Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Random Chuck Manson Photo

I found this photo of Chuck refreshingly candid. It's just Chuck being Chuck. It kind of captures his essence. He nearly looks grandfatherly, except for the swastika on his forehead. What do you think? Don't hold back.

Shit SB Says

I took Dr. Oz's Real Age quiz and my real age is 89. Do you think I should stop buying the gallon jugs of Gallo and maybe cut out the smokes?

Let's BGAI Together!


I am posting the link below to my friend Erika's gorgeously written blog, Be gay about it., [which includes many worthwhile things concerning her life experiences, but primarily her experiences as a lesbian trying to live her life openly and honestly], because I think community is SO DAMN IMPORTANT.

Erika is beginning a new phase in her blog and inviting us all to BGAI Together. She is looking to include other gay/lesbian/transgendered folks' experiences in her blog. She is also having a contest for the best personal stories.

SB supports Erika in this venture, because I think it's worthwhile, and the time to stop hiding the life experiences of a large segment of the world's population has come. There should be no shame in being honest and being who you are EVER, goddammit. Let's stop letting THE MINORITY silence everyone else. Shine your light, motherfuckers!

Let's all BGAI (at least in spirit), goddammit!

Link to Be gay about it.: http://begayaboutit.wordpress.com/2009/12/29/shine-your-light-share-your-story-and-win-a-contest/

[Message from Erika (she's great and SB loves her, so listen up, motherfuckers): Also, just to let everyone know, you don't have to be gay to play! Allies' stories are welcome, too!]

Amsterdam Is Here. HELLO, AMSTERDAM!!

[Laugh.] I was sitting here watching my thrilling LIVE visitor feed. How exciting!
[Clearly, my paying job is VERY TAXING.]

I'm thinking that if I sit here and start greeting people LIVE, they may get really EXCITED and decide to become blog followers.

I'll let you know how it turns out. [They will probaby just get EXTREMELY FRIGHTENED and log off QUICKLY.]

Shit SB's Daddums Says

[Whenever he encounters someone odd.]

Sucker's nuts.

A Scientology Nativity

Here at Sarcastic Bastard, our asses believe in freedom of religion (unlike those ill-educated morons on the religious right). In that spirit, and the spirit of Grandma Weedge, SB brings you a Scientology Nativity.

[The chicks who worked in Robert Palmer's band had to do something for employment after he died. A ho has to pay the rent! If I teach you motherfuckers nothing else, let it be that.]

A Nativity in the Spirit of Weedge

Clearly, the child who put together the above Nativity shared a sense of proportion with my Grandma Peg, who was for some goddamn reason, nicknamed Weedge. All this poor kid needed was a goddamn Maglite to shine on the infant Jesus and they would have been all set.

Also, let's hope the ENORMOUS fucking bird doesn't decide to attack the tiny defenseless Holy Family. Quick, somebody throw that motherfucker some birdseed!

The Circle of Friends Award from the Lovely Miss Alaineus

Despite the fact that I am a grouchy motherfucker, my ass received this fine award from my good friend, the lovely Miss A., of the blog Miss Alaineus Alemanac, which many of you motherfuckers already know. She also had the good taste to give an award to SB's good friend, Mark, of The Trash Whisperer, who SB idolizes for his wit and wisdom. [Both of these fine blogs are linked on the right-hand side of this page. Do yourself a damn favor and check them both out. I am too lazy and technically challenged to link to that shit here.]

Since I noticed I have a follower or two less this morning, receiving this fine award offsets the slight umbrage I was feeling about my stats going down. Fuck you, whoever dropped off. Eat me. Miss A. likes me enough to give me a damn award, so I must be doing something right. Did I say, eat me, you fair-weather dickhead shit-for-brains follower?

Moving on--Miss A., many thanks for the honor. You and Mr. M. are special to SB's cold stone creamery heart.

[But still--fuck you, you shit bag fair-weather follower.]

[p.s. If you were in a tragic holiday car crash and died and your blog was removed, I apologize for these harsh words.]

More Shit SB Says

I decided, instead of dwelling on the sadness of the divorce, to focus on something more positive. I'm not going to court to get divorced. I'm going to get THE MONEY.

Shit SB Says

I tried sobriety. It's not for me. I was sober for a night and didn't enjoy it.

Monday, December 28, 2009

More Shit SB Says in a Comment

I hate that bitching sharpener on the big box of Crayolas. I only liked the brand new crayon points, all neatly aligned. After the paper on the crayons was shredded by the bitching sharpener, I was done with that shit. I would cry and howl (seriously, I'm not exaggerating here) until grandma and grandpa would take me to the dime store and buy me a whole new box.

Yes, I was a brat.

Shit SB Says

Don't laugh about the Georgia Bulldogs playing the Freedom Bowl this year. The way we played, we should have gotten the Tampax Bowl.

Clearly, He Doesn't Like That "Change" in Our Country

You’ve lost my respect over not saying, “Merry Christmas”! We are a Christian country and do NOT have to be politically correct or bow down to others ALL the time. There is NO shame in being a Christian. Don’t send me a message with “Happy Holidays” for fear of offending someone. We have specific holidays for the rest of the year!!! For some reason, we continue to give in to every other belief. As an example in Muslim countries, they would NOT give us the same respect or courtesy. The radical ones would just as soon execute us. I know because as a missionary kid, I saw it first hand in Africa. They have NO tolerance for other beliefs.

I’m not being extreme even though you may think it through my previous paragraph. I’m just tried of our country NOT standing for something. I DON’T like that “change” in our country.

Freak Family X-mas: This Shit Is Burned on My Damn Brain

Can you say, awkward as ass? And also, GROSS?

Shit SB Says in a Comment

I dislike birds itensely because they shit all over everything and they bite.

I also do NOT like snakes.

Happy Damn New Year

Did you survive the damn holidays? Sometimes that's the cocksucking best we can do, motherfuckers. Just make it through that silly seasonal shit without blowing our goddamn brains out.

SB's fat ass is back to work today and tomorrow, then off again for five more fucking blissful days. Court for the divorce is on Wednesday, bright and goddamn early. I am not looking forward to it, to say the damn least, but will be happy to have it all over and done. And also, I want my two dollars. I'm ready for the financial proceeds of said event, though they won't be much. My creditors are standing by, salivating like motherfuckers. Fuck you Discover Card.

