Your Worst Nightmare....Nanners as Prime Minister

Thought of the day: I guess I'm slowly realizing the importance of having that special someone in my life. As I lay here hungover on this very miserable day, celebrating #spinstersundays in my own very special way of overloading on carbs, self loathing and Percocet, I find myself day dreaming about having a hot piece of ass to turn to and share, "Hey babe, remember that time I ate that family size box of meatballs all to myself and didn't get sick?" Yeah, those moments, the amazing ones. Reliving that by yourself somehow looses its coolness and may cause some anxiety.

Anyway, in case you're an idiot and you didn't know the presidential elections just happened, they did. I'm choosing to keep my political opinions to myself (mainly because my Twitter is down and I only believe what Beyonce believes and I can't access her account.) But talking politics can make things messy and I want to keep this light. But I will say, "Obama: I'd tap that." *Cue Marvin Gaye. 

It's a good thing you can't tell what I just did right now. Anyway, I'm back.

So this whole election has got me thinking, What would I do if I were elected Prime Minister? I propose the following: I get a whole bunch of male escorts and blow, move to a secluded Island with Jay Z, Beyonce and Justin Bieber to work on my hip hop and swagger, and survive solely on cookie dough until I die resting on the hairless chest of the king himself, the great Justin Bieber while he sings his entire Believe album... acoustically. 

Ban whistling: Ever watch Criminal Minds? Well, if you do, you'll know that any quality serial killer whistles right before he chops your head off and sticks it in a box to send to your family. So fuck that, Canadians are done with whistling, it creeps the shit out of me.

All elevators are made of windows: Since I spent 50% of 2012 trapped in an elevator, people need to see me giving the middle finger while I plunge to my death. Or at least to see me mouthing the words "FUCK THIS" on my way down....That's what she said.

"That's what she said" can be said anytime, anywhere and to whoever you want and it's always acceptable. I think this has to be one of the greatest phrases ever used and it never gets old. Slipping it into a conversation under my breathe actually gives me a rush of orgasmic-like endorphins.

Mandatory intense psychological testing for anyone who posts an online dating profile:
Like I'm talking C.I.A type questioning in a dark room tied to a chair type of shit. Ever see the show Homeland? Yup, like that. The fact that all you need is a computer and fetish to get an account, makes me shudder. Reading my online dating messages is forcing me into a state of clinical depression.

Implement Haiku Saturdays: Just kidding, Are you fucking nuts? Useless poetry is also banned.

Ban dick-ish behaviour:  If you're rude to a disabled person, are a racist, bully children or you don't give up your seat to the elderly on the subway, you're shipped to Australia, saran wrapped Dexter-styles and dropped in shark infested waters. Douchbagery is on the rise in this city and is becoming quite the epidemic. Join with me in the fight to #saveadouche.

Punch your neighbour: Tired of your neighbour Bob's dog shitting on your lawn? Does Linda and Bills little asshole children play music at all hours of the night?  No worries, Once a year every December, you're allowed to punch your neighbour square in the throat and not go to jail for it. I choose December since people seem to be obnoxiously happy around the holidays, and frankly, I'm not digging really happy people right now. Or ever.

Pantless Monday's. Nothing is more liberating than being pantless. So whether you're at the office, in your house or at church, get out of your pants and into your life. Feeling a breeze on your cooter is life changing.

Taxes shmaxes: Can't pay them? Let's hug it out. Taxes are gone, just like my dignity.

Dear Canada, you're welcome.

Over'N Out.
Nanners