Goodbye, Facebook. Duck you.

In 2008, I jumped on the Facebook bandwagon with a vengeance. I had two kids at that point, and the idea of being able to connect with friends, family, strangers, etc. seemed dreamy. I posted every cute family pic, every detail of my somewhat mundane existence, every opinion I had about anything, and every comical or inspiration meme I came across.

Over the past 11 years, I probably logged on at least twenty thousand times. Twenty thousand ducking times! I became reconnected with people that I was never really connected with in the first place. We don’t live in the dark ages. If they really wanted to connect, there are phones.

Nope, people jumped on social media because it is the perfect storm for bragging, complaining, yelling, and spying. Where else can you completely obliterate someone with insults, then block them before they can even respond. I love to fall down the rabbit hole of people’s pages with no privacy settings. All of a sudden, I am looking at pictures of the family of the sister of some guy who is friends with some woman who said something that irked me. I admit, I am the creepy guy with binoculars across the street. Ok, I’m not a guy, and I don’t own binoculars; however, I do have a computer, and I can maneuver through social media like the Pink Panther.

How many fights have I engaged in on FB? I can’t even count. I suppose the greatest aspect of FB is the fact that people will just put their true selves right out there for the world to judge. Based on that, I could easily discard people with unacceptable thoughts about anything from whether cilantro sucks (which it does,) to abortion rights (which don’t suck.)

I realized that nobody actually cares about my pictures of my kids with spaghetti all over their faces or the places I go on vacations. Of course, everyone just posts the vacation pics to rub it in to those who posted their vacation pics. “My beach vacay kicks your Disney vacays ass!” You don’t say it, but you mean it! I write because I like to write. I don’t really know what I enjoyed about feeding my insecurities by publishing my life for public scrutiny.

Now Facebook seems to be getting into the mind reading business. I find it super creepy when their advertising algorithms create content about shit I was just thinking about shopping for. They somehow know what crap I want that I never knew I wanted, nor did I ever need. Do I want the best socks on Earth? Hell yes! I especially do after you post 800 ads for it. I have now convinced myself that without socks that cost $20 a pair, my life is just not worth living. I have a ducking degree in advertising. I was taught how to manipulate the consumer. Not even a trained individual can resist the 50 ads for a kit to stamp a stupid word on a stupid metal ring to put on a stupid necklace so that you have a reminder to “Be Kind” or “Breathe.”

How many ducking memes do I need to inspire me to get off my ass and be happy. I know. Anger is a wasted emotion, exercise will help my mind and my body, the food I eat is the fuel for my mind, live in the moment and not in the past. Blah, blah, blah. Barf. Duck it. Eat, sleep, survive, repeat. Enough said.

To those who were unfriended: I either was trying to disconnect from FB, I don’t like you anymore, I never liked you but your connection added to my “Friends” number, I can’t stand you but I tolerated you for a while because your stupidity was amusing, I wanted to be your friend but I gave up, you voted for the orange pumpkin, I was only friends because you are family and I realized that genetics don’t mean shit, I stayed friends on FB for a while to avoid the conflict, etc. You get the picture.

It was a long run. It was exhausting at times. I am now jealous of those who never jumped on. Who knew that this little app called FB would become so pervasive in our lives and our society.

I know, I blog. However, for now, I am staying somewhat anonymous. I just need an outlet for my endless need to spew my stream of consciousness. If you enjoy FB, have at it. I get it. If you find that you lost your true self somewhere in the realm of social media, feel free to disengage.

I’m gonna go check on my Insta account now. Dude, I’m not perfect or a caveman!

Hey, Mark, go duck yourself. Peace out.

Stupid People Have More Fun

I constantly read articles about happiness. I am intrigued. Everyone thinks they have the key. They believe that they have found the secret to happiness. Be grateful. Practice forgiveness. Exercise. Pray to someone or something. Give your time and money to help others. Save an animal. Eat healthy. Jesus Christ, some even push that probiotics are the path to a blissful existence.

I am here to tell you that I have the answer to the whole enchilada. Be stupid! Be ignorant! Be complacent! Ditch empathy! You will be enlightened. Do you want to know why? You won’t give a duck…about anything.

You won’t watch the news, because you won’t understand it even if you do. You won’t care that nobody gives a duck about you, because you don’t give a duck about anyone else. You won’t care about the atrocities in your community or around the world. You won’t care about the details of life that plague the more intelligent humans on a constant basis.

Parenting: Well, you would be stupid, so the bar you would set for your kids and yourself would be pretty damn low. Who gives a duck what school they go to? Baby sign language? Duck that. Your kid would be lucky to get a bottle filled with Kool-Aid. Discipline? Um, no. School? You wouldn’t be able to help them with their work even if you wanted to. Isn’t that what you send them to school for? I could go on all day. I won’t. Let’s just say, that realm of parenting style isn’t pretty, but what is wrong with simply keeping kids alive? Everyone’s gotta have a goal!

