I love being first. First Rules!!
What do you like to be first in...
If I had the chance to pick something that I would always, not matter what, be first for, I would pick first in line for the toilet.
Case in point:
What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon. It's way too hot, it's crowded, and what on earth is that smell? The carnival was in town and I was waiting, non to patiently, to use one of the six million port-a-potties.
A strange man in front of me turned. He was covered in hair. It was disgusting. Like a black angora sweater - the only reason I knew it was not a sweater, is that no one is dumb enough to wear a sweater in this heat! Plus, the bacon cheese burger tangled up in the vicinity of where I assume his right nipple would be, was a dead give away!
Big foot was my best friend you know. The abominable snowman ate him for lunch one day. That sucked. Said the freakishly hairy man.
Huh? Maybe the heat was getting to him...
Oh hi. My name is Bill. Are you waiting for the fat woman to sing too?
What next I thought, now on top of everything else I have this crazy guy bugging me. Gimme a fricken break!
I think your cheese is rotten, he said.
In my most authoritative tone, I replied; Look mister, I don't have any cheese, I don't know you, I don't want to know you and I really wish you'd leave me alone! I'm hot, I'm tired, and I don't need this!
There. That should stop him!
Woah! Take an ice cube lady! I'm just trying to make conversation!
And what exactly would you have me do with this ice cube? Shove it up your fat, hairy ass?
OK, OK, it's time to calm down, soothed Bill, you know, there are doctors who treat this kind of thing. The could prescribe something for that there temper of yours. You should seek help as soon as possible, because I really hate elephants!
ME! I screamed I should seek help? You're the one talking about big feet and melting snowmen and invisible fucking cheese!!
What.the.hell? He stuttered; I'm not the one who started talking about flat-footed ballet dancers and blow-up dolls, am I? Nope. I'm afraid, little missy, YOU are the crazy one here! So whats your name?
Huh? Maybe the heat was getting to me...
What part of 'whats your name didn't you understand?'
Why on earth should I talk to you, much less tell you my name? For All I know you're a serial killer who walks around asking people their name before chopping them to bits with a rusty butchers knife because the look like your dead dog FouFou!
So what if I peed my pants on the way home? At least I got away from the bacon cheese burger freaktard!
Pee Ess: Go back and read the disclaimer