Hatin' on: Hands

Granted, hands are vital tools for our human survival. But like any useful body parts, some people choose to abuse or misuse their hand power. I often find myself resisting the urge to hack someones hands off with a samurai sword, just because they displayed some sort of dickish hand behaviour that twisted my insides with hate rage.

Behold, my top 5 rage list of tit ripping hand abuse.

Sweaty Hands - Followed closely by my deep embedded phobia of peoples feet, my sweaty hand phobia reigns supreme. If you shake my hand, & your palm is secreting moisture of any kind, I will projectile vomit in your face while administering a swift fuck kick to your shins.

Last Thursday, my personal trainer decided to put me through a rigorous boxing session. I had left my own gloves at home, so he kindly offered me a pair that he uses for some of his other clients. Normally I would flat out refuse, but I'm proud & don't like to fail in front of him.

So I inserted my hands in to the black holes of death bacteria. Upon doing so, my hands started to auto sweat like a bastard. As I quietly began to freak out, I morphed into what can only be described as a rabid panicky eyed wolf dog & proceeded to crazy smash the bejesus out of his padded  man hands & in turn practically fractured all my own hand/forearm bones. I wanted to chew my own hands off.

Heart Hands - I have it on good authority that tweens/teens internationally are forming an underground secret society of little assholes. I call it the International Terror Society. When they aren't loitering outside their society meeting house, Burger King, & terrorising the elderly with their foul mouthed confidence, shanking bitches for One Direction concert tickets or texting strangers & telling them to go fuck themselves (this happened to me yesterday), they jack their Facebook photo albums with scores of photo after photo of their society hand sign.

I present to you, the very deadly & deceptive Heart Hands......

OMG it's the evil harlot herself.

Heart Hands was created by the ITS's very own presidents, Taylor Swift & Justin Beiber. Those blond, blue eyed minxes lead the youth revolution with their evil lyriced songs of lost love, baby baby baby oh & mean high school bullies. Play any of that shit backwards & you will hear Satan himself.

Upon viewing a freshly uploaded Facebook Heart Hand photo, it's very easy be overwhelmed with a sense of love & peace & that everything evil in the world has skipped a generation.
Do not be fooled. Because approximately 5 minutes after seeing this photo, those very same hands will be sneaking into your lady bag & stealing $10 to go up town & see a 'movie' but secretly being used to stuff themself stupid with addictive substances such as BBQ Bacon & Cheese burgers.

I'll see your bloody heart hands & raise you a finger TaySwif. This is how we do it old skool! BEEEATCH.

Hobo Hands - Prior to our grand night of love confession, Blake & I spent 3 years doing the mating dance. One night, while sitting in his car smoking cigarettes & people watching, we were approached by a homeless man asking if we had a cigarette lighter he could use.

Before we could answer him, he lurched his stink fist of horror through the car window & snatched the lighter out of Blake's hand. His hand, was covered in crusty scabs, dirt & green huey food remnants. And it smelt like it had been buried firmly in his anus for an entire decade.

As Hobo Hand Man proceeded to return the lighter, Blake began to wind up his driver side window in a speed I had never witnessed before. If there was an Olympic sport for manual window winding, he would be a good bet on the gold medal.

Blake then flatfooted it out of there, while retch vomiting into his own hand. The car was filled with the stench of poverty & grime. Apparently neither of us can stomach Hobo hands as evident by the duel vomit session we had in the half hour following.

And then I got a rash on my pinky finger & convinced myself I had somehow inadvertently contracted Hobo Hand AIDs. Shortly before preparing to amputate my infected finger with a blunt pocket knife, I smothered it in roid cream & the rash subsided. Huzzah for roid cream!

Neither myself or my husband have forgotten this near death experience. And these days when sitting in the car people watching, we would rather have the windows firmly shut & bake like a tinfoiled river trout than put ourselves in the firing line for possibly contracting Hobo Hands.

Rape Hands - For those of you that have not read my epic tail of Bus Tranny Hand Rape, don't worry, I will provide you with a short breakdown in the following paragraph.

Basically, a drugged up Lady Boy attempted to Hand Rape me on a bus in Auckland when I was on my way to class. This involved some clothed vulva cuppage (no actual jiggery pokery but so not the point here) & me breaking her/his nose with a well time terror punch. It all happened so quickly that I had no time to prevent the hand rape from happening. Before I knew what was going on, her/his hand was firmly nestled between my thighs, on my banger. I was young. And naive. A small town girl making it happen in the big city. I was ripe for the picking.

This Tranny crime scarred me for a long while. My boyfriend at the time basically had to crow bar my legs apart to get any fanny cupping action.

Hands are a weapon people. Dirty rape weapons. I have fully educated my eldest niece on the dangers of rape hands & idle rape hands on buses. My message to her is, if in doubt, judo chop your way out.

Carny Hands - The word 'Carny', in the Old Testament of Becky, means Murderous Thieving Bastard.

While the initial gloriousness of a Carny Gala may lead you to be overcome with joy at the prospect of biffing table tennis balls in the scary clowns mouth, or shooting tin ducks with a faux rifle, the sneaky hands of a Carny have one aim only. To sift as much small dollar bills from you as possible.

And when your back is turned, after losing yet another game of Bullshit Darts, they will throw an angry wasp nest at your head & pick pocket your iPhone.

I once dated a man with Carny Hands. Every time he went to hold hands with me, I would LOL. And sometimes, if I had a couple of beers & a special cookie, I'd even ROFL. While my own hands are not large at all, they were mammoth in comparison to his stubby midget phalangicals.

I knew, after our third date, when he tried to brush my hair out of my eyes & I choked on my tomato soup & it came out my nose as I exploded into a Carny hand induced ROFHCSWDL (roll on floor holding crotch small wee dribble laughing) , that things weren't going to work out for us. I could not risk procreating & spawning a carny handed vag puppet. That would be a death by stoning human crime.

Such a shame cos the rest of him was really really good looking. Call me shallow, but I like a fella with hardy strong man hands to protect me from stalkers & serial killers with mad throat punching skills.

United we stand. Divided we fall. But if you touch me with your Sweaty Heart Hobo Carnie Rape hands, I will throw an angry wasp nest at your head then double kick smash you in the banger.

Have a rockin weekend bitches!

Peace & love

P.S Just so you know that I do actually have a soul, my list of things I like about hands completely outweighs the list of things I don't. Like punching people. Itching my groin eczema. Feeding fish. Eating KFC. Playing with my beautiful Loretta (my guitar). Touching my husbands buttocks. Front fanny self pleasuring. Banging on bongo drums. Exchanging money for shoes (Holla!). Using the Sky remote. And of course, writing to my sister wives & BFF's on the internet. ILYHHO (I love you ho's hard out).