tea bag

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Tea without the string.  Call me low class high maintenance,  but there’s something so much more satisfying about a little bob and steep, instead of a crush and capture.  Maybe I’m just some basic bougie bitch, but I live for the oft-regurgitated quotes picked for their succinctness and warm fuzzies evocation.  It’s a whole thing.  Taking that away is like going to a Survivor concert and not hearing Eye of the Tiger.  You’re experiencing the experience, but it’s not exactly the thrill of the chase.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but just give me this.

where’s a warning when you need one

You know what really burns my biscuits?  The lack of bathroom mayday markers.  If we can have alerts for “safety corridors” or “bridge ices before road” warnings, where’s my last chance to make my bladder gladder heads up?  Honestly, isn’t the ice signage unnecessary anyways?  Isn’t that something that should already be covered by common sense and driver’s ed?  It is truly an unforeseen safety concern, when I have to hold off on paying my water bill for sixty miles, because I had no warning that I was entering into the land of terra incognita, interstate highway be damned.  We have warnings for deer and bears and whatever other four legged dumb asses can’t resist having their moment in the headlight spotlight.  Why not alert the wayward wayfarers that a facility free zone is imminent?  Otherwise, I expect a pardon from any po-po’s lurking the back roads when I’m out answering the call of nature in nature.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but when you gotta sprinkle your tinkle, you gotta splash the pirate.

no enjoy the go

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Those Charmin bear commercials.  While we’re all aware that toilet paper is fully intended for purposes that aren’t discussed in polite company, and like any other person who is glad we’ve moved beyond leaves and letting nature run it’s less than fresh course or whatever, I am a grateful consumer, I would appreciate a return to subtleties.  It does not leave me with a pleasant brand association when you conjure images of dingle berries.  What else am I supposed to think about when you’re main selling point is that it won’t leave you with brownie stripes?  While I enjoy the pleasures of clean underwear like any other red blooded American, I don’t need cartoon versions of creatures I associate with shitting in the woods telling me about it.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but poop innuendos are gross.

maybe it’s you

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Advertisement crybabies.  By all means, boycott whoever you want if you don’t agree with the image they’re projecting.  However, if you’re getting your panties all suffocated in your crack over some pro-diversity, pro-immigrant, pro-nonassholio message, maybe just maybe, you’re the asshole in this situation.  I mean nurse yourself to sleep with images of sharp toothed Mexican toddlers, looking to chupacabra you into the long sleep, so they can eventually take your job and make everyone wear sombreros, if that’s what gets you through the pre-wall period.  For what it’s worth, I’d just like to posit that you might be paranoid.  It might be you, that’s the error in this equation.  Unless you’re a master of that Native American fancy dancing with a sad family history of being bent over a barrel by whitey, you’re an immigrant too genius, so calm your mom on all the self hatred.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone and neither did kindness.

walk that walk

You know what really burns my biscuits?  People who feel the need to proclaim their love affair with Jesus and then act like jerk offs.  Like that’s cool you want to invite someone to church and all, but it’d be a whole lot cooler if you’d go ahead and invite me to merge into this traffic instead of cutting me off, Judas.  Furthermore, once I force my way in like church into state, thanks so much for riding my ass like a true prayer warrior, it enables me to see that weapon sized cross you have hanging from the rear view, helpfully alerting me to your heavy weaponry, should we do battle in some Sodom and Gomorrah future.  I’m not claiming any rights to being Polly Pocket perfect, I just feel like if you feel the need to advertise your status of faith, maybe you should make a little more effort to be a positive representation of said declared faith.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but actions speak louder than that personalized license plate.