Negativesmart

This is a post about something that drives me insane. Aren’t they all posts about somethings that drive me insane? I’m posting this mainly to ensure that you, dear reader, go mad with me.

Have you ever noticed that people often insert an extra “is” into sentences containing wording similar to “the thing is that”? Well, they do. Almost every time. “The thing is is that”. I wouldn’t even say that the “that” is totally necessary, but the double “is” is infuriating.

Yep.

Annoying poster for annoying movie., originally uploaded by Lintilla.

I don’t give even a fifth of a shit about “Sex and the City”, but I keep seeing this poster about, and it demonstrates something that pops up to annoy me every now and again.

The poster features four actresses playing four characters. It also features their names. The names are listed in order of importance. Sarah Jessica Parker obviously gets top billing.

The names are also aligned with the four people in the photograph. However, those people are not standing in a row in order of descending importance. Therefore, while the names appear to label these women, the names do not match the faces.

Can you see how this could be confusing to someone who didn’t already know the actresses names? I happen to know them, which is why this is able bug me, but if I didn’t, I’d probably want to assume that that’s Sarah Jessica Parker there on the left.

I understand the reasons for listing the names in that order. I understand the reasons for lining the names up with the people (just looks better, most of the time). So I’m going to have to demand that from now on, only photographs where the actors are standing ordered based on how much money they make from left to right are allowed to be used for movie posters and DVD covers.

Thanks, bye.

Creepy flower, originally uploaded by Lintilla.

Here’s a houseplant I bought at Ikea. Some sort of palm, as far I know. I’ve had a bunch of these things, and I’ve never seen one flower before (is that a flower!), and really, that yellow thing is kind of creepy, isn’t it. I hope it will refrain from growing any more of them. I bet I’m allergic to that shit, too.

It’s obviously not blooming (word doesn’t really fit, if you ask me) because I’m treating it well. It’s probably been speaking with my other plants, and has learned how many of its plant brothers and sisters have been massacred by me (and they’ve only seen a fraction of it, because those living now have had relatively short lives). It’s clearly trying to reproduce before its inevitable demise. I just realized how dry the soil looks in that photo. What? Plants need water to live? News to me! (I’ve had plenty of succulents die of dehydration). I’ve never seen one of these flower before most likely because one has never survived long enough.

(Unrelated to this plant: “photo”, short for “photograph” is a legitimate word now. “Pic” will have its day yet.)

And hey, good news: I’ve figured out what compels me to post blog entries — responsibility / obligation avoidance. Everybody just give me a lot of shit to do, and I’ll put it off by posting here instead. Drought over! Actually, the explanation could also be several other unmentionable factors. But the avoidance rationale is good enough.

I guess I’m going to get back to laying-out some CD liner dip dop.

Motherfucking beans on toast!, originally uploaded by Lintilla.

Yeah, that’s all I have to say.

This is basically the only food I have in my apartment right now. Cans and cans of beans.

Next time I post I will be an elephant. My metabolism committed suicide when I turned 26.

I had something more interesting I was thinking about posting this morning, but then I went to work and died a little inside. (Speaking of things that have committed suicide lately: my creativity). I think it was about laziness. Such a post was quite obviously never destined to happen.

Look. I think it’s perfectly legitimate, if you’re resurrected, to adopt a new (re)birthday on the date you became one of the undead. But if you’re going to do so, as far as I’m concerned, you forfeit your original birthday.

So what’ll it be, Jesus? Christmas, or Easter? You can’t have both. I know you’re just in it for the extra presents (everyone knows that people with birthdays near Christmas get stiffed), but fucking shit — whether you came back from the dead or not in the first place (and you didn’t, because that’s impossible — but supposing you might have), you’re dead as a doornail now. Considering this, you probably don’t merit even one birthday party a year.

I really don’t think that it’s fair that your worm-eaten ass gets to inconvenience those of us that choose not to form deep personal relationships with corpses (seriously, people, that’s pretty morbid) by closing down everything but IHOP multiple times per year. All I got to do today was sit around and stew about my ruined weekend plans.

Could you bastards at least arrange to hold your borrowed pagan fertility festival on the same day each year? For those of use who aren’t Christians (or at least, for me), it’s pretty easy to lose track of the precise date, on account of it holds absolutely no meaning whatsoever.