I would have checked in over the holidays, but my ass was unmotivated to post or do much of anything. Besides which, I am sick a-fucking-gain. My nose is red like goddamn Rudolf today. I guess it's just all the stress of the past year with the move and the divorce and everything shitty. This is the fourth ailment I've had over the winter so far. I am so fucking sick of being sick. Maybe I'll just be sick until summer. Whatever.

I did bond a little with the schlub (Siamese-Himalayan kitten) over the holiday. He is now following my fat ass around, staring vacuously at me. That shit's okay. I think this may only be because he has figured out that I am oftentimes the bearer of food. Whatever. It's a goddamn start. I figure he sort of likes my ass if he is following me.

I don't know how much I'll be posting the rest of this week. I figure, I don't get paid to do this cocksucking blog, and I'm not going to be a prisoner of my own damn creation. I'll post when I goddamn good and well feel like it. I'm not going to be a whore to my blog. Get me?

I hope all of you had good (or at least passable) Christmases/Festivuses/Kwanzaas/Hanukkahs/what-the-fuck-evers.

Here's to the New Year! It couldn't suck much worse than 2009.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

A Question for Dr. Oz

[SB has a MASSIVE crush on Dr. Oz. Nicest man EVER. And he's not all in love with himself, like most doctors.]

Here's my question:

Hey, Dr. Oz, why do they make the strings on OB Tampons so long? Are there actually bitches who have cootches that long? Thank you.

It's Not Cocksucking Christmas Time Until. . . .

Your ass has to chase a FED-EX driver down the street in your socks in the cocksucking snow to try to give him the package back that you signed for that you noticed after he left and was starting to drive off was actually for the cocksucker who formally occupied your dwelling place. [Note: This is the same cocksucker that you already have a package on your porch for that the motherfuckers from UPS dropped off while you were at work one day and you have started to contemplate opening and consuming because it's addressed from The fucking Popcorn Factory. This, despite the fact that popcorn is far from your favorite snack treat. You have just decided you will eat the festive corn out of fucking spite because you've had to deal with so much of the cocksucking former occupant's mail. THIS IS THE TOLL, you irresponsible no-forwarding-address motherfucker. You will not get to enjoy your popcorn.] Oh and this was after your rabid Diarrhetic not-right-in-the-head-half-blind watch dog kept lunging for the startled but relatively calm FED-EX guy at the door, but FED-EX guy was on his damn toes and averted tragedy by producing dog treats for said not-right-in-the-head dog and threw them into your foyer so that you could sign for the sonofabitching cocksucking package that wasn't in actuality yours and then proceed to run out into the snowy street in your stocking feet in order to try to flag the compassionate dog-treat-throwing motherfucking driver down and hand him back his cocksucking package that in actuality was for the no-forwarding-address former occupant motherfucker.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Shit SB Says to the Moms

Bad news. Raj has no discernible personality so far. He's like William Hurt in Broadcast News--extremely good looking, but dumber than a damn box of rocks. Also, he's got a slight problem with eye crust.

Quote of the Damn Day

"The foundation of all mental illness is the unwillingness to experience legitimate suffering."

--Carl Jung

How fucking true is that shit right there?

Also, I love the fucking photo. Fucker looks stern!

Human-Cat for Adoption

I will crawl around your house and do cat-like things in exchange for only cat food, water, a litter box, and occasional treats. Cat-cats are more of a hassle than human-cats. If you are looking to adopt a cat-cat and have been researching the matter you already know what I mean. There is less research to be done on human-cats, so let a friendly little fellow into your house today and be one of the first to spearhead a fledgeling community.

I will not speak or do anything human-like, only cat-like. I look out windows, become enthralled with small objects, run across the house in the middle of the night and make a terrifying sound in the corner, nuzzle you with my head, etc. You must take care of me as you would a cat-cat.

Email me for details.

[Uhhhhhmmmmmmmm, NO.]

Shit SB Puts in a Damn E-mail

My adopted sister had a grandma Fran and a grandpa Fran. You'd say, "Fran. . ." and they'd both answer, "Huh?" That shit was fucked up. You couldn't call one of them Frances or Francis either. They'd get all peevish.

More Wisdom from Shitmydadsays

"Fine, let’s take a vote. Who wants fish for dinner?...Yeah, democracy ain’t so fun when it fucks you, huh?”

Link to the whole ball of wax:
http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

The Most Fascinating Documentary I've Ever Seen: COLLAPSE

The gentleman in the photo's name is Michael C. Ruppert. He is the mysterious writer interviewed in the documentary that I watched over the weekend called Collapse. The documentary is about an hour and a half long, but since I took detailed notes, it took me at a least an hour longer than that to watch it.

Mr. Ruppert was an enemy of the Bush/Cheney administration, which automatically makes him a friend of SB's. He is one of the smartest individuals I've ever heard speak. He explains what is happening to the U.S. currently and that the economy/gas prices are all fallout due to Peak Oil. He also describes what he believes is about to take place in the world. It is fascinating stuff.

I strongly urge everybody to see this documentary, even if you have to purchase a copy. It is well worth it. I am buying my own copy of the DVD and also ordering some of Mr. Ruppert's books. What he is trying to convey is SO IMPORTANT, but he has had a lot of trouble getting his message heard and has even had multiple attempts on his life.

I'm not going to attempt to begin to explain Mr. Ruppert's theories here. I will just say that the documentary is a must-see. I was able to access it through Time-Warner Cable's indie movie pay-per-view selection. I had an instinct to watch it, and I certainly am glad I did. Mr. Ruppert was able to use his incredible intellect to take pieces of the puzzle of current events and connect the dots in a highly understandable way.

Please see it.

Shit SB Says at a Party, Looking at an X-mas Tree

That angel is a damn whore. You can see right through her skirt.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Coco's BIG Ass Pumping Iron


Lordy!

From Shitmydadsays

"Mom is smarter than you...No? Well, ask yourself this; has mom ever unknowingly had toilet paper hanging out of her ass?...Mom 1. You 0."

A Special Gift from SB's Dear Friend Marco

Link to one of the most fabulous photos in the history of man:
http://bipolarized.wordpress.com/2009/12/17/random-thoughts-and-a-special-gift/#comment-157

SB loves you, Marco. Thanks!

Thursday, December 17, 2009

I Love this Man

Clint Eastwood on his forthcoming film Hereafter.

