If You Can’t Filet the Tuna, There’s Always Meat That Needs Beat
God, what has happened to me?! I have just become so sassy of late. Sometimes I wish I could find my heterosexuality, I swear I left it in that swan-shaped sandbox with that cracked up, sun dried raisin, Angela Ross.
Nothing seems to have contributed more than elementary school. Waking up early to be manhandled by the boys during a game of football that lead me to believe I’d be getting lucky today during the math lesson in Mrs. Habegger’s class. And then the day that changed me forever, and made me a believer, the day I broke my ankle. That was the single most satisfying and painful day of my life. Being tackled by the the Chosen One, Miles Grifo. I had no problem being the “Place Where Bad Things Happen” for Him to land. Great Gatsby, there is a God! If anyone did, it was my ankle, and probably Lindsay Swiergosz, selfish cunt.
And then there was Mrs. Fox’s class where I was so excited to watch the Irish tap dancers, which inspired me to be the greatest black girl dancer my little thighs and ass could shake! No, Lean Cuisine, I want this fat to go straight to my new eye, my little brown eye. The Backstreet Boys didn’t help my case much either. I convinced myself I was that one AJ should have said no too in “The Call.” Then there was 98 Degrees who just raised my body temperature way past 98 degrees, except the fugly one, Justin Jeffre.
Let’s talk about all the hyper-masculine wrestling stars I watched provocatively caress each other every Sunday, Monday, Thursday, and sometimes Friday nights. Man these guys are horny! I was under the impression I would get play like that several nights a week, when in reality, I’m fishing in a fucking flower pot here man. Have you ever fished in a flower pot? I have. The odds, well, they’re not that great. Except that one time, and I ended up with poison ivy. And my wrestling name was Tink way long before yours, Jessica Krauss, you bimbo! I have better acting skills than you, and my idea of acting is opening up the refrigerator and pretending I have shit to eat!
There was no hope for me. It was inevitable. The deal was sealed that day in the sandbox. And now I’m stuck here reeling from the frustration of not being able to hook up with four separate guys this past week. Seriously, what the fuck? I normally wouldn’t care, except that I could figuratively taste their muscles among other things. (Did I use that right, Dasha? I know you’re a fucking stickler for literally vs. figuratively). Did I go to far though? Whoopsie. So here I am, with no taste of tuna, and no meats. Boy, I really got the small meat tenderizer this time.
Oh bother. Oops, I mean Brothers.
Tomorrow is Steph’s birthday. And three of my follower’s (no, I’m not going to name drop) are like “Yeah, so…?” Well, I just wanted to let you know that we are going to see “Brothers” and probably go out to eat, and if she plays her cards right, she might get some later. Fortunately not with me, and if I was so unfortunate, I think she’d fold with a pair of aces anyways. I am ready to be caught up on everything new with her. Her family, friends, school, work and will bring a stop watch in case her stories exceed a minute. Time is money, Steph. And not everyone has it.
I, on the other hand, have several stories to talk about, because let’s face it, this is me time. This is my time to rant and complain to an “automatically assigned to whomever is talking” neutral third party. I expect no rebuttal, no radical ideas or opinons. First create it, and save it. I will only accept thoughts and actions that actively support the principle idea I have said, and will only accept other ones that act as secondary support, which will already be mentioned while I am telling the story. So what I need you to do is to look cute. I already have established your one word responses, and when necessary, “Yeah, I completely agree.” Its time for everyone to learn their lines, and know their roles.
No Julia, I’m a Chef I swear. What? Krogers has nothing to do with this.
I must admit, I am no cook. I mean, really, of all the things I could be, like a Target worker or something more ambitious like a synchronized swimmer, why would I want to be a cook? So I’ve made a mental note to try to stop pretending to be something I’m not, so the days I played make believe of being a cocky, hot, Jersey Shore guy are no more. Now, I fully recognize myself as a cocky, hot, Lake Erie Shore guy, that likes a cocky, hot, Jersey shore guy, and as soon as that TV show on MTV airs, I will have another free venue in which I can get in some one on one time with myself.
The days I cry that not everyone can be a synchronized swimmer are gonna have to end. I can no longer endure such an unhealthy relationship with society. Our society is created by men, for men. Well, I am a man, who is all about men. Therefore, I should be at the top of the hierarchy, right? There’s nothing wrong with this logic! Who are you heterosexual man? Do have an acronym of a group I can assign you too? No? Damnit. I’m screwed. I guess I will always have swimming, and discounted prices (but not as low as Wal-Mart). People do like swimming…right? I mean, people watch it on TV…right? I think so. I mean, I personally don’t, but if I swam, I would care more, maybe. No, probably not. Damn you heterosexuals! You’ve got me again! You’re to good. Too good. You be careful though, I have Al Sharpton on my side.
Julia Child Would Not Approve
From this post on, I will be uploading special blogs concerning my mission to cook my way through Julia Child’s cookbook. The posts will be random because I will not have the time or motivation to blog everyday, so follow me that way you don’t get left in the dust.
This is Jeff’s new blog, besure to check it out!
This Texan girl is a self-fulfilling prophecy when it comes to stereotypes in Texas. Scantily clad, gun wieldly, and like to fuck people, but only in the vagina because anal sex is illegal there.
One deputy fired, three suspended, one reprimanded. What, a fuckfest.
Most Expensive Bag of Cheetos →
Tennesse couple got in an verbal altercation and used cheetos as their weapon of choice. I could only imagine their argument…
“You’re such a farm boy.”
“You’re such a bi- NUM NUM NUM”
They both had their hands and mouths covered with the incriminating evidence of the fatal weapon, and posted bond of $2,500. Yuuuum!
Are You Cleaner Than A Fifth Grader? →
It is about time we start cleaning up our streets, and there’s no better place to start than the personal hygiene of the people actually doing the cleaning.
Student Denied Diploma for Blowing Kiss to Mom →
This is so ridiculous that he was denied his diploma. But then again, its really hard to be a senior and follow the rules by not doing anything stupid, its not like their freshmen in college.
Page 1 of 3
