Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The Shitty, Or: Whitney Port Has Dumpface

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For real. Her emotive capabilities are limited to faces she probably makes whilst pooing. Hence, DUMPFACE. Let's start with the upper left and work around counterclockwise, hm?

1) omg i can't believe that much fecal matter came out of me. whats does fecal mean?

2)so thats where my cellphone was!

3)ew is that corn and blood?

4)mmmm gimme a spoon



I wanted to avoid droves of drunken mofos on this NYE, so I decided to punish myself in another way by watching the premiere episodes of The City. Some thoughts:

Whitney = twat. still boring, but more entertaining than LC. has manhands
Olivia = cunt
Erin = idiot. still not really sure who she is
Jay = douchebag. looks like if Adrian Grenier and Joe Jonas had a lovechild
Adam = douchenozzle. probably in love with Jay
Alex = toolbox. looks like if Pete Doherty got his grill worked on and stayed sober for a few days

Mostly, the girls appear to be sex robots whose creator forgot to program them. And Jay. . . seriously? When he first spoke, I thought he was deaf. Then maybe Australian, then confirmed Australian. Apparently "bob's your uncle" means "there you have it." I love when people with foreign accents imitate Americans. They always sound so cracker-ass-cracker-honky-whitebread-peckerwood.

Dear Olivia,
So I see you think very highly of yourself, being a "social" and everything. I just wanted to remind you that the only reason anyone knows who you are is that you auditioned to play the part of a Stepford Skank's frienemy on a nearly-scripted reality show. You're such a social, and you got your first pair of Manolo Blahniks at age 18? I'm calling shenanigans on you, bitch.
p.s. Stop trying to make "social" happen. It's NOT going to happen.
xoxo,
Schad

Diane von Fürstenberg's birthday was actually today. She's 62 but looks infinity years old. Quite undead. Methinks she feeds on the souls of babies.

I loved Olivia's reaction when Jay showed up at her dinner party. She was P-I-S-E-D. Pised?

I enjoyed Alex's confrontation with Jay at that club. It's a little difficult to appear intimidating in a loud club when you have to speak right into someone's ear, making it look like they're about to have an intense make-out sesh.

And Whitney: "I don't know who to trust." Really? What gives you that impression? The fact that these fame-hungry whores are paid to be your friends or was it all the producers and story editors whispering into everyone's ears?

In summation, Whitney Port can go eat a bowl of dicks. Bob's Your uncle.

Futuramadrama

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Let me tell you part of my plan for the future. It includes several disgustingly wealthy men dying in mysterious manners and leaving me all their money. I plan on being absolutely shocked when they keep dying, one after another. The following section is an excerpt from my future autobiography:

First there was Jerome. He made his fortune designing a revolutionary system of penile function for female-to-male transsexuals. He showered me with lavish gifts; and ironically, on the day his will was finalized, he passed away from an acute allergic reaction to peanuts. I blame Cook. Who leaves peanut oil next to the lube anyway? After him, I became involved with Eli. He was a great man who lobbied for and subsequently succeeded in reinstating the legality of hunting whales for ambergris. I practically bathed in it every night during our two short years together. I had no idea he was into auto-erotic asphyxiation until I found his corpse hanging from the ceiling with his swollen, purple dick out. Then there was Heff. He was so old by that time that he had no idea I was a man. He was blind, stroked out, and going senile. Our relationship consisted mostly of me giving him his afternoon viagra, manual stimulation, and drowsing off while he recalled the good old days. I had to wear a bra and heels for a few years of my life, but it was worth it. For him I mean. Worth it because. . . he was. . . so sweet. One day when I was away at the spa, he mistakenly took an entire bottle of viagra thinking it was his blood pressure medication. It broke his heart--literally.

