5 reasons why I'm kind of a terrible person. (but don't regret it) So... 6 reasons?

Hopefully I'm not the first person that springs to mind when terrible people are discussed. Hitler, Vlad the Impaler, and Gary Thuerk should rank at least ten above.

And Shredder. He's definitely worse.
After all, I recycle, walk my dog, and am generally courteous. If only because I fear society's backlash. But I'm also a horrible, conniving human being who refuses to change. Mostly because these awful habits serve my needs so well. Habits like...

5. Pushing buttons

But not in the way you think, although Troy may disagree.
There is a very primitive, compulsive beast inside me that I cannot tame.

I am compelled to push in the plastic buttons on soft drink lids. All the soft drink lids. Actively depriving others of the same joy.
I don't care who I hurt. I just want to push the buttons!

There is just such satisfaction in pushing them down, it's almost as good as bubble wrap.

Loves it... *sigh*
Yes! Want!
But God help those who try to thwart me. I may crack a smile and feebly laugh it off, but inside I'm cursing you and everything you stand for. How dare anyone come between me and my buttons?!

Okay, maybe a titch dramatic. But seriously, pushing those things in is the best. And although there is no good reason for it, I have a little bit of irrational hatred reserved for anyone who has denied me plastic buttons...

4. Smug without cause

There's something so satisfying about occasionally having a smug sense of superiority. Don't pretend like you haven't ever done it. Hipsters may have taken it to a whole new annoying level, but even regular folk will fall prey to the self-esteem boosting high that comes from making statements about how the book was so much better than the movie.
Oh look! They sell "obvious douche" in size XXL now.
And other comments like: "Oh, you're into Foster the People now? Yeah, I've been listening to them for a couple of years and their other songs are way better than 'Pumped Up Kicks', just sayin..."

I'm more into "Hammer No More the Fingers" now.
You've probably never heard of them.
Or: "What is that? A first generation iPhone? Huh, I just upgraded to an iPhone 7 x's Infinity. Yeah, I'm an alpha tester, I use my old iPhones as paperweights."

Okay, these examples are obviously way over the top. Good. Maybe they'll make my flaws less terrible by comparison...

It's purely luck that things worked out this way, but every day without fail, as I'm traveling briskly along on my commute to and from work, traffic is just obscenely backed up going the opposite way. 
See the completely empty far lanes? That's me. Every day.
I rock.
 It's just congestion as the result of a bottleneck, but twice a day I am filled with the most ill-founded smug sense of superiority. As though I am somehow a better person who makes more intelligent life decisions than those other poor saps, inching along on their daily commute.

I have no idea why this is. It's not as though I feel like less of a person when I'm stuck in traffic.
Although I admit it's terrible behavior,  I've no desire to correct it as it makes me feel vaguely good about myself after a day of dealing with punks and the chronically unfortunate. So yes, if you ever see me traveling by you while you're stuck in traffic, rest assured I have no sympathy for your plight and am probably silently congratulating myself for not going in the "loser" direction.

Ha-ha! I'm getting home first!
Eat it suckers!
3. Brownie thievery.
A good brownie is hard to beat. And they're all good.
The corner brownie piece is the best. There is no denying this. If at some point in your life you've been brainwashed into thinking that center pieces are more delicious ...good. Call me and we'll set up a brownie exchange. Unfortunately everyone in my immediate family and current residence refuses to succumb to center brownie propaganda.

This has resulted in multiple corner brownie thefts over the years.

Who eats brownies with a fork anyway?
I don't care if there are four people to a square pan of brownies, effectively making it so each person may have one corner piece. You better grab your corner fast, because I will steal it.
I might not even want a brownie right then. Doesn't matter. Corner pieces will still get carved and hacked out, perhaps hidden somewhere for future consumption.
And yes, I have heard of the "Brownie Edge Pan".

Seems like cheating..
I've even considered getting it, but thievery somehow makes the corner brownies taste better.      

Mmm... sweet victory!

2. Pride and greed

I want to donate my eggs.

Specifically because I like the idea of my genes getting passed on without me actually having to do any of the work involved with raising a child. Because, you know, screw that.

Oh, and money.
I'm not just being silly either. You're reading the blog of a female that has already been screened, assessed and approved by the Fertility Network Agency.
Now I'm just a phone call away from getting injected full of hormones and harvested, to the tune of a few grand.

I also kind of fantasize that a fabulous gay couple with money to burn will get my eggs. Their child will be sophisticated and have an assortment of scarves, and that will be just peachy.

What? No scarves?
1. Those that smelt it...

This one is truly terrible. But I laugh so hard when reminiscing about the times I've done this that it's hard to have regrets.

For most of my life, I have successfully blamed my farts on other people.
Or animals. Really whatever's convenient.
Example: I used to wait tables at a fairly upscale establishment with another server who had a bad habit of poaching tables. Let's call him Cotton-Eye Joe.
 After he had successfully stolen a four top than was rightfully mine, I nonchalantly tidied up a nearby table and walked away just as Cotton-Eye Joe returned with waters.

The expressions of horror, revulsion, and confusion on the faces of the guests were better than any tip.
I watched with malicious glee while the patrons glared accusingly at poor Cotton-Eye Joe, who manfully attempted to ignore the smelt I had dealt, and rattled off the evening's specials.
Gratuities suffered greatly that night...
My poor sister was also wrongfully accused of my aromatic acoustics. For over five years.
I never would have gotten away with it for so long had it not been for her uncontrollable spasms of laughter. Why did she laugh when the gas was passed? Well, probably because it's kind of funny. Just like nut shots and cuddle time with John Stamos.

Anyway, it's hard to proclaim your innocence when you're choking on broccoli and cheesy potatoes from laughing so hard. And whenever she finally settled down enough to protest, another backdoor breeze would be loosed, forcing her into continued hysterical laughter. It was a foul cycle.
But high in fiber.

A typical night at the Carson household:

squeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaakkkk...... *braaapp!*

"Sarah! How could you?! And at the dinner table!" I'd exclaim in feigned indignation.
My parents would also view her in disgust. The gross, flawed second child, who could not stop laughing as she expelled her awful fumes...that were really mine.

It wasn't until my second, or possibly third, year of college that I confessed to my crimes against my sibling.


 - Hugs and kisses Sarah!!!

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