Yup, I got bored. You’re welcome.
I have no other introduction for this. You know how this goes. Sometimes my ADHD takes a sabbatical and I sit down long enough to find hilarious news stories for myself you. Obviously I do this for you, not just to amuse myself with the stupidity of humanity. Because I’m a goddamn Samaritan, that’s why! It’s been hard the last couple months because you know, racism and plagues and terrorism. Plus, Mariah and Nick are breaking up and I just don’t know what he’s going to do with that mural back tattoo! I can’t even talk about it…
But for the next 5-45 minutes, depending on your reading comprehension (I’m not here to judge you…idiot), we’re going to forget about ISIS and the NFL and the NBA and the microaggressions and the EVERYWHERE-PD and Ebola, etc.
Let’s instead focus on this goldfish.
This is George.
George is a ten-year old goldfish that recently underwent a high-risk surgical procedure in Australia. Yes, they administered anesthesia to a goldfish. Then they spent 45 minutes using real medical instruments and staff to surgically remove a tumor from a goldfish’s face (?) to save its life. Because apparently, veterinarians are bored as shit in Australia and hate Darwin. Bored enough to save a goldfish and not just throw it at a wall and put another goldfish in a bag to give to this crazy lady. I declare this doctor an asshole. He could have saved this woman. The appropriate response to “Help, my goldfish isn’t breathing!” is to flush the stupid fish and say, “THERE’S A WHOLE WORLD OUTSIDE WOMAN! GO MEET HUMAN BEINGS!” The “surgeon” admitted that it’s a rare procedure, and he’s only done it 10 times in his career. That’s about 10 times too many, doc. Go be useful and save an otter or something. Any adult this attached to a goldfish needs an intervention because they’re doing very inappropriate, possibly illegal things with that fish. You blew it.
While we’re on the subject of animals that should definitely have already been killed, a farmer found a two-headed snake earlier this month in Turkey and didn’t kill it. Instead, it’s being “constantly monitored while being kept under quarantine at a ‘reptile house.’” This is some Harry Potter bullshit and I have several questions. First: what’s a reptile house? Is it like a halfway house for reptiles? Do they kick their crack-rock habit before being allowed back into society on a probationary period? Second: Why is this demon snake still alive? Actually, those are all of my questions. I hope this demon snake grows up and dies while eating you, sir. Digestiamus! Nailed it.
In other news, a sixth-grade teacher in Utah was recently injured when her concealed weapon unexpectedly shot at a terd who was fleeing the scene of a toilet bowl, in what some are calling an accident. I’m pretty sure that gun knew what it was doing. Because that is how good guns work. It clearly saw a piece of sh….too easy. I’m sorry; I let you down. Serious question though. Do you think she had time to pull her pants up before the paramedics arrived? Or was she just writhing on the floor ass-naked, covered in toilet shrapnel and pee, screaming “I’VE BEEN HIT! ABORT MISSION! SAVE YOURSELVES!” Enjoy unemployment Annie Oakley, because you can no longer teach in this town. Regardless of the investigation into whether or not you’re insane or just really stupid, you have lost all credibility. Take it from someone who used to take great pride in making teachers miserable, every punishment you dole out will be met with, “What are you gonna do, take me to the bathroom and shoot yourself?” Because it doesn’t have to make sense. It just has to remind you about that time you accidentally shot yourself while on a toilet.
And because teacher’s are awesomely respectable, let’s wrap it up by discussing Melvin, the 61 year old PE teacher who was supposed to be taking his girlfriend Elizabeth, also a PE connoisseur, on a romantic getaway. Instead he decided to chop off her ponytail and run away. I would like to explain this to you slowly. Not because I think you need it, but because I am definitely about to blame the victim as this is clearly her fault. When he came to pick you up, he told you the trip was off. Instead of telling you why, he said he wanted your keys so he could go “put a letter in your car.” NOPE. Bomb, anthrax, ransom note, stalker letter, stolen car, bag of flaming poop, bag of regular poop. Also I’m sitting here, in your car. Why…can’t you…hand me the letter? No? BYE. Then, after giving him your keys and resigning to whatever destiny had in store, he asked you for a hug. NOPE. Stabbing, tackling, strangling, neck-snapping, shooting, dry-humping, something involving poop. While in his warm embrace, he grabbed your ponytail and cut it off. At which point he grabbed your keys, through them over a fence and ran away. This is me, giving crazypants Melvin a standing ovation. Because he is hysterical. And you didn’t get stabbed. Call it a win and move on, Elizabeth. BUT, this does lead me to the most important and missing piece of information from this story. WHAT WAS IN THE LETTER, MELVIN? If you are the kind of man I think you are, it just says
And you do win, Melvin. You do win.
And with that, I leave you to enjoy your weekend because you know, we’re alive and free and Carpe Diem and all that. I don’t know, I can’t do all the work here, people. Quid pro quo. I definitely used that wrong. What do you want from me, it’s not like I took Latin…