I am the Mother of a 3 Inch Baby

It is a weird feeling when you realize that you are old enough for pregnancy to be a good thing. But here I am! Old, married, knocked up and there is nothing anybody can do about it. I still say knocked up even though I am pretty sure the father is my very own husband, Nick. And I still make jokes like that even though I am technically 3/10 of a mom and should be 3/10 on my way to a Subaru and a bowl cut. WELCOME TO YOUR WEIRD LIFE, LIL RAY RAY!!!!!

Finding out you are pregnant is really strange. You are so happy but also so confused even though the confusion doesn’t make any sense. I found out that I wasn’t the only one in the room in particularly bizarre fashion, too.  I don’t think that will surprise anybody. I had been feeling terrible and had extreme, supersonic level heartburn, so I decided a pregnancy test might be in order. I peed on the stick, looked at it for one second, saw one line and threw it out. The next day I saw it in the trash with 2 lines. I don’t even have the patience to focus for 3 minutes on a pregnancy test. I can’t wait to devote a million years to a child.

Telling Nick involved zero fanfare. I handed him the test and made a weird face. He was so elated which was cute because, again, I said I am PRETTY sure I know he’s the father. His instantaneous happiness brought me from my state of quiet panic into his world of blatant excitement and I returned his physically and proverbially giant smile with my normal sized one. Precious moments.

Currently I am nearing the end of my first trimester, which I hear is a good thing. I am so nauseated constantly and I can’t wait for the day when I can eat normally. There are several times every day where I feel my only two options are CheezIts or death. Having your life on the line so many times a day would be exhausting for anyone, let alone a mildly in shape pregnant girl with questionable sanity and morals.

For the most part I have been lucky. I have not vomited to the point where the vomit has actually left my body. My heartburn only feels like I swallowed dynamite sometimes. I get only 2-3 new pimples a day (could be like, 4.) The nausea is constant, but I can still function as long as I permanently look angry. And finally, I am only one week away from this supposed kick ass, wonderland called the 2^nd trimester. Oh, I forgot the worst symptom….I am SO short of breath all the time that people are scared of me. YES.

I hope to be able to post updates here and there, but for the love of God don’t hold me to any sort of schedule. I am not the first person on Earth to have a baby, so I don’t think that the details of my pregnancy are something you would be beating down the door for. Also, I can barely take out my one contact lens without a taking a water break and I am considering being Med Flighted somewhere after the amount of sweating this one post caused me. Low expectations lead to pleasant surprises.

In all seriousness though, I think you have to have a sense of humor in pregnancy and parenthood to get through it without turning into an awful person to be around. You can’t let becoming a mom change you into a boring idiot who is all of a sudden offended by everything. All jokes aside, we are so excited for this baby, but neither Nick nor I plan on changing who we are to become what some book says we should be. This baby will probably know 2 Chainz before it can even count to 2 and guess what…..it will turn out just fine.

Hopefully I post again before 2015. But don’t hold your breath. It scares people when you are gasping for air I’ve heard.

Typical Girl Award

For a good portion of my life, I was the same. I liked my comfort zone. I thought everything that I personally didn’t do was weird. So like, if you told me 6 years ago that you did karate I never would have spoken to you again and I would have told everyone you did karate while laughing. I was THE BEST.

I think that at age 16, I became sort of a “real person” (meaning I would probably not die or call Ms. Cleo for 2 hours if left alone for a day) and for approximately the next 8 years, I stayed that same exact person. The kind of person that only did things that could not possibly stir up any judgment from anyone; and also the kind of person who judged the shit out of everyone else. I didn’t try new food. I wore all the cool trends, even when the trend was low rider jeans and my muffin top was 50 inches wide. I drank vodka sodas at bars that I stood in line for an hour to get into. I ran for 45 minutes on the treadmill 5 days a week listening to Black Eyed Peas . Honestly, I can’t say for sure if at the time I thought I was happy, or if I just have embarrassment induced amnesia, but when I look back at that time period I wish I could go back and strangle myself with my Coach “wristlet.” The word “wristlet” is fucking ridiculous. And Coach isn’t really for white people anymore FYI.

