tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78574823345938608102024-03-13T07:24:52.051-04:00stfu julie beeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.comBlogger709125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-51487314310511833412012-07-31T23:38:00.000-04:002012-07-31T23:38:34.941-04:00DIEU<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9vsFZT04PLU/UBikQ6l1XvI/AAAAAAAAiKA/zRpKCdLUQuc/s1600/a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9vsFZT04PLU/UBikQ6l1XvI/AAAAAAAAiKA/zRpKCdLUQuc/s1600/a.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">via </span><a href="http://chuckbass.tumblr.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;" target="_blank">http://chuckbass.tumblr.com/</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-1786335189955597102012-03-13T09:01:00.002-04:002012-03-13T09:05:45.024-04:00when you grow upYou've been a broken child, you've been a housewife, you've been a student, you've been an artist, you've been a biker bitch, you've been a writer, you've been a tattooed, beer drinking, vagabond.<br />You change with the wind, as they blow through your life.<br />You're happy, then your sad, you cocoon, you molt and then you fly far, far away.<br /><br />You need time to yourself!<br />You need to figure out who you are!<br />You need to be you!<br /><br />But I have been me all along.<br />You see, the only ever thing I've ever wanted to be,<br />was someone else.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-47803724635440129892011-10-05T14:40:00.002-04:002011-10-05T14:43:33.725-04:00Nightmare Fuel. Writing. October 5.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_XbxlMIXrGY/Toyk_J9gX0I/AAAAAAAAF1k/YMJEylO2SmI/s1600/backroadsspooky.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><div class="Ph Sx" style="padding-bottom: 12px; "><div>Sara won't you play with me<br />Darkness falls, you hear my plea<br />Wander close into the street<br />Blades so sharp, I'll slice your feet<br /><br />I want your little toes to keep<br />Hush my child, don't make a peep<br />Drag you screaming to my shed<br />Lay you down upon my bed<br /><br />Sara came to play with me<br />Moonlit sparkle I do see<br /><br />Your eyes will twinkle as my own<br />Gouging deep while scraping bone<br />Your cries are ringing in the air<br />My fingernails, you are aware<br /><br />Tearing flesh from off your arms<br />Fright will surely bring more harm<br />My giggles shrill into a song<br />The cuts I'm making very long<br /><br />Sara pleads, don't play with me<br />But bloodshed's sure to set me free<br /><br />The axe is swung so very high<br />Landing hard below your thigh<br />Smooth white legs I chop to bits<br />Hurry now before you quit<br /><br />One more cut into your belly<br />Hand slide in to gooey jelly<br />Your insides do feel warm tonight<br />Beating heart will bring delight<br /><br />Fingers closed around it firm<br />Ripping now, you cease to squirm<br />Hold it close, I feel you near<br />My love for you, so very dear<br /><br />Sara you will always be<br />Floating on the reddened sea<br /><br />Soul adrift a wondrous flight<br />The pain I wrought with all my might<br />My gift to you this deadly night<br />Darkened streets do always bite</div><div><br /></div></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_XbxlMIXrGY/Toyk_J9gX0I/AAAAAAAAF1k/YMJEylO2SmI/s400/backroadsspooky.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660080236610477890" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 177px; height: 400px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-90288872124783470612011-10-05T08:00:00.001-04:002011-10-05T08:04:52.201-04:00Nightmare Fuel. Writing. October 4.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><div class="Ph Sx" style="padding-bottom: 12px; "><div>Fish was selling at it's highest market rate since Joseph had moved his family to the bustling coastal town. Floods had ruined his last crop of wheat and before savings diminished completely, they had set out toward fate unknown. A larger community promised a stronger need for trade. For advancement. For growth.<br />The move had also been good for his wife's failing health. The cool sea air brought color back into her cheeks. She looked more radiant now than she had when they were first introduced; a harsh contrast to the many sullen looking women in town, faces filled with scars, begging for scraps of bread in exchange for favors unfathomable to a gentleman.<br /><br />He walked the docks, seeking conversation, advice, any sort of discourse. Strange looks and whispers followed every footstep. New comers were not welcomed, questions even less. Every morning the seafarers headed out and he took note as they returned before the setting sun. In the countryside, it was habit for the fishermen to cast during the late hours, when feeding was more likely to occur. Routine here was much different he saw.<br />Back in town and drunk, the men became far more open to his presence. They shared stories of large hauls, blinding weather and, of course, legends. "BEWARE" they shouted with rolling bouts of laughter. He smiled with them, hiding rattled nerves. They said to see Old Tom in the morning. He would lend him a small boat for a portion of his catch, to get him started.<br /><br />Tom was indeed old, or as weathered as years of sea work might make a man. They talked long and easy; agreed on a fair trade. Tom spoke, "Damn them, those liars, don't listen to a word they say." He scratched a rough face with the sharp end of a bloodied knife. "The deep has always had it's stories. Just a bunch of drunks with nothing better to do than talk. You fish as you like. You fish as you know."