Dear Math: How much do I hate I you? Let me count the ways.

Dear Math: How much do I hate I you? Let me count the ways.

Dear MATH: I’m just going to put it out there. Me plus you = we suck. We just do not add up. I have a very bad taste in my gloid for you.

You give me the bung puckers. You are my enemy and you have haunted me always, but you will cease to exist never. You and your stupid numbers that you add words and symbols and nonsense to and what not. I despise you and your followers who love to flaunt their math skillz and their slimy math knowledge and problem solving BS squared.

#Stupid face numbers. #Buzzkill

imageHere’s a double negative: I can’t not hate math. Also, douche: I just can not count on you.


You make me feel so stupid, devoid of knowledge, and my word wizardry just can’t help me with this problem.

I can’t help my children, you stupid face skank!  They come to me with their innocent faces and I can only give a fraction of my time before my tranquility splits in half.

You are putrid and rancid and your remainders suck and your dang integers blow; your “word problems” are raunchy and you’re a skeezy pole dancer.

You turn my life into a crap fest of anxiety and alcohol seeking binges and you will be the death of me. My tombstone is going to say: She died of stupidity because math taint fun!



The only commonality with Common Core is that now we are all laying on the floor screaming and kicking our legs up in a scaly case of rigormortis.

Here are some math facts for you. I hate the word “aftermath!” You wanna know what the aftermath of after the math in my house looks like?  Chunky dingleberries.

Here’s a math haiku for you:

Tortured dead brain cells
My sphincter hate must divide
all this funk I feel.


Now it is time for a short rap.

Yo, yo. I’m no triple threat, no single threat eith-a. So many brain cells lost! Multiply this pissed off anger as you admire my middle fa-nger.

So, in addition: To SUM up:
Multiply this
Kiss my Rhombus.
I’ve got a formula for you.
Here’s a plethora of…rage
I do not eat Pi, count sheep and I never got my picture taken when I was small next to those big giant haunting numbers.

You know what I can say? You know what I do know? I know the difference between two, to, and too. I know when someone is a “10,” I know when I go shopping and I can damn skippy calculate at a sale the discount that I’ll be getting. And the tax, bitches. I also know that I don’t like to see double.


You suck to the third power.


My timeline is jacked. Thrice.

Sadly, for us, there is no lucky number. Two is a crowd.

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