You know what really burns my biscuits? My fellow citizens losing their shit over every little thing. While no Sean Spicer fan girl, I find it hard to believe that his Hitler misstep was really the worst slur to have been visited upon the Jewish community ever. Like really? Ever guys? Was it beyond stupid/insensitive/incompatible with history? Absofuckinglutely! Should he lose his job? Meh, he defends dumb/false comments every single day, though I might add with a little less of the blinders on laser focus into Lie-ville that Kellyanne possesses. I mean, I do feel like there are some things that at this point you have to be working as the dullest, saddest crayon in the box to ever do. Like for instance, wear any form of black face or I don’t know, defend Hiter. Those seem like pretty safely understood bets to just stay the hell away from. Don’t do it! That shit is like Chernobyl! Even though you can wear a safety suit to protect you from all of that radioactive contamination to your career, it might be best to just never go there to begin with. That being said, if we lose our minds over every little thing, though wrong, though nobody died, Spicey just put his foot in his food hole about the circumstances in which people actually did, are we really accomplishing anything? Can’t we take a pause and save it for the big stuff? Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but yes, Hitler did with gas.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Unnecessary disagreement. Those sour bum puckers that need to challenge every mundane statement that crosses their ears. It could be the weather or nothing or everything, they just feel this incessant need to have a rebuttal to anything ever uttered. It’s like they’re missing that, oh so important, human element that allows one to let information pass from one ear and out the other, processing instantaneously what actually requires a response. These half formed humanoids, never fail to trigger my eye roll mechanism along with wondering where a good plague is when you need one. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone but bubonic sounds bucolic to me.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Mitch McConnell. The way his mouth moves, like a stroke victim, that has had their jaw wired shut and the selfishly sinister chupasuckra that comes out of it, really makes me doubt the wisdom of the good people of Kentucky, who continually provide this turtle-like tit bag a reason to get up every morning. I know his speech is a little mumbly bumbly, but get a damn transcript people. Unless you’ve always wondered what it would be like to die from the black lung Pop, why would you vote for this smug civics strangling snapper? It’s not like you’ll have healthcare, or a decent wage or clean drinking water when this palsied poon pruner loggerheads his way right over basic human decencies. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but let’s try flipping that Kentucky fried tortoise.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Factual gymnastics. Now I have fully resigned myself to the fact, that maybe I really am just a stupid dumb idiot, residing in dumbass dipshitville population me. Mostly, I’m fine with that, so at the risk of alerting my illustrious audience of this not so dirty secret, I must say WTF? How is it that being “incidentally” captured speaking to foreign agents, is “Thanks Obama, Obama’s fault” again? Shouldn’t that raise some little red flags, that maybe you were talking to some of those people Mama always warned you about? Like isn’t this one of those self inflicted fuel to the fire situations? Much like when, one has genitally related to some undesirable and instead of sticking to Watch You Talkin’ About Willis, they lose their cool and through an unfortunate, agitated slip of the tongue admit some coyote ugly guilt? Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but if it looks like a turd and it smells like a turd, maybe it’s a turd?
You know what really burns my biscuits? Pathetic attempts from desperate companies to keep me ensnared. I don’t need to be asked seventy-five times whether or not I’m sure I don’t want to receive inane emails every two hours about some sale or crisis or special deal that is so special it’s advertised every other week. If anything, it makes me more sure I don’t want anything to do with the eager beaver entity ever again. No one stays in a relationship because watching someone cry and plead made them fall back in love, it’s because their guilt switch got flipped and they haven’t figured out how to turn it back off. If I want to cancel a service, I shouldn’t have to Nancy Drew that shit to practice what’s well within my rights. Please wipe your eyes, get off your knees yon beggarly buttheads and have a little respect for yourself. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but yes my decision if final.