Seriously?

So yeah, the economy sucks. I know I'm not dropping a big f-ing news bomb on you, but like everyone else I'm all freaked out about my job and if I'm going to have one tomorrow. Just bought a freaking house. I mean, I'm not talking about being worried if I can buy a Gucci bag at this stage, I'm talking about being panic stricken about being able to afford the chuckle-sized bag of Funyons. And it's been making me a serious crazy pants. I've been having nothing but flippin nightmares. Every single night. Seriously. But last night was the craptastic of all nightmares! I was a survivor on this plane crash. There were like 10 survivors or some crap like that. My awesome little boy, J-man, had died in the crash. I was a wreck. Couldn't formulate sentences. But for some reason the airline forced us to go on Oprah and talk about the experience. So there I am, on Oprah, crying like a banker's wife on the corner of Wall Street and Jack Shyt, and I'm looking around me and realizing that all the other survivors are like "oh, you know Oprah, we're just fine. Scary stuff, couple a scratches on the old chin, but you know...just great, big O!" And I'm like what in the f-inheimer is wrong with you people! And so I'm all upset and grieving and trying to hold it together. Finally it's my turn to talk. And...I poop my pants. Plane crash. Dead son. Oprah. National TV. And I poop my pants.

And it makes you realize, no matter how bad things get...shit is funny.