Realtors, Politicians, and Women.
Three identities, three evils, three topics that are certain to send me into a spiral of psychotic thoughts far from logical. Over the years we have been surrounded by words and concepts which have had either a specific word or sentence to describe them. If I said terrorism you would probably say evil or those more eloquent may endeavour to go above and beyond expectations and give a more precise description of psychopathic dolt. Although I must say, terrorists have to have a lot of guts to do what they do, if only their passions were directed into more productive activities such as soccer or maybe squash.

Moving along, this chapter is certainly not about terrorism, the world is serious enough as it is without me joining the yawn'o'matic wagon. I'm going to talk about what I think of realtors, politicians and women, and I warn, what I'm going to tell you may well shock you into thinking twice about venturing into the cold and draughty world of real estate.
Realtors. Oh my realtor, how you make me fume, how I hate your every little card which is shoved mercilessly into my letterbox every single day - except Sunday - just to let us know, you're there for us. You're there for us my perfectly sculptured ass. Do you know how much better off the world would be if you just put…

Bonjour Victim
My name is Jane the parasitic asskisser, and I'm putting this annoyingly fake card in your mail box just to alert you to the fact that I am after you. Not only will I fill your mailbox up with useless and undesirable paper by killing forests, I shall ring incessantly using my nasal, pain inducing voice, to remind you, yet again, that not only do I exist, but that I am someone who is desperate to drain you of all your well earned profits. After you have begun to bleed internally from my lowly excuse for a voice, I shall continue to send those little cards even more so after you have rejected me a few thousand times. I shall keep sending these little cards until you get a paper cut or your house is dominated by little white cards with my name written mockingly on it.
I'll be expecting your pathetically panicked call.

…instead of that ass kissing crap which makes me want to gag severely? Seriously, if you just put that your clients would most probably triple, triple in fear of your voice and the internal bleeding which ensues. Not only is it enough that they ruthlessly pester us at our own home, they have to plaster their oh so hair raising portraits onto the back of the local buses. Looking into the eyes of someone who would kill you for 10% of your property's going price for a 20 minute journey is terribly unnerving.

In conclusion to the realtor section, if you do happen to come into contact with one, lapse into immaturity and stick a "oh dear god kick me now and make it awfully hard" sign onto their back so that they may be mocked and possibly tortured all day long until their parasitic senses finally kick in and rip it off in a fit of feline rage.

All pictures should be sent to deadpride

Now that the worst of them is over, let us move on to the issue of the every day politician. This is what I suspect their routine is…

- Get up.
- Have a scotch.
- Deny an affair.
- Have mud thrown at them by an irate minority.
- Act as though they care.
- Lie to save their well paid ass on national television.
- Deceive the very people who are keeping them in parliament.
- Go home and indulge in a very unruly, embarrassing and potentially career threatening private life.
- Get up yet again, but this time deny they were ever at that particular bar.

Actually, looking at that routine, politicians are starting to look pretty exciting. And here I was thinking that they were pathetic in their two faced ways and in their real intentions of wanting some semblance of power over a country. But if you forget they are what hold together the environment you live in, they can provide at least a few seconds of entertainment.

Crimany, even taking the piss out of politicians is boring.

So, in conclusion to the politician section, they are far too redundant to keep my attention span for more than 30 seconds. Though don't fret my unconcerned audience, I'm sure that 30 seconds is generous concerning certain politicians in certain situations.

This particular section of the loosest essay ever to be written by an ignorant teenager is on a topic which I am actually qualified to insult as much as I please. Women are evil. And who better to know than one who has been at the brunt of their wrath first hand, their glowering eyes when you dare sit alone in a room with "their man", the dangerous glint they acquire when you saunter into the school ball with "their ball dress" on. And I suppose the fact that I am a woman myself helps. I'll be the first to say that women have never had it easy. Imagine this, ladies and gentlemen, going through the dark ages with no pads? Or even worse…pads with…no wings. I really hate pads with no wings; I don't even know why they insist to sell them with without any – they become very unstable don't you think? I can just imagine a woman in 700 BC having to sit on a bucket for 7 days…and the smell with only really being able to bathe once a year? And the cramps, oh dear holy and unforgiving Lord the cramps.