After them, my friend Jay and I will move into a giant estate together. He will have had at least an equal number of men in his life, also dying and leaving him wealthy. We're going to get old in style. And by "in style," I mean doing whatever the fuck we want. Our staff will be comprised of attractive young men. My personal ones will be immigrants, mainly from Russia, who feel they have no choice but to work for me because they're in the country illegally. And I promise to get them legitimized for their service, and threaten them with deportation when they fuck up. Actually I think I'm going to need at least one burly, middle-aged woman in a classic maid uniform, maybe Zoila from Flipping Out. Jay and I will play the Blame Game. The point is to shit and piss somewhere in the house, blame the other, and convince Zoila it was the other nasty fucker she works for. I'll bribe her with promises of an educational fund for her grandbabies if she keeps Jay's "accidents" quiet. This will ensure whispers among the rest of the staff of how filthy Jay is. And we'll laugh all the while. And when we don't want to blame each other, we'll "accidentally" get our colostomy and catheter bags caught on furniture so they explode everywhere. I'm thinking perhaps every two years or so, we'll have Black Friday. We'll fire EVERYONE except Zoila, just to see those poor foreigners hearts and dreams break. We'll have already held interviews and hired replacements without telling anyone so they can show up at a moment's notice.

We think we might affix sex toys to the tips off our canes. That way, there are even more demeaning possibilities for when we sexually harass all the boys on the daily. I suppose we'll have pets, but we'll for sure have some dudes with buttplugs in that have wagging rubber tails. And when Barbara Walters rolls in to interview us, the "doggies" will be sniffing ALL up in her ancient, wizened crotch.

We're going to befriend Condoleezza Rice, gain her confidence, and call her Aunt Tom behind her back. Then one day when she least expects it, we'll push her down the stairs backwards. We'll keep Britney Spears in a cage and make her dance for her meals. The corpse of Janice Dickinson will haunt our basement.

Soooo, can anyone hook me up with Heff?

I'm Shallow

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I got a shirt one night for Hanukkah. I opened the package, looked at the shirt, and thought, "ew, no thanks." I tossed it aside. The next day I took another look at it. I noticed that it was in fact Custo Barcelona, so I thought, "cute shirt."

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

What?

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A friend of mine has a black body pillow. His ex-girlfriend calls it Barack Obama because it's black. I added that it's extra appropriate because both are white on the inside.

No Excuses

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I got home to make lunch, and what do I spy on CNN but an interview with Kyle Maynard. He's a 22-year-old guy with congenital amputation. He was born with no elbows or knees (or of course the limb portions distal thereof). He was a wrestler. He can lift 400 pounds with his nubs. He's now a motivational speaker and lives in a van down by the river. Okay, well maybe not that last part. But he is HOT. Apparently he's modeled for A&F. I wonder if he'd be down with stumping someone? What is it with me and people with handicapabilities? I LOVE them, that's what! The only thing is people like him are fucking it up for the rest of us. Thanks, jackass, now I look like some lazy asshole with a chip on his shoulder.

I just imagined what a lazy asshole would look like. . . literally. Like it can't even be bothered to constrict and retain dookey. It's just like, "eh, fuck it. I quit." I think that's what happens when we age and need to wear diapers again. I look forward to that time, but that's a separate post altogether.

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Monday, December 29, 2008

This One Time. . .

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I was on my way home from a lovely night picnic with friends on the beach. We split up, and I started walking the few blocks back to my place when
*GURGLEGURGLE*
I all of the sudden feel the uncontrollable need to SHIT. I had mad bubbleguts like WHOA.

[side note]My brother had them before he knew what to call them, and he was buying Rolaids or something at the store, and this old black dude said to him "you got the bubbleguts, huh?" so now and forever it's bubbleguts.[/side note]

I was only two blocks from my house, but I KNEW there was absolutely no way I would make it. Nor was there an open business with a restroom close enough for me to use (it was midnight). I could a)shit my pants or b)pop a squat.
I had to choose b. The problem was this shit was coming no matter what, so I couldn't exactly find a secluded area. I went from the sidewalk to a recessed area in front of an apartment building. It's street number was 1023, my lucky numbers, so I took it as a sign that it was okay for me to spray liquid feces all over its entrance walkway. And that I did. I tried to keep it contained to one area, but it was rather difficult to do while hovering. I wiped with my underwear, threw them away, went home, threw away the pants just in case, and took a long hot shower.

