The Daily Fuckcabulary: 60 Seconds of Therapeutic Sarcasm

"Alright, listen to me. You ever been in Target? Of course you have. December rolls around, you're just trying to grab a PS5 for your nephew, and that song comes on.
You know the one. Mariah. Carey. 'All I Want for Christmas Is You.' First time? Cute. 47th time? I wanna commit a war crime at the self-checkout.
Meanwhile, Granny Bootsy over here has her cart parked like she's guarding the nuclear football. My phone's at 2%—2%!—and my kid's in aisle 7 screaming Santa's not real like he just read some forbidden philosophy.
That's not Christmas spirit. That's a fuckarol. And you know exactly what I'm talking about.
 

"Alright, check THIS out. Your grandma gives you this ornament, right? Says it's 'priceless.' Says it survived forty years. FORTY. YEARS. It made it through Nixon, made it through wars, made it through your Uncle's second divorce—and probably a tornado. You put it on the tree, you step back, you admire it. You think, 'This is nice.'
Then Mittens—Mittens, who weighs nine pounds soaking wet—comes flying through like he's been shot out of a cannon, hits that tree like a linebacker, and now Grandma's 'priceless' memory is glitter dust on your floor. That's not an ornament, ladies and gentlemen. That's a fuckament. And you know what? Grandma's ghost is watching from heaven like, 'Well... shit.'

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The tinsel that gets everywhere and reproduces in your carpet until July.
As in: "My vacuum coughed up fuckinsel from the Nixon administration.

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It's 11:47 PM at the office holiday party. The fuckletoe is hanging. Terry from accounting smells like mothballs and cheap whiskey.
Sharon from HR is cornering you. And somewhere, a plant is weaponized into a tool for 'mandatory fun.' Let's call this holiday tradition what it is: Fuckletoe

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Alright now, check this out. It's December 24th, 2:47 AM. You got tape stuck to your elbow, your scissors done vanished like your ex's commitment, and this bike—this goddamn bike—got instructions written in IKEA Swedish.
Your Christmas spirit? It's in that $6 bottle of wine, and that wine is almost empty. You didn't sign up for this. But you here. And we got a word for this special kind of holiday trauma: Fuckmas Eve. Let's get into it

"It's 4:47 PM. You're in therapy, finally feeling like you might be okay. Your phone buzzes. It's your landlord: 'Rent's due.' Your ex just liked a photo from 2019. Your mom is calling. You haven't eaten since yesterday. The universe is playing its favorite game: 'Let's see if they break.' Let's call this perfectly timed chaos what it is: Fuckstances.

It's Thanksgiving. Your MAGA-hat uncle just discovered a 2012 meme that "explains the economy." Your vegan cousin is performing a funeral for the turkey. Your mom just asked why you're still single. And you're three glasses of wine deep, smiling through clenched teeth, earning the only trophy that matters. Let's call this family dinner survival award what it is: Fucktrophe
I'm Hawsé Sumi—Pittsburgh artist, two-time August Wilson House grant recipient, Paramount+ licensed creator, featured in international galleries and the author of the UnF🍸ckable Book Series.
For 365 days, I'm dropping one new word, one piece of original art, and one lesson in turning life's bullshit into creative
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"It's January 19th. You spent 90 days dieting. You lost zero pounds. You worked 60 hours for a $0.75 raise. You dated the same toxic type for a decade and wound up exactly where you started—just older and angrier. Let's call this special kind of progress what it is: Fuckward.
 
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"It's 8:03 AM on a Monday. The Fucksaurus in accounting just started his daily rant about the copier.
This is impressive, because that copier died during the Obama administration.
He's been complaining about the same thing since 1997. His LinkedIn still says 'synergy.' He just asked if you can fax over a PDF. Let's call this human fossil what he is: Fucksaurus.
 
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"It's 4:55 PM on a Tuesday. You finally fixed the car. You paid off one credit card. You think you're winning. Then your ex texts 'hey,' your boss schedules a 'quick sync,' your phone buzzes with a student loan reminder, and your problems start playing the world's saddest song on an instrument nobody asked for. Let's call this chaotic symphony what it is: Fuckordion.
New episodes drop daily at 6 AM EST.
Subscribe so you don't miss tomorrow's word.
Digital Flipbook + Audiobook - coming soonPhysical Calendar