Archive for the ‘You suck as a parent’ Category

As Promised, Tension At The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

April 18, 2014


This post should be an interesting attempt to relay an uncomfortable yet amusing incident whilst still maintaining an a modicum of respect towards the setting. Hopefully, this won’t come off as “yah, so we were at that Nazi place in DC and these bitches…” Knowing me, it probably will. Alas!

The other Mr. Harvey and I were in DC to celebrate his 40th birthday at the beginning of this month. He’s not one for big parties where people look at him (that was actually a concern he voiced once…people looking at him…when he doesn’t have his hijab on) so we thought a quick jaunt somewhere fun would be keen. Plus, we’re both currently unemployed (we’re the American nightmare) and had the time laying around and look, Jet Blue has a deal! Cherry blossoms and new bars in which to get intoxicated and new sidewalks to stumble upon while drunkenly abusing Uber!

Despite it being a birthday trip, there were some tourist attractions we had wanted to see that weren’t exactly going to be the ball pit at Chuckie Cheese (that’s not a gay sex reference). We had both heard that the main exhibit at the Holocaust Museum was a sobering must-see. We got our tickets online for our 1st day there so we could get the horror portion of the other Mr. Harvey’s birthday out of the way.

It’s an interesting space. I wouldn’t call it pleasant because it’s designed to evoke concentration camp imagery with a lot of brick and exposed girders. Another interesting feature? The staff, for the most part, are made up of some really extreme personalities. Most of the service industry members we encountered in our nation’s capital that trip were really friendly, laid-back and warm. I’m not sure why, but most of the staff at the Holocaust Memorial were WROUGHT. Witness our first exchange with the female human that womans the entrance elevators to the main exhibit.

We make our way in-between her velvet ropes (that came out dirty) but Scotty has us pause so we can call up our tickets on his phone. Please note in advance that there is no line behind us or in front of us. At that moment it’s just the Harveys. My husband has been searching and scrolling for maybe two seconds when she attacked.

Holocaust worker: Tickets?

Husband: Just calling them up on my phone here…

Holocaust worker (perhaps she didn’t hear him?): I said, do you have tickets?

Me: He’s just getting them on his phone.

Holocaust worker: Well, maybe you should move over there to find them so you’re not blocking the way, ok?

I look behind me and note the absence of any other people behind us. Just some velvet ropes. Air. Is this a fire exit? My husband, who does not suffer being spoken down to by fools, bitches, or maniacs, jerks his head up from his phone. Sometimes I feel like there’s a rubber band stretched to its extreme in his brain. That rubber band is marked “JUST TRY IT, BITCH.” I myself loathe confrontation. I’m the shrinking violet who nervously laughs when he forgets to hold a door for someone AND RUNS BACK TO DO IT because I want them to know I didn’t do it out of spite. It makes me look like a wackjob but it’s all designed to not get a dirty look or have anyone think “remember that asshole who didn’t hold the door for me at the mall” before they fall asleep that evening.


“I’M CALLING IT UP RIGHT NOW,” he said in a slow, emphatic tone. Oh dear. Before Officer Friendly could ignore that and ask for tickets again in a disgusted monotone, they popped up on his phone. She waved us through towards a bank of elevators with a chubby, indifferent hand. Another holocaust worker shot out of nowhere with blond curls and a peppy demeanor. She was the radiant ying to ticket bitch’s yang. You would have thought she was seating us at a Disneyworld character breakfast. She had obviously never read up on XYKLON-B or what they were making the lampshades with in Nazi Germany.

We were put in an elevator with a large, equally happy family. Mom was smiling widely as they bantered. She was standing directly in front of the elevator’s panel of buttons. Smiling. No button was pressed. Nothing was lit up. Nothing was moving. A couple of dreary pics of German soldiers added to my discomfort from above. Do I…move her? What do I say? Can I get in there? What if she thought I meant her ass? Her ass was almost ON the panel. NOTHING WAS HAPPENING. WE WEREN’T MOVING. There’s no switch outside they can press? It’s hot in here. They’re talking like it’s fine. Is this like the Haunted Mansion and we’re actually going down but it’s so mechanically deft we can’t feel it? Scotty didn’t notice. He’s looking at his phone and reading the walls. Swiss Family Oblivious are laughing and chatting like it’s the cherry blossom festival. THERE’S GONNA BE FOOTAGE OF EMACIATED CORPSES BEING MOVED OFF OF TRUCKS WITH PITCHFORKS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THOSE DOORS. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE. I made my move.