Health: Stupid people end up at the hospital when they are literally dying or if they accidentally use bleach for contact solution. Haven’t you ever watched the thousands of videos displaying the result of stupid stunts? Hey guys, let’s put a slide, on a roof, covered in ketchup, and hope we land in the baby pool on the ground, fifteen feet below. That will definitely end well. Those blessed with even an ounce of brain power analyze EVERYTHING pertaining to health. Have a red spot? According to the web, you were either bitten by a mosquito or you are going to die from a flesh-eating bacteria. Have a stomach ache? You either need to go to the bathroom or you have cancer. Eat organic. Take vitamins. Watch out for sugar, carbs, gluten, soy, meat, fat, artificial sweeteners, and the rest of the foods on the long list of shit that will KILL you. Stupid people live on WHATEVER the duck they want to, and they don’t give a shit. They only run if they are being chased by a zombie…or clown. BTW, I am scared to death of clowns. Thank you, Poltergeist. You will not find any electronic device, analyzing everything from heart rate to step counts, attached to a dumb person. I will be purchasing mine in a few months. Do I exercise a lot? Nope.

Money: Roof? Food? Clothes? Stupid? You’re good. Some of the most resourceful people are actually not the truly smart ones. They rely on instincts to simply find some way to satisfy basic needs. It’s actually quite impressive. Smart people spend years of schooling and career building to attain the same needs. Does the fancy, luxury vehicle get you to the same spot as the bus? Do you really need 800 buttons in your car? Ok, maybe I’m talking crazy shit now. I like my buttons. I have no idea what half of them do. Those are for the “really smart” people, I suppose. Stupid people are definitely responsible for the majority of those “12 Great Hacks” for bullshit articles. The hacks are so ducking stupid, that a smart person would never come up with them.

I would love to see a study that compares the overall health of stupid people vs. intelligent people, because I have a theory that the stress of “living healthy” is ducking killing the brighter bulbs. Maybe Darwin wasn’t including intelligence in his definition of “fittest.”

Don’t give me shit about mocking people with lower IQ’s. Don’t attack me for the use of the word stupid. I am personally exhausted by the banning of particular words in the name of political correctness. I do not walk around, calling anyone stupid and neither should you. I just want to share my own observations, so you can understand why I would like to bash my head into a wall continuously until I am really stupid. Well, in comparison to Stephen Hawking, I am already there. No concussions necessary.

I think that stupidity would cure depression and anxiety across the globe. Fuck Prozac. They need to come up with a drug called, Stupenza, which gradually reduces your intelligence until you are at a level of stupid that you are content with.

Have a great day. Dare to be dumb!

Duck Germophobia

Germs, germs! Run for your life! No, wait. They are good for you. You will die if you eat, breathe, or touch anything. Your immune system needs germs to become stronger.

Confused yet? Welcome to my world.

The messages from the medical community and the media make me want to put myself in a plastic bubble. Well, the BPA from the plastic would kill me. I have never heard so many people present so many contradictory arguments regarding a seemingly simple topic in my life.

I came across an article about this particular subject in regard to cruise ships. The title did not indicate which way the author would lean. I jumped in. After all, I had always wanted to cruise until the bombardment of NOROVIRUS hysteria. The author boasted about her cruising expertise and enthusiasm. She then proceeded to give an elaborate list of sanitary precautions she takes to avoid getting sick. Let me tell you, from the “don’t touch anything” to “wipe everything” to “drink Purell,” I imagine that her cruising time becomes dominated by all of her cleansing protocols. Don’t even get me started about her rant about the buffets.  So, I think I will stick to hotels and airplanes. Oh, duck!

I used to be afraid of flying on an airplane due to the possibility of plummeting to the ground at rapid speeds to meet an instant death in a ball of flames. Good news! That fear does not plague me as much when I board a plane. Now, my panic attack starts in the gate where everyone sitting, waiting to board the plane. I look around. I analyze the population. The old man who can’t stop rubbing his furry nostrils catches my eye. The little kids with boogers flowing out of every facial orifice make me twinge. The teenager coughing up a lung into her baggy sweatshirt is causing small earthquakes in the area. I notice all of them. ALL OF THEM. I then start to consider who may be sitting next to me on the flight. OK, remember what you read in the 8 million articles about the germs on planes. Board the plane. Try to make your way to your seat, in the back of the plane (safest supposedly?), try to sit by the window or aisle (less people next to you), turn off the air vent above, wipe down tray and arm rests with alcohol wipes. Then, when all of that is done, just pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that you have done enough to avoid the Plague.

