Hi all. I’m Beth, a freewheelin’ girl from Ventura in Cali. I’m the whole package. But I’m also the kind of girl who speaks my mind, so I hope you don’t have a problem with that. Many guys have been chatting me up here and want to know what my turnoffs are. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got a lot of things that bug me, and as a 21 year old girl with a killer bod who’s just 16 short months away from an awesome accounting degree, I’m not afraid to tell you.
I don’t like people who park in handicapped parking spaces if they don’t have a sticker. That just gets on my tits something awful. And while we’re on the subject, I don’t like people who do Irish accents if they aren’t Irish. Not that I’m Irish. But who are they trying to impress? Is that, like, your only way of making yourself known? Gosh! Get over yourself! Puh-leese!
And by the way, I find it very offensive if people use the "c" word around me when they haven’t known me for at least 18 months. I mean, if I’ve known you all my life and you’re my brother or my dad, you can say the "c" word all you want. Sometimes it’s a great word, especially if somebody’s being a real "c." But if you say it when you’ve only been my partner at hatha yoga for a few weeks, obviously we’re not as intimate as you think we are. I feel very vulnerable when I’m doing the dog and cat pose and you start talking about what a "c" the instructor is. My body starts puckering in all the wrong places when you do that, and I will not be seeing you at yoga next week. And don’t expect me to call. I’ll just leave it to you to figure it out. That’s how I serve.
Next: I don’t like ventriloquists. That’s the lowest form of entertainment. It offends me personally if you talk at me through a doll. Do you think I’m stupid or something? Also, men who wear socks with holes in them. What did I do to you that you’ve got to wear socks with holes, kill your dog? Are we English street urchins here? I thought we lived in the wealthiest industrialized nation on the planet. And by the way, I don’t like short, yellow gym shorts on guys. And I especially don’t like it when you sit down and stretch in them, because who knows what shiny bags are going to come dangling out. What are you trying to do, make me scro-blind?
Other things I don’t like: pointy hats. And guys with too much curly facial hair. Geez! Don’t you know that "pornostaches" make me itch in my girly low lands when I see them? Also, I can’t stand people who eat whole pickles lengthwise. Ewww! Get a clue, pickle-fellators! That is not cool!
Meanwhile, if you wanna chat or, God forbid, date me, you gotta know that half-drunk bottles of Snapple left in the fridge make me want to kill somebody. If you ever leave a half-drunk bottle of Snapple in the fridge, I’m going to throw ice water on you while you sleep and then do glancing toe kicks at your genitals. That is just not something you do.
Other things I can’t stand: egg nog. Midgets. Three-legged dogs. If I see any of these things, I will fucking kill you. Also, I hate rust. And shaggy hair. And carpet if the nap is too short or too long. I hate Wal-Mart shopping carts left in the parking lot. I hate the phrases "due to" and "per our conversation." If you use these phrases around me, I will dig my French cut nails into your eyes and scratch them until there’s nothing but optical nerve dangling out. I hate manila envelopes on Wednesday. I hate the letter "Q" when there’s not a "U" immediately following. I don’t like the way I feel right before sunset on Sunday evening, so you better not come anywhere near me right then. I hate chinchillas, the CBS television network, the color mauve, the way old people smell, the acronym "ROFL," the unfinished underside of park benches, "The People’s Court," chrome spinner hubcaps, poetry when it’s spoken out loud, the major arcana in Tarot decks, coffee cups with writing on them, and birds that can’t fly. So if I see anything of these things, I will totally plunge a knife into anyone who brings them around me. Got me?
I also hate the name Randolph, air conditioner condensation, mackerels, soup that’s colored white, the word "thee," any group of numbers that add up to "17," and girls who have both muffin tops and ass cracks. If I see any of these things, I will go into a grand mal seizure, and believe me, your bodily person will be nothing more than collateral damage in a erupting lava of nuclear girl malice that will envelop you and your family and wash you away in a soup of blood, gore and viscera.
Who I’d Like To Meet:
I will fucking kill you if you try to meet me.
Beth has: 22,868 friends
From Eric Rasmussen's blog: