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m I your dad…think about it. America is a duck…think about it. Am I in your closet…think about it. Are you wearing a wig…think about it. Am I annoying…think about it…
—Think About It
n assistant manager at a busy shopping area saw a beggar stick his props (crutches that particular day) under his arm, wander over to his nice car, toss them in and drive away. Since then I don't feel sorry for beggars—they're often duping us all.
—Not So Naive Anymore
Seriously? You believe the best place to pick at your fly bites and scabs is at the bus stop and on the bus? Not only were you picking—not scratching, but full on picking—your fly bites and scabs, but then you were wiping the blood onto your legs, arms and the bus seat. Come the hell on! How were you raised? No one wants to see that shit. It's disgusting. Then to top it all off you start sneezing with your yap wide open spreading your snot and spit all over the place for all to enjoy. Thanks so much for that. The topper to all of this was the huge wad of spit you graciously left on the side of the street before getting on the bus. Grow up and get some manners. I feel bad for whomever had to sit next to you on the bus.
—Wishing for some hand sanitizer
was walking down Robie Street when a car drove by me with windows down and a guy in the car let out a scream directly at me. A full-fledged scream out of nowhere. Why? Fuck you.
Show up to my house empty handed again and you will be asked to leave. If you aren't taking me out on a date, you can at least bring wine. And if you expect another blowjob without eating my pussy, that will be the last time you get sex from me. Last chance, fucker!
I grew up in PEI and we have always had a running joke about how crappy Island radio is. Seems as if all of the channels don't play anything newer than 1992 and even then, it's all the same songs over and over.
Up until a few months ago, I would always at least be able to count on a bit of variety here in Halifax when driving to work, but with some recent changes to the stations here, things are actually better on the Island with it's two radio stations. At least then I don't have to hear nothing but '80s hair metal and Phil Collins. Luckily, we have that one other station that can be counted on playing four Maroon 5 songs in one hour.
—"Patio Lanterns" is not rock music
Okay, people: READ THE FUCKING SIGNS. "Door is locked, please use buzzer" does not translate to "pull hard on the door until you break it." End of rant.
Does Halifax know there are other boots than Blundstones? Just wondering.
Like honestly folks, here's the elephant in the room: Our lovely home feels the need to dump endless amounts of cashola into needless crap (ahem, it's a good percentage of YOUR paycheque) like stadiums, signage for BS smoking spots and so forth. Have we totally forgotten or are just most of us unaware of the ridiculous amounts of unknown suicides related to mental health issues? And no, I'm not talking about depression and anxiety. Yes, I'm well aware these people suffer but so do 99% of the general public. I'm more so talking about severe, life-long conditions such as psychosis-related issues, personality disorders and so forth.
I'm not well versed in rocket appliances and I'm nowhere near a scientologist but I'd be willing to bet the back 40 on the fact that some of the homeless in the HRM suffer from some sort of mental illness. They are out there with little to no help. Hell, me being one of them, I cannot even get into therapy or get the support I need. There's guys out there that have cut their own fingers off being careless that receive crazy disability tax benefits and I'm trying to rob Joey to pay Ryan to get some Alpo so I'm not hungry. Like come on here, we have to all take a sit down and stop brushing off this huge issue. Almost all mental illnesses are treatable. And I'm not talking about pills galore. Proper nutrition, hydration, excercise and good therapy. Let's take some of our public funds and help our fellow person. Look at it as a long term investment. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and that my two cents for today. Or should I say five cents. We have to round up now apparently.
—A dude with a dog
Grind dude: “Hey! I saw you at the gym. I'd really like to fuck your ass but am not into your face. You cool if I hid your face and fuck you?”