Today, as I’m finally remembering my middle name (I think it’s “wants“) and using up what miniscule brain power I have left to decide whether or not I’d like a pony on rollerskates or a unicorn on rollerskates, I am getting ready to show yet another friend what living in Chicago is like.

Namely, my living room. Because I’m re-watching Weeds, dammit, and I have to know what happens next!

(besides the obvious “Nancy will make the worst decision ever“)

Clearly, I do not win at life OR as a tour guide. Unless it’s a tour of my living room. Which Dana can vouch for. She knows I win at the “tour of my living room.”

It goes like this: “here’s the couch.” “here’s the other couch.” “watch me sit on it.”

Really, it couldn’t be awesomer.

Anyway, this gem appeared in my inbox and I’ve been saving it for a rainy day. Which would be today. It’s ASS outside. HEY, WELCOME TO CHICAGO, IT’S ASS HERE!

That’s totally the awesomest thing ever. Jimmy Motherfucking Wales? Eat your creepy-eyed heart out.

P.S. I think I need to put this on my header somehow. HOW SICK WOULD THAT BE?

Also: Am here and here today.

If you haven’t heard, The Apocalypse is coming. I know this because I saw it on a billboard and billboards never lie. Just like The Internet. It never lies.

Here, see?

This is not NEARLY as Fear Mongering as it should be.

Here, try this one, Pranksters. See if you feel MORE afraid now:

*shudders* It’s the fucking daisies. They get me EVERY time.

Anyway, so this guy said it was SUPPOSED to be the apocalypse back in 1994, but apparently the guy was wrong then. It happens. I mean who WOULDN’T make mistakes while calculating The End of Days?

So this time, he’s sure he’s right. And you know what Pranksters? I’m GLAD. Here’s why.

1) I won’t have to pay off my credit cards! When I’m rotting away in the afterlife, my creditors will too! This is a win.

3) I won’t have to plant any of the shrubbery I bought for my front yard. Let’s be honest here: I’m tired of digging holes and then filling them with plants. Now, I won’t have to!

6) I’ll never have to pen the children’s book: “Shhhh, Baby, Mama’s Hungover.”

10) Hell, I’ll never have to pen ANY book, because I’ll be roasting away in the fiery pits of Hades. This will make looking for a new literary agent or self-publishing a total moot point.

15) I will never have to listen to that stupid fucking duck on the Wonderpets say, “This. Is. SEWIOUS” again, because he’ll be all BLAM! BLAM! DEAD.

21) I’ll never have to worry about getting past those stupid pigs in Angry Birds.

28) No one cares if you’re a size four in hell.

36) I’ll never have to clean another litterbox. Less poo = win for all of us.

45) I won’t have to watch Extreme Couponing and feel guilty that I can’t seem to save three hundred dollars every time I go to the store. Because there will be no stores!

55) I’ll get to hang out with most of LA down in hell.

66) I can stop plotting the demise of Mark Zuckerberg, John C. Mayer OR Jimmy Wales.

78) I’ll never have to hear the words, “social media,” “viral video,” “let’s connect!” or “bloggy” again.

91) I won’t have to worry that someone will send filler flowers (carnations, baby’s breath) to my funeral because there will BE no funeral.

105) I won’t have to hear about the Real Housewives again.

120) I can finally forget about that girl who reminds me of a Chicken McNugget, Snookie.

136) Maybe I can finally get a nap.

————-

Why are YOU excited for the Apocalypse, Pranksters?

Yesterday, I woke up and Billy Motherfucking Mays was all:

IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY, YOU DIRTY SLUT, SO GET YOUR LAZY BITCH-ASS UP AND GET READY TO FUCKING SPARKLE ALL OVER THE FUCKING PLACE.

When Billy Motherfucking Mays is the first voice in your head in the morning, you shut your whore mouth and you listen.