“I liked the way Peter Morgan incorporates real events like the tsunami and the terrorist attacks on London into a fictional story. Also, there’s a certain charlatan aspect to the hereafter, to those who prey on people’s beliefs that there’s some afterlife, and mankind doesn’t seem to be willing to accept that this is your life and you should do the best you can with it and enjoy it while you’re here, and that’ll be enough. There has to be immortality or eternal life and embracing some religious thing. I don’t have the answer. Maybe there is a hereafter, but I don’t know, so I approach it by not knowing. I just tell the story.”

Shit SB Says

Why is it always more fun to love the unwilling?

A Slightly Irritable Band Leader

A letter from Buddy Rich to the band below. Now, SB knows who her previous incarnation might have been.

What the fuck do you think is goin’ on here? You had too many fuckin’ days off and you think this is a fuckin’ game!? You think I’m the only one that’s gonna work up there while you motherfuckers sit out there and clam all over this fuckin’ joint!? What do you think this is anyhow? What kind of playing do you think this is? What kinda miscues do you call this? What fuckin’ band do you think you’re playin’ on, motherfuckers? You wanna fuck with me on the bandstand?…Shut that fuckin’ door! I’m up there working my balls off, trying to do somebody a favor, and you motherfuckers are suckin’ all over this joint. What kind of trumpet section do you call this tonight? And saxophones…you gotta fuckin’ be kidding me! How dare you call yourselves professionals. Assholes! You’re playin’ like fucking children up there. You got your fuc…(distracted momentarily) where the fuck are you? Where is Peneke? (turns to the Trombonist) You’ve got your fuckin’ horn so far deep in the fuckin’ bell, we don’t need to have a band here tonight. You afraid you won’t be heard? Everybody can hear your fuckin’ clams out there. You don’t need a mike for that. You’re takin’ up too much fuckin’ time blowin’ what? Shit!! You stand out here all night tryin’ to blow your fuckin’ brains out; when it comes time to play, what do you play? Clams!! You got nowhere to fuckin’ go tonight the next set because if I hear one fuckin’ clam from anybody, you’ve had it! One clam and this whole fuckin’ band is through…tonight!! Try me! You got some fuckin’ nerve. Nights off, nothin’ to do, and you come in and play this kind of shit for me…Fuck all of you!!

You’re not doin’ me any fuckin’ favors, you’re breakin’ my heart up there. I gotta go up there and be embarrassed by you motherfuckers? I’ve played with the greatest musicians in the world. How dare you play like that for me! How dare you try to play like that for me. Assholes!! I get fifteen fuckin’ kids in rehearsal. The fuckin’ time in this band is incredible! We don’t play two fuckin’ bars in one fuckin’ tempo. Not one! You can’t keep fuckin’ time and play, there’s too many things to do, isn’t there? You can’t pat your fuckin’ foot and play. You’re all over the fuckin’ place. Miscue after miscue…You try one fuck up the next set, and when you get back to New York you’ll need another fuckin’ job. Count on it! Now get out of my fuckin’ bus! Right now!

What the Fuck Is Santy Doing to this Poor Dog?

For some damn reason, Grandma Peg always called the bearded toy deliverer, Santy. Maybe it was her hearing issue. Fuck if I know.

[Hat tip to Jenn for the photo. Thanks Jenn!]

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Jane's Column

The Moms is right. She is always saying how Mr. Thompson's generation paid their way and then some. They do, even in retirement.

God bless Mr. Thompson. It seems to me if there is a God, it must surely be well pleased with this man.

Filling the day with collards and roses
By Jane Fishman

Last winter, Johnnie Thompson walked into a Wilmington Island nursing home, his arms wrapped around a mess of fresh collards he had just that morning cropped from his garden.

Thompson was taking the greens to a nurse friend so she could cook them up for her husband. As he made his way past the residents in the halls and in their rooms, he couldn't help but notice their reaction as they smelled and/or recognized the large, dark-leafed plant.

"They oohed and aahed," Thompson said. "For lots of these old people, that's their No. 1 vegetable from the past. It brought back so many memories. That's when I decided this year I would plant ample."

And so he has.

Any day now Thompson, who is 87 and a veteran of Iwo Jima, will climb into his golf cart ("best investment I ever made"), traverse the deep backyard between the Isle of Armstrong home he built in 1961 and the edge of the Wilmington River to make his collard cuts.

The sprawling collards, which back up to a line of vigorous asparagus plants, grow in a narrow strip of reclaimed land a few feet above the marsh grass.

But good soil this close to the tidal waters is scarce. So Thompson, no stranger to problem solving, has resorted to blending his own soil and growing his other plants in hundreds of black, plastic pots, the kind we stack in the backyard and don't know what to do with.

To see Thompson's set-up - a meandering set of rows composed of 105 broccoli plants in 2-gallon pots, 109 cabbage plants, also in 2-gallon pots, and 36 Brussels sprouts plants, grown in 20-gallon pots to accommodate their larger root systems - is to think, "Hey, why didn't I come up with this?"

To re-confirm the number of pots, Thompson, a carpenter, a craftsman, a stickler for the exact, looks for the figures he wrote in pencil in early September on the posts of the pergola he built years ago.

The system of pots works, he says, but it needs constant attention because the leaves deflect water when it rains. Come March or April, Thompson will be ready with his next crop: butterbeans.

"I'm growing for three families," Thompson said, his wrist wrapped around a leather strap that feeds through a hole on the cedar cane he made out of scrap wood. "Me and my wife and my children and their families. I like to know what they're eating."

Road to Savannah

No slouch with flowers either, he also grows roses, a habit that started in 1950 when Thompson and his wife of 63 years first married.

The couple was living in southern California after World War II. Driving a 1939 Chevrolet Thompson would pick up sailors on weekend leave and for $20, transport them from San Diego to Los Angeles and back. As he'd leave Los Angeles for the return trip, he started frequenting a florist on the side of the road and bringing roses to his young bride, Doris.

"I saw her in a Western Union office," Thompson said, while reaching into his jacket for a pocketknife and carefully snipping off the briars of a perfectly formed yellow rose.

"She was working there and I was going to send home for money. I met her on a Wednesday night. We got engaged the following Saturday. We got married Jan. 8, 1946."

Born in Glascock County, Thompson left home as a teenager, joined the Marines and ended up in California.

"We didn't think we would ever leave," he said. "But when her mother got seriously ill in Iowa, we packed up overnight and went there. Shortly after my father got killed in Savannah we packed up a second time, again overnight, and headed here. There were no jobs in California so we stayed."