In general, when I look back at my life so far, I feel like I wasted a lot of time trying to be cool. In my social circle, that meant having the newest clothes, going to popular bars, bragging about your cardio routine, eating grilled chicken wraps, and constantly being in head to head competition with your “best friends.” I ALWAYS lost in the “being the skinniest” department and still do. But the friends that I have now, some of them right out of this very group I speak of, have also given up on this weird, fake, race to be the best at being typical, and have become their own weird, awesome, selves. They would rather die than talk about running and compare clothes and we are usually too busy eating and laughing to do that anyways.

However you look at it, following the crowd sucks. All it does is make you so self conscious and jealous of the person who ate 2 less bites of her chicken wrap…..bitch. The sooner you figure this out the better it is going to be for you, just so you know. If you let this go on too long and become an old person running around trying to find yourself, everyone will judge you and this time you will deserve it. Get it together sooner rather than later. I am not saying how old “old” is so shut up.

My point in all this is that the Haley of today is way better than the Haley of yesterday. The Haley of Christmas past would never write this blog. I used to turn my papers in upside down in class so nobody could see my feelings. These days I am so full of public emotion and you freaks keep lining up for more. Likewise, I haven’t followed a fashion trend in 3 years and I get more compliments on my outfits than I ever did when I wore a “shrug” or a skinny pastel belt or giant hoop earrings that made me look like TBoz.I am in a competition with no one and it feels GREAT. Not to sound cliché, but you have to let your freak flag fly before it’s too late. Everybody is too worried about themselves to give a shit about how far you ran, how much your purse cost, or how well you described slitting your wrists in your black journal with a skull on it ( I am assuming that Emos have some sort of popularity scale as well), so just do what you goddamn want. You will thank me for this someday, but I probably won’t know what you are talking about.

                            

Here I am at " Hot Dog on a Stick" carrying around an eraser or 5 ants in my tiny wristlet. As you can see, I was someone to envy.

The title of this post was inspired by my uncle, George “Pilotwhale” Hayden. A great living example of rebelling against conformity…especially with his internet persona.

Extreme Danger...May Die Today

The other day I saw a post on Facebook that said something like “Even if a bitch aint one…99 problems is still a lot of fucking problems.” You know what? That’s like, REALLY true. I have approximately 4 problems, one of them being that I can’t find my favorite pair of tights, and I might kill myself at any moment. If I could slowly chip away at my problems until I had none, I would be as happy as Obama motorboating Blue Ivy at a Marxist themed luncheon. But even if I did manage to find my tights, stop watching the Kardashians for 5 hour stints, and get a record deal…I just don’t think there is anything I can do about my NUMBER ONE PROBLEM IN THE WORLD…coyotes. There are so many reasons that I hate coyotes that I think a list is the best way to go here….ughhh…I am ready to puke….

REASONS I HATE COYOTES

1) WTF is a coyote? Are you a wolf? Are you a fox? You know what…I don’t care what you are because I already know that you are FRICKEN DISGUSTING. Your face looks like the guy from Boardwalk Empire and your body looks like Mary Kate Olsen on all fours.


2) They are obsessed with me. If I am driving at any time other than the middle of the day, a Mary Kate will run right in front of my car looking all tense and freaky. If I am on my porch with my beautiful, little Millie, they are clomping around in the woods waiting to eat her and barf her up (bulimia.) I mean, I can’t even sleep with the window open without them banding together and yipping like one of those weird naked African tribes right outside my window. Once I saw one stand under a streetlight until I looked right at it and then it ran away. Dick.


