Compendium | Fuck this(es)

Fuck fruit flies

Fuck those little insect assholes that swarm around my food the minute I take it out of the cupboard. Where in God’s green earth do they fucking come from anyway? One minute it’s all: “jus’ gonna nab me some sweet, sweet nourishment,” then it goes all Seven Plagues of Egypt and critters come flying every which way, salivating and vomiting all over my food from their little fly-mouths. FUCK OFF. They’re not even real flies anyway. Like fair enough, props to those big bluebottles who have the decency to buzz at an audible volume to let you know they’re just chillin’. But fruit flies?

No. Those fucking misbegotten evolutionary mistakes are so teeny tiny you can’t even see them. That is, unless you touch some food you’ve left out for like a millisecond and the hive mind decides it’s time for a jaunt around the kitchen, and my head. Ugh. If humans are good at one thing, ONE THING, it’s making other species extinct – why are we doing this to the cool animals like whales and tigers and not fucking fruit flies?.

I say let them burn. Let the mouth of Hell cleave the earth, gobble them up one by one, and suck them into an eternity of suffering.

Fuck summer

Hmmm, summertime. That feeling of cool contentment, sippin’ a cold one, no responsibilities, frisbee in the park, frolicking in the meadow. But oh no, not for you. You live in Montreal, otherwise known as the Towering Inferno on the St. Lawrence. Seriously, just what in fucking fuck is up with the weather here?

Fairness dictates that after the elemental survival-struggle that is winter, summer should some kind of reprieve. But summer comes its merry way and you discover Montreal is one giant furnace, the plate glass reflecting the sun’s radioactive rays onto the street and the city’s brick buildings storing the heat for a rainy day. Fuck that Montreal, and fuck the stupid, cloying humidity from which there’s no escape. The sweat, the smell, the never-ending misery – summer is like a hangover that won’t fuck off. The fucking worst though (the worst!) is that the only way to deal with this shit is to buy a fucking overpriced piece of plastic junk from Pharmaprix that lazily waves the boiling air in your face.

At least McLennan is air conditioned though! Once you’ve peeled your melted feet from the surface of the street outside, you can enjoy the icy meat cooler that doubles as a library over the summer. Christ. Fuck summer.


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