Yeah, that’s not really relevant to this post at all, but I’m obligated to say some such lameass thing whenever I eat this candy, and Sean ain’t here to hear it (and as if there’s every anything relevant to anything in this space to begin with). Nips hard candy. Hard Nips. Who the fuck named these. Alls I know is they’re going to rip the molars out of my jaw one of these days.

And.

Yeah, so I disappear for months at a time now and then. It’s just what I do. Check the archives. Those gaps can be blamed 50/50 on sleeping on floors and having no internet access, or super mental bouts of depression (also, catastrophic data loss). I haven’t been sleeping on floors lately, BTW. But I figured… it’s freakin’ March and shit, lady. Snap the fuck out of it. The last time I posted anything here was November. Pretty bad.

I also blame Twitter, in part, because now I can complain about anything instantly, and get it out of my system before it becomes a full-fledged rant that I need to blather on about later. And having a job, and having no ability to post blog entries on the bus, which is where most of the annoyances in my life occur (thank fucking Jebus that puffy coat season is almost over). Those all get written down on paper. And I can’t read half of them later, so they’re just lost. I think I’ve also written approximately 7642 drafts (25 in actuality, at least 3 of which are about how much Comcast sucks) but I just haven’t had an attention span to match that of a goldfish since fall.

Meh to all of this. I’ll be sure to post something more interesting in another four months or so. I’m going to make chili now. And repot some plants. And clean the bathroom. And drink some beer. And most importantly, get off of my damned ass. I hate computers.

Ah, the weekend. Two weeks ago, I didn’t have these. If you don’t have a job, go to school, or belong to a religion that observes a holy day of some sort, the week has no beginning, and no end. It’s an endless loop of doing whatever the fuck you want. You don’t know what day of the week it is, and it doesn’t matter. You don’t know what time it is, and it doesn’t matter. If you feel like getting drunk at 10am on a Tuesday, that’s alright. You can go to bed at 4pm, and wake up hungover at midnight. If you feel like using an entire day to alphabetize everything in your house, that’s fine, too. You won’t feel like you’ve wasted time you could have used to do something that was somehow better. You don’t need to feel like you’re having the most fun, the best possible fun, the most fun per ounce, every second of your free time, every single day — because time is one thing you’re definitely not short on.

But this weekend shit is stressful. I don’t need all this pressure to have a good time. I kind of feel like sitting here, doing absolutely nothing, which is pretty much what I am actually doing. But I feel like I could be enjoying myself so much more effectively doing something else. I’m going to regret this later on, I know it. Tonight, just as soon as I realize that there were so many other things I could have done instead, and I missed the opportunity. Definitely tomorrow, when it’s Sunday, and it’s my last chance to get things done (before 5pm when everything closes, at that — talk about pressure). And on Sunday night, when it’s the last minute, it’ll really already be too late. I’ll have to go to bed early to wake up on Monday. Ah, Monday. When I’ll want to shoot myself in the face for having wasted the weekend.

I really kind of like sitting around doing nothing. So why does it feel like such a waste of time? Or, why should I feel like wasting time is not something I should be okay with?

If you’re going to call the flavour of your juice “orange tangerine”, the main ingredient shouldn’t be apple juice. It’s a good thing I happen to like apple juice, and that I knew what I was in for (reading labels is good for you), because otherwise this entry wouldn’t be so short, and I’d be missing reality television in a few minutes. But I’m just sayin’. It’s not even technically a lie, I guess. There are oranges and tangerines (which were also oranges, last time I checked) in there somewhere. It’s worse. They’re trying to be sneaky. Goddamn disingenuous beverages!

pigs 1, originally uploaded by mariacaridad.

Sean and I are so over filthy, deadbeat roommates. We’re doing the post-filthy, deadbeat roommate cleanup this weekend. Pro-tip: do not live with filthy deadbeats! Even if they are (ostensibly) your friend, and they’re suddenly desperate for a place to stay. You will hate your life. Definitely don’t do it three or four times in a row, either. Fuck, don’t live with friends, period. You let them slip once, because they’re a little short on rent and they’re your friend, after all… you’ll never see a single cent on time again.

Actually, don’t live with anyone. Hell is other people. So true. Sartre knew what he was talking about.

We’ve rented a steam cleaner to prevent weeds being able to grow in our carpet due to the layer of topsoil that has accumulated. (I still don’t understand the whole American shoes on in the house thing. Is this attitude somehow perpetuated by Stanley Steemer?)