It wasn't hard for Thompson to find work in Savannah. After working for Whalley Construction Company, he formed his own business, Thompson Construction. The couple started living at Pine Gardens in homes built first for World War II shipyard workers, then made available for veterans. But when someone told Thompson about the Isle of Armstrong, he jumped on it.

"It was a wilderness back then," he said. "No one else was living here. There was just a trail." He ended up building his home, a house next door and a third one for his sister.

Retirement days

Since he retired in the mid-'80s, every day is "eeny, meeny, miny, moe. When I wake up in the morning, I don't know where to start. If I'm in the front of the house I need to be in the back."

He has buckets of eggshells and wood ash waiting to go into a compost pile, bags of leaves his neighbors drop off after seeing him save his own leaves, 36 purple martin gourds he has raised on 30-foot poles of his own invention and that need to be lowered and cleaned.

He has pieces of ancient hickory he squirreled away when he was working that he wants to turn into tables. And he could always make a few more bluebird nests.
"When I was a boy, the bluebirds used to nest in the top of wooden posts after they'd rot. Now we need to build boxes for them." When he's not in the backyard, he's taking newspaper to the Humane Society, visiting widowed friends and sharing his collards.

"I have so much to do, I don't know if I'll ever get caught up," he said. "But if I can help someone, that's what I want to do. I don't want to leave here with any regrets."

Contact Jane Fishman at gofish5@earthlink.net.

And I Was Thinking that Today Couldn't Get Any Better

I was driving home for lunch with the sunroof of the car open and the sun beating down through the pretty wintery Ohio countryside, listening to Eddie Vedder sing Just Breathe, and I was thinking how life couldn't get much better (just hang around for a few days and the next post will be all angry and depressed), when after lunch, I collected my mail, and my brother Hank had handmade me a really great divorce card, which my ass is going to frame. I went from thinking how fortunate I am, knowing all the loved ones I have in my life, and THEN IT GOT EVEN BETTER! If you can believe that shit.

It was the greatest funniest card, by the way. You couldn't imagine. If I had my NEW Sony Cybershot, I'd take a picture of it and post it, but it isn't getting purchased until the divorce settlement next month.

Anydamnhoo, I'm a lucky woman. And I love ALL OF YOU. Thanks for making my life so much richer, so much sweeter.

While looking for the lyrics below, I was stymied to find somebody asking what Eddie meant when he wrote them. Uhhhmmmm, okay.

Just Breathe
lyrics by Eddie Vedder

Yes I understand that every life must end, aw huh,..
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw huh,..
I’m a lucky man to count on both hands
The ones I love,..
Some folks just have one,
Others they got none, aw huh,..
Stay with me,..
Let’s just breathe.
Practiced are my sins,
Never gonna let me win, aw huh,..
Under everything, just another human being, aw huh,..
Yeah, I don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world
To make me bleed.
Stay with me,..
You’re all I see.
Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me. As I come clean.
I wonder everyday as I look upon your face, aw huh,..
Everything you gave
And nothing you would take, aw huh,..
Nothing you would take,..
Everything you gave.
Did I say that I need you? Oh, did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one know this more than me. As I come clean.
Nothing you would take,..
Everything you gave.
Hold me till I die,..
Meet you on the other side.
Meet you on the other side.

E-mail from SB to Daddums this Afternoon

Subject: Dad was supposed to e-mail me what book or film he wants for Christmas.

Message: If he doesn't e-mail that shit soon, he ain't getting dick.

My Own Species Sickens Me

Link to story: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/12/teen_murders_bambi_georgia_fam.php#more

I'd Have Had Sex Without Him Being There, Too

I think the highlight of the below-linked article is this:
"There's nothing that nobody can say that take it back, that can bring the lives back, can't bring my uncle back. So what can be said? Another one bites the dust..."

Link to threesome triple murder and Mr. Photogenic: http://blogs.houstonpress.com/hairballs/2009/12/lufkin_love_quadrangle_ends_in.php

The Company X-mas Party

The funniest thing about the company X-mas party (besides the fact that I hugged some bitch at my husband's party and told her I loved her, who I don't even like, because she runs around at fifty-some with her chichis and shit hanging out like a goddamn whore), was the fact that I bought Queen-size thigh highs, thinking that they would run longer (SB has very long legs). But HELL TO THE NO, those cocksucking things were the same goddamn length, but of course, BIGGER around the thigh area, so everytime SB got up from the table, those cocksuckers rolled down to about MID-CALF LEVEL. MOTHERFUCKER. (That shit was a handicap for the multiple cocktail runs I had to make due to the fact that all alcoholic beverages were only a damn dollar.)

Finally, one of my co-workers suggested I just get rid of the cocksucking things, so I promptly did, underneath the table like any fine damn lady would do.

The rest of the night, my ass walked around in my long black skirt, with pale albino stick-like calves underneath. I had to beat the men off with a fucking stick.

Actually, I'm old enough now that I could give a flying rat's ass.

I'll Still Be Posting Occasionally, Motherfuckers

Though I am very touched by your tender messages, my ass is not disappearing completely. I will still post from time-to-time this month. I won't leave you motherfuckers high and dry during the DREADED SEASON OF HOLIDAY DESPAIR.

Just please forgive me if I don't leave as many comments on all of your blogs or get to visit them every day, like I normally do. Also, if I don't respond to each of your comments, don't get all huffy about it.

The gay cat couple were holding hands (paws?) this morning before I left for work. It touched SB's cold stone creamery heart. Love is lovely, goddammit. Even gay moggie love.



Tuesday, December 15, 2009

End-of-Year Stuff

All,
I have a bunch of end-of-year stuff that cropped up at the job, so I won't be posting nearly as much for the rest of this month. I just didn't want my blogging family to think anything is wrong.

Apologies. Love to all.

SB

Monday, December 14, 2009

Seminar Tomorrow So I Won't Be Posting

I have a seminar to attend tomorrow, motherfuckers, so I highly doubt I will be posting. I'll be back on Wednesday.

Have a bitching Tuesday. Love to all.

A Conversation

T.: Uhm, I like your hair. Did you do something different to it? It looks really nice.

SB: Yeah, I curled it.

T.: It looks like you actually cared.

SB: Fuck you.

Grandma Peg and the Humbel Nativity

My Grandma Peg LOVED Christmas. LOVED IT! She was nearly giddy with the glee of the damn season (SB calls it the Season of Darkness, so obviously my ass did not take after her. Also, Grandma had really big boobs, and I didn't get those either.).