<br /><br />And he had. The calm voice of age had settled Joseph's stomach then. Reassuring words now echoed hollow as he felt the pangs of a missing arm and fractured legs. Something large had overtaken his boat this first day out. Moments from his last breath, consumed in a painfully blurry instant, nothing but the present spoke. He felt his grip on the spongy flesh of this beasts tongue weakening with every wash of water that flowed past giant teeth embedded with rotted flesh unknown. As the putrid air pockets began to disappear and the pressure in his head increased, he welcomed the taste of salt in his lungs; a far easier nightmare than flesh dissolving slowly off his skin in the belly of this monster. "I am sorry, my love," he thought as the thoughts ceased to be.<br /><br />The elder sailors chuckled over drained pints of ale. One of the men began sharpening his knife at the table. "You know," he said, "too young a man to have left unattended, such a pretty wife."<br />"She'll no doubt be waiting up for him to come home," chimed in another.<br />"Poor thing is probably scared out of her mind with worry," laughed the eldest.<br />The small group left too late and too drunk, to deliver bad intention masked by the solemn news. Terror in the deep was only rivaled by that back on shore.</div><div><br /></div></div><div class="Tx" style="border-left-width: 1px; border-left-style: solid; border-left-color: rgb(234, 234, 234); padding-left: 9px; "><div class="Gk"><div class="jU" style="margin-bottom: 10px; "></div><div class="Jm"><div class="B-u-C" style="margin-bottom: 7px; margin-top: 5px; "><div class="B-u-ac B-u-Nd-ja a-l-k B-u" url="https://plus.google.com/photos/102538625418109206865/albums/5658212433602838641/5658214556717208978" type="image/jpeg" expanded="false" style="position: relative; display: inline-block; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; cursor: pointer; max-width: 402px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; margin-bottom: 5px; max-height: 301px; height: 251px; "><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-SyisErXdPC4/ToYEKSwS1ZI/AAAAAAAADko/N_2mzuXr9nE/w402/photo.jpg" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; display: block; " /></div></div></div></div></div></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-40797877732094716882011-09-07T11:48:00.006-04:002011-09-07T13:34:35.838-04:00Welcome Home<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Pulling into the driveway, I glanced up. The dark curtains were drawn. He was here. And earlier than expected.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">No sooner had I parked the car, I was bounding up the front steps to the heavy mahogany door. There was a small note taped there. “Quiet,” it read. I had already made too much noise. Shameful, I thought, though the promise of what was to come only increased the now pulsing between my thighs.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I paused to catch my breath, to focus. Anticipation in the form of glistening beads of sweat gathered on my temples. My nipples stimulated instantly by the movement of my satin camisole.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I slid my key into the lock, quietly slipping inside, easing the door shut again and locking us both in for the evening. I felt every rise and fall of my blouse. The house was cold but I already knew the warmth of the whips lashings would soon feel like noonday sunlight upon my skin; burning hotter as my flesh methodically reddened, lulling me into a dreamy state of heavenly submission.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">The last golden light from a setting sun, slipped in from slits and edges of the draperies, softly illuminating the otherwise darkly staged room. He must have had the floors polished, the faint smell of wax reaching up to touch my nose. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">In front of me, on the old oak table there was a small wooden box dark etchings covered the lid. It was my wooden box, kept away from me until moments such as these. Focusing on it, I smiled widely for a brief moment before scanning over the evening’s chosen attire.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Next to the box, lay a crucifix of tarnished gold; an aged bible whose pages frayed at the end and undoubtedly will waft musty when opened. Next to it, there were blood red rosary beads and a hairpin made of pearl. A dull gray woolen jacket and skirt were draped over a chair to my right. The fabric promised fitted, uncomfortable resignation. On the seat, there were black stockings I knew to be as soft as lambskin, soon to be shredded as the others before, and my corset of blue constraining movement further. His impeccable taste delivered no finer vision of bodily worship. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">My heart now steady, I took to slipping off my shoes, placing them softly on the table. A door shut in the back of the house, startling me. The smell incense began to make its way out of the hallway; a soft mist indicating he was aware of my arrival, my presence required in a timely manner. We indeed had a lot of catching up to do.