You know what really burns my biscuits?  Christians.  Specifically the self righteous, hate mongering, oblivious, head up their pinched ass Christians.  Like how are you going to teach your kids that discrimination is sanctified?  These people shut their ears and eyes to the obvious, like a fucking pious, neo-nazi Helen Keller because they can’t admit that they’re wrong.  That they fell for the most successful Ponzi scheme that’s ever been.  People say churches teach values but shouldn’t we question what exactly those values are?  Considering it a catalyst for child abuse, that a parent won’t sign on to the idea of proclaiming the evils of homosexuality?  Are you fucking serious?  It’s child abuse to refrain from indoctrinating your child into a system of blind hatred?  Maybe these “well-meaning” *insert eye roll and gag reflex here* parents are the ones being abusive.  Teaching your child hostility to whoever doesn’t act or look like them?  That sounds like a great plan to prepare someone for the world.  Refusing to teach factual science?  No wonder this country is filled with so many dumb fucking idiots.  Being willing to stick your head in the proverbial sand in the interest of preserving your precious belief system doesn’t make you brave.  It makes you stupid.  Really, really stupid.  How can you make an informed decision about reproductive rights if you can’t accept evolution?  How can you care about the repercussions of the changing climate if you believe the “end times” are drawing ever closer?  This is an antiquated system that insulates hate and promotes fear.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

In a hurry to slow things down

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Those illustrious assholes that gun it like “Greased Light’nin,” only to ratchet it down to the average speed of a Rascal Scooter, once they’ve successfully anointed themselves leader of the pack.  I’m always curious if this is done passive aggressively on purpose or if it is the fault of a dodo bird brain.  Either way, it’s seriously infuriating.  To all of the self appointed pace car drivers out there, I hope your favorite sports team goes on a seven year losing streak.  I hope your dog bites you and pees on your favorite chair.  I hope every time you walk outside, a bird gets the sky skitters all over your head.  I hope you get chronic paper cuts and relationship ending halitosis.  I hope you never lose that pesky, last five pounds.  I hope squirrels get in your attic and defecate all over your precious family keepsakes.  I hope you get a flat tire in the rain and no one stops.  I hope the wind blows your dress up in front of a Sunday School class and your best suit gets ruined at the dry cleaners.  I hope mosquitoes follow you like a shadow.  I hope that pointy corner of the bed frame gets you in the shin every night.  I hope your toast gets burnt and your coffee gets cold.  I hope someone else gets the promotion.  I hope you bite your tongue and it really hurts.  I hope you have gas on your next first date.  I hope somewhere, sometime, someone or something pisses in YOUR grits and all of life’s little irritants find a resting place with you.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

it takes a gun

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Support for weapons of mass murder.  This argument that if someone REALLY wants to commit murder they’ll do it with whatever is at their disposal so “DON’T TAKE MY GUN!!!” is cute.  Pretty sure I’ve never heard of a mass forking yet.  What realistic rationale is there for having these types of weapons?  Bambi hunting?  You can kill those fuckers with a bow.  You’re a collector?  Collect fucking Faberge eggs.  This idea of not being able to have reasonable regulations because well, “I’m not gonna kill anybody” is insane.  When I get on a plane, I also, have no intention of putting a bomb in my honey hole or killing anyone with my nail file but I still have to go through the motions like I might.  That demeaning cattle call that treats us all like common criminals is a price we pay for “safety” since some assholes made that fear a reality.  Do I like it?  Of course not.  It’s ridiculous to be denied regular sized shampoo and water I overpaid for ten steps from the security line.  But I do it.  I get it.  It’s the price I pay for travel because I want to travel and those are the terms.  How many more people have been killed by guns?  Let’s just talk about these particular weapons.  It’s been like the “must have” accessory for every American mass shooting in recent memory.  Why the fuck aren’t the same steps taken?  Why are the powers that be not collectively shitting their pants and losing their minds trying to get these things banned?  Why aren’t more “responsible” gun owners/enthusiasts lining up to call for fiercely stringent background checks?  That’s fine if you want a gun, but couldn’t you agree it’s worth it to wait a little longer for your coveted whatever if it can prevent an atrocity?  Isn’t a little more digging worth it?  Would you really rather have some worthless fucknut being able to take advantage of these lax laws because you can’t bother being inconvenienced?  When is enough finally enough?  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but AR-15s do.

go snail racer

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Slow motion drivers.  A speed limit is more than a friendly suggestion.  It’s an accepted agreement that we all sometimes (most times) exceed.  If one doesn’t feel comfortable with this, get a goddam Uber for goodness sake.  No one wants to meander behind moving roadkill.  There are places to go and people to see and plodding along like the tortoise, is going to get you ran over by the hare.  Don’t hold the rest of us hostage because you don’t have anything worth rushing toward in your monochromatic life.  When I get stuck behind some Sunday afternoon post church cruiser on a Monday rush hour morning, I find myself going all Carrie, post the pig’s blood, in my head and really that’s just no way to start the day.  Could I take a deep breath and count to ten?  Sure, but I’m not the asshole here.  The plodding piece of shit with the line of honking cars behind them is the error in this equation.  Step on the gas or get a bus pass.  Please.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

premature revelation

You know what really burns my biscuits?  News stories devoid of details.  I shouldn’t be left with more questions than answers.  “Reporting” isn’t supposed to be some riddle me this brain teaser.  Ideally there should be letters, that form words, that share facts.  It’s beyond lazy to shit out some blurb, that should really just be a sentence, in the interest of click bait.  If you want to say a bunch of crap without doing any research, blog about it.  I did.  However, don’t masquerade under the revered mantle of reporter and not fucking report anything beyond what could fit in an abridged tweet.  If you want to dabble in throwaway media, stick to the social strata and leave the fourth estate to the grown ups.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.