Anyhoo, Peg loved Hummel figurines, which she called, Humbels, due to a slight hearing problem. (Yeah, and Elvis was Alvin Prescott, as you'll possibly fucking remember from an earlier post, but whatever. . .).

Grandma's ass splurged one year and bought herself the ENTIRE fucking Humbel Nativity. That shit was quite costly, as there is no accounting for taste, and Precious Moments figures were expensive once, too, right? Hummels and the Precious Moments make SB want to gag and bust them up WITH A FUCKING HAMMER, but again, I digress.

Before I go further, I should explain that my tiny southern grandmother was known for her eccentric decorating taste (she even wallpapered the backs of doors), and frankly, she had some fucking weird ideas about what went together. Also, a lot of her house looked like a fucking French whore house, but to her, that was GRAND DECOR, motherfuckers. That shit was posh.

Anyhoo, after purchasing the damn nativity, Grandma decided that her precious fucking manger was not showy enough and that the Baby Jesus should be spotlighted like a Barrymore in a play. After all, his infantile ass was supposed to be holy and worshipped by the animals and the damn Wise Men. He was THE POINT. He was THE STAR.

Grandma rigged a fucking Maglite to the roof of the manger, and SB's brother, Steve, would not stop making remarks and laughing about it. "Jesus Christ, Grandma, the Baby Jesus is going to be blind. How will he perform miracles WHEN HE'S BLIND?"

After that, undaunted by my brother's mirth, Grandma decided that the Humbel nativity didn't come with enough lowing beasts, so she bought some ill-sized cheap porcelain add-on animal figures that looked like they might eat the poor blinded Baby Jesus and worshipping Wise Men.

Well, of course, Peg thought that shit was JUST GREAT! Her manger would be the envy of the neighbourhood! She was SO PROUD of that cocksucking nativity, it was unbelievable. It had pride of place in the living room.

Note: My Aunt M. has the infamous nativity now and displays it every year, replete with the damn Maglite, which my brother still has to make rude comments about.

Link to the Second Part of Stephanie Nielson's Amazing Story

Link: http://www.azcentral.com/news/articles/stephanie-nielson-chapter5-121309.html

The Gay Cat Couple Were Spooning

The gay cat couple were spooning the other night. I shit you not. I had to call the Moms and tell her about it. Marley even had his arm slung over Tom.

Wait until I get my new Sony Cybershot next month. Then, I can post the fucking evidence.

There Was a Kitty Rave at My House Last Night

SB is here, but a tired motherfucker. The cats had a goddamn kitty rave in the middle of the night last night, raising a rukus in and around my bed. Cocksucking moggies were flying everywhere. They were on the coffee table. They were on top of the backs of chairs. So I yelled at them and attempted to shoot them with water in the pitch dark. Yeah, that was effective. Then, the Diarrhetic Wunderkind (dog) got afraid of the water bottle and wouldn't lie down on her bed, so then I had to yell at her dumb ass. Motherfuckers are going to be shut in the bathroom tonight. My ass is TAHRED today.

Later on, I'll try and post about the company X-mas party, which took place on Saturday. Put it this way, I did not drink a single alcoholic beverage all day yesterday. Also, I am not the best person to have at your table when liquored up and playing trivia. SB was a tad loud and gave some of the sonofabitching answers away. Fuck it. Nobody will want to sit with my ass next year. Whatever.

Friday, December 11, 2009

A Request from My Friend Sweden

Sweden, one of my blogging buddies, requested that her blog readers post a link to this very important story.

Done.: http://auntreeny.blogspot.com/2009/12/lost-and-found.html

Please check it out and see if you can help.

Shit SB Says

My gay cat couple were at it again this morning. Marley started licking Tom's asshole, and he very clearly enjoyed that shit.

This Is the Woman SB Would Get Trapped in an Elevator with and Have to Kill

There is nothing SB hates worse than a chatty motherfucker.

Re: Picking Up Window A/C Unit

OH YESTERDAY WOULD HAVE BEEN OPPPORTUNE! If my STUPID PHONE wasn’t broken I could have been there yesterday! I had to take my daughter to Carteret Hospital and while I was there & had the truck (my fiance drives my honda to Aurora for work bcz of the lengthy drive from Swansboro and I drive his truck since I’m HOME) it was THAT MOMENT I was LIVID about my phone problem of not connecting to the internet to message you & say “Hey, I’m close & can run by if you’re there” BUT, I just opened my email to put ur phone # in my phone WHICH I SHOULD HAVE DONE IMMEDIATELY FOR THAT REASON…I’m so upset with me about that! And when my daughter had the emergency (Well, according to the hospital’s “HOME CARE INSTRUCTIONS” I was made out to be an OVERLY PARANOID MOM to mimimize her care like they did!!) I’m not the negative nelly like that, but when I told them she ‘diarrhea of blood’ they seemed to stop listening at diarrhea and didn’t account seriously the history I gave them saying she had salmonella poisoning when she was 8months old (an apparent unsanitary day care) & gave a broad spectrum of anti-biotics & gave home instructions of “foods for diarrhea and things mothers intuitively know” especially with 9yrs experience! LOL….SORRY, ANYWAY..I can and WILL be there during that time TODAY AND NO LATER..I just need to ask if I need to bring man-power to get it into the truck? My cel is [redacted] just so you’ll know that’s ME ! and if you’ll send or text me the address where I’ll be picking up the unit I’ll be there ON TIME TODAY . I just need the address & if ‘manpower’ needed just let me know that too. Can you believe my tenants actually told my fiance` “you’ll get rent when we get air”! THAT WAS SOO WRONG! I would never DARE threaten my landlord like that! EVER! Nobody for that matter but ESPECIALLY the person who has a strict iron-clad lease which says I can evict if I deem tenant “undesirable” (which I have been burned by previous tenants BADLY before yet still don’t play ’strict landlord in tenants business’…I have NEVER ONCE charged the $5 per day late fee and believe me..they have been late EVERY MONTH (one time it was 1 whole month late & after that it was usually about 7days late..this time it was 12 days late, but I totally have compassion for anyone going through a hard time…but they’re taking advantage!) WHEW! SORRY for that meltdown…but it sure felt good to vent that off my chest! I truly am not a complainer, and sorry you got to be the unsuspecting person (I have been accused of making friends with EVERYBODY! My fiance says he can put me in a room of 100 strangers and I’ll walk out knowing every person & they will know my life story! LOL I’m such an open book! But I DON’T meet strangers..I call them “potential friends” hee hee! I hope to hear good news from you soon (aside from the obvious “Sheila, you talk too fast & too much!” LOL

Taking the Renaissance Fair Shit Too Far


Thursday, December 10, 2009

Shit SB Says

Gay people should have the right to marry. If you don't think so, fuck you.

