedipal-Complex comes running over with some guy’s information on it. He kept saying he’s looking for someone to date. I should call him. He’s really nice.
Perhaps I too loudly said, “WHY THE FUCK WOULD I CALL SOME STRANGER FOR A DATE, WHEN…” At that point, I was interrupted.
“Well, can I give him your information!”
I think I might have shrieked back? I’m not sure.
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I CALL SOME STRANGER FOR A DATE AND YOU GIVING HIM MY INFORMATION? THAT’S SO FUCKING INSANE! THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD GIVE OUT MY PERSONAL INFORMATION TO A TOTAL STRANGER! EVEN YOU ASKING IS JUST PLAIN RUDE!”
I like the fact that I actually brought up proper manners at the end of my tirade. What can I say? *shrugs* I have proper manners.
Then MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH starts screaming, “He’s got lots of money!
And the massive laughter continues…until she lays another one on me: “Oh, are you crying???”
Snark back, with irritability and sarcasm: “No. I’ve got my sunglasses on.”
Not without a traveller. Highly illegal but my local does it. I didn’t even have to pay because the guy working was pissed off too.
I’m close to the owner. If ANYONE ever gives me a hassle they could be kicked out the door.
I’m on the fence with this one. Tell him about it? See if more shit happens?
I always take the high road. Unless cornered? Which I certainly was tonight. Now after thinking and calming down, I wish I could have handled things differently.
I felt like my Asperger’s was back in FULL BLOOM. Like my entire life. Looking back at everything. Bullied since born.
It still happens as an adult. More times than this. It makes me wonder, “Bullied until death?”
It has indeed been a very long time since I have written anything on wee PAs Blog. That is mostly in part, because it is my full time duty to take care of her. And indeed again, she has not been very well, for a very long time. In fact, after a rather long hiatus, she is now only beginning to write on her Blog again.
Earlier today, she decided it would be a good idea to try after so long, to clean up her Blog. This, once again after several failed attempts. She feels it is a:
“Goddamn piece of shit and a total mess. A total disaster and so fucked up that it’s a surprise that anyone is reading it at all because it’s totally gone to hell just like her.”
“She can’t believe she’s been writing all of these Posts on it that just look like crusty sheep barf on a barbed wire fence. Actually, she’s the one that should be covered her own barf every day, barf from everyone on the street, barf from everyone on Television and never, ever, ever be allowed to shower again. If it rains, she should be bound in chains inside her apartment and have more barf poured over her in extra buckets because the rain will make her long desperately with every pathetic piece of tissue in her body for a shower.”
“FUCK MY BLOG AND FUCK ME TOO!!!”
Oh, dear. I think you can see that I have more on my flippers than I can handle right now?
I believe it best to remove wee PA from all forms of Technology now. However, I might have to wrestle with her to stop clenched fists reaching for a mobile phone. Seizing her Mac is easy enough. I will simply use my “Flipper-Slip” and slide it into the its case when she wanders away to do something else.
Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day to work on her Blog. She might be more up to task. Right now, I bet my stakes high it is certainly not a good time!
Oh. Well, look what we have here? I am heaving a hugh sigh of relief! We are are currently experiencing a thunder storm with lightening. Wee PA positively loves them. This might make my job a lot easier.
No doubt my readers from The Country of Scotland, The Gaelic, and Former People Lounging on Hadrian’s Wall, will know this expression. This is due to its historical origin of these people’s Geographical Location.
Granted, that is purely anecdotal evidence from an old, Scottish Gentleman I know. I have yet to find any Peer Reviewed Studies.
Also, there is a high probability it is known by the People of Great Britain, England, Wales and the Republic of Ireland.
And maybe some others. Like me. I live in Canada. And I love what this means.
“PISS OFF! GO FUCK YOURSELF! GODDAM, BLOODY TOSSER! USELESS EXCUSE FOR A MAN! EVEN DATING MY DISGUSTING AND FILTHY BROTHER WOULD GET ME OFF FASTER THAN YOU!”
Well, now? *raises eyebrows* That young lady sounded a little bit upset, didn’t she?
Using the expression might not make someone go totally mental, but what it means is this. Although I did use it from a woman’s point of view.
Euphemism (or even literally?) to get on your bike and fall off your seat. Then hit the VERY HARD metal crossbar, and crush your balls SO MUCH TO HELL.
To the point they are barely recognizable.
Any and everyone? Please chime in if I’ve got it wrong here.
I bring all these shenanigans up because I might be able to stop saying, “Get On Yer Bike!” to myself. There’s no way I can go cycling now, and might not EVER be able to for the rest of my life.
But I accepted that. Like so many other things that I probably won’t be able to do for the rest of my life. It made me sad, mad, threw me into serious states of Depression, but I made it out.
