- The Diary of Mitch R. Singer
- Hanging with the Goon
- The Consummate Politician Apologizes
- Rating the WWE's Roster by Their Stench
- The Esteemed Critic's Multiple Sentence Reviews
- Conan Brothers' Q&A
- Theme Park Mistress
- Hillsdale Paranormal Society
- Writer's Block
- Select Farmers Only Profiles
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
You're Going to Get...It
Drink it in...man. You're going to get it. I don't know when, or where, or what the circumstances will be, exactly. But rest assured, man. You're going to get...it. And when you do, it's going to be bad.
I'm keeping a list, you see. A list containing all the names of people who are going to get...it some day. A list of bad people who just don't understand the gift. What is the gift, you ask? If you don't know, that may be a problem. Because you might be on the list. The list to get...it.
"It" is the worst thing you can imagine. "It" isn't some stupid clown that is really a giant spider or any bullshit like that. "It" is something unimaginably horrible, like a Donald Trump presidency or a Nickelback album. "It" is like global warming times ten or a used pair of John Cena's jorts. "It" is the smell Kevin Owens releases backstage after he's had eight taco supremes from Taco Bell. What you need to understand is that "it" is super bad. You don't want to get "it."
You know people who are going to get..it? People who hate nice scarves, for one. People who don't appreciate the benefits of DDP yoga, for two. Folks who don't listen to the Jericho podcast, for three. Anti-Canadian reactionaries, for four. The list goes on and on. Most of the people I know are on it, in fact. Maybe that says something about me. Maybe I'm a little hard to get along with. Maybe I make more enemies than friends. You know why that is? It's because I'm the greatest of all time.
Yesterday I was at a Starbucks, and I ordered a white mocha. It took them five minutes to make it, and I had to wait in line with all the degenerates who definitely deserve...it. As soon as my drink was finished, I grabbed a hold of the flunkie with the horn-rimmed glasses who was behind the counter, and I told him that he had to kiss my biceps or he was going to get "it." He just stared at me with fear in his face, paralyzed with the fear of "it." It's amazing what power a genderless pronoun has in today's world. You would've thought I'd threatened him with a loaded gun. Maybe that's the best analogy. "It" is like a loaded gun. You don't want me to put "it" in your mouth.