The Hard Times Of Raisins.

For some reason I don't wish to explain, there is an economy sized bag of raisins in my kitchen. The raisins are actually quite good, and I eat them regularly (that is, if my rabid monkeyshark I call my sister doesn't devour them first). I never really read the packaging, but out of the stabbing pains of boredom, I decided to read the package. The first thing I saw:

If these raisins do not meet these rigorous standards, please call the following number (1-800-some-shit) at ONLY these times (ass o'clock in the morning and sleepy time at night)

What world do we live in that even raisins are subject to the horrible standards us humans must be put through? When I'm bored, I think of crazy shit. So sitting here, eating rejected grapes, I thought of the life of a raisin. So, here you go.

The Hard Life Of A Raisin

1. Grapes are pressured to become skinny and wrinkly to be beautiful.

2. Once this happens, 75% of the american population hates them.

3. 15% of the 25% of these Americans expect them to dress a in chocolate or yogurt coating or to be in a certain crowd, preferably trail mix.

5. Americans ridicule the raisin by pouring them on peanut butter and celery so their bratty kids who will end up being potheads anyway can take it to school and shove down some unlucky kid's shirt.

6. Raisins confined in boxes and bags are expected to be "a juicy and satisfying snack", even though they are wrinkled, pathetic excuses of a real fruit.

7. Raisins are expected to be loved by everyone, but 10% of that 25% are only senile old people, thinking they're prunes.

8. Raisins become suicidal when they figure out the whoremaiden on the front of their box lied, and they're not from California, but a dismal factory in Nowhere, Kansas.

9. No matter what scientists and the bible said, Raisins just aren't never considered fruits.

10. RAISINS AREN'T FRUITS.

Ok I'm done here, because there is very little you can write on the subject of Raisin discrimination. Unless someone wrote an optional essay on it, and in the case, I'm so sorry for your non-life and eternal virginity.

Mini Vibrators.

My sister has some foreign contraption called a hexbug, or something as dumb. It is pure evil. The thing costs way too much for something of it's caliber. They come in like 8 million colors and in packs of evil. It has no purpose but to vibrate and make an ear-grating sound and move around as if seized by an epileptic fit.

My tormenter.

Although their movements seem to be random, I know for a fact they seek flesh. I had not seen the demonic thing for a while, but while going on my daily journey to the couch, I heard the sound. At first I thought I was senile or it was my phone, but then the little fucker comes charging at me. I was of course, mortified, and instead of working, my legs decided to morph into spaghetti and I fell on my face. I laid on the floor for a while, afraid that if I sat up the hexdevil would strip me of my soul. However, I was found by my oblivious mom and told to stand up.

I tried to explain my few seconds of pure hell, however, my dearest mother did not appreciate my story, in fact branded it as "complete bullshit" and sauntered off. The hexbug was nowhere in sight. Ignorance is bliss, mother. Ignorance is bliss.

Anyway, I approached my sister angrily and asked her if she had anything to do with my recent assault. She shrugged nonchalantly, as if my near death wasn't important. The green contraption sat gleaming on the table, silently guffawing and awaiting his next attack. I left and sat on my bed, rocking back and forth and trying to think of ways to prevent future attacks.

I bought glue, mouse traps, rope, a knife and mallet, high heels, three lighters. However, the bug did not ever appear after it's initial crime. It made me waste $103 on nothing. I know for a fact it planned this, and when I throw out my menacing weapons, it will descend upon me again. Well played, hexfucker, but I always win.

Why hello there, nobody.

Why did I make this? Who am I to think this blog will become something?

Well you see, I'm hella bored. And the last time I've been on here, my blog was called Girlii Stuffz and I was like ten. Instead of stabbing myself multiple times in the face, I decided to create this.

What will I post on here?

I actually have NO idea whatsoever.

Help me out?

Oh wait, you can't. People who read my blog < 1

...

Awkward.