The One Where I Got Into The Dumpster

Happy Autumn and stuff. I stole this from someone who had stolen it from http://www.mcsweeneys.net/ . Sorry if the language offends, but if "It's decorative gourd season, motherfuckers," doesn't make you laugh, come here, honey, because you need a hug...

IT'S DECORATIVE GOURD SEASON, MOTHERFUCKERS.
BY COLIN NISSAN
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I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I'm about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it's gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There's a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.
I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I'm going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, "Aren't those gourds straining your neck?" And I'm just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, "It's fall, fuckfaces. You're either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you're not."

HAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Thanks, I needed that.

I'm going through one of my cute little bouts of melancholy. I hate my job, I hate my house, I hate myself, I hate the weather, I hate my past, I hate my future...in short, I've been in a rather negative mindset.

I was in just this sort of mood this evening, after coming home from work in the freezing rain, when I accidentally threw out my husband's debit card in the dumpster. Don't you hate it when you accidentally throw your husband's debit card in the dumpster? Of course, I got my little polka dotted rain boots on, and climbed into the dumpster to look for it. One of the guys from the restaurant downstairs held the dumpster lid open for me, and used his iphone for a flashlight quite gallantly. I think he was afraid that my husband might actually murder me for my stupidity. In his country, this would be justifiable homicide. I found pizza boxes. I found rabbit shit. I found junk mail. I got very stinky, but I did not find the debit card.

So, I come upstairs to my husband, feeling like french fried roadkill in my defeat, cold rain running down my neck and smelling of garbage.

"I didn't find it," I say, with tears in my eyes. I go into the bathroom and start a shower.

Now, I know I'm the one at fault here, so clearly I am in no position to criticize, but the man says to me,"Whatcha doing? Taking a bath?"

I squinted at him, trying to tell if he was making some sort of a joke that I had missed in my misery. There was no sign of joking.

"Yes, dear. I just climbed out of a dumpster. "

"Oh, right."

And now, for your musical entertainment, an amusing yet beautiful cover of Offspring's Self Esteem:

Tomorrow is another day.

Thanks for stopping by.

It's fall, fuckfaces.