The worst jobs to be working when you have to… you know… poop.

So, obviously, I’m a female and a classy, sophisticated member of an evolved species, so I don’t do it, but the subject came up; so here it goes. My apologies.

I work for a company that is growing way faster than it anticipated. In fact, it is growing so fast that some newer employees do not even have desks. One of the conference rooms has been temporarily transformed into a workspace, and about eight people share the conference table in a fishbowl-like glass room. More office space is currently being conquered, but in the meantime we all have to endure some pretty crowded quarters.

A prime example of this would be the fact that I am never the only person in the ladies’ room. There are only three stalls, and they are nearly always full. This creates an awkward moment when I have to stand idly waiting, slowly realizing that the smell and the silence of the room (no one is grabbing for the TP yet) indicate that at least two out of the three stall-dwellers are dropping their respective deuces as I try not to be in the way of the girl who is washing her hands, pray I don’t get smacked by the door if someone else comes in, and pretend I can’t see right through the crack of the first stall.

Any time I’m in the ladies’ room alone is a time for celebration, even if I’m only there to look in the mirror or wash my hands. It’s such a glorious occasion that it makes me want to save up my pee and claim every throne to be mine – like my dog used to do with bushes on a ten foot walk.

Now, I’m not one to shit where I eat, or work where I shit, or whatever, but I am surprised by the sheer number of females who partake. I have to admit, it would be nice to know that I was being paid to drop the kids off at the pool; it would take “stickin’ it to the man” to a whole new level of satisfaction. Still, the thought of having to commit such a heinous act (haha, it sounds like anus) in the middle of that small and crowded, sorry excuse for a female latrine, makes me think I’d rather make like Finch in American Pie and just go home, if the situation presented itself.

So, I know that I still haven’t gotten to the point here (and I thank you for sticking around when the topic is so… shitty); allow me to transition into the point of discussion that was brought about the other day while the husband and I were walking home:

My job would be a terrible place to be working when someone has to… you know… poop. BUT, I have a theory that there are some professions out there that are FAR worse off.

Public transportation driver. 

 I have a theory that every time the L train goes “express” and kicks everyone off, it’s because the driver’s got to drop off a brown package, and might not make it to the station in time to deliver.

Race Car Driver

 I’d bet a nearly worthless American dollar bill that a good portion of accidents in NASCAR have been caused by a driver getting the shitty shakes.

Plumber

This guy is IN YOUR HOUSE. He's fixing some plumbing issues, which may have been caused by this very same situation (but by someone who owns the toilet in turmoil), and can’t contain himself. It’s one thing to clog your own toilet… but when you’re in someone else’s house it becomes Harry in Mary Swanson’s bathroom all over again. Awkwardness ensues… turning on a faucet, over flushing, coughing, ANYTHING to make it sound like you’re not dropping a deuce in a stranger’s john. What are your other options, though? Pinch your cheeks and drive to a Micky D’s to use a public restroom like a peasant, when this person has such soft yet durable Charmin? Not gonna happen.

There are also professions that seem like they would be terrible, but really wouldn’t be so bad… as long as you’re into finishing the rest of your shift in your own feces.

Professional football player

Astronaut

  

These dick holes wear diapers! They are grown-ass human beings (but not so grown that society deems diaper-donning normal again), and they willingly strap on the Huggies before they punch their time cards. What a bunch of lazy, disgusting, rich mother fuckers. 

xoxo.

Brace yourselves... the election is coming...

With the election approaching, everything is on the line. Do we re-elect the guy who has been (slowly) moving us in the right direction? Or do we say fuck it and elect the white guy again and see what happens? 

Don't come at me with pitchforks; I know there is more to it than that: foreignpolicyeconomytaxes99percentabortiongaymarriagereligionhealthcaresmallbusinessjobsFREEDOMetc.

Does it even matter? When you really break it down, line by line, both candidates are in favor of some things that I am morally against. Both are against or indecisive on matters which I approve and would rally for. 

BUT, with all of this weighing on my mind, all I can think is

xoxo

Dreams are like zombies… I hope.

My entire life I have been told to dream.

“You can be anything you want to be.”

My eager, childish mind was filled with hopes and aspirations which stretched further than imagination itself – a rockstar life, pools filled with Jell-O and hundred dollar bills, a unicorn pony in my back yard – all backed up with the notion that the world would welcome adult-me open armed, bursting with opportunity and no career out of reach.

