Man... BITES MAN

Dogs Die In Hot Cars is the best band ever. t3h b3st b4nd eva|2, for you webspeak asswipes.

From now on, when the 'rents go out of town and leave my brother and I at home, we get to take care of ourselves. This is good, because this week our grandmother "watched"/"took care of" us. Basically, she: complained. A LOT. She has problems with everything:

1. Music today: "It's just screaming!"(when in reality the song we were listening to was entirely instumental)
2. Flavored Coke: "They put too much in!" Wrong again; that's just what preserves it.
3. Technology: Evidently, pushing one button to turn on the T.V. is too damn complicated for her tastes.
4. Putting dishes in the dishwasher. Or the sink for that matter. And trash goes in the trash can, not the sink, which is right next to the trash can.
   
5. Driving us to school: That's part of the job description. And considering the drive to the bus stop is about two minutes away, she shouldn't have had an issue with it.
6. Waking us up: Another essential.
7. Walking the dog: Our dog, her dog, any dog. But instead, she let's the two of them shit and piss all over the house. And it's our fault. It makes sense. Of course it should be our job to walk the dog she brought with her along with our dog while we're at school for 13 fucking hours EVERY DAMN DAY.
8. Not letting her dog chew stuff all over the house: If a door is closed, it is probably so some MANGEY DOG DOESN'T COME IN AND PISS ALL OVER EVERYTHING AND CHEW UP PEOPLES' STUFF. But no, her little precious needs all the doors open so she can roam around and ruin shit.

Well that was fun. And Southeast Asia needs to stop having earthquakes. I mean, seriously. Stop. NOW.