Last night I washed, dried, and then bleached the walls in the empty room — and they’re still grimy as hell. Looking forward to paying to have this place repainted when we move out.

Just a while ago, I started (but could not finish without a sand-blaster) washing the sink full of dirty dishes that was lovingly left for us, all with food baked on and burnt on. Hadn’t even been soaked. Awesome!

(Side-note: I grew up with three siblings, and these days I don’t have many possessions. Both of those factors make me very aware of the things I do own. In doing the count putting those dishes away today, the missing items are as follows: two plates, a bunch of spoons, the lid to a sugar bowl, four shot glasses, quite a bit of Tupperware, and exactly eight forks — including every single dessert fork I had).

I’m about to go clean out the fridge, because it’s full of crumb-filled, squished-up margarine wrappers (ew, can’t believe I even let that filth in my apartment in the first place), “mystery” items, and coffee grounds. I hate everything about coffee. Especially the smell. Especially the taste. Especially cleaning up the coffee grounds from every inch of the kitchen, and the coffee ring and splatter stains on the counter (with bleach — the counter is white). But I won’t have to do it every single day anymore. So one last time only makes me mildly livid.

All this BS (plus cleaning the bathroom, floors, and well… everything else, all the time, because nobody else was ever going to do it), and we still haven’t gotten October’s rent. Definitely worth the hassle… I’m so happy we won’t have to deal with this anymore! And I’m so happy that now that I’ve got a job, I’ll be able to spend some money on buying nice things to put in our apartment without having to worry about them being ruined. Hells yes to no longer living in an apartment that looks like a dorm room!

Yeah, so I’ve had a working internet connection for a while now. I’ve just been neglecting my site on account of eleventy-billion things have happened recently. I gots me a new job, doing web design junk for some company or other. We gots us a new roommate around here, and he even pays rent (on time and in full, like WTF)! We gots us rid of and old roommate, which is alright by me, because I was getting kind of sick of being treated like a maid / provider of complimentary toiletries. Perhaps he thought that this was a hotel. But, perhaps not. Hotels generally expect you to pay. Meh! Hm, also Sean got back from tour, so we had to reacquaint, by which I mean that we had to drink beer and get caught up on all the episodes of South Park / It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia / The Simpsons and whatever other dumb shit we watch (47 braincell-destroying reality shows, mostly) (you know, this irritates me every time I want to italicize a title — I know that the italics tag is supposed to be deprecated, but that’s retarded, because sometimes I really do want to explicitly indicate that something should be in italics, not just that I want to emphasize it, and I shouldn’t have to make a CSS class called “title” just for that, because FUCK).

I’m pretty well back in equilibrium now, though. So maybe I’ll get back to the posting. And maybe I won’t. That’s just the way things work around here. Some of those months that are missing from the archives were due to catastrophic data loss, but plenty of them are missing because blogging is for losers. Or also because I didn’t have internet and was sleeping on other peoples’ floors, etc. etc. You could always just read my Twitter updates, anyway. They say the same thing, but they’re much more concise. And the thing is, if I complain about something on Twitter first, it seems pointless to me to bring it up again here, thus saving the internet from lengthy rants about nothing of consequence.

I’m sleepy. Bye now.

So, it turns out that AT&T can’t get me reconnected until the 16th. Full-length rant is forthcoming, but I’m going to give myself a little time to get angrier, first. I might call Covad/Speakeasy and see if there’s anything they can do for me, because I’d love to get rid of AT&T altogether, but it looks like my cheapest option without having to bother with a useless dialtone is more than $50. At least I’ve got tons and tons of stuff to watch until then. And at least I’ve got some form of internet. Don’t know what I’d do without RSS. Die, probably.

Jynnan tonnyx and Jeeves & Wooster time.

