Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

Breakfast of Champions

with 11 comments

While you were out enjoying Heath Ledger’s hygiene-deficient performance in Dark Knight, Jessica Simpson’s country album, and Uma Thurman’s new baby bump, Snotty McSnotterson was having the Best Week Ever!

I wish. The past week has been so challenging – physically, mentally, emotionally – that I’ve wanted to stab myself in the face (or stab myself in your face, if that’s even possible) from the moment I resentfully wake up, to the moment I resentfully go to bed. This morning I told Manthony I was eating Defeat for breakfast; he decided I was eating a bowl of Defeated Flakes, which I thought was funny, even though I was sobbing at the time. There were some pretty funny moments this week, as well, so let’s have a lil’ recap – by the end, though, you’ll wish you’d had a nightcap. A big one.


Racist Bitch of the Year Award goes to a new client of mine, who kept me in stitches from the second she entered my appalling life, to the minute she thankfully exited. An older divorcee who used to be beautiful, this woman’s attitude was the worst. She entertained me with her painfully racist theories about China, the country, and all of the Chinamen (pronounced fast, like ‘vitamin’) who are becoming Westernized. “I just think everyone should sit in their own seats, if you know what I mean,” she said, quite haughtily. I knew exactly what she meant, as I was sitting on my own shamefully brown seat at the time. 

“What nationality are you?” she barked at me.  “I’m Samoan,” I replied, to which she exclaimed, “I knew you were Hawaiian!!”  She was pretty pleased with herself, since everyone knows that Samoans and Hawaiians are basically the same, kind of like desert-dwelling camels and Camel Lights in a hard pack are exactly the same. When I found out she lived in West Seattle, I grasped at the only straw I could and said, “So! Did you go to the West Seattle Street Fair?”  Her response: “I don’t go to street fairs. It’s like going to a third world country – it’s all JUNK.” I laughed at that one, because you know she has never ever been to a third world country.

It was amusing until she found out I was adopted “by Caucasian people” – she repeated that phrase about nine times – and wanted to know what their motivations were.  The question was posed to me in a ‘were they on mescaline or opiates?’ tone of voice, and when I suggested MAYBE THEY WANTED A BABY, she shrugged, as if to say, ‘Well fine, don’t tell me the real reason.’  She asked me one last time, “And they’re Caucasian?”  To which I replied YES YOU UPPITY BITCH, THEY ARE SOME ARYAN MOTHERFUCKERS. (I actually said, “Yep!” And I said it brightly, as though my parents’ skin color just tickled me pink, which made me totally hate myself.) And she replied, “Well, you’re very well-spoken”, implying I was lucky I had white people around to teach me proper English. That’s when I smothered her with a pillow made by Chinamen and dumped her in the nearest river.

That is how my week started.


Speaking of funny, one of the support people–a 22-year old sweetheart–was back in the lunchroom, screaming her face off when I walked in. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD!” She was on her cell phone, and jumping two feet off the ground like a pear-shaped pogo stick; she was also twirling her hair excitedly around one finger, hopping from one foot to the other, and doing a big ol’ Happy Dance. She screamed into the phone, “OHMYGOD I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY’RE COMING I CAN’T BELIEVE WE HAVE TICKETS OHMYGOD I’M GOING TO PEE MY PANTS FROM EXCITEMENT!” At this point, I wanted to pee my pants from excitement, too, so I said, “What’s going on? Who’s coming to town? I wanna go, too!”  She looked at me and screamed, “HANSON’S COMING TO TOWN!” I decided to keep my mouth shut in the lunchroom from that moment on. Keep in mind, this will be the third time she has seen them in concert; I think I might actually love her. God Bless America.


We saw Wall-E at the Majestic Bay in Ballard; it was magnificent, except for one small thing: I wept through the entire movie. Silently, painfully, and with great feeling. It was a good film–really good–but it pulled at too many of my heartstrings, I guess. Now those heartstrings are made of droopy, worn-out spaghetti – the leftover kind that nobody wants to eat.