When you arrive at your destination, wash your clothes in the hottest water and shower. Clean very well, but definitely don’t use anti-bacterial soap. It will kill the abundance of deathly bacteria covering you from head to toe….but, it will apparently kill you in the process. Germs are good! Germs are bad! Are you keeping up? Good. Me neither. Maybe I will stick to road trips and hotels. Crap!

As soon as you arrive at your hotel, take a deep breath and begin to relax…just don’t forget about the critters. What critters, you ask? The bugs. The BED BUGS!!!! Don’t put your suitcase down on the bed or floor. So, you know when you walk into your lovely hotel room and notice the extremely useful desk that you could use for an abundance of purposes? Nope. That, my friend, is your luggage rack. Now, don’t freak out. You just need to examine the sheets, and get ready for a restful night of paranoia that bugs are crawling all over you. When your night of blissful slumber comes to a conclusion, get ready for that amazingly hot, rejuvenating shower. STOP! Examine your whole body, paying close attention to any tracks of bug bites that tend to create some semblance of a line. Is it there? You may now shit your pants. Your life has come to an end. I could go into what has to happen after that, but you have Google for that. Put it this way, your family should expect you back wrapped in a plastic garbage bag with no belongings. 

You seriously don’t want to know what goes on when the hotel is actually “cleaning” your room. Drinking glass, anyone? Hell no.  Walk around barefoot? Are you ducking nuts?

Appreciate the germs. They keep our immune system healthy. Wipe the shopping carts with the provided wipes at the entrance to the store. Your phone and kitchen sponge have more germs on them than a public toilet. Clean those. No, don’t clean them. Just throw them away. While you are at it, clean your own toilet, too. Send your kids to schools filled with germs…have no fear, they will be totally fine!

When you use a public restroom, enter at your own risk. Personally, I carry a hazardous materials suit designed to keep Anthrax out. Don’t touch ANYTHING! Use your super power that gives you the ability to travel through walls and doors. HOVER! Don’t hover. Hover! Ok, a recent article…I told you I read useful stuff (eye roll warranted)…that argued the pros and cons of hovering in the restroom. Some women were like, “Oh my GOD, I will never place my precious ass on a public toilet seat.” Other women said, “If everyone would just sit, nobody would spray! It would be so much cleaner.” I don’t think we can rely on an entire gender to follow one particular protocol. Have you ever tried to line the seat with the seat protectors or with toilet paper? Disaster. They either fall in the toilet, on the floor, or don’t fully cover the seat. Duck that. The best is when you walk in the stall and notice that the toilet paper is already dragging on the floor. That becomes a huge, no-win situation. So, I hover dammit! Consider it quality exercise for your quads, plus I think there is a yoga pose called “Downward Hoo-Ha.” Add in the karate kick to flush, and you have completed a full workout. I mastered this while pregnant, on crutches, in stalls the size of a phone booth, etc. At least once a week, I manage this on ROLLER SKATES! You can do it! Then yes, I feel obligated to wipe away any spray along with the spray remaining from the five other people that sprayed before me. You are welcome. If you choose to sit, it is your prerogative and your dirty ass. Oh, and if it is one of the automatic flushing, super-charged, tornado toilets…you are screwed no matter what. You are just lathered in fecal matter. 

Oh, were you looking for a point? Nah. Nope. Nada. I am just dragging you into my insanity.

Go hang out in the bathroom, on a cruise ship that you flew to get to, while talking on your phone, after eating everything off of a buffet. Life is too short. I think. Duck it.

Duck

Fuck this.

Let me start with a bit of cultural background. My parents are New Yorkers, and I grew up in Miami. Enough said. The language spoken around me throughout my childhood was certainly colorful, and I learned to appreciate expletives. I was certainly not allowed to use such words as a child, but I had enough exposure to have a quality education in the timing and effectiveness that certain words offered.

Today, I would like to focus on one particular word. Fuck. This word is one of the most amazing words to ever be adopted by English speakers. Other countries have words that serve as their equivalent; however, I truly think that the exquisiteness of the word “fuck” is superior to any other word in any other language. I will skip over the discussion of how it can serve as almost any part of speech. My main purpose of this rant is to raise awareness of how the word “fuck” rocks the minds of so many.

For many years, I censored my “potty mouth,” depending on the company I was with. I spent time actually concerned with others’ perception of me based on my usage of the word. I suppose my current mid-life crisis has granted me the freedom to set my mouth free. Some people don’t even blink when I say “fuck.” I immediately feel a kindred spirit connection to those (even if they are the total embodiment of evil).