Ok, so maybe I had big dreams to begin with, that’s not the point.

What childhood failed to mention was that every job has some sort of prerequisite – whether it be a high school diploma, a college degree, a talent that was discovered early and improved upon over time, or simply the ability to be an asshole all day long.

Customary side note: If I show up at the coffee shop before 6am, excuse the fuck out of me for forgetting what your specific shop calls a large.

I’m up before the fucking dawn, my friend. Just put some caffeine – espresso, coffee… hell, I’d take a redbull at this point – in any cup behind your ivory counter that’s big enough to cure my ZZZs… I think there’s a common word for “big” that’s sometimes used in the restaurant industry, I just can’t quite… LARGE. It’s a large. Survey says… LARGE! And the Jarvis family gets to play Fast Money!

I know it’s not that hard. I know that you have special terms for it, but you know that you’re not the only coffee shop in this area and you know god damned well that hipster shop doesn’t give me this crap – the only reason I’m here is that you’re closer to where I need to be at this painfully early moment.

I filed in here with the rest of these sleep depraved zombies looking for my morning fix, and we’re all lucky I was awake enough to manage clothes. Your pious, bright-eyed attitude is enough to make me want to rally up these zombies for the attack.

So, I had dreams. Some of them did not turn out, but that’s ok. It wasn’t really logical for me to become a country singer, because I don’t have a southern accent. And it was silly of me to think I wanted to work as an entertainer, because it isn’t as exciting as it sounds to a child – blinded by innocence, I never thought about the creepy old men who spend entire pension checks at those places… eew. And, going to Harvard was never a realistic goal – mainly because I didn’t really know what “Harvard” was, I just figured if I went there I’d make a fuckton of money.

I didn’t understand that I would first need to have a fuckton of money to even be accepted.

After learning a bit more about the world that we live in, I decided to zone in on one dream – a bit more realistic – and that was to become a teacher. I have always loved learning and helping others learn. My stuffed animals had an amazing AYP, and they did story problems better than most of the kids in my third grade class.

  

I was born to teach, because I love to inspire. This seemed like a reachable goal; all I needed was a degree and a certification. That would be like taking candy from a baby – if the candy was a degree and certification and the baby was an established university.

… and “taking” was paying tens of thousands of dollars (not including interest accrued on loans) and devoting years of my life to schooling.

After spending the most recent part of my life chained to a no-degree-required cubicle with a handful of overly energetic micromanagers barking orders at me every five minutes for 50 mandatory hours a week and pressuring me to work nights and weekends (yeeeeaaaahhhh, we’re gonna need you to come in on Saturdaaaaay), I have come to suspect that I can essentially wipe my ass with the piece of paper that has plunged me into debt for 3 – 4 times the number of years that I was in college in the first place – and the only thing college was good for in the end was being irresponsible and making friends.

If I would have only suspected this sooner, I would have been involved in way more shenanigans, worried less, spent all of my grant money on booze, and put in just enough effort to pass – because no recruiters look at your GPA anyway, so what was the point?

Something that my high school counselor failed to mention? Our country is in a rut, and there are basically 5 open teaching positions in the entire United States. There would have been a few more, but some asshole decided to fire a ton of great teachers and increase the average class size to about 200 to one. They killed education… those bastards.

So, degree and certification in hand, tail between my legs, I have turned to Corporate America for a paycheck in order to pay back the sickening amount of loans which I have amassed. Even though my country is in debt up to its ass, they will come after me, the painfully deceived citizen, if I neglect to repay the debt that I was told I needed to accumulate to become a successful part of society. My so-called “realistic” dream has died, just like all of the childish ones.

I’m just hoping that dreams are like zombies; they come back after death with more strength than they had when they were alive.

xoxo

Grownup Approved

Growing up is a strange experience. Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not at all trying to say that I consider myself a grownup. (I’m only saying that, since my 24^th birthday has recently come and gone, actual adults are no doubt looking at me differently.

Though I may be almost a quarter of a century old, I don’t think that I should have to act maturely all the time. I should be able to have fun and giggle while I’m in public without having to endure the death glare of disapproval from any nearby adults.

But how?

I have come up with the perfect solution to how I can go out in public, have fun, AND be seen as a responsible adult by onlookers.

I need to rent a child.

Ok, ok. I can see how this may sound crazy, and I assure you that there is no need to cart me off the loony bin just yet. Hear me out.