It did occur to me that some poor soul was going to have to clean up my nastiness that I left. I didn't tell anyone for a long time, thinking it would be embarrassing. But then I realized that if a friend told me that story, I would laugh my ass off. Please to enjoy.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

I Feel Gross

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This bitch tryna catch a predator fa sho.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Just Because

This shit makes me laugh so hard:

Rock Me Sexy Jesus

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Remember Justin Bobby from the Hills? The straight hairdresser who was a total dick to Audrina every chance he got? All recent pictures I've seen of him show him with short hair, and it saddens me! I didn't realize it until now, but he was way hot with the long hair. He had the whole Hot Jesus thing going on. I'm usually not attracted to guys with such long hair, but I dig his. Maybe it's some strange complex I have being a Jew. I just want to be all up on him like, "grrr, yeah, I'm gonna fuckin crucify you! Ooooh, take that spear, bitch! Die for my sins!"

Ground Up White Babies and Nutmeg

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There's a really sketchy restaurant not too far from where I live that specializes in "tasty fish and chicken." I noticed one a few years ago across town, and I told myself I would never ever go there. Then I see that one pops up by my house. Oh fuck no. My dad and I decided to try it out last night. They "make everything to order," so it took forever. Which was fine considering the show I got to watch. After waiting at the register for about 5 minutes, a large black woman saunters up and asks for our order. We all know how I feel about her already! She was great, but her wig was DEAD WRONG. She must have been about 70 years old, because if she were white she would look 50, and the only black woman that hasn't aged well is Star Jones. Well, or Whitney Houston, but crack is whack and makes black crack! So she's taking our order and swatting off this cute little girl who was hassling her, whose closest relationship to the old lady could be grandmother, even though she might call her "Mom." Little girl is hitting Grandma/Momma with her baby doll, and GMA/MA has finally had enough. She snatches it right quick from the little girl, hides it where she can't reach it, and says "now you ain't got no baby! Aaaaand what?!" I couldn't help but think she'll hear those exact words in a few years after a requisite Falcon Punch. It really warmed my heart.



I also noticed bean pies on the menu. I immediately started laughing inappropriately because of that episode of Weeds in which Nancy asks Vaneeta what's in bean pies. Her answer: "Ground up white babies and nutmeg."

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Happy ChakaKhan-ukkah!

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Scream it, black lady, scream! Happy holidays, assholes. I'm half Jewish and was raised so. Well sort of, in a half-assed way. To this day I don't know what religion my mother was reared in, if any. When I was little and I asked her, she told me she was Gentile. I thought it was a legit answer. That bitch played me! She probably thought it was pretty funny too. I don't think my Jewish relatives found it very funny when I reported that my mother was raised in the Gentile religion. Whatevs.

My Precious

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I woke up early yesterday and decided to walk to work. Not my best idea. Lovely Midwest weather has left layers of ice on EVERYTHING. It took my twice as long as it should have to get to work, and I had to geisha-walk the whole way. Since it was warming up to above freezing, even at 7:00 a.m., there was water draining everywhere on top of the ice. It was so bad at one point, I literally had to cross running water. So bad in fact that if I had been protecting a precious ring forged in the darkest pits of Mordor, the ringwraiths chasing me wouldn't have been able to follow. Yes, I am a nerd. Dork. Dweeb. Geek. What? I'ma still cutcha, bitch! I think a picture of Ryan Seacrest is more than appropriate. He's kind of like a hobbit, right?

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Dopplegangers

Famous twins separated at birth. . .
Flavor Flav and Gollum:

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Steven Cojocaru and Chastity Bono:

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Monday, December 22, 2008

It's Like I'm Walking On Sunshine

Awesome. The best part is what she says at the very end. . .

I'm Going to Sit at the Welcome Table One of These Days, Hallelujah!