3) I can’t do anything about them. You can’t shoot coyotes except for during a certain time of year and you can’t shoot within 500 feet of a house. So basically, you can all just pretend I have AIDS because eventually one of these assholes is going to maul me to death in my own yard. It just makes no sense to me that this predator is allowed to roam around and we can’t even get super drunk and shoot them out of our bedroom windows. I equate my current real life situation to the hypothetical scenario of being locked in a room with the Craigslist Killer. In this scenario, I am just sexy, awesome Haley and the Craigslist Killer is a psycho, scrawny murderer, but the big twist is that he is also “protected.” We have to live in this room together, and he has guns, knives, handcuffs, obviously his Red Sox hat, and he is incredibly ready to cut off my underwear and shoot me in the face. I, on the other hand, only have the option to sit there and wait to die. Think about that and tell me my life doesn’t suck.


4) Daisy Simpson.( Daisy Lachey?) Say what you want about big, fat Jessica….that dog was cute and a coyote ate it. That’s like, really sad.


5) NOBODY BELIEVES ME. I will admit, the amount of coyote encounters that I have is bizarre, BUT IT’S THE F*CKING TRUTH. At least once a week I see a coyote, and at least once every other night I hear them. I come running inside and say “ I just saw 2 coyotes in the street!!!!!” thinking that it’s a big deal and we should call 911. Nick just stares at the TV and lets the Peruvian drug lord with the blurred out face finish his interview and then says “ It was probably a squirrel.” OK maybe I have more problems than I thought.


I hope this post clearly explains to you all that I am in severe danger. If anyone has any coyote advice, I need it. In the meantime, I have been noticing that a lot of my Facebook “friends” don’t really seem to have their acts together at all, and I have a job for one lucky lost soul. You can be my coyote bodyguard in exchange for life/wardrobe advice. We will have such a great time and it can be our little secret. That’s a lie, I don’t keep secrets.

I cant figure out how to attach photos! Sorry! I am a big idiot.

Here I Am!!!!

I decided to come back with a bang. I want to talk about politics. Well, I should rephrase that. I want to talk about how I want to punch Uncle Sam in the dick when people blow up my newsfeed with political bullshizz. You all need to stop that. Facebook is for judging people who have babies out of wedlock, not summarizing congressional hearings. How people haven’t figured this out by now is beyond me, but it’s a damn good thing I am here to set you all straight.

The first issue that I have with posting about politics on Facebook is that it’s BORING. I am not saying that paying attention to politics is boring because I think it’s important to be informed, but nobody cool is reading your stupid article about how Al Gore has a tiny penis. I might read that.

Aside from being boring, posting about politics creates problems. It almost always starts some 45 comment long chain of 2 people (Nick Ray and faceless individual) going back and forth and hating each other at the end. And while the two debaters hate each other at the end, everyone else wants to murder them around comment #3. Get a grip. Post about cats.

Another thing that really grinds my gears is that the people who post about politics are usually posting something negative. “Obama sucks, Scott Brown sucks”…you know something YOU suck. Be positive or be canceled from my newsfeed and trust me you DON’T want that. If I hide your updates because you are sitting there smiling like an asshole and posting articles about how Ron Paul farted on Tuesday, I am not going to see when you actually post something good and leave you an awesome comment. Suck on that.

I think what people don’t realize is that when they try to post articles making an entire political party look ignorant, THEY are the ones who look ignorant. You can’t generalize like that. Some people vote the way their parents vote and don’t care to question it. Some people are followers, go to college and become super crazy liberals that even regular liberals hate. Some people vote based on what the president looks like. Most people don’t vote at all, so why can’t we just be happy that some people actually put down the crack pipe and go to the polls in the first place. I put that crack pipe down and never looked back. Maybe I looked back a few times. But for real, if you really want to post about politics so bad that you might die, why don’t you just invent politicsbook.com and don’t f*cking invite me to be on it? Yay!

I know I might have just left a lot of you thinking “ OMG..what should I post about if I can’t bore everyone with the details of Elizabeth Warren’s pap smear?” but don’t fret my pets. You can always post about the following topics: Chipotle, marine mammals, JonBenet Ramsey, most shows on TLC and anything to do with Precious. Those always get a guaranteed “Like” from your very favorite blogger.