I don’t really have the time to have my own child right now (you know this because I don’t even have enough time to regularly update my blog!), and I definitely don’t have the money for my own child – especially since I am now working a full time unpaid internship. Still, I could totally benefit from having a kid around once in a while, and here’s an example of why:

I love eating out at restaurants; the food is delicious and I don’t have to make it OR do the dishes. The only unpleasant part? Waiting for the food. It’s so BORING just sitting there with nothing to do. Breezy and I can’t even take part in an interesting conversation, because the kinds of conversations we have are the kind that you have to pay extra for because they are too awesome for cable television and have to be aired on HBO or FX or something. So, instead, we just sit and wait for the food, occasionally whispering crass comments about the people around us for our own amusement.

Sure, people-watching is alright, but I want to be able to color and doodle and play a goddamned game of tic tac toe if I want to, without being judged by the other “grownups” who are waiting patiently for their food while conversing about politics that they don’t even fully understand but pretend they do anyway, and the other grownups just go ahead and believe them because they are just repeating what they heard on talk radio that morning, so it sounds pretty legit. I mean, what the steaming shit am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Play footsie with Breezy under the table? Who does those things, anyway?

I would totally ask for a pack of crayons, but I’m afraid of what I’ll look like to the other grownups.

BUT! Insert child:

I'd look like Mother of the Year, coloring with little Breezy Jr. 

Winner, winner; I want dinner.

Beep… beep… beep… and now, please enjoy an update from moi.

I have so many important things to tell you all! So now, in order of how I randomly decide to type them, here are some announcements:

Special Important Announcement #1:

Apparently there was some sort of contest on this here blog, and one of my lovely followers won a $45 gift card to CSN stores! That lovely follower is Sharon! Congrats, and enjoy!

Thank you to all who participated this time around, and special-brownie-points-powered thanks to Jay for submitting a doodle! I will get this up on the fb page soon :)

That kind of sounded like the points are coming from special brownies. I cannot confirm nor deny this.

Special Important Announcement #3:

This has been one crazy and stressful semester, but I am DONE!!! Only one semester left, and I’ll have that purty degree I’ve been working for :)

Special Important Announcement #17:

I got another blog award!!! This one is the Chupacabra Award for Excellence, and it’s from my bloggy friend, Gnetch. Her blog is bomb, and you should totally check it out. Right now.

 

There are no rules for this award, so I’m making up my own because I think I’ve earned it.

1.      If you are viewing this award on my blog right now,

and you think you’re pretty legit, raise your hand.

2.      If you raised your hand, you are awesome for 

obeying me and this blog award is for you.

3.      Only 3 of you are allowed to receive this award,

so commence the fighting.

4.      Ok, I lied; I have no way of tracking how many people

do take the award, so there is no limit.

5.      If you take the award and put it up on your blog, 

you have to make up your own rules

(because it’s kind of fun).

Special Important Announcement #K:

I think that I may have come across as too much of a winter-lover in my last post, so here’s a doodle that should make up for it.

Eff you, Winter. I'm in the desert, and you can't get me here.

Special Important Announcement #I Stopped Counting:

I’m hungry, so I’m going to get some food. Yes, I know it’s 10:30pm, but I am officially on winter break, so don’t judge me. 

Another Giveaway!!!

In celebration of This Freckled Lemonade passing the 100 follower mark, I think it’s time for another giveaway, and my friends over at CSN Stores have offered up another $45 gift card to one of my lucky followers! As you know from my last giveaway with CSN Stores, this is only for those of you in the US and Canada. Sorry, international friends, but someday I will do a giveaway so that you all can participate.

In case you don’t remember, or weren’t following This Freckled Lemonade when I had the last giveaway, CSN Stores has over 200 websites where you can find everything – from cookware, to shoes, to TV stands for flat screens for that new addition to the den!

I’m going to change up the rules this time around, because I like change. So, here are the rules.

To enter, you must do two things:

1.      be a follower of This Freckled Lemonade either on Blogger with Google Friend Connect (located on the right side of the page) or by liking the Facebook page (link located on the right side of the page)

2.      send an email to thisfreckledlemonade@gmail.com (using the email address where you would like to be contacted if you win) saying that you would like to enter the giveaway and telling me your favorite (or least favorite) part about winter/the holiday season.

That’s it! 

However, since I loved your pictures from last time, you can get an additional entry by drawing me a doodle of your choice (using computer software or free-hand, whatever you prefer) and sending it to me in a separate email. You may draw multiple doodles if you want, but you will only receive one additional entry… and brownie points. 