Shit SB Says in an E-mail

Jesus. I think all that new-agey crap is BULLSHIT. Who's got time for that shit? I'm just trying to get through the damn day and get the stuff right in front of me relatively accomplished. Shit like laundry and cleaning cat's boxes.

I am embarrassed to admit I'm reading Mr. Touchy Feely's book right now. Dr. Wayne Dyer. I have been so aggravated by the title of I'm Okay, You're Okay, I've been loathe to pick up anything that sonofabitch has written for decades.

I'm not okay. You're not okay. But I'm okay with that. So get over it.

I Don't Have a Goddamn Thing Worth Imparting Today, Motherfuckers

And I'm not going to be a slave to this cocksucking motherfucking blog.

It's cold here in Buttfuck, Ohio, and I'm just a tad grumpy.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Shit SB Says in an E-mail to Family

Our divorce date got moved up to December 30th. We said we'd take a last minute opening, because we want to get it done and over with. We are riding together to the courthouse. Isn't that civil? Actually, I'm a scattered driver, and Mr. SB is just afraid I will mow over a pedestrian downtown. He might be co-libel until we get that divorce decree behind us.

Merry Christmas from West Virginia


Shit SB Says in an E-mail to Her English Brother

I love the phrase "stately home." It's so English. Over here, we'd just say, "a big motherfucking house."

SB Is in a PISSWANKFUCKTIT of a Mood

For anyone who hasn't seen the forecast for the fucking godless fuck country that is the Mid-west today, we have a high winds WARNING from 7 a.m. this morning to about 1 a.m. tonight. A cold front is moving in, and we HAVEN'T HAD SUN IN DAYS. I'm beginning to suspect the Sun has died, and quite frankly, I am contemplating slitting my wrists.

To top it off, I took Nyquil again last night for the cough that is still somehow hanging on like a crazed Jewish mother, and I could not get my lazy fucking ass out of bed this morning, so then I had to run around like a crazy motherfucker (okay, a MORE crazy motherfucker), throwing cat food at the startled moggies, showering in under five minutes (yeah, I'm a bastion of personal fucking cleanliness), dressing so quickly, I'm lucky my clothes match and my damn fly is zipped, and then running my fucking fat ass out the cocksucking door in order to make it here to work five motherfucking minutes late! I arrived in time to hear my rotund colleagues discuss what they are having for lunch. [B. did not like the sweet and sour pork at the local Chinese buffet. He felt it was a waste of his money.] Thank Jesus H. Christ I didn't miss that shit. I'm glad I hurried. No, I really am.

[Note: I borrowed the Title phrase PISSWANKFUCKTIT from the lovely Hugh Grant, who I adore, despite his admitted shallowness.]

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

More Shit SB Says

People want to fit in. Don't ask me why. They want to feel part of a group, even if it's an ignorant group, like the republican party.

Shit SB Says

The only thing I don't like about my new place is that the neighborhood is too damn busy. Every time I stop to scratch my ass, there is a fucking neighbor out there, watching me do it. I'm a private person. I need my damn space.

[I threw a little Mayan ass-scratching art in this post to educate your dumb asses. It can't be about fun all the time, motherfuckers. You've got to learn something once in awhile, too. You're welcome.]

Stephanie's Story

How fragile we are. Highly recommended reading. [And some of you motherfuckers had better check this shit out. I'm not bothering to copy and post links for my damn health.]

Link to story: http://www.azcentral.com/news/articles/stephanie-nielson-intro-120609.html

Unfortunate Timing


Shit SB Said at Starbucks this Morning with FOX News on in the Background

Christ, it's too early to hear the name George W. Bush. I haven't even had a damn cup of coffee yet. My mind can't absorb that shit. Do they force you to watch this channel all day? Please tell me they don't.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Teeny Weeny Puppini and the Reeses Tree

When I stopped home for lunch, I decided, since I am dieting, I would have JUST ONE precious Reeses Peanut Butter Christmas Tree. Yes, I could have had a really big nutritional salad, but instead I opted for the small chocolatey Christmas tree, and your asses would have done the same thing, so just stop thinking you're all lofty and shit. It's human to eat the smaller fun item.

Anyhoo, Bella (nicknamed: Teeny Weeny Puppini), my black kitten, decided that she simply had to sample what her mother (SB) was obviously so enjoying. Her dumb ass liked it! I couldn't believe it. How fucking cool is that?

Since Teeny Weeny Puppini was a feral kitten and found on a highway, I realized suddenly (light bulb) that her ass may have been living off shit like discarded Reeses cups. Maybe Puppini developed a damn taste for that shit when she was "on the streets." That little bitch has street cred, man. When your skinny ass is on the street--you ain't picky--you eat what's in front of you.

If Puppini goes for my Lucky Charms tonight, I'm going to think her ass lived in, or near, a crack den. And Lucky Charms are a FAT-FREE FOOD, so that makes them prime diet food, smart-ass motherfuckers. As a bonus, they're magically fucking delicious. And also, I'm part Irish, so when I eat Lucky Charms or use Irish Springs soap, I support the poor starving bastards back home. You Irish can thank me later.

A Heated Exchange

Hey you. I miss you. I’ve imagined so much and now know I truly want to be with you.-B

Hello Sir, I’m afraid I do not know who you are or how you found this email. Please forgive this shortcoming.-E

E, I can not believe you do not remember me. My heart is broken. Can you really say you don’t remember me?. After that marvelous date at that theatre? I still love you though Even though you’re a bit frazzle-minded.-B

E, Call me at work, feel free.555-555-5555 is my direct number. As I am sure my searches for you have lead to the correct conclusions.I imagined making love to you this morning…It was incredible….I imagined extended foreplay, with highly sensual touching, caressing, kissing. I imagined tasting you and pleasuring you, feeling you arch your hips and give your body to me, as you rubbed my clean, smooth shaved head. I imagined you eyeing me, looking up at me, as you took my into your mouth … slowly working your way over my whole until the entire disappeared into your mouth (something few women can do, but I believe you can do).-B

It’s 7:45 a.m. and I’m home.Call me now, in the next 20 minutes!!!