“Can I…” I advanced towards Denim Elevator Panel Ass, weakly pointing behind her. She looked at me, and then turned to see why I was invading her space. Her mouth opened wide and she began giggling.

“Oh! OH! We were just sitting here! I’m sorry!”

“Way to go, Mom!”

“Duh, Ma!”

I smiled nervously (“Oh, that,’s ok!’ I shrieked), sweat beads barreling down my ivory expanse of a 10-head. Social anxiety is the fucking worst. Button pressed. Nothing happened.

Nothing happened. We were in a hot elevator with nothing happening. They didn’t even give us a button light for assurance. Was this part of the show? That’s fine, we deserved to suffer. We deserved a portly ticket taker making us feel stupid. We didn’t go through what all those people went through. We deserve to sweat and feel awkward in this hell-avator.

The doors sprang open. Cool air rushed in. The happy Holocaust worker regarded us quizzically. Blonde curls bounced as she cocked her head to the side like a curious toy poodle.

“Well, um, wait? What happened?”

“I guess we weren’t going anywhere…” Denim Elevator Panel Ass Mom offered helpfully. Happy went to get Grumpy. She waddled over with a ring of keys and her usual stank face. Resentfully flipping open a little door on the panel, she shoved a key in, and pressed the button again with a girthy finger.

“This breaks…,” she announced moodily to no one in particular. She was never one for an apology.

The doors shut, the floor shook and hydraulics hummed. Up.


Lindsay’s Parents Upholding The Family Tradition Of “Whorish Moron”

July 7, 2010

I'd rather have Fred and Rosemary West as parents (look it up)...

Ooh, is anyone else hung over from the Lindsay Is Going To Jail party? I am. I think someone slipped me a roofie right after our third viewing of I Know Who Killed Me, and I woke up with the Duff sisters on top of me. You know those old-school tween stars raised a glass last night cuz’ bitch went down!

As expected, Dina Lohan acted her usual enabling stagemom “who’s gonna float me my Xanax money?” self yesterday when Lohan’s tearbombs burst as she heard she was going to do a bid and Dina heard the verdict. Here’s what Popeater says she said:

“This is so not fair to do this to my child,” a flabbergasted Dina Lohan told PopEater exclusively shortly after Judge Marsha Revel made the announcement.

Come again? Fair?!?!

Someone on Facebook mentioned that they sorta kinda felt bad for Lindsay because it’s fairly obvious this aging hag supported her ass by building the “you can do anything you want, you’re Supergirl, now sign this check for Mommy” scaffolding around her. Which made her a sociopath. Frankly, I think that as an adult, you can’t blame your shithead behavior on your parents. There is something called “responsibility.” RiRi Harvey once made me wear Chinese knock-off Nikes from Building #19 with the swish REVERSED and in GOLD LAME (they would be so hot nowadays) to school and I haven’t raped a nun, yet. Although it totally made me like boys…

But nevertheless it IS obvious that Lohan had next to no chance to even OBSERVE how a normal adult carries themselves while growing up. Not that it excuses anything. I wouldn’t excuse her from the Sarlac pit at this point, she’s so awful.

Oh, and don’t think Manic Mike Lohan didn’t show his crazy self outside the courtroom. Firstly, word is he tried to barge INTO the courtroom during the proceedings to attempt to read some sort of statement on behalf on Lindsay. Keep in mind that his entire estranged family wants nothing to do with him, and he is INSERTING himself into the center for attention. This is a grown-ass man. And check this out:

While he declined to issue a comment following the sentencing (ed. note – he must have had food in his mouth or something), his spokeswoman baffled reporters when she urged Lohan to report to rehab immediately, apparently unaware the actress must first go to jail. When corrected by an onlooker, the unidentified rep said the rehab portion of the ruling was “a great victory” for the Lohan family.

So basically, even their EMPLOYEES are crackers. Then again, this was probably some slut he met down the pub and declared her his “spokeswoman.” Right?

Get Her!

June 5, 2010
I love you way more than Daddy does.

I love you way more than Daddy does.

