|This is the face I was making as I wrote this.|
Hey, I'm benevolent for an editor. Often, when I'm with someone whose job isn't nitpicking grammar and spelling mistakes, they say, "But you're a total grammar Nazi, right?" And I'm like, "Nah, it's cool. I mix up 'its' and 'it's' all the time if I'm not thinking about it. We're all human. And also, stop throwing the word Nazi around willy-nilly. You know they killed 8 million people, right? Now, go sit in that corner and watch Schindler's List again until you can think of a better term for people who are super into correcting people's grammar."
What I'm trying to say is that I don't really care how you spell and punctuate, as long as you seem to have a pretty good grasp on the basics and I understand what you're trying to communicate to me. I don't expect a guy who works at the gas station to know his lay/lie/laid/lain from a box of rocks. As long as he is a happy, productive member of society and isn't waving his penis around at children, I'm good.
But, you guys. YOU GUYS. Flames on the side of my face.
Whoooooooo.....breathe out, Bethany. Thaaaat's it. It's okay. Just lie down and think about the ocean.
If one more person punctuates a sentence with "lol" in front of me, I will destroy that person. I'm not talking about "LOL," which is in caps and says to me, "I am laughing out loud at what you just said." That is on a plane in a borderline acceptable universe somewhere out in space with "Amiright?"
I'm talking about "lol." That lower-case piece of shit that says to me, "I don't know how to end this sentence, so I'll just pretend I laughed or something." If you don't delete that right now and use a period there, I will destroy you.
Do you want me to destroy you? Do you?
Being destroyed by me isn't fun, I can assure you.
How will I destroy you, you ask? Well...
I will invent a time machine, travel back to the day you were conceived, and tell your parents they are being audited. Then, I will spend the next 36 hours sitting between them on the couch in the living room of your childhood home, forcing them to watch re-runs of ALF, and picking at my foot warts. In short, you will never exist because your parents will never be in the mood again after that. They'll probably get divorced then and there. Your mom will move to Seattle and get one of those "I'm a divorcee now" super short haircuts, and your dad will exist on a diet of microwaved baked potatoes and Slim Jims until he finally meets a woman named Karen who already has two kids and doesn't want any more. That's right. Your dad will be someone else's dad, and your mom will do macrame and attend poetry readings. All because you wanted to use "lol" like it's the proper way to end a sentence and not a ball of human turds.
So, next time you're writing a quick note on Facebook, I want you to think of me. I want you to think of how I will destroy you. Then, roll up your sleeves and USE A FUCKING PERIOD. I'm watching you.