There’s a chance I can no longer say that phrase anymore. Maybe. Recumbent Bikes.
A neighbour on my floor rides every day like nuts. He seems almost like a Pro! He knows my health problems and immediately said I could do it with all of the types, what would be best for me.
So however you want to do it, “Get On Yer Bike!
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Okay. I have had it UP TO HERE WITH MY GODDAM BLOODY FIBROIDS!!!
Oops. “Bloody” was a pretty dumb word to write there, wasn’t it? Nonetheless…
I just got off the phone with Sweetie GP. She needed to be updated on some things she’s not aware of. Some new things, LIKE RIGHT NOW!!! *laughing*
Also, something new to me that just ain’t no fun and ain’t no fair.
Everyone around here knows (or will read now) THIS STUPID BULLSHIT has to do with my Fibroids.
One thing that is not uncommon is for women to experience heavier periods. Although, with my long history of anemia, I joke that I now have, “Period Anemia.”
This is actually not a joke. AND NOT TODAY!!!
I HAVE BEDRIDDEN PERIOD ANEMIA!!! EXTREME CANE ALERT!!! SOMEONE FIND A NEUROSURGEON!!! STAT!!!
I had so much to do today. So much I was capable of doing today. One thing I needed to do today.
Now, we’re playing “Hide and Seek Period.” I spot so heavily it’s like I’m on it. Then, that stops. Then, just wait and count to 100!
It would appear my Fibroids have quite a sense of humor. WELL IT’S NOT FUNNY AT ALL BEING OUT IN PUBLIC WITH NO TAMPONS!!! RUN TO DRUGSTORE CASUALLY!!!
I cannot count the pairs of underwear and other clothes, that I have had to throw in the trash.
So, my Fibroids seem to be stand-up comics AND extortionists!
I have THREE FUCKING PAGES OF NOTES FOR MY NEW GYNECOLOGIST!!!
And speaking of fucking? This is the latest and greatest.
I get INCREDIBLE CRAMPS WHEN I HAVE AN ORGASM!!!
That’s what I referred to as, “…just ain’t no fun and just ain’t no fair.”
I think it’s pretty clear to say that’s an understatement larger than our entire Galaxy. Or larger.
I won’t delve into the three pages of what my Fibroids are doing to me. Which they should not be doing to me. Or any other woman. In our Galaxy or beyond.
However, this is the end of the line.
I REFUSE TO LIVE MY LIFE WITHOUT BEING ABLE TO HAVE ORGASMS!!! *not laughing*
Thank you for reading. Do you feel ill now?
I finally figured out why I’m in so much pain while walking. It’s not me. It’s this crappy cane I’m using now.
It’s in heavy duty camo. Pretending it looks like it’s all ready to rock and roll (stand and roll?) But it’s not. It’s making ME rock and stand and roll!
So off (definitely!) today to get a new one. AND A TELESCOPIC!!! An absolute must for me if I’m rockin’ and standin’ and rollin’ in a good way.
Stick it in your bag or whatever and then just whip it out when you need it.
This is now where I start bashing people’s bodies apart with canes. Even to the point of disembowelment if they really piss me off.
I’m tiny. Even though the packets say I qualify for the shortest height, I sometimes don’t. Even a 1/2cm or a bit more will make the cane too high.
This woman said the one I wanted was impossible to use. I knew that! That’s precisely why I rip all of their merchandise apart to measure myself!
Hmmm…how can we even up things? Make this new cane short enough.
Wee PA smart. Wee PA almost disembowel woman in store!!! We almost got into a screaming match.
My entire problem is two fold. The length of the cane itself and then, when adjusting the buttons to the smallest settings, it further elongates everything.
The one I found was pretty outrageous. However, I said to her we could swap the existing tip for a smaller one. She told me that wouldn’t work and: TOO BAD! THEY’RE ON SALE!
OH, BITCH. YOU JUST WATCH ME NOW.
Looked at the cane tips. Got down on the floor like I was a human measuring tape and voila! I’ve already been walking with it and it seems just fine.
When I left, I couldn’t give her what she deserved. Lucky enough to be dealing with other customers for her escape.
Moreover? I’m one of those gals when if someone says I can’t do things that are without boundaries (and especially if I’m a woman???)
THOSE WHO SAID IT STICK YOUR HEADS FURTHER UP YOUR ASSES.
THAT MIGHT SAVE SOME OF YOUR HEARING FROM THE BOMB I’M GONNA DROP ON YOU.
SORRY EVERY ONE OF YOU WHO IS INNOCENT BECAUSE YOU WILL NOW BECOME COLLATERAL DAMAGE.
NOW. LOOK THE FUCK OUT ‘CAUSE HERE I COME.
Thank you for reading. Do you feel ill now?