Let's just say you men out there are damn lucky they invented drugs.

Now, put childbirth on top of periods and the discrimination we've had to undergo throughout the years, we have had to be pretty tough to put up with the banes we inherited at birth. Come to think of it, whose fault was it that we were made a girl? Men's. Yeah, that's right; I was actually listening that one time in biology during the DNA topic to learn that it was the father who determined the sex of the baby.

"Hmm, she faked the orgasm so I think I'll just plague our next child with cramps and the mission of inserting a tampon for the first time."

If tampons had brains, I'd be having a bit of a word with them, yes sir.

Is it just me or have I drifted from the point at hand? I have a nagging suspicion I have but do I care, as per usual, not really. So, discarding the toiletries issue, let us start. No man has ever made me want to swivel on my sneakerd heel and run away in a very disorganised fashion screaming bloody murder like the sight of a woman has. Especially once in a black dress suit looking quite able to not only paralyse me physically, but also emotionally. We are sneaky, conniving creatures who would most probably scream rape just to get a man back for eating our chocolate in that lethal stage of PMT. I myself have been known to be quite unforgiving when it has come to me and PMT.

Situation: I had thoughtlessly given my lunch away to my friend and was suddenly uncontrollably hungry. I managed to scab a very delectable chocolate thingy from my friend. But then my other friend swapped it with his and wouldn't give the yummy one back to me. After threatening to never acknowledge his feeble and insignificant presence ever again, he reluctantly gave it back. Fool.

I put my friend Mia into a situation, and asked her opinion…

. | I've found Jesus. He was behind the sofa the whole time. | . says:
You see 2 people: one is an important looking woman in a dress suit glaring at you with a very evil glint in her eyes, intimidation emanating off her very being while holding a phone in her hand. The other is a biker dude who is staring you in the eye while sticking burning cigarettes into his arm with a gun in his belt…..who would you feel was scarier?

Toi...suis moi au paradis...~"You're free to leave me but just don't deceive me!" Moulin Rouge~GrEEn fAiRy AbSiNtHe says:
I think the woman would feel scarier.

Now, her answer continued so I'm just going to paraphrase. Even though Mia thought that logically it should be the guy with the gun that was scarier, she felt that an intelligent woman with potential was all the more intimidating…combined with the fact she doesn't think guys are all that fantabulous. Sorry guys, but you do tend to disappoint at times…in more ways than one – the sooner you can get over the denial, the sooner you can acquire drugs to tame that unruly beast called…

Horny Horns! Red Blooded horns for the red blooded hornest.
This ad was brought to you by Rant'o'Censorship – if we can't disguise it, you're probably better off

As a closing note to the section of women in general are evil I'm going to leave you with a nice quote to ponder which I am blatantly stealing from "The Drew Carey Show". And just so you know, loving, every moment of the intentional plagiarism…

"Don't go to bed without making up, she'll kill you while you sleep."

Come to think of it, that may not be plagiarism, for, due to my disgusting lack of memory, I can't for the unholy life of me remember the quote precisely. Oh well, I'll keep on trying, someday I'm sure I'll get an obscure email from the FBI urging me to halt my ignorant shenanigans of death.

I'd just like to inform everyone that I did not, I repeat, did not, get a flame from an enraged chicken eating vegetarian, and for that I am terribly disappointed. On that note, I shall leave you, allowing the hint to linger.

Once again, good night, other worldly being bless, and remember…
Suffer in pride; somehow deny yourself of all hearing capabilities before the parasites sink their fangs into your virgin phone number.

Disclaimer: absolutely no research was done concerning this poor excuse for an essay. Anything I said most probably should not be taken at all seriously. All those wondering about the above average amount of sexual insinuations should be informed that I go to a catholic school and therefore am extremely corrupt. And to all those politicians out there who are for some inane reason actually reading this equally inane sub essay yes, yes I was implying your sex drive is far from impressive.

Your inspired now, aren't ya, aye, aye, aye!?