This was originally published on January 16th, 2013. It’s been slightly edited.
Perpetual Perky People, or PPP’s, can sugarcoat the biggest turds, until they taste like fucking ambrosia.
You could be struck deaf overnight and a PPP will gladly point out that you still have sight. Lost your leg to the gout? You still have the other one, so cheer up. Nothing gets them down, man.
They are the ones who run the drive thru in the mornings.
PPP’s do not have a firm grip on reality. They never complain, bitch or swear. They hold in their frowns like gas after a meal at a Mexican Taqueria.
PPP’s will compliment you, even if you’ve just rolled out of bed and look like a goblin. You could stub your toe and they’d somehow find a way to make it a happy occasion.
Everything is sunshine and moonbeams, sprinkled with fairy dust for good measure.
To be perky occasionally is fine. Even I find myself feeling perkalicious now and again, although it’s an extremely rare occurrence.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate PPP’s. I’m a lover, not a fighter.
But, for the love of all that is shitty, please stop before I’m forced to put a flaming bag of my dogs poo on your porch.