Welcome back to myself!

Reflections of the Traveling Pants

I know that I have been ignoring my blog. I really am sorry about it too, because I know what its like when a website that you check all the time stops being interesting. I have a rotation of sites I visit that includes, Facebook, People.com, Craigslist (missed encounters m4w and pets), and my gmail. I would be absolutely pissed if people stopped putting up posts to find “ women in ford Explorir looking hot on root 9,” so I get why you are mad. I have been doing a lot of traveling which cuts into my time to write, but creates so many chances for reflection. So I will reflect. This is me reflecting on variety of topics...

Anthropology

There are no black people in Wyoming. Not one. Also, there are no black people in Iowa. I don't really know what would happen if one showed up, but now that Hootie is a country singer, we should be finding out any day! I can't wait!


Cuisine

You cannot get a black iced coffee in any state in the Midwest. You can make your own black iced coffee at gas stations in the South, but in the South there is an invisible line between normal suburbs and the ghetto and you NEVER know when you cross it. You can be driving along looking at white picket fences and before you know what is happening you are surrounded by 3 legged dogs and Cutlass Supremes with 24 inch rims. Be selective about where you purchase your self service coffee when you are below the Mason Dixon.

Also, the best food in the world is in the Northeast. We are so spoiled here in Boston with delicious Italian food and fresh seafood and Big Jim Melanson. I mean maybe you can get some good BBQ in the south and tons of corn in Iowa, but the staples (burgers, breakfast, anything Italian, margaritas) are the best right here in New England.

Exercise

Working out alone sucks. I have worked out alone in hotel gyms as well as hospital gyms. I have visited two other CrossFit gyms, and all the people have been just as nice as they are at my gym. Not as weird or as loud, but just as nice. Also, despite popular belief, other CrossFit gyms are not places where every single athlete is elite and better than you. In fact, they are absolutely full of fatties and weaklings and geriatrics. You're a star!


Hotels

Hotels are f*cking disgusting. I dont touch the comforter and try as hard as possible to not walk around barefoot. They all bake cookies and think that it makes up for the fact that 16 homeless men had an orgy on the comforter that you are now cuddling up to your face. The clickers are covered in all kinds of disease carrying fluids.

Hotels are also lonely and sometimes scary. For some reason, I always find myself at hotels that are also occupied by large groups of traveling construction workers ( I dont even know.) They drink Miller Lites in the parking lot and stare at me with their dirty fingernails and poorly wiped asses. A nice reminder again, of who/what was wrapped up in my blankets before I checked in.




Air Travel

Oh here is where the fun starts. Where should I begin. First of all, a plane ride is a bad time to breastfeed. There are pumps for that shit. Bring a bottle. Especially when you are in the middle seat and I am in the window seat with a bladder full of my last black coffee for 5 days. Get a grip.

Second, if you know you are a loud breather, dont travel. I cant deal with it. I can only wear headphones for so long before the insides of my ears hurt and then I am forced to listen to you breathing like an asshole. Just stay home if you cant control the volume of your nostrils.

Third, dont eat on the plane if you chew like a donkey wearing a mouth guard. Thats all I will say about that.

Finally (and most importantly) if you are over the age of 6, take all your giant shits before you get on the plane. Adults should know their schedule. I stand FIRMLY by my belief that unless you have food poisoning, a stomach flu, or took 15 laxatives, you should know what time you usually have to go. No adult should ever have to be at a party and take a crap. Or on a plane. Or at a beerfest ( I got into a fight in a port-a-potty line over this.) Its just RIDICULOUS that any adult would expect me to believe that their shits sneak up on them at any possible time. I will never change my mind on this. F*ckin people.


And there you have it. This is what I have learned from traveling the country. Wyoming is awesome. Iowa is not so awesome. South Carolina is similar to Brockton. Planes suck. Hotels usually suck. I wish I had some more worldly things to say, but I don't. I drove all the way to Yellowstone and didn't have any money to get in. I think that sentence is a wonderful analogy for my whole life.


