Not long ago, in a land far, far away (and by far, far away I mean in my head), a talking yellow big bird (we’ll call him Big Bird), stole a wing full of sunflower seeds out of the candy dish that I conveniently, creatively and cleverly sometimes call my sunflower seeds dish. Big Bird didn’t know, unfortunately, that all of the clouds and stars in the sky are my little spies rewarded by the chimney smoke (and by chimney smoke I mean…well, never mind) that I…again…never mind. The clouds and the stars told me what Big Bird was up to. There. You satisfied?
Anyway, when I approached Big Bird about his un-stealthy theft, of course toting a bucket of boiling hot water, a machete, a rope, a garden hose, and an oversized plastic garbage bag, he stuttered over his words as he unsuccessfully attempted to deny laying his florescent feathers on my seeds, no doubt fearful (and rightfully so) that I would skin him alive for taking something that didn’t belong to him and lying about it. There was no way on this planet that I was going to let a goofy yellow bird get away with such ratchedness. So I waved the machete back and forth under his wattle until he admitted to his guilt or peed his pants (assuming big birds wear pants, which in this case he did…wear pants, that is).
One wing and a few tears later (and by one wing and a few tears later, I mean some days…I also mean I got hungry and irritated at the same time and severed one of Big Bird’s wings for a mid-Sunday snack. It was good, too), I’d forgiven Big Bird, but not after threatening to chop the rest of him up and fry him into little nuggets if he ever bothered to steal from me again, or lie [to me]. That, apparently in his eyes, meant I’d gotten over his thievery and forgotten how untrustworthy he is, was, could or should be. He’s since several times asked me for some sunflower seeds. GTFOH (expletives)! Each time my response has been “If I share my sunflower seeds with you, Big Bird, there ain’t a cow in Texas!”
Though this story continued with many exciting twists, turns, and both funny and corny quips, ultimately it ended in rivalry and a lawsuit (Big Bird never agreed to me eating his wing. He seemed to be quite attached to it. That is until I chopped it off. He’s now suing me for mutilating him and I’m countersuing him for pilfering my sunflower seeds).
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Some people have problems they never address and are just as screwed up as everyone else. Luckily for them I take time to invest real talk for real people. 
Kats & Kittens, it’s time for a review of this week’s top three pet peeves. 
The list begins with all those cheap asses who insist on putting a price tag on absolutely any and everything. The first question that immediately comes to mind when running into these cheapskates is, “What the hell?” Obviously, no one ever bothered to warn these folks that cheap people don’t get invited to parties, mainly because whoever invites them knows they are going to show up empty-handed and will most likely, no doubt, leave with a doggy bag. They don’t have very many friends because everyone knows a cheap person is too tight on a dollar, so hanging out will likely be reduced to free fun, like the zoo, which of course is the last place a person wants to go when it’s five degrees outside or raining hard enough to mimic a baby tsunami. The same theory applies to the dating game. A cheap person will take you to the lowest starred restaurant on the map, or will buy you the most useless and inexpensive presents during the holidays or any other special occasion if, of course, they muster up enough change to buy you anything at all. 
Pulling up the rear to cheap-ass people are drivers that have no consideration for other drivers…and no, we aren’t referring specifically to cab drivers. Though they are probably THE worst drivers in the world (next to Washington DC subway train conductors), everyone expects them to be lousy drivers. Instead we are talking about folks who aren’t exactly smart enough to be paid for their bad driving. For example, aggressive drivers who cross lanes without using a turn signal; or drivers who refuse to let you cross lanes even though your turn signal has been on since you started your car in your home drive-way; or drivers that drive about 90mph just before coming to a sudden stop for a speed bump; or drivers that pick their nose while looking inside their nostrils in the rear-view mirror instead of focusing on the family of ducks crossing the street; or drivers who drive slower than my Aunt Edna’s bowel movements; or drivers that practice profane road rage just before Sunday worship service; or drivers that blast their music so loud they can’t hear the horns blowing behind them or the people screaming for their lives in front of them; or new drivers; or even worse – old drivers. You all drive me crazy! 
Rounding out the list of this week’s top three pet peeves are people that live in the past. I’m talking about people that have lusted after, fantasized about, pined over, stalked, and/or harped about the person you were years prior to the person you are today. People that are in love with a memory of someone they once knew versus falling in love with the new person you have become. Those people that want you to entertain their life long fantasies about what could have been or what once was instead of the reality of what is now. Those folks must have left their brains in the past if they think that nothing has changed since the passing of about a hundred million full moons. 
Here we are to you know when and what happens now is better than what happened then. Although sh*t will happen much if it could, it’ll all be all right with some insight from Hottywood.
Non-debt paying money borrowers; the folks who only call when they need/want something; the people who stand you up for dates and then make it seem like you were at fault; the folks who monopolize a conversation; the folks who monopolizes a conversation with talk of only themselves; supervisors and coworkers that can’t do their own work; Chinese carry outs that constantly change their menu prices based on the class of their customers; delivery guys that automatically take their tips and delivery fees out of the customer’s total charge and still expect an extra tip after they’ve made you walk to their car to pick up your food; meter maids that dish out tickets in an effort to fill some stupid quota; parents that don’t pay babysitters and day care centers; banks that charge $2.50-$3.95 surcharges for ATM usage; the IRS; the federal government; preachers that use the Lord’s name to cover up their sins; hustlers that charge $20 for a $10 bag; oil and gas companies; booty callers that think you’re good enough for a f*ck but not good enough for a relationship; nightclubs that allow ladies to get in free before midnight but charge fellas full price coverage all damn night; Facebookers and Tweeters who use the social networks to direct message some form of perversion; all Popeyes food chains that overcharge for their delicious, greasy chicken; family members that believe you owe them because of your blood relation; neighbors that borrow your electrical socket(s) when they don’t pay their electric bill; pimps; cab drivers; the DC metro rail system; the cost of city tourism; the $.99 store that charges a 6% tax charge, blatantly discrediting the store’s self entitled name; backstabbing BFFs; anyone that never has any money but always wants to go out to eat; friends that always need a ride somewhere but never offer any gas money; and Lindsay Lohan. 
Monday is here. Now what are you going to do when on a silver platter bad luck is served to you? You may run and you may scream but when you’re wide awake it’s hard to wake up from a bad dream. Lucky for you humor is what I do best. When the odds are against you, Hottywood Helps! 
Labor Day may bring a day off but the fate of one’s luck never rests. And out of the many horoscopes and palm readers there are, no one warns you better than Hottywood Helps!
Irene has caused quite a bit of trouble which warrants some humor and on the double. Lucky for you, it’s what I do best or my name isn’t Hottywood Helps!
You found your week wasn’t so bad given the circumstances you had. Now that you know you can handle the deal, let’s see what’s next as we spin the wheel.
You know what day of the week it is dammit, but karma’s still a bitch as luck would have it. Some bills may be owed that you can not pay; some hairs may grow that you can not shave. 