I tend to be a somewhat confrontational person. OK, I can be a seriously major bitch if I am given a satisfactory adversary who needs a beneficial smack down. So, I tend to include “fuck” and other expletives in my attacks. The words are usually dispersed within a cohesive, usually intelligent argument.

On to my intended point of this post. What the fuck is wrong with the word “fuck?” You can spout out the words crap, shit, damn, bitch, etc. Thanks to the orange man, you can even throw around the word pussy if you feel inclined. Ok, not really. However, if you say, “FUCK,” people act like you just ate their puppy. Their eyes widen as if they saw an alien pop out of your head.

I argued with a big oil exec last night. In the middle of the argument against fracking, I asked him how he could “fucking live with himself.” His rebuttal immediately went straight for the use of the word fuck in my statement. Never once, did he offer any response to my questions regarding his industry. He even said that my simple use of the word constituted a threat! This was a grown-ass man. I have a Master’s degree and 41 years of life, that I believe, give me the right to say fuck without being treated like I pointed a gun at a baby.

People, it is a WORD! I don’t use it around my kids. I don’t use it in a professional setting. But, in my personal life, I will say whatever the fuck I want to. People want us to take away the power of the “N” word. I have never and will never say that word in my life. Fuck is not a racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, or even political word! It is a combination of four beautiful letters, placed together, for me to use in order to better convey any message.

So, when you hear someone say the word, “Fuck,” please take a moment to analyze your mental shock. There is no commandment in the Bible that bans it. They will not go to jail for saying it, unless they insist that the word is used in the context of a forced sexual assault. That would be bad. Very bad. They aren’t beating a child. They may have a level of intelligence that is equal to your own…or far exceeds it. LET IT FUCKING GO. As a matter of fact, if you are not accustomed to saying it, try it. It can be liberating! So, let me conclude this fucking ridiculous rant. Anyone that feels as though they are better than someone who says “fuck,” go fuck yourself. And, by the way, when you post something such as, “F$&@,” everyone knows that you are saying FUCK! Spare me the random symbols and just say it. The word works. If I tell you I’m in trouble, you may wonder the level of my predicament. If I say that “I am FUCKED,” you better understand that the situation is pretty fucking serious.

Have a fucking awesome day!

Extra Strength

Hold on to your seats and get ready for EXTRA laughter (sarcasm in case you need proof of my humility.) In a society full of excess, one of my overly abundant aggravations is the use of the word “Extra,” in EVERYTHING. Consumerism must have reached such a saturation point for marketing professionals, that the only way to interest customers to change their product loyalty was to add the word “Extra.” I noticed this first with my favorite example.

Deodorant. Yes, deodorant. I know. Most people are brand loyal to their particular deodorant. For years, you have chosen a particular brand, scent, application method, etc. So, someone making too much money, sat in their office and came up with a brilliant idea. Let’s offer different degrees of effectiveness for deodorant. What the fuck? Now some brands read, “Extra Strength” on their packaging. No, I would prefer the lets-you-sweat-and-smell-a-little variety. Are you serious? If I’m buying deodorant, just assume I want whatever you have to maximize the sweat and smell problem. Why would I ever choose the lowest protection?

“Extra Strength” medicine. No thank you. I only want it to work a little. I want my headache to linger. It makes me feel more in touch with my mind/body connection. It will be a phenomenal reminder of how fucking bad it was. My toothache will be alright if it only hurts like fuck instead of making me want to bash my head in a wall and take a hammer to it.

“Extra Strength” hair spray. You know, at around 3pm, I would prefer my hair to look like complete shit. Give me the low strength crap that leaves me looking like a shaggy dog by lunch.

“Extra Soft” toilet paper. There is nothing better than having my ass feel like it is on fire after using the restroom. I really love the sandpaper variety. It makes me feel like I have not only cleaned up, but also like I have given myself a good exfoliation of my derrière. You know how you feel when you leave a public restroom that uses the sandpaper variety? Do you know how you would like to kill the person you live with when they come home with this stuff for whatever ungodly reason? There are some luxuries in life that can certainly live with, but leave my damn “extra soft” toilet paper alone! I know, first-world problems. Better than leaves…maybe.

Now with “Extra.” I have beef with companies that use this manipulation. So, you’ve been holding out on me, or people have stopped buying your product. In order to keep customers or acquire new ones, you have to put “extra” in there. Lame.

I would like to urge individuals and companies to spare me the modifiers altogether. Less calories, more protein, better protection, fewer chemicals, bigger bottle, and EXTRA ANYTHING. I know I live in a privileged society. I know I should be content with the fact that I have deodorant, hair spray, toilet paper, etc. everyone has to bitch about something. So, this was my rant for the day.

Feel free to leave EXTRA examples that you will find EVERY DAY!