Let Me Pass You A Demon

I have a huge confession to make- I love tramps. And Red Mango. And Mustaches. In that order. And I hate Fruity Pebbles, now... I'll come back to that later, don't worry. You don't want to miss the Fruity Pebbles story. Believe me.

When I say tramps, I mean trampolines, you weirdo. And it's one of those things you don't remember you love so much until someone tells you they're buying one or they were jumping on one the other day. Kind of like sex. Go without it long enough, and you start to forget that you actually enjoyed being mauled while naked, but as soon as someone starts talking about it, you automatically think, "Holy shit, I used to do that ALL THE TIME. I loved it!" 
 And it's true. Trampolines are physics' way of making us all awesome superheroes. Well, except for that one kid who can never do a backflip or a cool jump, and just bounces around like a retarded rabbit. Raise your hand if YOU were that kid... Don't judge me. I'm raising my hand here... In my defense, I grew The Boobs(yes, THE Boobs command the respect that excessive capitalization provides them) at a very young age, which made tramps much more dangerous for me, and loads more fun for my friends' brothers. 
 Alas, beware The Tramp. Because they can also kill you. I've fallen off more than a couple. Of course, I've also opened a car door too fast, and nearly broken my nose, and bled profusely over my shirt in front of 25 of my closest friends and neighbors... So maybe I'm not the best example. But according to YouTube, I'm not alone. I feel better. I hate being a jackass alone. I prefer to drag someone down with me as I go into the depths of jackassery. 

 So, Fruity Pebbles. Yeah, remember those awesome commercials with Fred and Barney, and they're chasing each other, and Barney just really wants some Pebbles but Fred's a stingy bitch? Yeah... basically, I hate those things now. I have weird friends. I have creepy friends. I have crazy friends. But the ones that always ruin my life the hardest are the mean friends. And I have, like, 3 of those. And for some odd reason, I like these people. What can I say? I've got a sick attraction to really dickish mo'fos. 
  R and I are talking about god knows what, and I'm gushing like an idiot about Cosby, and how much I freaking love that man and the way he says jell-o, and he looks me in the eye and asks if I've ever had a "Cosby sweater." My initial response is, quite enthusiastically, "YES! It was my favorite sweater! I loved it! It was so old and weird and creepy and awesome..." and he has this laughter that he can't contain, and I know I've stepped in a huge trap in a big way. And that's when I recognize the giggle in his eye, and the assholery in his heart. He does NOT mean clothing. REAL CLOTHING! I basically begged him not to tell me, and he begged me to let him tell me, and then he pretty much dropped the atomic bomb on what shall henceforth be referred to as my "Nagasaki-life." The aftermath of all that is unholy...
 Do YOU know what a Cosby sweater is? It's fucking disgusting. It's gross. It's the nastiest thing I've heard. And I have heard some sick shit. I'm a dirty girl, I hear a lot of sick shit. People share all kinds of grossness with me. Because they think I want to know. A Cosby sweater is when you eat Fruit Loops, or Fruity Pebbles, and then you puke the brightly colored mess on someone's chest. WHY WOULD SOMEONE TELL ME THIS? Because he thinks it's funny when I puke in public. Fucker. And now this great story has attached itself to Fruity Pebbles for the rest of my life. I used to love Fruity Pebbles. Really LOVE. 
 I made Fruity Pebbles snacks once... They turned out great.


 I've seen a bazillion references to Fruity Pebbles in the last few days, and I want to gouge my eyes out. I went to the store and put different cereals in front of all the Fruity Pebbles I could find. I went to Red Mango, and gagged when I saw they had Fruity Pebbles on their topping bar. I hate my life.  


And could someone please convince R that there really are assassins out to kill me? He totally thinks I'm an idiot. Wrongfully so. There was an assassin rug at Panera the other that nearly took me out whilst my hands were full and I couldn't save myself. And he just laughed uproariously. Which is so unfair. I've been attacked by seat belts, revolving doors, wet floor signs, rugs, and the occasional mustard bottle. And this guy thinks I'M the idiot. There is a huge conspiracy to silence me from telling the truth. And everyone else just thinks I'm going crazy. Tell me I'm not crazy...