My dry loop internet still isn’t up and running (fuck you AT&T), but I did finally figure out how to get online using T-Mobile GPRS on my cell. Every time I mention anything remotely technical I get hit with searches from people having issues, so here’s the secret, BTW: for anything other than e-mail, if you want to use T-Mobile GPRS on your computer, you need to use 216.155.165.50:8080 as a proxy. I’m leaving it to you to figure out how to connect your phone to your computer in the first place…

Subject change:

Whatever. I’m posting because I just realized that I haven’t pimped my husband’s freakin’ band’s tour on my site yet. They hit the first of four California stops tonight (I’m being quite literal with the date — I’m writing this just after midnight), and I know that a few of my regular readers are out that way. So, if you don’t check Cyanotic out (oh, and Acumen Nation/DJ? Acucrack, too), you’re dead to me. I failed to school you Seattle fuckers in time, so you got off easy if you missed them mere hours ago — but then again, you also fucking suck, because I guarantee you didn’t have anything nearly as good to do on a Wednesday night, unless you just can’t bear the thought of missing America’s Next Top Model.

Sean’s been telling me that so far, this is turning out to be the best goddamn tour ever. And I can’t be there! (I hope it’s just a coincedence that it’s also the first tour I haven’t tagged along on.) So unless you hate me, you’ll allow me to live vicariously through you. Because I hate to miss a good opportunity to rock out with my cock out* to some boot-stompin’, ass-shakin’ industrial music. We are definitely not talking wimpy, whiny, pansy-ass EBM pablum here (oh my fuck, they’ve got guitars!), but then, while Cyanotic hails to old-school aggression, we’re equally not talking about old and moldy, dead and decaying 80s throwback crap. These guys are not afraid to kick things up a notch (I just made myself vomit, using that phrase) (bam!) by mixing in harsh electronics, breakbeats, wicked distortion, and glitchy goddamn everything (without getting all cheesily bleep-bloop on ya). Look out, honey, ’cause they’re using technology! Re-Gen magazine, as all music magazines are given to do, pulls an absurd metaphor out of their ass, and describes the music of Transhuman 2.0 as “penetrat[ing] your speakers like a murderous cyborg with a jackhammer”. Fucking aces! What more do you want?

In summary, if you’re on the west coast, and don’t check this shit out in the next few days, you’re fully retarded.

The remaining dates on the Cyanotic-Acumen Nation-DJ? Acucrack PsychoTranshumanoid tour are:

• 10/11/07 - San Francisco, CA
• 10/12/07 - San Diego, CA
• 10/13/07 - Riverside, CA
• 10/14/07 - Los Angeles, CA
• 10/15/07 - Phoenix, AZ
• 10/16/07 - El Paso, TX
• 10/17/07 - Houston, TX
• 10/18/07 - Austin, TX
• 10/20/07 - St. Louis, MO
• 10/21/07 - Chicago, IL

I’ll see all of you Chicago bastards when the Cyanotic and Acumen guys bring the noise to Double Door on the 21st!

_{* I do not, in fact, possess a cock. Well, except of the detachable variety.}

I had a life on the weekend, and my internet was out for the last two and a half days. On top of that, Sean is leaving for his tour tomorrow, so there have been all sorts of people running around over here getting ready, and I’ve got a ton of things to help him with before he heads out. I’ll be back to my usual internet addiction over the weekend, but on Monday my internet will be disconnected in preparation for having AT&T switch me over to dry loop DSL (if you didn’t know you could do this, it’s new, and you can read about it over at The Consumerist — pay attention to the comments, because the phone number given doesn’t apply to all areas). I’m not sure why I have to be disconnected for two days, but that’s just how it works, apparently. It’s worth it to me to save $30 or so a month on a phone line I never wanted nor used in the first place. My internet will be back up and running again (in theory) on the 10th. Whee. See ya.

Most of the people I associate with online and off are college students, college dropouts, freelancers, or artists of various sorts. I fall into several of those categories, myself. None of us have a lot of much any money, so it is absolutely necessary to economize. Sometimes this means buying the cheapest available products. Buying the cheapest products requires determining exactly which products those are.

A small bottle (14 oz.) of mustard costs $1.89. A bigger bottle (20 oz.) of mustard costs $2.19. Which bottle of mustard is cheaper? Duh. The small one. Which mustard is cheaper? Duh. The mustard that comes in the bigger bottle. Which one do you buy? Well… a bottle of mustard doesn’t go bad for upwards of a year. Duh. Buy the bigger one. Hell, buy the biggest one (I took the prices from Peapod, and they don’t have many options to choose from). You’ll probably want to make sure you buy the least expensive brand, too. Because it’s freakin’ mustard. Seriously. The ingredients consist mainly of water, vinegar, and mustard. You’re not going to notice much of a difference.