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Note: The following occurred the week of 10-20-2008

My dad is dating this woman who's totally cool, and we get along great. On Monday she found out about some course that was offered through some odd self-help type "life center." I know, totally sounds like a cult. She didn't know much about it other than it was a class for people who want to understand more about addictions. She told me this Tuesday morning, and it started Tuesday evening. I wasn't really interested, but I couldn't think of a good excuse so I agreed to check it out. She warned me that it might mention God a few times, which is cool with me. She also said it was held in a church, but only because that way they were able to host the classes there for free, also not an issue for me. So I get there, enter, and feel relieved that I didn't burst into flames. The class is free, but you have to buy the workbook, which is $20. One of the guys running it told me I could pay the next week, so I figured I would just do that even though I had cash on me. Now the class meets once a week, men on Tuesdays, women some other day. There were maybe 10 people including the 2 facilitators. This totally hot guy sat next to me (this was his sescond time taking the class), but everyone else was middle-aged, bald, and all kinds of BUSTED. The older teacher introduces the "Genesis Process" as a way to deal with and overcome addictions and spiritual maladies. Including: gambling, drugs, alcohol, sex addiction, HOMOSEXUALITY, ETC. I was like "uh oh." Then I started wondering, "maybe this dude next to me is here to overcome his RAGING homosexual urges." He had a wedding band, and it WAS his second time through the course, so maybe he could easily be swayed to deviate! Anyway, I let the instructor do his thing and talk while I started skimming through the book to see what I'm in for. The intro of the book is all about how "we as Christians" blah blah blah, "let Jesus into your heart" yada yada yada. Shit. I read more, and it specifically mentions homosexuality as a "sin," "loss of control," and "coping behavior." A "symptom of an underlying problem." Fuck. there are tons of prompts and exercises like "What would Jesus say about this?" Or "read Romans 10 and respond in light of your own coping behavior." I was just about the only person who didn't bring a personal copy of the New Testament to refer to. My dad's gf was sorely misinformed. The book even mentioned "demonic influences." And there was pseudoscience bullshit that the author clearly had no real grasp on. It was some cult shit. I was thinking, "shit, bring on the cynide kool-aid!" After 10 minutes I knew it was NOT for me. But I tried to be polite and stay. But I kept seeing myself in my head closing the book and leaving. Finally after 45 minutes, I was like "fuck this." I laid the book on the table, grabbed my bag, and went to the exit without saying a word. I got to the door and thought "damn, it's cold." I realized that I had left my sweater in the room. My first instinct was to leave it and chalk it up to the price I had to pay to get the hell out of there, but it's one of my favorites and so cute! I pulled my phone out to pretend like I was doing something important with it and went back in the room. No one says anything, and no one's paying attention to me. Then I grab for the sweater from the back of the seat causing the chair to nearly tip over. Everyone's looking at me, so I wiggled my phone as if to blame it for the interruption, got the sweater, and whispered "sorry." Then I bolted out. I'm glad I didn't pay for the book, but I kind of wish I had so I could prove to people just how crazy it was. Anyway, as usual, there's no lack of ridiculous shit happening in my life.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Dirty Fingers

boredom + filthy mind = this:

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Isn't it fantastically disgusting?!? I love it. And the possibilities are only as limited as your imagination. Don't put any hair on it, and it's Lindsay Lohan! Then add a c-section scar, and it's Britney Spears! Now remove the scar, add some red dots, and you've got Paris Hilton! Or make one on each hand, and have them scissor--LiLo and SamRo! The fun never ends.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Once Upon A Time

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The only girlfriend I ever had was when I was 11. It lasted a couple weeks, and the most we did was go to a movie together. I was surprised when I got a note from her in school one day stating that she had "seen my true colors." Bitch. What does that even mean for an 11-year-old? Was I stingy with my markers? Or did I suck too bad at dodgeball? It's not like I tried to steal second base or anything. Maybe she saw my rainbow before I even knew it was there. She's a full-on dyke now. Irony.

