Dude, it was curtains for me after last night's blog. I didn't do a damned thing but stuff the manicotti and go to sleep.. And, no, that's not double entendre. I literally stuffed pasta shells for tonight's dinner, watched three episodes of "Cavemen" and went beddy-by. However, I did wake this morning with renewed vigor. I added minutes to the Bat Phone, checked voicemail and placed my bi-weekly Victoria's Secret order. God help me, I'm becoming a lingerie junkie!
I shouldn't hate Angelina Jolie. I'm gonna stop calling her a liver-lipped, homewrecking slut. After all, I don't even know her. Just a thought.
Strange things on the work front: a guy came into my office and- hold the phone -methinks he was flirting with me. Yes, I know. Weird. Anyway, he's yakkity-yakking on about how important he is and all the while I'm thinking: dude, I am not that complicated. If you want to impress me, bring me a bull whip and a Butterfinger. Really. A little nugat and rough sex and I'm putty in your sado-masochistic hands. That is, if your shoes weren't payless and you weren't fugly enough to stop time. Feel free to stop reading now, by the way. For it only gets worse...
My writer-friend told me what "scat" was this weekend. Wow! I won't tell you what it is here, but Google "scat" and see what foul depravity you unearth. She was even so kind as to explain the word origin to me. Lemme tell ya'll something: I don't care where the word comes from, but I DO know if a negro scats anywhere near my 600 thread count sheets, I'm a-whuppin somebody's ass! Water sports are doable in a designated area (i.e, nowhere near my sheets), but let a muhfukka piss on my new lingerie and see if I don't fuck him up.
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2 comments:
I googled "scat" and just threw up in my mouth a little.
Gives a whole meaning to "Paula Abdul and Scat Cat", doesn't it? Opposites attract, indeed.
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