Unless you’re buying something that goes bad quickly (bread, for instance, and even then, you could potentially freeze it — not that you can usually buy bread in bulk anyway), you should almost always buy the biggest size possible. Or whichever option has the lowest price per unit (the local Jewel has smallest sizes of antihistamines and aluminum foil priced lower per unit than the largest — I presume they must have some sort of logic behind that). This doesn’t even require math skills anymore. Most stores have unit cost on their labels these days.

But what do I see people doing time and time again? Buying the smallest, cheapest possible unit of things (and often the smallest option is a brand name, bumping the ppu up even more). What suckers! You could have been saving those extra pennies, or at least buying beer with them (maybe economizing = more beer^* will motivate you). Way to stay broke for the rest of your life! The usual excuse is “but I don’t have enough money to get everything I need, if I don’t buy the smallest one.” Okay. Fine. That works. For the tail end of one paycheque. Next time, think ahead. If you always go with the most cost effective option instead of the (momentarily) cheapest option, you won’t have to rebuy everything 12 times a month. You’ll just have to refill them as they run out, which will be much less frequently.

Now, times when you might want to consider buying things that are smaller or more expensive do pop up. Maybe you don’t have much storage space. Maybe the brand name of something is watered down. Maybe you don’t have a car and you can’t carry the largest fricken’ sack of potatoes home. Maybe when it comes to things other than groceries, it’s better to spend $150 on a pair of shoes that will last you 5 years than to buy a pair of $25 shoes every six months (plus, guys, better shoes will get you chicks). I’d tell you to work out the math, but if you can’t even figure out which bottle of mustard to buy, you’re a lost cause, anyway.

P.S. If you’re broke, stop buying bottled water. Seriously. You’re a moron.

P.P.S. 1-ply toilet paper won’t save you money. It’ll tear up your ass, and you’ll just use three times as much of it. 3 x 1-ply = 3-ply. It’s Cottonelle in bulk for my posterior.

^{* Not that you should be drinking beer, when it’s so much more cost and time effective if you buy the hard stuff.}

I don’t have much to say right now, Internet.

So. #1. I don’t know whether anyone ever looks at all the junk in my sidebars, but if my blog is temporarily boring, you can always get everything in that Google Reader Shared box over there formatted as its own fancy little blog. If I’m not posting shit, it’s probably because I’m having a life, doing something productive (riiiiight — but it actually happened the last few days), or spending time with my other favourite glowing box. But I usually check my RSS feeds, and I hit the share button pretty frequently. Most of the posts I share are about hating Jesus, being frustrated by creduloids, Chicago, Toronto, or good ol’ Random Crap. If any of those interest you (who the hell doesn’t love Random Crap), you win. If you’re extra super fond of Stupid or Random Crap, you could also pay closer attention to my YouTube Favorites, also available as an RSS feed. Kind of makes me wonder how many other bread crumb trails there are of mine that I’m leaving all over the internet, that I haven’t cared about / used / discovered yet. Let’s find out! Okay, let’s not.

#2. I forgot what number 2 was supposed to be while I was writing number 1.

#3. There never was any number 3.

Tipsy Zombos, originally uploaded by Lintilla.

Wait, I didn’t post, this, eh. You should always assume that if you see one, that there are hundreds more that you don’t see, but I’m not in the mood to check all the baseboards for more photographs of women covered in chocolate syrup. Anyway, yeah, this is what I do with my spare time these days, apparently. I’m the one who can’t see due to drink mix, if you don’t visit this site often enough to have established that I’m a blonde twig.

Take off, eh.

That’s all I have to say about that.

And fuck all you pseudo-Libertarian (hell, big L or little l) douchebags, too.

…

Not really having anything to do with Ron Paul, though, but…

Why is it that so many intelligent people that I respect for so many reasons happen to be dipshit libertarian asshats? Why?

Penn & Teller. Trey Parker & Matt Stone. Why? Seriously. What the fuck. They’re so smart, otherwise.

Is it just because as Americans, they’ve seen the government fuck up so badly that they can’t see any solution other than getting rid of the whole damned thing? Or what.

I dunno. I’m drunk. But I’m also Canadian, and a semihemidemi-socialist.

More taxes for everyone!

Yayyyyyy taxes!

She Prefers Dasani, originally uploaded by mckayormacky.

I can’t believe people still don’t feel like complete suckers when they buy bottled water. I can’t believe they allow themselves to be seen in public, displaying their lack of planning skills and/or braincells to the world. I don’t even have anything to add to the bottled water discussion, because it’s all been said before.

