The Hot Pocket and Other Things

Today I learned a very valuable lesson about Hot Pockets. They are named Hot Pocket for a reason. That reason is because they are a pocket of smoldering lava, that is going to melt you from the inside out. Those little fuckers are hot, and let me tell you, if you do not proceed with caution, you will die.

I had never had a Hot Pocket until today, and after the betrayal I suffered, I don't know if I will ever have another. I just wanted to have a quick and easy lunch. I just wanted to throw something in the microwave that would cook quickly so that I could eat. I wasn't wrong. It did cook fast. Really fucking fast. Two minutes in the microwave was all it took to heat that little fucker to the temperature of the sun. Now I have a blister on top of an already hurting canker sore. No fucking joke. Because of course that's where the Hot Pocket burned me. Little fucker.

I need to discuss snapchatting etiquette for a second. When someone sends you a god-awful hideous snapchat of themselves, you do not respond with a snapchat of you looking like a fucking super model. You don't do that. You respond with an equally horrendous snapchat of yourself. It's called having manners and you should use them.

Beards and man buns are all the rage right now. I endorse man buns to the fullest. Those things are sexy (sorry, Andrew). But oh my god, why in the fuck does every guy have to grow a fucking beard? Yes, I agree that some beards can look fine as hell, but not every guy can pull of a beard. If your mustache looks like that of a 50 year old child molester, you should not be growing one, and no beard looks good without a mustache, hence the fact that you should not grow a beard either. If you cannot grow a full and glorious beard, do not attempt to anyways. You look creepy and weird and dirty, like you enjoy having sex to the Star Wars theme or church hymns or something. Don't do it.

An end note to girls, leggings are not pants. They are not a substitute for pants and they will never be an acceptable form of pants. No one wants to see your camel toe. If you insist on wearing them, please make sure your shirt is long enough to cover your lady bits, or that you're wearing a dress or something appropriate. Please.

I apologize for the unorganized nature of this blog post, there were just a few things that I felt needed to be said. Carry on.