Friday, December 19, 2008

The Wheels on the Bus

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I was on the bus today, and some jackass who boarded reeked of Abercrombie cologne. Eau du Douche, and not French douche as in shower. Douche as in -bag. It makes me think of the horrible few weeks that I worked there. I was a stockboy slave and had to work many of my shifts until 2 a.m. It was a terrible environment, the pay was shit, and employees hated it (managers included, I really pitied them). I remember seeing a laminated sheet detailing how to odorize the store with the FIERCE room spray. It came in big bottles because you were supposed to use half a bottle every day. There were diagrams showing how close you need to place the bottle when you spray it on EVERY single mannequin, display, and pile of clothing. Customers would regularly complain to me that the smell gave them headaches and affected their allergies. Sorry, but there are three things you're gauranteed when entering an Abercrombie & Fitch store: an overwhelming FIERCE smell, unnecessarily loud dance remixes of songs that should never have been mixed, and pretension. I vividly remember using the employee bathroom in the stock area. Someone took such a toxic, punishing dump that I could smell it from the sales floor. On the policy poster that was curiously hung in the bathroom, someone had changed the name of the company to Fagercrombie and Fitch, and no one cared enough to do anything about it the whole time I worked there. I found it funny and took a picture of it with my phone, but thinking back, maybe I should have sued them. My time there ended when I left early one day and didn't go back. I just didn't want to! I figured I could easily get some other shitty temporary job. From then on, I avoided the store like the plague whenever I was at that particular mall. Then I remembered they still owed me a paycheck, and they didn't do direct deposit. I waited long enough that maybe they would forget who I was. The employee turnover there is sky-high anyway, but I had to do the walk of shame through the store, ducking behind clothes racks to get to the backroom and retrieve what turned out to be a measly thirty-five dollars.

On the subject of the bus. When I got on today, out of the corner of my eye I saw a little old man at the very front. He had a cane: the kind with four supports at the bottom for extra balance I guess. His cane was wrapped with a ribbon of Santa Clause so that from far away, it looked like a candy cane!!! So cute. Then when he turned around, I realized he was actually pretty young, I'm guessing 30. His grizzly beard and small stature misled me. I think he had MD. Or MS. Maybe a palsy? I don't know. If something is medical and not in the realm of vagina, I am ironically lost. Anyway, it was adorable.

That reminds me of this one time I saw a hot midget. I'm sorry, little person. We were walking in opposite directions on the sidewalk, and he was so fine! He had a very handsome face, "normal" torso, and disproportionate arms and legs. He was wearing a suit and tie, and I like to think he was on his way home from his successful career as. . . I don't know, something only big people are traditionally good at. But in that brief moment of passing each other, I imagined our lives together complete with picket fences and stepladders.

I Heart Slang

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Anybody who knows me knows that I find the humor in every situation. Abortions included. Please to read:
Falcon Punch :
The act of intentionally punching a pregnant female in the stomach, so as to cause miscarriage. Shouting the phrase "Falcon PUNCH!" is optional.
Man A: "Oh man, I got this chick pregnant..."
Man B: "How about I do you a favor and give her the ol' Falcon Punch?"

OR as I like to call it, THE ANGELMAKER!

Thursday, December 18, 2008

A Ballad About Female Genital Mutilation

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This is something I started a long time ago, but never got far into until tonight.
*thanks go to CK for the title and 1st half of the chorus*
This is a very special song about female circumcision to the tune of Plain White T's' "Hey There Delilah." Thanks to a CS105 class I cheated my way through in college, I'm quite competent at copying and tailoring html code, so here is an instrumental version of the song (start singing in your head 10 seconds into it):




"Cleaver to My Clit"

The Serengeti was so peaceful, oh so quiet
Buffalo roamed in the place
I called my home and were my diet
Life is tough
So is the meat, I've had enough
My time is up

