America. Fuck Yeah. Part 2

I got a lot of responses to my last blog about my rights as an American so I thought I would continue it again today.  If you missed it, you can find it here...

On that note,

I also have the right to...

• use eenie meenie miney mo to make most of life's tough decisions.  I also have the right to pick the exact opposite anyway. "Mo" is not the boss of me.
• put up the fist mic, and sing loudly into it every time Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" comes on.
• think fruit snacks are a perfectly acceptable dinner, and beef jerky is part of a well balanced breakfast.
• want to open a yoga studio/gym and call it "Camel Toe."
• refuse to wash my car because (at some point) it is going to rain.
• never admit when I gain any weight but rather blame the dryer for shrinking all my clothes. Dick.
• like Coldplay, and not be gay.
• eat gummy bears in twos so they don't get lonely in my stomach.
• write things like "gonorrhea medication" or "mustache rides" on the memo line when I am writing checks to friends.
• Facebook stalk someone so hard that I end up back at my own profile.
• think everything my cat does is fucking adorable.  Disagree?  Well, your child's finger paintings aren't so magical either.
• believe Matthew McConaughey was not at all acting in Dazed and Confused, and he really does love those red heads.
• be more afraid of my Google search history going public than a possible zombie apocalypse.
• hate pants and avoid them at all costs.  Dresses, skirts, a toga?  I don't care.  Fuck pants.
• quote Step Brothers at least once a week.        *This week's quota was reached while visiting my parents when I told my mom, "This house is a fucking prison, on planet bullshit, in the galaxy of this sucks camel dicks," when she asked me (and not my sister) to clear the table.