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Careful not to make a sound, I took off my business suit and placed it on the chair with my purse and keys. I eased into the imported silk stockings, my hair pulled back into a bun, carefully securing each clasp of the restrictive corset. I took my time getting dressed; smoothing out the rough fabric of the suit with my hands as the moments ticked slowly by. Every tiny detail attended to, as it would be minutely scrutinized. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">One little peak before my affirmation began. Carefully, I lifted the boxes lid. A diamond studded collar twinkled against black velvet lining. My heart picked up it’s pace again. He had taken it with him on the business trip. I raised the lid and released, letting it slam shut.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I wrapped the beads loosely around my right hand and slipped back into my heels. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I grabbed the box and tucked it under my arm. I picked up the book, the cross on top.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women,” I whispered.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">With long purposeful steps, I strode to the location of the closed door. My feet heavy, my heels thumping hard on the wooden floors echoing throughout the house, sure to reach his ears. I would suffer at his hands for having broken the rules. I would suffer at his hands for the redemption of my soul. M</span>y long awaited confession would be first; for whilst he was away, I committed the most lecherous of sins; the lascivious hallmark of an unrestrained predator, hunting in the night her targeted prey.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Welcome home, my love.</span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-40965348350092283892011-08-26T12:53:00.000-04:002011-08-26T12:54:53.014-04:00so selfish.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QE0bbp7FMhA/TlfPuTzYF1I/AAAAAAAAFI4/DXJ_0y59z2U/s1600/threesome.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QE0bbp7FMhA/TlfPuTzYF1I/AAAAAAAAFI4/DXJ_0y59z2U/s400/threesome.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645209052428900178" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-11801738640671212492011-08-26T10:10:00.000-04:002011-08-26T10:11:04.958-04:00get to it, bitches.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rR5dlW7VZf4/TlepZcr_C5I/AAAAAAAAFHc/4FeOrcJr6Jc/s1600/unite.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rR5dlW7VZf4/TlepZcr_C5I/AAAAAAAAFHc/4FeOrcJr6Jc/s400/unite.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645166912594709394" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-3186821141488061502011-08-18T12:21:00.003-04:002011-08-18T15:40:28.812-04:00you're doing it wrong.<div>QR Codes.</div><div>They were made for smart phones to scan. It is fucking pointless for anyone to put one online at all. A link will take care of that. In fact, this is a verified idiot sign, one who clearly doesn't understand simple things like, underwear goes on your ass not head, condoms are for dick protection not water balloons, and pie is for eating not fucking.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Karma drivers.</div><div>I was taught how to drive in school. I read the handbook, studied it, managed to get my license and have now been driving for about 20 years. Road rage and people who forget to turn on blinkers, those guys that speed or cut you off in traffic, I honestly don't mind them. Most of the time, people just plain make mistakes, I know I do. I don't honk my horn, I think it is an obnoxious way to get someone's attention as when one is honked at me, my heart tends to skip a beat, so fuck that bad karma accumulating shite. What pisses me off more than anything are drivers who think they are doing you a favor by ignoring the rules of the road, so that they can look like good people. You are not good people. You probably go home and yell at your kids and kick your dog when it craps on the floor. Don't involve me in your balancing things back out in the universe game. If you are across from me at a four way stop and have clearly arrived at that place FIRST, fucking go. Don't wave me through. What is that? If I am making a left hand turn and you are oncoming traffic, don't stop like you are a traffic cop deciding who gets to go and who doesn't. I have already timed how long it takes to get to my destination, I do not need you to block traffic in order to aide me in my quest. Naturally, I don't trust any of you, no sooner do I go then I think you are going to ram me in the side. People are fucked up. I don't get it. Everyone just follow the fucking rules.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Tea-baggers.</div><div>Get the balls out of your face. Congress is a game of let me rub your moms asshole with my dick but NOT under any means stick it in. Hint: you scratch my back, I scratch yours. You cannot hold firm on some wack ideal you have that works for no one in real life. Sure communism sounds awesome on paper, but the reality is, most people are fucking greedy bastards who love power. One would always speculate about the neighbor doing what they were required for the team, coveting things they don't need across the fence, sleeping in dumpsters to avoid work. See, people are also inherently lazy. Check any tribe of primates. They spend half their life picking at themselves and rubbing on their nutsacks (at least the males), if they are not killing off every male, female and child of some randomly picked other group of primates. We are not that far off, I don't go a day without seeing at least 25 men adjust themselves, 5 girls post their tits online and the world is running around 20+ conflicts currently. Go back to school and take a history class for fucks sake, also check out something called Political Science. You have to know that you can't just elect 13 more senators to Congress once you become President Michelle Bachmann - are you fucking kidding me? The words that spill out of your mouth make Sarah Palin look like a goddamn Nuclear Physicist with a doctorate in English. I honestly consider you might not be able to dress yourself in the morning. This country has lost its mind to a nice ass and pair of tits. Twice now, retards, thats the beginning of a pattern.