Okay. First off, I don’t think I’m really a bitch. Readers? Speak up and let me know. It’s alright. In fact, it would be great if you told me I was a bitch (or not.) It would help me with “My Issues.”
Alright, the ditching. In my regular pub. Know the older guy, D. Met this (Gorge!) girl/woman/whatever-ageism-can-go-to-hell. She apparently is the Granddaughter of…
Oh, yeah. I’m like, beyond pissed so I’m blasting Skinny Puppy so loud, I’m sure the entire floor can hear it. Sucks to be you when I’m beyond pissed and I blast music when I can’t get an outlet.
I’m even too angry to masturbate to get a release. But if I had a partner, I’d fuck her like Armageddon was only five minutes away. I don’t have a partner though. So right now, that means music that will make your ears bleed at huge volumes (or even more quiet volumes?) is the only choice I have.
Anyway, “Gorge” is the Granddaughter of this lovely, old guy. A Scot through and through and salty to the bone. We’ve had some good chats.
Well, maybe I should have a chat with him about his goddamn, fucking Granddaughter who ditched me tonight! Okay, the old man too, but I know him. I can give him the tiniest bitch slap that will land him crawling on the floor, begging first for my forgiveness, then to somehow, some way make him vertical again.
So we’re drinking and talking and I see this other guy I know plop A GINORMOUS-A-RAMA bag of pot in her lap, with all the accessories included: scissors, papers…and how many bags of dope? I mean, I don’t know street value, but when she opened one of them? WHAM!
Just one sniff and I was nearly thrown across the entire pub! I knew I had to get this (really good) shit out of the pub or at least hidden on her–Granddaughter or not! I was still staring at all the bags thinking I could get busted just sitting with her.
FUCK ME.FUCK ME.FUCK ME.
Seriously. For someone who smokes dope (and apparently a lot unless marketed?)
It’s been a lllooonnnggg time folks and NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, NEVERRRRRRR IN PUBLIC!!!
Hello, PA. Not only are you banned from the pub, but you are charged with Possession and also Possession With Intent To Sell. I think I was “Gorge Blind” because I can’t even believe I did this. But I knew she wanted to toke really…like NOW REALLY!
I grab a MASSIVE BUD and put it on a piece of paper I had on the table. I was ripping and tearing (like I said folks, a long time, no MJ since my 20s.) I roll like shit but I figured I managed to get enough for a cigarette size that she wanted. The MASSIVE BUD still looked just as MASSIVE!
I eventually had to run into the bathroom because I felt like I was looking too obvious. So I rolled up what I had done still with the MASSIVE BUD and kept it tight on both ends–like I’d rolled a joint! I told her to run into the bathroom NOW! I had to take her hands and put them on both ends like mine were so as not to lose anything!
Alrighty. That’s up to the Bitchin’ Ditchin’
They suggested going somewhere else and I was keen. I was just concerned about getting home. Walking with them would have been fine but alone? She said she can make sure I’d get home safely. Call a cab, whatever. Cool.
I said to them that I just had to go to the bathroom and then I’d be done. They said, “Okay.” I also had to settle up my tab.
I went outside and… Gone. The guy working there said that they had gone to where “WE” were supposed to go.
For some reason (like they’d come back?) I just stood outside the place, had a cigarette and walked around a bit. Of course they never came back!
UNLESS: Between all of the substances in everyone there was a misunderstanding. I “knew where it was?” And I did. Because when I finished in the bathroom and paid my tab, the table where we were all sitting was quite different. The old guy D. wouldn’t touch my stuff, but “Gorge” would have after all of our talking for hours and not to discriminate, I have to pull the Gender Card.
Some of the things I had on the table were now in my rucksack but the most amazing thing was my cane. It wasn’t beside my bag as per norm. My cane was sitting on the table. Almost in an…”…okay…come on then!” sense.
Christmas Party there tomorrow. They’ll both be there. I haven’t decided about going or not now. Drop off my “Secret Santa” and then just fuck it off. Or, walk in, dressed up, somehow, kickass.
And Kick Some Ass.
If you’re trying to “find me”and/or figure out “Who I Am?” At least have the goddamn, motherfucking balls (and that goes for women too even though they don’t have balls) to:
JUST ASK ME!!!!!!!!!!
I’m not that fucking special!
And just what the HELL are you actually gonna do with my” Sorry to Disappoint you Not War and Peace” version of my life?
Turn that Pig Barf Soaked, Suck My Cock Crack Pipe, Asshole Satan who really IS up my ass into a giant ice cube?
Actually, it really would feel pretty good to get the doped up fucktard outta me. The biggest ‘roid I’ve had in my life and I’m so constipated I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take a crap for the rest of my life.
So in the “end” you won’t be able to do crap either.
Get a life. Unless you’re thinking about me and jerking off. I’m very complemented if you think about me that way.
Will WordPress on my mobile FINALLY work?