Ramble, complain. Repeat.

Lately my biggest pet peeve has been twats. Twats who by 5 p.m. on Monday are already scheming about Friday night, rushing the entire week on by so they can drink, so they can sit their sloppy asses at a local bar, beg for drinks and shots, and cry to other twats about the single life. They rush Monday through Friday right on by, rushing away life, their kids, their jobs...it's disgusting. Instead, their kids, their jobs, all the rest of life is merely a distraction, or the reason behind their NEED to get out. I get it. I like to go out too, my kid drives me nuts too, and everyone has stressers. What I do not do however, is repeat the same cycle week after week like sidling up to the bar is the love of my life. Every weekend their kids are shuffled off to the sitters or to their dads, and these twats act like drink tabs are the only worry in the word they've got. They should be crying at the end of the night- about how sorry and desperate they are. How about cherishing time, how about bettering yourself at work, how about being a good mom? The things a man will look for when he wants a woman. After he has banged every other twat in tight jeans at the bar (like her)- he will look for a woman (not her). Being hot only gets you so far, being easy doesn't get you much further...being a filthy twat gets you absolutely no where.
It would be such a great change of pace to see these twats stay home with their kids for a change, do something productive, keep their Magda like tits inside their shirts, save some money and not post on a social networking site pictures of them with every swinging dick in the bar. Just once, maybe that would be alright. Give that raggedy muffin a break, see if it can get some of its shape back. When I eat off a meat tray, I like to see it all rolled up nice and fresh, untouched. What I would not want is meat that has been pulverised and handled by 45 people before me. People want their own prime rib, not community, food bank style roastbeef.