SEE?????

Christmas is Comin'

Its cold. Well, Its kinda cold. I love it. I am happy to say goodbye to summer. The summer makes my hair look like Little Richard.

Anyways, the cold weather reminded me of Christmas, which reminded me of something I need to talk about immediately. Christmas Cards. I dont know how to tie this into health, so I will just say that you are reeeeeallllly effing with my mental stability when you send me a Christmas card, SO PLEASE SAVE YOUR MONEY AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

First of all. Unless you are legally married or have been together for so long that people truly do not know if you are married or not, DO NOT, send out a Christmas card from “us.” Because GUESS WHAT? Its not from “us.” Its from the girl trying to show all her friends that she has a boyfriend and move the relationship faster then it needs to go. If you get one of those, consider it a threat from a lunatic and immediately panic. This is a clear warning that when this relationship goes south (which it will), you will either be friends with a dead person or a murderer. Cut these assholes out of your life NOW.

If you are actually married, and feel the compelling need to waste your time and money sending me a Christmas card with no money in it that I am going to just rip in half with my mouth and punch a wall, FINE send it. BUT DO NOT INCLUDE A PICTURE OF YOURSELF. You are a grown adult. So is your husband or wife. You are not cute. I have Facebook, I can see in 775 different pictures that you are just as ugly as always. For the love of God, NEVER SEND ME A PICTURE OF YOURSELF. Its weird and I am going to hate it.

That being said, I dont mind pictures of kids. If they are cute its nice and if they are fug it gives me a good laugh. Likewise, animals are fun. A nice picture of your kids in front of a Christmas tree doesn't piss me of that much, but if you send me a picture of your baby painted like a candy cane coming out of the ass of your antler wearing dog, I am going to cut you out. Or just cut you.

I want to end by asking, WHY WOULD ANYONE SEND ME A CARD ANYWAYS? I am one of those people that offers nothing. There is nothing that you, as an individual, need from me to get ahead in your own life. Send a card to your boss. Send a card to your in-laws who hate you. Don't send a card to me. You don't need a loser like me judging you.

Swedish Fish and Despair

Look, I know I haven't blogged in months, so everyone can stop reminding me. I am pretty sure that you have never written one blog post in your life so shut the hell up about me not posting for two months. I was conjuring up a list of ideas for a post that will blow your little minds. I lost that list, so you get to read this bullshiz....Enjoy!

So far in this blog I have blabbed on and on about the benefits of Paleo and Crossfit as if I just had this perfect,indestructible life of exercise and animal flesh where nothing could ever go wrong. And thats how it was for awhile. But, sometimes the smallest inexplicable shift in your brain can change your mindset toward things, and thats what happened to me recently. Without completely giving up, I gave up. Here is my story. Get the tissues. All donations to my credit card bill.

I went off the deep end. I just got into this weird 3 month funk where I became less of a Paleo/CrossFit machine and more of just a normal human (gross.) I extended my beloved “cheat day” to two, and then three, and sometimes even FOUR days a week. I lost my competitive drive in the gym which is baffling because I still couldn't play Wheel of Fortune without screaming and standing up (even when I was by myself.) I was burnt the f*ck out, and I just didn't know how to handle it.

The major problem was that I thought I could do whatever I wanted because I wasn't a fat mess. Lalala, I'm a size 4, I can eat 1000 Blizzards..BOOM...I'm Christina Aguilera but slightly less trannylicious ( I HOPE.) All my shorts from last summer look like they would fit an infant. I would go to the gym to try to work off this extra “bloat” as I called it when I was in denial, but working out is hard with a belly full of sugary little red fish and my times on workouts were just getting worse and worse. Instead of leaving the gym feeling great, I would sit in my car for ten minutes after a WOD wondering if I had let myself go beyond repair. I felt stupid for caring so much, and it just became a vicious cycle of overeating and underperforming. I was on the path to becoming a mega fatty and I needed a good punch in the junk ASAP. Unfortunately, that never came, and I was forced to realize the truth. I am the conductor of my own life, and the fatass train is stopping here.