So Kate Gosselin and her child junta will once again grace TLC in a new special called Kate Plus 8 Minus Fucktard Still Cunty. The actual title is Kate Plus 8 but see what I did there? Anyway, People has a sneak preview and Kate takes her kids to the Everglades for a vacation? Check the adventure!

What else is in store for Kate and the kids on Sunday’s show? More close encounters with creatures — they’ll feed sting rays and exotic birds and swim with dolphins — as well as some tasty treats. They’ll participate in an orange juice squeezing contest and eat birthday cake, of course!

It’s the kids’ sixth birthday celebration. Uh, have you heard of a place called Disney, Mom? Cuz’ raping hillbillies in swamp shacks on stilts and deadly water moccasins are not my idea of awesome birthday times! Alexis needs to drop her a note or something!

Anyway, they go on one of those Everglades tours that I will never ever be a part of because of my fear of reptiles. Here’s Kate’s battle with an alligator. The alligator needs to get on the stick and handle this business! But it’s too damn lazy! Couldn’t someone have put some raw meat on Kate’s head?

Oh, and my kingdom for the ability to make one of those gif things of Kate imitating what the alligator sounded like when it supposedly threatened her. “AWWHEHHHH!” Say it again, Kate! “AWWEHHHH!!” That’s the sound Jon makes when he squeezes into his Ed Hardy shirts and prays that coke dick won’t mess up his swingin’ new bachelor lifestyle again.

In other news, it’s wrong that I miss Kate’s angry cockatoo hairstyle, right?

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What? WHAT?!?

February 18, 2010

By the looks of things, this one has kids. You can just tell by the tired ponytail AND THE “DICKEATER” GAME JERSEY. In twelve years, there’s going to be a whirly-eyed little purse snatcher cooking something up in a spoon and laughing with his “I just needed the money, it was only one time”-talking sister about “Ma’s ‘Dick Eater’ shirt.”

As noted, this is from People of Wal-Mart. It was so appalling that I had to comment. I’m more of a Tarjhay lad myself, but it’s always good to see what’s happening across town. Apparently what’s happening is that dignity is a foreign land. Unless this is Photoshopped, and my hat’s off to you if so.

This also reminds me of something that happened in those halcyon days when I eschewed higher learning for a life less ordinary – namely working shitty jobs and trying to achieve coma status through drinking and pills. I worked at an auto auction and Monday was the big auction day when we would hire temps to assist in the office while we tried to get titles off of incredibly shifty sellers who would trade in cars with fresh hemoglobin stains in their trunks. One of these temporary ladies, we’ll call her Rosario, was very friendly and perky and quick to lend a hand. Her grasp of English wasn’t that great (she still sounded more intelligible than Penelope Cruz) but she got along. She also gave one of the most nonsensical, yet greatest responses to a coworker’s problem that I have ever heard.

Coworker 1 is complaining of chest pains and rubbing her breastbone. She is standing beside the mammoth copier while Rosario is loading paper into it and I am probably avoiding work and just hanging around being a nuisance.

Coworker 1: Ow, my chest hurts. Like in the bone.

Me: You ok? Indigestion?

Coworker 1: No, it’s in the muscle or something…

Me: Oh, that’s weird, maybe you’re getting a cold…(ed. note – cause I’m a doctor…)

Rosario looks up at this point.

Coworker 1: Do you ever get chest pains like that, Rosario?

Rosario (cheerfully): Oh, no! All I ever do is suck dick!

Yeah, I don’t know either, but she totally won that day.

The Scariest Picture I Have Ever Seen: Girl Riding A Croc

October 1, 2009


I would rather she be WEARING Crocs! Where was Teddy Roosevelt while this was going on?!?! This is like that fable about the fable person who rides the scorpion across the river and the scorpion eats the fable person because it’s about wisdom. That croc is gonna buck that baby off its back and swallow her face! Where is her jazz baby mother? Probably busy with Dadaism, and her cigarette holder, and the electric lightbulb, and bootlegging!

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a terror scene about reptiles..specifically crocodiles and alligators. You only see their eyes above the water as they wait for you to fall out of the canoe. They can run fast. And I read somewhere (probably in Us Weekly) that they can climb trees. So good luck surviving! I am about to make like Cher, turn back time, and kick her flapper mother’s ass for allowing this shyt! Boo, bytch, boo!

(from Buzzfeed)

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