So everyone has the chance to get two entries!!!

IMPORTANT: I’m only going to give you guys until 

Thursday, December 16^th 

to get your entries in, so get to it! I will be announcing the winner one week from today!

In an attempt to persuade you into making me a doodle, I made one for you.

Good Luck!!!

Some Boundaries

My posts have been very few and far between these days, but I don’t really like that saying, so I’m going to change that. 

My posts are as rare as an attractive mullet lately. I bow at your feet and beg for your forgiveness. I have been super-duper busy and stressed out in regards to school and other things lately, but let me tell you something: I have NOT been too busy to notice that I now have over 100 FOLLOWERS!!! This is me:

Do you guys have any idea how many people that actually is? I am not sure if I do. While trying to wrap my mind around this huge number, I got to thinking: if you were all literally following me around all the time, that would get kind of weird. So, I’m thinking that, since our relationship has just risen to a whole new level, we need to set some boundaries and maybe even come up with a safe word for if things get too serious.

First: the boundaries

Now, I don’t mind if you guys are following my blog – in fact, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE that you are following my blog! Follow it some more, if you’d like! And bring your friends! But, when you step out of the blogosphere and into my world and start following me around, here are some places where you probably shouldn’t follow me. Maybe you should bring a book or a magazine or something and just wait for me outside.

The bathroom.

I know that you are all interested in what goes on while I’m in there, so let me just say that I am currently using Aussie’s 3 minute miracle on my hair, and that’s about all you need to know. Besides the fact that you probably shouldn’t be following my naked self around, having 100 people in my tiny bathroom would just be insane. Elbows would be everywhere! Someone would be standing on my toilet, and I’m sure they’ll break the seat off and then I’ll have to buy a new one. It’s best if you just wait outside, and I guess maybe hand me a towel if I need one.

The elevator.

First of all, you have to understand that I loathe elevators on their own, so you should not take this personal. I would much rather take the stairs, as riding in elevators makes me uncomfortable. The only fun part is when the elevator first takes off and starts going down, jump as high as you can! You’ll feel weightless and it is totally awesome.

Next, there is the fact that I am pretty claustrophobic. This probably stems from playing hide and seek at a sleepover when I was a kid and accidentally locking myself in my friends upstairs closet. Nevertheless, stick me in an elevator and add a shit-ton of people, and I’m checking out. Plus, one of you will probably fart and make it all smelly and hard to breathe.

These boundaries should be good for now.

THANK YOU ALL FOR FOLLOWING!!! : )

p.s. the safeword is always onomatopoeia... 

and you have to spell it. 

The Drive - Thru

I apologize for being so busy lately that my poor, poor, blog has been put on the back burner. It kills me more than it kills you, though I am sure you have all been distraught and waiting impatiently for a new post. It kills me more, though, because I haven’t had any time to doodle lately – even the margins of my notebooks are nearly bare – and life without doodling is a sad life, indeed.

What have I been doing instead? I’m glad you asked. I have had my head in such cripplingly interesting books as “School Law for Teachers” and “Pronunciation Contrasts in English”, among other things that are necessary steps in this whole degree process. Now, I can see in your eyes that you are all severely jealous right now, but let me tell you something: you shouldn’t be. 

All of this concentration and thinking requires fuel, amiright? So I have spent a good amount of time in drive-thru lines (mostly ordering coffee to keep my exhausted eyes open), and I have realized something: I hate the drive-thru! And, of course, I am going to tell you why.

Before I get into my formal complaint, let me first inform you that I am a very credible source on this specific topic, because I used to work in a drive-thru! I worked at the McDonald’s in my hometown from my freshman to my senior year of high school, so you could think of me as an insider. Now I know you're jealous.

First of all, this job is NOT that hard. It’s simple. Take the customer’s order quickly and accurately, take the customer’s form of payment and give change (if needed), and then give the customer the food. Simple. There are other people who are designated to actually make and package the food, so you do not have to worry about that.

Now, I guess I should mention that I am AWESOME, if you haven’t noticed this already, so what seems simple to my advanced brain might not be that easy for some. However, I used to get compliments all the time while working in the drive-thru. Some would tell me that my voice was like angels singing from the balcony of Heaven – well, at least that I had a “good and clear voice” while taking their orders. I never understood why this small detail (that took no effort on my part) was such a big deal to them… until recently when I have had the displeasure of dealing with drive-thru attendants who lack this quality.