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Republicans.</div><div>Can you involve Christ in more of your public speaking adventures? Please. Hold another prayer rally for something. Do any of you even think about separation of church and state? Do any of you even think? You bring up all these already voted on and passed ideas in order to turn them around, instead of working to fix the current problems at hand. You enter into legislation shit like "Marriage is defined as this". Any of you miss the fact that we are going broke? Don't mean to break up your circlejerk with real problems but we have issues to attend to that have nothing to do with hiring an ex pro-golfing legends company to grant them state park land in order to build a memorial playing trail. The fuck.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Democrats.</div><div>GROW A PAIR, YOU PUSSYS. You remind me of a 3 year old daycare class. Drooling, wandering around clueless, no organization or coherent ideas except, let's play with blocks, what, or sticks, yea sticks. Party for the people? You sell out to corporations just as fast as Republicans and then lie like none of us can look the shit up. Fuck you and your intent to get reelected. Work together on something. You think you can at least stand united on one front? And you wonder why the Republicans stomp your dicks into the dirt, if anything they at least back each other up no matter what. You disperse like cockroaches anytime someone shines a light on you. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Dogs.</div><div>Its balls to ass. BALLS to ASS. I would rather you smell musty than like shit. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Texas and Florida.</div><div>What The Fuck.</div><div>You are doing it ALL wrong.</div><div>Florida: Collapse into the ocean please.</div><div>Texas: Secede already. </div><div>You collectively couldn't screw in a lightbulb without written instructions, a 40 minute YouTube video, monitoring by several scientists, and before fucking a cow in the ass, hip tossing a baby into traffic and shooting pandas for a new fur industry sponsored by Paris Hilton and OJ Simpson. I weep at night. WEEP. </div><div>
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-7312435518971003572011-08-18T11:07:00.000-04:002011-08-18T11:08:14.348-04:00der.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ncmWebScsxo/Tk0q04Y-mpI/AAAAAAAAFBA/gcJg2VwOeW4/s1600/nuts.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ncmWebScsxo/Tk0q04Y-mpI/AAAAAAAAFBA/gcJg2VwOeW4/s400/nuts.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642212996143815314" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-32931689324463803122011-08-18T10:02:00.001-04:002011-08-18T10:02:47.166-04:00the fool has a point.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Gwn1FeezVrk/Tk0beAgwf8I/AAAAAAAAE_4/oP2HfqwZydA/s1600/back.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Gwn1FeezVrk/Tk0beAgwf8I/AAAAAAAAE_4/oP2HfqwZydA/s400/back.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642196110512521154" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-29412155867441277312011-08-17T12:39:00.002-04:002011-08-17T12:39:52.890-04:00don't be caught.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WXU7vQIxIp8/TkvuuwDNaEI/AAAAAAAAE7I/B5f2b_D-Q-c/s1600/unsecured.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WXU7vQIxIp8/TkvuuwDNaEI/AAAAAAAAE7I/B5f2b_D-Q-c/s400/unsecured.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641865445151434818" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-36658893778515471352011-08-17T11:51:00.002-04:002011-08-17T11:51:50.610-04:00can't NOT look.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b8-1QdpiHeM/TkvjjJW4JDI/AAAAAAAAE6Y/6RS8ZqEfYr4/s1600/tits.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b8-1QdpiHeM/TkvjjJW4JDI/AAAAAAAAE6Y/6RS8ZqEfYr4/s400/tits.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641853151158477874" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-26621554294025556182011-08-17T11:27:00.000-04:002011-08-17T11:28:59.235-04:00I didn't think it was creepy.<div>Me: Hi.</div><div>Him: Hi.</div><div>Him: How did we like school today?</div><div>Me: Are we role playing?</div><div>Me: uh.</div><div>Me: We liked school just fine, daddy.</div><div>Me: Can I get some tasty ice cream when I come home?</div><div>Him: No fool.</div><div>Him: How did the kids do?</div><div>Me: oh.</div><div>Me: Great, then.</div><div>Him: Don't be creepy.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>:|</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-64874043632307475992011-08-12T12:20:00.001-04:002011-08-12T12:21:48.767-04:00the plan of plans of plans.<div>I have never considered voting for Ron Paul.</div><div>I always vote my ticket based on conversations with a Political Scientist who opened my eyes to nothing I feel like sharing with you today.