I wish I could say that some major event triggered me to get back on track, but my life is too boring for that. Luckily, the mundane act of waking up every day feeling like the fattest, ugliest loser on the planet for 90 straight days was enough to do the trick. PLEASE DO NOT WRITE ME HEARTFELT MESSAGES TELLING ME NOT TO KILL MYSELF. Fat, skinny, tan, pale, bloated....I will always be obsessed with myself so chill the f*ck out. I think everyone, (and I will say women especially, although that may offend any extra sensitive men out there,) at some point goes through a phase where they just negative self talk themselves into the ground. Life wouldn't be life without ups and downs, but it it would certainly be a sad life if you didn't take advantage of the downs and use them to fuel your next up! This sounds like a informational pamphlet on how to be a drug addict.

Alright. I'm done. I just wanted to write this post to explain why I haven't blogged in awhile, and also to put the message out there that EVERYONE feels bad sometimes. If you are currently sucking at everything, its OK! Take some time and sit for awhile in your own misery, but when you are good and ready, slap yourself across your fat face and declare that you are ready to kick some ass. Everyone feels like a burning bag of dicks at some point, but you gotta take the advice of my man Jerry and just keep truckin on. He was a fat f*ck and even he managed to pull it off for awhile. I have only been back on track for 4 days and I already think I have graduated from a drunk and puffy Christina Aguilera to more of an extremely motivated, pregnant, ostrich. HOORAY!

CrossFit Northeast Regionals 2011

Congratulations to Dawn Marie, owner, coach and friend to everyone at CrossFit508 for finishing as the 21st fittest woman in the Northeast at the Regionals last weekend!

All of my BFF's showed up to eat, drink (shhh), and cheer on the competitors in the strongest sun ever. Seriously, my face is peeling off.

DM told us that her judge asked if all that cheering was only for her when she was out there doin her thang. It was. We are really loud. And cute as hell.


PS: You didn't think I wouldn't mention good ole "No Rep" did you? Shout out to Dawn for judging all day and getting some sick new Reebok sneakers for her efforts. She has to know she will never, ever, live down that reputation.


YEAH BUDDY!

Don't Worry....Be Freakin Happy!!!!!

I am wondering why self help books are so popular. Its almost as if people don't even know what they like. This makes me think that I am doing OK in life, because if you came up to me and said “ Haley, what do you like?” I could tell you in ten seconds. Even though I technically asked this question to myself, I will tell you anyways. I like the following things; food, blankets, hilarious people, writing, pretending my cats can talk, gum, headbands, sexy ass men, CVS nose drops, sleeping, and my own strange sense of fashion. While we are on the topic, here is a severely shortened list of things I hate; dolphins, Anne Hathaway, Bacardi, Tyler Perry's House of Pain, technology, people from India, huge ugly earrings that match your shirt, calamari, coffee flavored things, outspoken liberals, standing in a weird crowded bar pretending its so fun, and people who fake laugh at the end of every sentence. There are way more, but it could get offensive, racist (more so than it already is), and maybe even illegal, so I will end the hate list there.

The point of this is, I KNOW what makes me happy. There is never a day when I wake up from my 15 hour slumber and wonder “ Hmmm...today I think I will put on my best matching shirt/earring combo and go out for a nice calamari lunch to discuss welfare policies with Sheryl Crowe.” No thank you. If I want to be happy I get some gum, slap on a headband, and go to the mall to buy more gum and headbands. I don't need Dr. Phil to tell me that I would enjoy a nice shopping spree more than hanging myself in an elementary school playground. You people are so lost these days. Just do what you like and shut up about it. Great, now I am all worked up.

