You know what really burns my biscuits? Tricky Christian pop rock. I’ll be scanning through the radio stations on an aimless wander and inevitably, toward the lower end of the spectrum, I’ll come across some pop rock-ish song I haven’t heard before. This song will be “current” sounding. Maybe the singer has an interesting voice. I’m giving it a shot. When out of nowhere, comes some “Jesus is my lover and no one can tear us apart” kind of creepy love song to a ghost. I mean seriously, if Jesus lived down the street he’d definitely be taking out a restraining order on some of these unrequited, overzealous lovers. Furthermore, I feel like if you’re going to write shitty songs you should keep the shitty production elements that warn us secular sinners to steer clear. Stop trying to trick the younger generation by wrapping up a stale turd in a shiny package. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.
You know what really burns my biscuits? People who don’t make rights on red. Is this restricted sometimes? Sure. I get that. I’m not asking anyone to break the law. All I’m asking is that they remove their head from their respective asses in every other instance. Are these people unaware that turning right on red is a thing? Is this like that episode from How I Met Your Mother, where the cast members discuss making it to adulthood without learning shit everyone else knows? Never have I ever wanted to rear end someone so bad, as when I’m sitting behind some fucker at a red light waiting to turn right. I’m not talking about people that are gonna go straight. I get that. Whatever. I’m talking about the stupid fucks who have their blinker flashing in time with the loop of “Dumb Ass, Dumb Ass, Dumb Ass” that is scrolling through my mind and that sometimes escapes my mouth with a buffet of other words that would make your mom blush. I can have more time than I even deserve, and when I get behind some mouth breather, failing to take the leap and make the turn, they are so clearly signaling they wish to do at some future point, I get sped up like I’m racing against the end of the world. Wherever I have to go, I need to be there last night. I could be going to get my asshole bleached and I’d start needing that turn to happen like I was going to pick up a billion dollars and my own clone army for world domination. It’s a small thing. I could let it go, but they could also just make the fucking turn. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Failure to flush a toilet. Like I really wanna start my morning with an eyeful of steaming turd left abandoned like some Dickensian orphan. This is a place of business. Not some boarded up flop house with junkies strewn around like throw pillows. What could possibly be consuming so much of your minimally available brain power than you can’t remember to dispose of your own feces? Is this some kind of passive aggressive mind game? Is this like when my cat craps on the rug to teach me a lesson about whatever has burnt his biscuit on that particular day? Do you do this at your own house? If I came over would I just find floaters galore if I tried to use the facilities? I’m not saying I’m anywhere near perfect or that anyone should strive to be, but isn’t lowering a lever to flush away your brown apples like one of the lowest bars ever? Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Convenience store drink selections. There’s always a free for all of sugary crap to murder your insulin levels, but like one sugar free option. And it’s always the most shit option. I’m looking at you blue Powerade. Thanks, but I’ll pass on the Smurf spooge. This goes for soda too. Like how can there be all of these “Get Healthy” campaigns and yet no healthy options? Maybe sometimes you don’t want fucking water. Maybe you’ve already had your eight glasses and want something colored or carbonated. Is that too much to ask? The rows of twenty seven different full sugar flavored Gatorades and fifty fuck me thousand sugar packed sodas are literally killing my soul and this country. Is it really any wonder we’re a country of diabetes prone fat asses? Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.
You know what really burns my biscuits? The hypocrisy of the female celebrity (and by extension the rest of us) weight discussion. On the one hand its, “Oh, that cheeky Adele is just gorgeous!” or “That Ashley Graham is so brave and beautiful!” But then, these same ass suckers turn around and act like Jessica Simpson needs to slap on a burka to go outside, cause god forbid, she fail to conform to the bobble head Barbie Doll standard for once in her life! Mariah Carey has aged like any normal person would over a twenty year span, but that doesn’t stop the snarky comments about it. Of course, whenever she takes off the pounds it’s like she’s the shiny new Mother Teresa of the moment. She may not have cured cancer, but damn she shed that baby weight! I’m not saying there’s anything unattractive or unappealing about any of these people. All I’m saying, is I find the double standard ridiculous. It’s like sorry you gained fifteen pounds. But gross. You should probably, definitely just go kill yourself. Never mind that your ass, is now the same size as this other ass, that we’re all fighting to shove our stupid ass heads directly inside of because somehow it’s different. WTF?! Don’t even get me started on “Dad Bods.” Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.