Gingerly, opened my eyes and thought about my plans for the day. I had an appointment with my neurologist who looks, incidentally, like he stepped off the set of a spaghetti Western somewhere (I’ve diagnosed him with GERD)(gastroesophogeal reflux disease)(he should really get that taken care of). Over by the neuro was the mall. At the mall were STORES. At the stores were PRESENTS. Presents for ME.

Today, I thought, was going to be a very good day indeed.

I sat up. Easy-peasy, I thought to myself. Eye of the Motherfucking Tiger!

Then, in an alarming fit of poor judgment, I stood up. Whoops! My bad. My legs felt like wobbly stumps, thanks to the migraine and Imitrex. Well, shit. Hard to take on the world without properly functioning legs.

I hummed “Life’s Been Good To Me So Far,” as I made my way to the bathroom. All right, I cheered. I got my fucking sea-legs.

When I looked in the mirror, this is what looked back;

Woah. That’s hot. I should probably become a model or something.

(BARBIZON, BE A MODEL, OR JUST LOOK LIKE ONE)

I tried to scrub the ugly off my face but it just wasn’t happening. The Ugly Cry has it’s aftermath.

I wobbled down and drank some coffee, giggling at all of the anti-VD Tweets (I have other holidays I feel similarly about) and tried to peck out a post. I’ve been writing in the mornings for so long that if I don’t, I feel like I’m missing an arm.

But I couldn’t.

I was wobbly in the head, too.

Billy Motherfucking Mays piped in:

“SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH AND WRITE A GODDAMNED POST, YOU LAZY DRUG-SEEKING BAG OF WIND.”

But luckily, Bob Motherfucking Ross was right behind him:

“Happy Clouds, Aunt Becky. Focus on the Happy Clouds.”

I tried to see those happy fucking clouds and write my goddamed post at the same time and I just couldn’t do it.

Then it came to me. I needed to go where I’d never (willingly) gone before to do something I’d never (willingly) done before: look at laptops.

We all know that my technical knowledge begins and ends with I push a button and the Magical Elves in the Email Machine come alive! So the very notion going to a computer store for the express purpose of looking at computers for myself is as laughable as me painting my kitchen with my tongue.

Normally, I only go to Best Buy if ambushed:

Daver, My Dad, or My Brother: “Oh HEY there, Becky/Rebecca/Stumpy, let’s go to MCDONALDS!!”

Me: “OOOOOOOOH CHEESEBURGERS.”

(I get into the car like a rube)

Me: “HEY WAIT A MINUTE THERE’S NO CHEESEBUR…GAH, OH MY GOD THE BLUE AND THE YELLOW AND FUCKING SHITBALLS IT’S SO BRIGHT IN HERE. LOUD. LOUD. LOUD. HALP ME HALP ME HALP. MAKE IT GO AWAY.”

Daver, My Dad or My Brother: “You think you’d learn, but you never do.”

Then I hover, invading their personal space, until they get fed up and leave. Alternately, I insist that they buy me something exorbitantly expensive. Like a pony.

To actually want to go to Worst Best Buy is the equivalent to hell freezing over. But I need a lappy and I don’t have a lappy and every time I try and look for one online, this is what it looks like,

And then I get really annoyed because there are so many fucking NUMBERS and I don’t actually CARE about most of them so then I go and watch Dexter mutilate people and feel better until I realize that I still should figure out which laptop I am going to buy because, hi, this staying home all day bullshit is making me twitchy.

Also: I need to take the Internet away from Jimmy Wales and Mark Zuckerberg because it’s time for a GIRL to be in charge. I need to RUB MY VAGINA on the internet, Pranksters, but I have to be able to be MOBILE to dominate the world and shit.

I proceeded into Best Buy after perfecting my GET AWAY FROM ME GEEK SQUAD look in the mirror.

See, if you don’t watch out for them, they sneak up on you and the next thing you know, you have to hear a sermon on why you should buy their stupid anti-virus protection or whatever, but you’re just standing there, mentally rearranging their features kinda like Mr. Potato Head but geekier. So you have to be wary of them. Very wary.

