Orr….maybe that was just me. Yeah, definitely. My mom raised 5 kids, a husband, a cat and a dog. She fed the dog better than me, but on the other hand, he didn’t bark back at her as much as I did. She woke up super early every morning to teach me (and a bunch of other brats, I mean my brothers and sisters) in early morning religion classes, or to make thousand of lunches that none of us ever appreciated. One time she even won $100 grocery store gift certificate and instead of using for
me us for some good cereal or some Little Debbie Nutty Bars, she decided to donate it to our local soup kitchen, and in doing so, created a tradition for our ward that continues to this day. Not once was she ever bitter. The bitter gene skipped a generation.
For those of you who also skipped bitterness this week, you missed my First Ben Gardner Newsletter about taking over the world, which is fine because it was a pretty poorly written piece of kindling. Obviously, that hasn’t happened…yet. That has of course made me pretty bitter.
It wasn’t even Friday and there was talk of pizza. Of course, pizza is always worth talking about any day. Especially when using it to explain how everyone just wants to take a pizza of me. See how many pieces of Bitteroni pizza I get sliced up into in Bitter Pizza Me.
And after a disaster of a week, we needed some Friday Disatrophy Giftures to explain how bad it was in gifs of other people’s disasters. Cause nothing inspires you to be a disaster like seeing someone else trying to top your bad week.
I did some reporting of bad things via 140 characters or less, via the Bitter Twitter:
People made bitter comments on things I wrote:
On Bitter Ben Gardner Newsletter:
“I applaud your consistency of terrible output, replete with awful grammar and spelling in each and every post since 1998.
Annnd…..back to the bitter work week.
Bitter Momday Ben