I'd like to move and
Go to Oprah Winfrey's school
But my father, he says no
It costs too much to buy a mule
Wish I were grown
Then I could strike out on my own
This makes me moan

Oh cleaver to my clit
But they let me keep my tits
Oh it's such misery
To have a clitorectomy
A clitorectomy

And then my tribe says
It is time to be a woman
There's a little extra part
You'll have to part with very soon
Put the dolls down
Spread your legs, get on the ground
It's over now

I fear the butcher
While he tries to comfort me
He says it only hurts a little
But will burn when you go pee
I'll miss it so
Tiny mound of flesh I hardly know
Say it ain't so

Oh cleaver to my clit
But they let me keep my tits
Oh it's such misery
To have a clitorectomy

They chopped it off, and it flew far
Now all that's left is an ugly scar
And a throbbing phantom pain between down there
The blade was dull and smelled like rust
Another man I'll never trust
The sight of one will now cause such a scare
A silent tear rolls down my cheek
And I've decided I need to seek
A place where I can start to become whole
And mend my soul

So now my sexual
Relations are for function
I've no sense of what is pleasurable
Even when they're munching on my cunt
I'll find a good man on my hunt
Who doesn't see me as a machine
To breed his children and to clean
I miss my bean

Oh cleaver to my clit
But they let me keep my tits
Oh it's such misery
To have a clitorectomy
Clitorectomy

Is it wrong to make fun of dead people?

Sadly, I'm a foolish enough sheep to watch MTV's A Double Shot at 15-Minutes-of-Fame, I mean Love. Kandice "Kandi" Hutchinson was rejected on last night's episode by two skanky bisexual broads known as the Ikki Twins. She was a makeup artist whom Tyra Banks would probably refer to as "plus size." Meaning, she had a totally normal body, but looked huge compared to the praying mantis competition. She sobbed in her exit interview, "I have so much to offer. I have a really good heart--it's there--it's so big. Maybe it's a little bit hidden." Well maybe she meant "enlarged" instead of "big." And I can imagine how obscuring GGG tits can be. Vikki and Rikki (apparently "Rikki" comes from the name Erica) have already kicked off all the people of color, so why not go after the fatties? HEY! Are any of you tools or lesbots Jews? You're next!

Kandi died in a car crash October 21st shortly after production on the show wrapped, and MTV edited her scenes to limit how much of her outrageous behavior aired. Why? If she's a crazy bitch, show us just how crazy. What could be in the unaired footage that would change the audience's opinion of a boozy, slutty mess? She must have been lighting orphans on fire and punching pregnant women in the belly. Maybe she was shitting on cars and paying bums to fight each other. Or worse!

Let it be known that I found out she died after I planned to write this. Not that it would have stopped me from posting. And I did get the whole burning orphans thing out of it. . . so thanks, Kandi?

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Crotchfruit

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I ran into an old friend today. By "old" I don't mean aged and rickety, just that I've known her for a while. Actually she could totally use some botox and a little plumping, but the point is that she told me she was "expecting." Expecting what? I had no idea what she was talking about. Maybe it's because she's always been a lil' thick and had cankles, so I couldn't tell she was four months pregnant. After an awkward pause and a realization on my part, I tried to figure out what to say. "Um, congrats on accomplishing what thousands of unwed teenage badgirls do every year?" Or maybe, "Ooooh, I'm sorry. Will you be going to a doctor to take care of it or the good old-fashioned method of throwing yourself down the stairs? I myself am a traditionalist." Then she felt the need to tell me that it happened on their first try. Thanks. I really needed to know that, Fertile Myrtle. I said, "you know what that makes me think of? Your vagina. You know what I hate thinking about. . . your. . . vagina." I think I ruined her day. Anyway, she's expecting twatvomit in May. I'm expecting her to scream, cry, and shit the bed.

Leave Them Street 'Mones Alone

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David Cook looks like a female-to-male transexual in the worst way possible.
Glued pubes on the face do not a man make.