So this blog is my declaration that I will never buy a self-help book in my life. Nobody can tell me exactly what makes me happy except ME. At the beginning of 2011, I posted about changing my life to cut out all the bullshit. Well guess what? I did it, and this year has been awesome. I took a look at what I liked to do, and I did it. Now I am skinnier, stronger, happier, my boobs are way huger, and I feel good about who I am as a person. Not one of those things is a lie.

The greatest part about this is, technically this is a self-help blog and you just read it. So now I think you are a big freak. But seriously, anyone who knows me I think would agree that even though most people bother the living crap out of me, I am pretty happy with myself. Not in a self centered kind of way, more in the sense that I am not going to sit around and bitch about hating life but do nothing to change it. In a world where few days go smoothly, happiness is a choice. Its your decision whether you want to smile through it, or declare yourself depressed and buy some dumb book because you have a dead car battery and explosive diarrhea. I say bring on the f*cking diarrhea. If its true that you only get one life, spend it doing what you enjoy, not waiting for some asshole with a book deal to tell you what you like. And that's all I have to say about that.

Hypothetical Fun

Sometimes I think God hates me. I don't hate the rain. When it was raining for one thousand days, I didn't care that much. Toward the end I realized it was making me hungrier and that was upsetting because I don't need to get fatter, but overall, the eternal monsoon did not bother me so much.

But now that the sun is out, I realized how much of an impact the weather has on my mood. I am smiling and talking and sweating...its wonderful. But then, just when I thought things were going so swell, God remembered that I am not allowed to enjoy anything and gave me the worst case of PMS in the history of hormones. I apologize to the male readers out there, but I just need to get this out. I can't stand the sound of anyone's voice. I didn't bring a lunch today and the cafeteria is serving FLOUNDER. Nick's face makes me want to blow up the house. I am on the brink of mass murder. Happy Memorial Day weekend!

This post really has nothing to do with the weather or my womanhood at all, that was just an expression of raw emotion and passion. The real post is about something I noticed the other day that needs to be discussed in this blog because it pissed me the f off.

So lets create a hypothetical situation here...Anyone who knows me knows I love hypothetical situations so I am really pumped about this. OK, so in this scenario you really want to make some money so you can be ballin and put some sick rims on your ride. After countless hours of brainstorming, you come up with the idea that you are going to walk around with a 30 pack of Keystones and offer one to any homeless person who is willing to pee in a bucket. Then, when you have a big enough supply of rancid piss, you are going to sell the idea to grocery stores as an energy drink. We will call it...Golden Shower.

After a few weeks of urination station, you actually manage to convince some stores to carry Golden Shower. However, sales are not what your expected and your car still only has 3 hubcaps. But then, miraculously, you receive a call from the FDA. They want you to know that homeless people are now much happier in major cities all over the country because not only are they getting free beer, but this whole piss business is making them feel like they have a purpose. The FDA wants to cut you a deal. They get a portion of the piss profits, and in exchange, they are going to fund 75% of your Keystone purchases and consult with YOU over the design of the 2011 Food Pyramid. Hepatitis Martini anyone???

The point of this story is, you would have people sucking homeless piss for breakfast, lunch and dinner if this really happened to you. And even though this particular scenario may never happen (yes it will,) in a way this is EXACTLY what is going on in America today. I saw a sign in my work cafeteria called “2010 Food Guidelines” and it went on and on and on about the importance of whole grains. Further inspection of this sign revealed that it was a product of General Mills.BULLLLLSHITTTTT. Whole grains are the Golden Shower of General Mills. They would have to be mothereffing idiots to not include as many grains on that sign as possible. Grains are not healthy, they are a business. A humungous business that the government makes big bucks off of. Thankfully, I am here to tell you this so you can become super smart and awesome but still not as pretty as me. I'm not a miracle worker.

Grains suck. That's the bottom line. So next time you go to eat your stupid “heart healthy” Kashi crap, think about Golden Shower and yell “hell no!” and punt the box out the window for the homeless people. I am pretty sure they will appreciate the excitement because they aren't going to have much to do until I can save up enough quarters to buy some Keystones.