Side Note: there are NEVER any healthy options! I am sometimes even tricked into thinking something is healthy, but then it turns out to be basically a lardburger disguised by a measly piece of lettuce.

Other compliments that I would receive were about my toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile and my kick-ass personality. I always thought it was weird (again, because this job is seriously not that difficult), but I would always say thank you anyway… unless they were really creepy about it – like College Bro creepy, or even Dirty Old Man creepy.

But, now that I am on the other side of the situation, I have realized that a shining personality in the drive-thru is like the Holy Grail and is basically impossible to find; the people at the window are almost always RUDE!

I mean, I am taking time out of my day to come to your place of business and physically hand you my hard-earned money for doing your job, but I am totally wrong to do so. I should have just stayed at home and made the coffee myself; I would have saved like five bucks in the process and not been forced to deal with your minimum wage attitude. I don’t care how much money you are making, or how much you hate your job, I was always taught that a job is a job! You are being paid, and you should make the customer feel glad that they are spending their money with you and not make them regret coming to your place of business. Plus, have you looked around? At least you have a job in this economy, no matter how small your paycheck may be. 

Once again, I have been there! I did my time in the fast food business, and (even though I started when I was 15) I was grateful to have a job! I would have never treated my customers so poorly.

Ok, done with that little rant. The final thing I hate about the drive-thru is this: they never get my order right!

Here is an actual conversation about my order:

Drive-thru Guy: “Hey, what can I get you?”

Shananigans (ordering my coffee for me, since she was driving): 

“A pumpkin pie latte”

Drive-thru Guy: “Pumpkin chai latte?”

Shananigans: “Pumpkin pie latte.”

Drive-thru Guy: “Pumpkin chai latte?”

Shananigans: “Um, pumpkin pie latte.”

Drive-thru Guy: “Pumpkin chai latte?”

Shananigans: “Is that the same thing as a pumpkin pie latte?”

Drive-thru Guy: “No, they are completely different.”

Shananigans: “Oh, um, ok. Pumpkin pie latte.”

Drive-thru Guy: “Pumpkin chai latte?”

Frustration...

Procrastination at Its Finest

So... the giveaway has come to an end! I put all contestant names into a random line picker (email me if you would like more information on that) and the winner has been notified via the email provided to me (CONGRATS, April!!!). 

ALSO: if any other bloggers out there would like to host a giveaway with csn stores, email me and I can get you set up with some info :)

Thank you to all who participated! Your pictures have been posted for all to see on the facebook page! (Mostly so that I can show them off because I love them all so much!!!) And special thanks and apologies to Pooks for submitting a picture, even though my gmail account wrongfully considered her email a piece of spam and hid it from me so that I didn’t see it until this morning :( I love you mucho and will make this up to you by going to Cupz and having a coffee date with you in the near future.

To those who didn't participate: shame on you. JUST KIDDING! I understand that you all lead busy non-doodling lives (and some of you were outside of the shipping area) and I thank you for reading anyway! I also hope that you will consider participating next time - as I'm sure I will do something like this again because I really liked getting those pictures!

Now, for my new post! I am so stoked that this is my last semester of actual college classes for a while, but it is sure taking its toll on me. Essay after essay after stupid pointless essay that doesn't prove that I learned anything from my classes, only that I'm good at googling some things and bullshitting the rest... they have all added up to this post:

Drum roll please…

How to Write a College Paper:

I have had my share of undergraduate classes, and if there is anything that I have learned in my time working toward my degree, it's how to write a college paper. I'm going to share my wisdom with you now for a minimal fee. That fee is a nonrefundable moment of your time.

I'm just going to go ahead and assume that you all know that - no matter how much time you are given to write the paper - you must always begin writing it no earlier than the day/night before it is due. (I am not sure what happens if you attempt to write the paper earlier, but it must be horrible because no one ever does it.)

1. Facebook.
As soon as you get to your computer, you must first log in to your Facebook account and check to see of you have any new notifications. You may also stalk people via the News Feed, but it is not always necessary because we all know that the News Feed page is usually littered with useless information about people we barely know in the first place and their constant bragging about their mediocre lives in an effort to make them seem less mediocre (but, hey, it's more convenient than reading a newspaper, and I never have to watch sports because the highlights and scores are always posted by at least 30 people).