BWNHI

My coworker is my favorite kind of person. A sassy black woman. Let's call her Shawnda. If you want something done, there's nothing like a black woman NOT HAVING IT. Is your Starbucks order taking too long? Get you a BWNHI. Does it look like that asshole over there is talking shit about you? (doesn't matter if he is or not) BWNHI. Is that cop giving you a speeding ticket? Well, let it go, because BWNHI might get you arrested. We discuss this all the time. We decided that black people and Jews have a special bond because we learn about persecution at such a young age. We were at a work dinner last night when someone (whitewhitewhite) told Shawnda that Atlanta was "like Hollywood for the blacks." We just looked at each other like "is this bitch for real?" There are just some things you can't say. I think I'll go tell Shawnda "I love your people!"

Breathing Finger Cozy

Let's consider someone like Paris Hilton for a moment, hmm? She's ugly. Don't get me wrong, I like her, and I think she's much smarter than she lets on. But daymn. She's crazy wealthy and has surely had access to cosmetic surgeries her whole life. I'm sure she's had plenty, and THAT is how she ends up? Her eyes alone look like a fucking Picasso.
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She is to' the fuck up and seven kinds of busted. Which begs the question--what must she have looked like before any procedures? I'll tell you: Sloth from The Goonies--with a bad weave.
Sloth a.k.a. Paris Hilton before surgeries

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

What Would Yolanda Saldivar Do?

I have this kooky aunt who is an OB/GYN, and she visits town every so often. She was here Sunday and Monday. She likes to talk. A LOT. And about nasty things. She has no information filter. We were chatting [aka she was chatting, I was listening] last night, and she treated me to some tidbits about her body. She told me that when she runs, it basically feels like her asshole is falling out through her vag. Cut to me wide-eyed trying not to laugh. She goes on to say that it's worse than in the past, because she used to be able to manage it with KEGEL exercises. That's when I cracked up laughing. I immediately apologized. I was just thinking about how my aunt is actually sitting here practically telling me that her vagina is so flobbety that other organs are falling out through it. And then I thought, "if this can happen to my aunt, imagine what a really promiscous woman might feel." I hypothesize that one day Paris Hilton might turn inside out via her pusspuss. And If I ever started a blog, this would be the first entry.

So it begins.

p.s. for biology fans out there, here are some excerpts from the wikipedia entries for rectocele and cystocele (what Aunty TMI told me about):

A cystocele (SIS-tuh-seal) is a medical condition that occurs when the tough fibrous wall between a woman's bladder and her vagina (the pubocervical fascia) is torn by childbirth, allowing the bladder to herniate into the vaginaA cystocele is mild (grade 1) when the bladder droops only a short way into the vagina. With more severe (grade 2) cystocele, the bladder sinks far enough to reach the opening of the vagina. The most advanced (grade 3) cystocele occurs when the bladder bulges out through the opening of the vagina.A doctor may be able to diagnose a grade 2 or 3 cystocele from a description of symptoms and from physical examination of the vagina because the fallen part of the bladder will be visible.

MY AUNT WAS KIND ENOUGH TO MAKE SURE I KNEW THAT SHE HAS BEEN UPGRADED FROM GRADE 1 TO GRADE 2. Grade 3 is when I claw my eyes out and shove knitting needles in my ears.

AAAAAAAAAAAAND:A rectocele results from a tear in the rectovaginal septum (which is normally a tough fibrous sheet like divider between the rectum and vagina). Rectal tissue bulges through this tear, into the vagina, as a herniaMild cases may simply produce a sense of pressure or protrusion within the vagina, and the occasional feeling that the rectum has not been completely emptied after a bowel movement. Moderate cases may involve difficulty passing stool (because the attempt to evacuate pushes the stool into the rectocele instead of out through the anus), discomfort or pain during evacuation or intercourse, constipation, and a general sensation that something is "falling down" or "falling out" within the pelvis. Severe cases may cause vaginal bleeding, intermittent fecal incontinence, or even the prolapse of the bulge through the mouth of the vagina, or rectal prolapse through the anus.