I was asked out by a hot cop; he really was hot, although not my type at all. First off, he was black (who’s racist now)–and second, I’m taken, so it was a bit awkward. He was standing behind me in line for a sandwich, and offered to pay for my meal. I said something like, “But I don’t even know you!” And he replied, predictably, “But we could get to know each other over coffee sometime.” I laughed and asked, “What would my boyfriend think of that?” He actually responded with “Well give me his number–I’ll call him and see what he says.”  No thanks.  Later on, I ran into him by Starbucks, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Change your mind?” He was nice, but now I see him around all the time which is annoying.   Every time I see him, it’s like there’s an inside joke between us, but the inside joke is that I publicly rejected him, and I’m the only one who seems to remember.


After the longest day on Earth – a day I was off my game, a day where I had no money and couldn’t eat, a stressful work day where I was working on about three hours of sleep:  I got mugged. Like ‘for real’ mugged, like ‘an alley in Chicago’ mugged (not Oprah’s Chicago, but Jerry Springer’s Chicago)–scary fucking gun and all.  It really pissed me off that the guy was so nice about it, apologizing for scaring the rectum out of me, and being generally helpful in ways that only a mugger can be helpful:  reassuring me that he wasn’t going to hurt me, being respectful of my bank account (“Don’t worry, I don’t need any money from your account, just the cash in your wallet” – at least someone thinks I have money in my bank account), and practically singing a legitimate “Sorryyy!” as he bolted out the door. I DON’T NEED POLITE TEATIME ETIQUETTE AND SOCIAL NICETIES WHEN YOU’RE ROBBING ME BLIND, ASSHOLE. There were cameras by the ATM, so hopefully they’ll catch him – and strangely, the hot cop showed up and helped me get to the bus, but GODDAMN. I hope that jerkoff has fun with my twelve dollars – enjoy buying two gallons of gas and a motherfucking Hot Pocket!

I would make a terrible hostage – “I’d be shot immediately or within three minutes” was the verdict my friends came to – because when he motioned to my right hand, the hand holding my bus money, I became a wheedling, pissed off teenager. “Duuude, that’s my fucking BUS MONEY! I don’t have a way HOME.” He motioned for it, and I reluctantly gave it over with a big sigh, an eyeroll, and a very audible HMPH! Walking around downtown with no money, no boyfriend (he was in Tacoma at a thing), no car and no one answering their phones, I actually felt HOMELESS. I didn’t call my parents, because I could have walked home in the time it would have taken for them to pick me up, and I didn’t want to worry them. Also, I saw the hot cop, and he gave me bus fare since I wouldn’t accept a ride home from him; it felt too weird.


I guess it’s getting around to the crackheads that I’m writing disparaging things about them , because while I was walking towards the back of the bus (Rosa Parks, I am not), a female crackhead kicked me in the back and I landed on my face in front of about 40 people. Afterwards, I cried the entire way home, in front of about 39 people, and wondered where my good karma was hiding. Normally I wouldn’t have been so emotional in public, but this was 30 minutes after being mugged, and I’d had enough. I felt like I’d won the Chump Championship. ‘Hey Mom, look! I think that’s the #1 Chump, weeping right over there next to the helmet-wearing retard; she looks like a broke, Hawaiian fan of Hanson.’

It was a really long night.


After doing the Big Boss at work, I received this card the next day from the Other Big Boss:

Big Boss was very impressed with you and your service! She said it was one of the best times she has had at Our Spa in a very long time–and was quite possibly the best pedicure she has ever had. Thank you–I am very happy you are with us.

Nice, I guess. Better than ‘Big Boss wanted to know why you were sweating profusely and drowning in your own drivel during the entire service. Also, were you crying?’ No. There’s no crying in baseball.


The best part of my week was this: going through all this stupid crazy shit, and not smoking once. Not even when I was in the car with two smokers who were smoking, not even after I was mugged, or kicked on the bus, or when I finished this monster fucking post AND IT DIDN’T FUCKING SAVE. Not once. And that made me feel pretty fucking good, even if I used the F-word 84,000 times this week.