Call me NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!555-555-5555

I haven’t heard from you in 5 days, apart from one brief phone message which you left for me during the middle of the day, when it was inconceivable that I might be at home.This isn’t working for me.I have no idea why you contacted me, why you responded, why you talked to me, why you emailed me 5 times …I misread you. I thought you were considerate, sincere, warmhearted and genuine. Turns out you’re quite common: selfish, self-centered, inconsiderate, and …a total waste of my time.Goodbye.

You FUCKING BITCH! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???!!!!!! I’M THE BEST FUCKING MAN YOU’RE EVER GOING TO GET YOU FUCKING BITCH! GO TO FUCKING HELL!!!!! I SHOULD GET MY LAWYER TO FUCKING SUE YOU FOR FUCKING WITH MY MIND AND STATE OF WELL-BEING!!!!!!!!!!!!!I have access to the best lawyers in the world. Watch out bitch!!!! I can’t believe you’d deny ME!!!!!! go to fuckin hell! DIE! be ruined! EAT GODDAMN FUCKING SHIT!!!!!!!!!!DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DEATH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Still want you, so if you change your mind, 555-555-5555

Over the Top Award from SB's Good Buddy, Chic Mama

Well, I guess if anyone is Over the Top, it's my dumb ass. Below are the requisite questions that go with the award.

Thanks, Chic Mama. SB adores you!!

[I'm not passing this award along because I'm a selfish motherfucker like that and that shit starts getting too much like a damn chain e-mail. The awarding stops here, bitches! If some of you motherfuckers don't want to give SB a future award because of this shit, then fuck you in advance. I could give a shit.]

1) Your Hair
Medium length; medium brown.


2)Your favourite food
Frozen pizza.


3)Your dream from last night
I had motherfucking five cats in bed with me. You have to sleep to dream, bitches!


4)Your favourite drink
tie: red wine and Pabst with Clamato juice


5)What room are you in?
I'm in a damn cubicle. It's a glorified broom closet.


6)What is your hobby?
Drinking, collecting cats, eating compulsively.


7)What is your fear?
THE CANCER.


8)Where do you want to be in six years time?
Alive.


9)Where were you last night?
At home with the cats, drinking and eating frozen pizza and then not sleeping.


10) Muffins?
WTF? Gross.

11) Last thing you did
Listened to the fat guys a few cubes over discuss where they are going for lunch.


12) What are you wearing?
This is far too personal and sexy a question for this public forum. I try not to discuss my vagina here for the same reason. And also, the Moms gets mad when I talk about my vagina on my blog.


13) Your TV in your house?
What about it? It's a flat-screen high def, and I would marry it if I fucking could. I love it that much. Men come and go, but a flat-screen is for life!


14) Vehicle
Dirty beat-to-shit Hyundai Sonata.


15) Your favourite store?
I don't like to shop, but I do like food, Starbucks, and a vast wine selection, so I guess it would be Kroger.


16) Your favourite colour?
Black--the colour of negation and death. It also minimalizes a bitch's ass size. What's not to love?


17) When was the last time you laughed?
Watching
Lars and the Real Girl last night. That movie is fucking funny.


18) When was the last time you cried?
When my gallon jug of Gallo wine was empty.

19) Your best friend
Jesus.

20) Favourite place to eat
Hooters.

I Have a Cough I Can't Seem to Shake

I have a cough I can't seem to shake. I was sick about a month ago, and it hasn't gone away. I'm certain it's THE CANCER. I'm not going to the doctor because I don't want that shit confirmed. It can't be THE CANCER if no one says it, right? I hide my head in the sand. It's my nature.

I smoked a lot when I first moved out of the marital abode. I was rebelling, motherfuckers--seven cats, a nose piercing, and cigs in the house. It's my damn home, I can smoke it up if I want to! That was my thought process. So it REALLY could be THE CANCER.

If I croak unexpectedly, hoist a few cold ones to me, wouldja? Also, if some of you would get the Famewhore Squirrel tattooed on you in memory of me, that would be a nice gesture.

SB Recommended Film: Two Dicks Up for Lars and the Real Girl

I saw the best film over the weekend, called Lars and the Real Girl. It is about this guy, named Lars (no shit), who can't deal with being touched or socializing with people, so his ass orders a Real Doll. Then Lars starts socializing and going to parties and shit with the doll as his date. [Note: The doll looks creepily like Angie Jolie.]

Anyhoo, the small community Lars lives in embraces the doll because they think: what the shit, we love Lars, and if he's got some sort of psychosis or problem, then we're going to help that bitch out, like small communities often do. The town embraces the doll and treats that bitch like she is a real person, even though her conversational abilities are nil, JUST BECAUSE THEY LOVE LARS. Isn't that great?

I laughed so hard. The movie is fucking great. Two dicks up! That shit is highly recommended.

Shit SB Says

No matter how janky a guy is, some dumb ass woman is gonna come along and think he's a gem in the rough. Even Ted Bundy had women wanting to marry him.

It's Snowing in Buttfuck!

We had our first dusting of light snow last night here in Buttfuck, Ohio. Yipee!

Yes, I am being a Sarcastic Bastard. Go figure.

Friday, December 4, 2009

From Shitmydadsays

"It's never the right time to have kids, but it's always the right time for screwing. God's not a dumbshit. He knows how it works."

The whole tamale: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

Another Reason NOT to Use the Internet to Hook Up

Comments in brackets [ ] are SB's obviously.

I understand that you are upset. If it’s friction that’s scaring you, I do have plenty of lube. Though I personally feel it takes much of the feeling and intimacy out of the experience, I’m willing to make the sacrifice for you. If it’s a sanitary issue, we can bleach you, like many professional porn-stars do. Its completely safe, and can be fun in itself. I’m even willing to wear a condom the first time we do it, as long as you promise this won’t be a permanent requirement. After all, you can’t get pregnant, lol. Understand, though: once we start, I’ll have to finish.

As for your insults, I already explained, my penis is actually pretty good, well into the average range. That means I’m in the 50% mark, and therefore bigger than half of the worlds men. At 5.125 (actually, closer to 5.126 if I round up) inches, I’m a real catch.
[But, then again, who's measuring? Clearly, this motherfucker.]

Anyway, let me know when you’d like to come over, so I can get my supplies and video camera ready.