2. Open Microsoft Word.
Once you are comfortable with your Facebook check, minimize the page and open a new Word document. Put your name, class, and date in the header and, if you're feeling frisky, add a title. Save it, just in case your computer crashes or a bear climbs though your window, steals your laptop from you, exits out of Word, and gives your laptop back while laughing/growling with excitement over his little prank.

3. Check Email.
Minimize the document and open your email account in a new window so that you're not tempted to check Facebook, but you can still access your browser. Delete all spam, but not before laughing at all of the "hey baby", "free viagra samples", and "male enhancement" subject lines you see. Read all of those inspirational forwarded emails from Mom that you never really have time to read but decide to save for later. Become inspired. Email Mom, thanking her for the email and letting her know what you have been up to lately.

4. Open Word Document.
Realize that you have just wasted half an hour (or more, if you're a champ!) of paper writing time and promptly sign out of email. Write two-three paragraphs.

5. Be Filled with a False Sense of Accomplishment.

6. Facebook.
Notice the Facebook tab telling you about a new notification and check it out. See that it was just someone you don't know commenting on your friend's status, which you "liked" earlier, even though you knew you'd get these notifications later. Sigh and exit Facebook.

7. Snack Time.
You've been working hard, and your stomach knows it. Vicious roars are erupting from your belly and it won't stop until a sandwich has been made and eaten.
OPTIONAL: watch some TV while you eat because you can't type and eat at the same time, anyway.

8. Notice the Time and Begin Panicking!

9. Power Through.
Quickly BS your way through the rest of the required number of pages, being sure to restate the same point in varying ways, add unnecessary words or phrases to take up space, and change the font size of your periods to 14pt - if you're using 12pt for the rest of your paper - because it will go unnoticed and add nearly an entire page to your paper, depending on the current length.

10. Facebook.
Post a status about how you just made that paper your bitch.

Drippy, Drippy, Drippy

REMEMBER: the deadline to enter the giveaway is Monday night, and I have VERY few entries so far. You would have a pretty good chance of winning if you were to draw me a picture for entrance into this giveaway. I am not judging these pictures; they are merely your ticket into a randomized drawing. Good luck!

Now, for this week’s post.

I have been ridiculously busy lately and have had minimal time to doodle (sad, I know). However, this onslaught of “To-Do Lists” has somehow turned me into a deranged lunatic, because I spend so much time in my head that all of my thinking-space is being filled with ludicrous and senseless thoughts, leaving no room for the analytical processes I need in order to complete the things on my lists. For example, I have a 6-page paper due tomorrow, but when I opened my laptop this morning to work on it, I began to doodle instead. Foolishness.

Anyway, here is one of the thoughts that popped into my head the other day in the shower as I was singing children’s camp songs.

Children’s songs are pretty effed up. Like, I heard somewhere that “Ring Around the Rosie” was really about the Plague. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it’s still weird to think that children would sing such a dark song so innocently.

The song I was singing in the shower the other day seemed innocent at first, but as I got further and further into the song I realized it was pretty effed up that we would encourage children to sing this song. It goes like this:

Oh, I wish I was a little bar of soap (bar of soap).

Oh, I wish I was a little bar of soap (bar of soap).

I’d go slippy, slippy, slidey over everybody’s hiney.

Oh, I wish I was a little bar of soap (bar of soap). 

Ok, I know that everyone uses soap (or, at least, I hope they do), but isn’t this a little risqué? Slipping and sliding over EVERYONE’s naked hiney?

No?

Well, it gets better. Here’s the next verse:

Oh, I wish I was a little mosquito (mosquito).

Oh, I wish I was a little mosquito (mosquito).

I’d go bitey, bitey, bitey, under everybody’s nighty.

Oh, I wish I was a little mosquito (mosquito).

So, not only is this person wanting to make sure that everyone is clean, now his main wish is to BITE everyone underneath their clothes?! That’s just rude. And slightly molest-y.

Still not with me on this? Here’s the last verse.

Oh, I wish I was a little tea cup (tea cup).

Oh, I wish I was a little tea cup (tea cup).

I’d go drippy, drippy, drippy, over everybody’s lippy.

Oh, I wish I was a little tea cup (tea cup).

This one takes the cake. I don’t even want to know what this person would like to drip all over our lips, but it sounds like “tea” is just a cover-up for his true intentions.

You wouldn’t let little Billy watch the DVD of this song; don’t let him sing it!

*paid for by the Campaign for Non-Molest-y Children’s Songs.