Now I’m a fucking champion:  EAT ME.

Written by sn0tteh

July 22, 2008 at 6:14 PM

11 Responses

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  1. What? Kicked!? What?

    I’m baffled.

    Things like that don’t happen in DSM. Then again, maybe i should take the bus.


    July 23, 2008 at 3:21 AM

  2. You’re getting pretty much anything you want this weekend. You deserve all sorts of love and treats! Get ready for a weekend of adorable babies(no, you can’t keep her), movies, shopping, and fun.

    Oh-I was at a party two weeks ago where someone brought a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos (which remind me of you and the Ballard house). There were thousands of other gourmet treats, but everyone fell on the Doritos like rabid dogs saying things like, “I haven’t had these in YEARS.” Who knew Cool Ranch had such a following?

    And CONGRATS on the no smoking!


    July 23, 2008 at 3:44 AM

  3. You Fucking Rock, is all.


    July 23, 2008 at 4:08 AM

  4. Can I go see Hanson too?!!

    After that week, was there some part of you that wanted to go and get an autograph from the cute drummer kid?


    July 23, 2008 at 5:39 AM

  5. I have 84,000 kudos to give you…one for each eff word. You are the queen of queens.


    July 23, 2008 at 5:46 AM

  6. I’d say something about how this all helps build character, but I’m thinking that any additional doses of character might end up killing you.


    July 23, 2008 at 4:21 PM

  7. mugged. MUGGED??!!?? is no one else reading this blog from Seattle? M to the mothafuckin UGGED???!!?? I am shocked and appalled. I am horrified and alarmed. MUGGED? Tell me you are joking. No one gets mugged in Seattle. Now I have been jumped, and I know others who have been jumped, but no 21 jumpstreet style, Chigago-alley type muggings.

    Kicked in the back? Like on purpose? Did she hurl insults at you? MUGGED??!!??!!!??

    i need to know please, where the ATM was and which bus you were on. Seriously. MUGGED?

    konichiwa, bitches.

    July 23, 2008 at 6:26 PM

  8. That. Was. Fucking. Hilarious.

    Okay, not the Racist Bitchiest Bitch of the Bitch.

    Or the fact that someone in this world was doing a happy dance for Hanson tickets.

    Or the fact that you got mugged.

    Or the fact that some crackhead bitch tripped you.

    You don’t happen to work for a law firm, do you? I know the Big Boss paragraph mentioned a spa, but I can’t help but shudder in thought that it could be yet another soul-sucking law firm…

    Don’t have another Best Week Ever.

    Have an Average Week Ever. 🙂


    July 23, 2008 at 8:24 PM

  9. Upon reflection I think that “Defeatment Flakes” has a better ring to it than “Defeated Flakes.” And please tell me where to find the racist lady so I can open a can of mixed-race woop-ass on her smug, West Seattle self.


    July 24, 2008 at 12:23 AM

  10. 1. Yes, kicked. Don’t take the bus, especially when you own a Vespa.

    2. Now I want Cool Ranch Doritos like a hungry rabid dog.

    3. YOU Rucking Fock.

    4. I have never been, and will never be, a Hanson fan, mostly because I’m not a 12-year old Christian.

    5. I accept your kudos, and thanks for the advice during Mugging Night.

    6. I have enough character. I have it seeping out of my ears like bloody mucous.

    7. M to the motherfuckin UGGED, girl. Bus #72 at 9:50PM, Wells Fargo ATM at Westlake Center (the kind that is locked from the outside, and you need a card to get inside to reach the ATM). Crazy shit.

    8. I don’t work for a law firm, but my bf does. 🙂 Looking forward to Below-Average Week, really.

    9. Defeatment Flakes, Defeated Flakes…they’re made of the same thing: my inner pain, and the tears of a newborn. Topped with a Riesling.

    Thanks for the comments, y’all.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 24, 2008 at 3:35 PM

  11. I want more weekly recaps at mafia monday, love you, and glad you are safe.—–hugs, jenny


    July 25, 2008 at 12:53 AM

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