It costs more per gallon than gasoline. It’s just tap water, anyway. It has less stringent quality standards compared to municipal water. Blah blah blah. You look a fool. 10x more a fool if I see you walking around with any of that expensive imported Whole Foods shit. Fucking. What. The fuck. Is it organic hydrogen oxide? (I will leave ranting about that pretentious fucking hipster store for another day.)

And yes. Dasani tastes like soap.

The only proper use for bottled water is to store in case of emergency.

I mean, you bastards do know that bottled water is a scam, right? As in, PepsiCo and Coca-Cola knowingly created a “need” out of thin air. You do realize that there are periodicals with names like “Beverage Industry Magazine” and “Beverage Digest” that run articles asking questions like “What can we do about those pesky assholes who come to establishments where our products are served, and then insist on ordering water, preventing us from getting their money?”. I wish I could find the specific article I’m thinking of (yes, I read periodicals with names like “Beverage Industry Magazine” — do not get me drunk and start talking about soft drinks, because I will bore you to death), because it was almost in those words. But I believe it may have been something that got accessed years ago that wasn’t meant to be seen by anyone not involved in the industry.

There must be other ways to monetize stupidity. I need to start brainstorming.

(P.S. While searching for Dasani on Flickr, I found a number of photos of a child by the same name. Which is… just special.)

I don’t want to go to the post office.

I don’t want to go to the store.

I don’t want to buy the following:

• Tinfoil
• Vitamins
• Potatoes
• Tomato sauce
• Pasta
• Ground black pepper
• Olive oil
• Paper towels
• Toilet paper
• Ketchup
• Floor cleaner
• Contact lens solution
• Cat food
• Razor blades
• Hamburger buns

And I know you don’t want to hear about it. But you might as well be bored right along with me, and I have nothing more interesting to do or write.

If you have a problem with that, get off of my blog, and take your stupid with you, stupids.

I reserve the right to bastardize the English language in any way I please. I feel entitled to break the rules based on my above average knowledge of, pff, well. Everything. Breaking rules because you’re a dummy is just dumbness. But breaking them on purpose is amusing, and I’m just so durn darn smart that it’s actually impossible for me to succumb to accidental errorism. I’m a little bit modest about it sometimes, but it’s a fact — I’ve never made a mistake in my life. Anything that happens to look even a little bit mistakey is designed that way.

…

Do you ever have the feeling that people just don’t “get” you… Yeah… ’cause…

I guess it’s hard for the imperfect to comprehend the utter perfectness of my perfection.

I have no idea what I’m talking about.

“I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.”

I’m going to go watch The Pickup Artist.

I’ve been watching old commercials all afternoon on YouTube. Send me more! I demand that someone finds me Thomas Cavanagh doing Labatt Blue Light (”If I wanted water, I’d ask for water!”), because I can’t seem to track it down.

I wish I hadn’t been such a nerd, and edited all the commercials out of my VHS tapes of the X-Files most of the time. Or that I hadn’t thrown the tapes away when the show came out on DVD.

More zombie goodness last night… Above is what I looked like when I got home. Luckily the fake blood didn’t stain anything, including my hair, but it’s a bitch getting that stuff in your eyes, for future reference (at least if you’re wearing contacts). I was half blind for a little bit there, but I don’t think I klutzed it up too much, considering. I haven’t noticed any new bruises that don’t wash off, at least. Last time, I was covered in them. Then again, that seems to be the case most days. I pretty much guarantee that since I’m not really awake yet, that the first thing I’ll do once I get up to get back into bed in a minute will be… walking straight into my doorpost.

Hey, internet perverts! I know you’re out there! (And seriously, who doesn’t have a fetish that they’d rather not reveal outside of the anonymity of the interbutts?)

Achoo.

Achooooo.

Aaaaaa-fucking–choooooo.

I can’t stop sneezing anyway.

Can someone at least pay me for this shit, please?

Who the hell just found my website by searching for “instructions kd macaroni”. First of all, the instructions are on the box, brainiac. Second… anyone who calls it KD shouldn’t need instructions, because if you’re Canadian, you’re born with the required knowledge. The amounts of ingredients are instinctual. If you use a measuring cup, you’re a phony.

Annnnnd, I’m going to bed.