Holy Hot Messes! - Floppin' Dem Fart Windows

Wasted, party of 1?  Is me!  Now Gimme dem shots'uh bacon grease!

      Who's ready for some steaming hot shitpiles of mess?  Please, only one at a time, a guy's bacon-wrapped heart can only take so many things at once.  This edition, I'm talking 'bout things that you might think I know nothing about (working out, stairs, actually getting off my ass to do something other than refill my Diet Dr. Pepper gallon jug), but trust Hobags and Slutnuggetz... I'm one cultured 7000 pound bitch.  So take the "click on keep reading" journey with me and see what Person, Place, and Thing takes the royal hot mess crown this week, but save me a spot inside...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

PERSON:  Peeps who work out in Flip Flops and/or Jeans

Let's do some squats! (please-to kill yourself)

      It's shambled enough that stonewashed jeggings exist, but do you really have to wear them to the gym?  And really, do I wanna see your pube encrusted, toe jam filled, shrimp piggies with cigarette stained talons of death staring at me spider-on-my-pillow style?  No, so what gives Hookuh?  It's one thing if you're like me and you bring your gym clothes to work so your changing-shame is reserved for the bathroom instead of the herpes filled locker room and thus you forgot to pack your shorts or sweats with "juicy" written on the back before "running" out the door in the morning... but if that's the case just do what I do and count that as a good excuse NOT to work out.  I think your "abs" and the World will be okay if you miss a day because you didn't bring your douche costume with you and thus aren't properly fashioned for fat burning.

I tried to warn a bitch. (dayum! Cop on the right = nom!)

     And as for those in flops?  Clearly you're not at the gym to do the cardio you so desperately need if you're not wearing tennis shoes.  Hell I'll take a Stiletto heal over some flip flops at the gym any day.  Please-to don't make my life any more difficult than it needs to be by rocking your Old Navy thong flops and Lee 501's at the local Bally's, because it's gross, weird, and frankly you just look like an idiot.  So think about your fashions before getting yuh gym on, and if you don't have said proper etiquette one day, do like I do after 10 seconds on the treadmill and give it a rest.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

PLACE: Elevators 

So sorry, I thought that was my vagina.  GARY!!

      Don't get me wrong, I'm all for being smushed against rando stranger hotties in a space that if I accidentally grabbed some ass or scrotes it could be considered NOT RAPE, but elevators are where I draw the satty fat stained line.  Elevators are like black holes of death, no one breaths, you can't fart and get away with it cuz it'll trail you, and most importantly... if you get stuck for some reason, there's no snax or way out without decapitation, Tower of Terror freefall death, or Satan being in there with you like that shitty DEVIL "movie".  
     PLUS!  Knowing me I'd have to take a big shit right when said elevator stoppage was happening cuz as in life, one thing clogging generally makes another run like racially profiled minorities from fat white cops with a chip on their shoulder (literally...mmm BBQ Fritos).  But I digress...  In Shammation, I'm never one to advocate exercise, but for the sake of your nose, ass, and life... maybe stairs are the better way to go.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

THING: Drive Thru Windows  

Amen, Precious Cat... but Fat Club says there's no such thing as "no" when it comes to nomz.

      Don't get me wrong part 2, Drive Thru's to me are like virgin anal canals to gay people; a place you wanna be all up in until the sun comes up but know doing so isn't gonna be that easy... and like said anal-simile, there are some shitty side effects to parking your fleshy parts in a drive-thru.   Main anal-wart-shamble-bringers in the drive thru I've witnessed and wished I could kill Dexter style are: homeless people who know you have food and change and ask for some so you have to think of a clever way to guilt-trick them back into thinking otherwise, and people who check their food (for what seems like hours) without pulling out of the way to the point where I consider honking but don't wanna get shot so don't.
     But it's not just people that make me hate drive thrus, technology keeps me away from these shit shack lanes of Shambles too.  More specifically: Speaker systems that suck mad ass and leave me shouting over and over again with embarrassment:  "I SAID SIXTEEN BACONATORS, FOUR LARGE FRIES, AND A 567,834oz DIET COKE!" only to get an equally frustrating "what" or annoying "anything else/and then" Dude Where's My Car style (of course I want something else: large Vanilla Frosty, you amateur).  

I keep gettin' axed by followers what I look like... now u know.

     Lastly, you can't get a refill in the drive thru slash a mere 10 ketchup packets cannot fatisfy my carnal desires like those little cup thingies inside can.  AND, you're just gonna nom the shit outta your food anyway, so why risk killing some death-deserving pedestrians and/or yourself slash spill all over the car?  Everyone who's anyone knows you can spill all over the restaurant and have someone else clean it up while you steal salt packets and extra napkins for the ride home when they're not looking.  So why not bit the chocolate covered bullet and just go inside? 
     To be fair though, the bennies of drive thru's are that they're (sometimes) quicker than going in, and I guess you can eat like a man going to the electric chair without people watching you with judgy side-eye... HOWEVER, like someone who can sing Avril Lavigne songs with their farts, what's the joy in not sharing your nom inspired talents with the world?  So the next time you pull into a restaurant parking lot, disregard the drive thru, lift up your 8 chins with pride, and go inside to order your mega-tray of nuggets.  You'll thank me in the long run (ugh, running).