I snuck to the back of the store where the keep the lappy’s hostage, ogling the desktops as I went past.

And there they were: row after row of laptops. Finally, I could stop obsessing about my inability to decide and just fucking decide already. This was too tedious, even for me, to obsess about.

I rolled my eyes at the tiny netbooks. I didn’t need no stinkin’ netbook. Child’s play.

And there it was. A light, a beacon of light, shone down and I saw exactly what I needed. A laptop that said, “hey world, I’m a fucking blogger. You’d better take me and my 17 inches of swinging death seriously or I am going to go all CPU (whatever that means) on your ass. I’ll punch you in the throat if you don’t take me and my oversized screen and too many memory chips and stuff fucking seriously because I am a blogger and this is an absurdly awesome computer.”

A laptop that was absurdly absurd. Too much computer. WAY too much computer.

Just like I like it, baby.

Just as soon as I sell a kidney, Imma get me a fucking big ass 17-inch MacBook Pro. So I can go all (insert a bunch of nerdly phrases that I don’t understand here) on the Internet’s Ass. I’LL SHOW ZUCKERBERG WHO’S BOSS.

Just as soon as, uh, I get it. And stuff.

SO TAKE THAT, ZUCKERBERG. In um, a, um, couple of months…and stuff, I’m going to take over the INTERNET.

#BOOYEAH

My life is complete.

This is what brought people to my blog today, in the wee hours of this morning.

Jimmy Wales, founder of Wikipedia (that’s probably how he probably signs his checks)(I sign mine, Becky Sherrick Harks, Mummy Hunter Extraordinaire, ESQ)(don’t judge, Pranksters), it appears that I am not the only one who has a problem with your “I’m Judging You As You Search Wikipedia For ‘Vagina Itch'” eyes.

(here’s my aside: why don’t you get a puppy to stare cutely at me instead? I’d be more inclined to give money to a puppy than to you.)

2011, I’m already humping your leg.

So, because I am lazy and unconcerned about facts, I often use Wikipedia when looking for such information as “How do you build a nuclear reactor?” and “What is my middle name?” Occasionally, I’ll use Wikipedia to make me laugh because, well, obviously. Once, they called my town, St. Charles (IL, not MO) “the land of the drunks” and once they quoted Brian “I Hate The North Shore” Parkins as saying, “I hate the North Shore.”

If I had screen shots, it would be better.

Anyway, Wikipedia is fine and I’m still all EYE OF THE MOTHERFUCKING TIGER about beating Wikipedia’s entry for John C. Mayer.

But the last time I was searching Wikipedia for “why are oranges called orange?” I had this horrible, awful thing happen to me. It was so bad that I had to lay down and shake like a purse dog (if I were on Wikipedia, I’d know what they were called) until I could get up again.

Why was I so afraid?

JIMMY MOTHERFUCKING WALES.

PRANKSTERS, JIMMY MOTHERFUCKING WALES WAS STARING AT ME.

I’ve never been so afraid of the internet before. Look at his scary creepy eyes!

It’s like he’s one of those old time paintings from a haunted mansion and his eyes follow you EVERYWHERE.

Those eyes are JUDGING what you’re LOOKING UP. Jimmy Motherfucking WALES was JUDGING my Wikipedia searches. I knew it! I knew he was judging me! HOW DARE HE JUDGE ME WHEN HE PUT UP SUCH A HORRIBLE GUILT-RIDDEN “PERSONAL APPEAL?”

Jimmy Motherfucking Wales wants my MONEY or he’s going to creep me out half-to-death.

I did the only logical thing. I took to Twitter, horribly butchered his name and called him out on his creepy funhouse eyes.

TODAY JIMMY MOTHERFUCKING WALES IS GONE. VANISHED. POOF!

This can mean only one thing, Pranksters:

We killed Jimmy Wales…

…and his creepy funhouse eyes.