Just Spreadin' the Hate Around
Jaysus. Obsidian Kitten tagged me. Which six people do I want to despise me so much that I could send this thingy to?
Feh.
Six Retarded, Pointless Things About Me
1. I'm ambidextrous, except for brushing my teeth. Can't do that left-handed at all. If I break my right hand then I suppose my teeth will just have to fend for themselves.
2. I can undo buttons with my feet. This is kind of a mood-killer, unless you're with a guy who's got a foot fetish.
3. I learned to knit from a library book. This sort of explains why I tend to call knitting "purling" and vice-versa. I learned to spin yarn from a book too. I think my friends are all imaginary.
4. I'll pretty much eat anything except for Necco Wafers. I think Necco Wafers are the prime example of man's inhumanity to man and can't understand just why they haven't been discontinued. I mean, who the hell voluntarily eats things flavored like Pepto-Bismol, Lemon Pledge, and Nyquil anyway? There's probably a Necco warehouse filled with these things that they've been trying to sell since 1947. That stuff on the ouside, you think it's cornstarch? Nahhh, it's dust.
5. I hate flip-flops with a passion usually reserved for things like the IRS and Republicans. Damn, I hate me some flip-flops. I especially hate guys in flip-flops. I have to restrain myself from running across the street and yanking the flip-flops off a guy's feet and beating the living snot out of him with a flip-flop in each hand. Did I say I hated flip-flops? Yeah, I hate flip-flops.
6. I hate poetry too. I once worked with a woman who wrote bad Christian love poetry and forced us all to read it. I still wake up screaming. A couple years ago I had a literature teacher that found out I hated poetry and she made me read some out loud, as though this would make me see reason. Of course it was written by a classmate and it was about her dead husband. She even brought in a lock of his mullet as an illustration. I should have beaten her with flip-flops.
Brace yourself, six random people.