Shit SB Says

When people like you, they want to give you stuff, and men want to bone you.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Educate Your Damnselves: Dendrophilia

Dendrophilia: (n.) A sexual attraction to trees.

Sentence Usage: Phil, in a frenzy of Dendrophilia, could not decide whether to chop down the Christmas tree or to fuck it.

[I've heard it all now, motherfuckers!

Your challenge is to go out and work this word casually into conversation today. Just drop that shit right in there. It doesn't do any damn good to have a 4-star vocabulary and not use it. Get out there and stun innocent bystanders with your impeccable literacy!]

More Shit SB Says in an E-mail to Family

Also, I think women are A LOT less hung up on the looks thing than men. Don't you?

I told my Aunt Bev the other night that I am interested in going even older than Mr. SB (he is 6 years older than me). I wouldn't mind a smart pepaw, whose kids are all raised and gone, and who doesn't want to hump every damn day. I'm a depressed person. I don't even want to think about humping some days. I'm just trying to get from Point A (getting out of bed to get ready for work) to Point B (getting back in bed at night). I don't have the time or energy for a lot of damn hunching.

Shit SB Says in an E-mail to Family

I have been drinking Pabst with Clamato juice. I think I may be evolving into an 80 year old man. I still don't like listening to baseball on the radio, though, so maybe I'm okay.

SB Is in a Fucking Funk

I don't know whether it's the damn fuck-fucking holidays, the fact that my court date for the divorce is hanging over my head (with no immediate end in sight), the fact that I can't lose weight to save my life, despite adding some exercise in, or what the fucking-fuck, but SB's ass is in a funk. Sorry folks, but that's what you get for being a regular reader of a blog written by a moody manic-depressive asshole.

I actually called yesterday to catch up with a good friend, who I have been out of touch with for months now, and at some point in the conversation, this friend said, "You sound really angry." This was after I explained to her not to take my out-of-touchness personally and that I haven't been doing much of anything--just getting through the damn work day and going home to the cats.

I had another old friend try to make plans to get together with me before the holidays the other day, and I told her there was no way and scheduled dinner in January.

I was really happy when I first moved out of my marital home, but now I am just energy-less and depressed. I guess divorce (even when you know it's totally necessary) is still like grieving a death. I am in the anger phase now, motherfuckers. I am pissed off that this court date is hanging over us--I just want to have it done with. Frankly, I felt divorced the day I signed the lease on the new digs. It was over when I moved my shit out. All this court bullshit is just dredging everything back up again. I am extremely pissed off that the government is involved in my personal relationship. Those fuckers even get to tax my paltry settlement check. So, yeah, I guess I am angry.

The Moms pissed me off by hanging up on me, and I haven't spoken to her in about three weeks now. I am mad that when I could really use the support, she had the fucking sheer brattiness to hang up on me. If a motherfucker hangs up on SB, SB does NOT call back. You teach a bitch how to treat you. The Moms always says that, and it is correct, and now she is learning it too.

This is it boys and girls. This is about as personal as SB cares to get. I just wanted all of you fuckers to know that I am not feeling very funny currently, and the posts may be somewhat sporadic.

For those of you that have my phone number or e-mail, this is NOT a plea for support. I really just want to be left alone to work through this. It will pass. Everything does.

Some random thoughts this morning. (Lucky you!)

1) Was Catherine Zeta-Jones sorry she married Michael Douglas, because basically, her ass sacrificed a semi-promising career to marry that Pepaw? Do they live in unadulterated bliss? Was it worth it? (I told you motherfuckers I think REALLY deep thoughts in the morning. I just can't turn the shit off.)

2) I don't believe in the kind of soul-mate passionate love assholes depict in the movies. I really don't.

3) I have lost my goddamn JOY in life, and I wish whoever took that shit would fucking give it back.

4) If I have to endure one more gray rainy pre-winter day, I am going to kill myself. (I actually said this to the dog this morning. In return, she farted. And it dawned on me that THAT fucking response was about as meaningful as anything man has come up with in thousands of years. The Buddha would have farted in response, too. That's about how meaningful this life is. There is no meaning besides what we subscribe to things.)

5) My khaki work pants have gotten so fucking tight, that after I zippered and buttoned them, I had to yank them the fuck up HARD (which momentarily hurt my moneymaker), or I would have come to work with plumber's crack. I threw a long sweater on to cover that shit up. Said sweater accentuates my fat overfed American ass.

[I would continue here with the chain of thought, but you get the picture. Some days, my own cynicism makes me want to throw up. I'd like to divorce myself.]

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Normal, Illinois

I have a semi-regular reader from Normal, Illinois. That shit makes me laugh.

A Comment from SB

[I am getting double mileage out of this shit. It's a comment on a friend's blog, and now, it's a post on my own blog. See how this shit works? SB is always thinking bitches!]

I feel the same way. I do NOT want to be here at work today. And, truth is, my job is not so bad. I am just lazy and want to be home alone with my cats and my giant bottle of Carlo Rossi. Yes, I drink that cheap shit in the multi-gallon sized bottle sometimes. It's cheap. Did I mention it's cheap?

Whatever.

Glad you have such a nice husband. That must be a big help in making it through this asswipe life.

Love you. I will close this comment filled with positivity. Do not weep. I will be back with my vast positivity again soon.

If You Think You're Not Crazy, You Probably Fucking ARE

Case in fucking point below. I love my readers! All of you. Even this guy.

Now im not crazy but this site is offensive to people who is mentally not sane or even maybe crazy. Once you post the peoples email you are violating there right to have FREE minds! Free, understand? Thats not fair plus its illegal. Believe me, I know. Ive stopped many people from doing this to me and helped other people too. LOTS of other people.

See I can play this game too because Ive been there before and how will you like it then! I KNOW how it works, believe me

So you should think 2 or even 3 times before you post other peoples thoughts OR there minds OR if even they think they aren’t crazy OR even if they do even say are fine it does NOT MATTER!

You should already know better, but youll find out and then youll will, know better. Plus I just told so you CANT say you didnt know better at least from now on.

And Im keeping a copy of this email to send to them if you dont stop IMMEDIATELY! Just know that I dont like doing that because I dont like to talk to them anymore but I will if you dont stop IMMEDIATELY!

Thank you

What Would You Do for a Klondike Bar?

I'd blow the garbage man. [I can hear my Grandma Peg saying, "Somebody's mind is in the gutter today. My mind LIVES in the gutter, Grandma!]

What would your ass do for a Klondike bar?
Honest answers only.