</div><div>Wait. Back up.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Yesterday afternoon in a fit of unfounded psychotic rage and a little bit of pre-20's teenage generation X anarchy nostalgia, I decided to turncoat. Yea. I used that as a verb, what of it. I proclaimed on my soapbox (I am about to actually MAKE a real box I can randomly hop onto in the house because, I would just feel better, plus I am soap-boxing a lot, its the Italian + Mania in me, to be all TMI today) that I was going to re-register as a Republican and vote for the craziest bat-shit repeal everything (abortion, healthcare, I can no longer vote but have to bake pies for my cocktail needing dominant husband submitting to his every whim please allow me a scrap of bread, bring back public hangings in fact fuck the court system lets burn people at the stake, everyone must pray to God and also buy a dog and 15 overseas poorly manufactured lead-based painted tax-cut corporation national job market raping selling a piece of filling up a landfill breaks in 3 minutes plastic crude oil byproduct wasting shit junk product pronto) candidate at primary voting time, since as a current Democrat, I cannot vote that primary in Florida. And I wasn't going to vote then turn around and switch parties again so I could help make sure the Democrat ticket won, though this tactic is pretty good and should be noted for anyone reading this as a possible option. I may need to research and see if it could be done. Also, it would aide in my personal cause, which we will get to in a minute.</div><div>Back to the Hotel.</div><div>My purpose, not the afore mentioned infiltration set your fucked candidate up then run and hide voting peace and love behind the curtain, was to actually get behind electing someone crazy enough to burn the fucking country to the ground. You know, metaphorically (or fuck it, maybe truly too). I dream about infrastructure collapse like a 13 year old boy does JCPenney lingerie catalog models. I'm not kidding. I have wet dreams.</div><div>My friend Dave says: You are crazy.</div><div>My husband says: I will serve you with divorce papers.</div><div>My daughter says: You have raised me to believe everything coming out of your mouth right now is bile, WTF are you talking about.</div><div>And I will say, when they come to ask me to show my voting card: Oh, these mother fuckers? Oh, yea, they are Democrats, I don't know them.</div><div>What.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Two years ago, I made my husband, a history major and man who forgets nothing, explain to me how Hitler and Mussolini came to power. The environment surrounding a mass amount of people backing these sorts of ideas, Fascists ideas (oh yes, it was said), how this could happen and take control of a nation. Stunned, I listened to everything parallel where I was seeing the leanings of the United States. He argued no, you are just paranoid. He now says, you might have called it. It made me ill at the time. And I cried, because I don't understand. We are socialists, you are a fucking socialist, whether you acknowledge it or not - your taxes pay for your roads, your schools, your infrastructure, your retirement, your elderly care, you help in crisis in states that are not yours, and then you personally donate fuck tons of money to other nations and people when disaster strikes. I hate to point it out to you, but you love others and you care about your neighbor and WHY you think this is a bad thing I will never ever understand. When trees hit my house in 2004 after the Florida hurricane Apocalypse, my neighbors gladly came to help us chop and remove them. So, why does this mode of thinking, your desire to aide, stop at your neighborhoods edge, the end of your street?</div><div>Because you are fucking selfish. You go back into your house and bitch about how much work you had to do to get the tree down, or compare how much you did against your other neighbor who had to take a break in the 100 degree heat because he has a heart condition. You secretly hate, and you know what, so do I (openly because I have balls enough to at least write fuck you at least once a week), but it is this bond that makes you my people, not the daisy chains and Kumbayah. And I have realized this. And for you, my people, I am turning, for you I am rising up and saying what we feel: FUCK YOU ALL EAT SHIT AND DIE IN ACID ALSO YOUR DOG SMELLS AND I HOPE YOU GET HERPES GET A JOB YOUR HOMELESS FUCKS LET ME GO TO WAL-MART AND EAT MY CAKE IN THE FROZEN FOODS AISLE. Because to be honest, no one on my street needs trees removed right now.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So. </div><div>I decide to watch the FOX news Republican Debates last night. My sitting calmly turned quickly to standing up like I watch boxing matches, screaming, Did she really just say she would put 13 more Senators in office?!?! Then Ron Paul spoke. I like him. I like him enough to vote against my ex-party. I like him enough to bake cookies, thats how much I like him. He called the CIA out. He doesn't want Iranian sanctions. He doesn't want to continue blowing up shit. He likes Cuba and would probably let me buy their damn cigars legally.</div><div>So.</div><div>Here is the plan (could change at any moment, let's be realistic carp-o-friends, as Dave called me out correctly: I have Etch-A-Brain, just shake and start over). I am going to watch. I am switching parties. And if he stays where he is at, I will vote for him in the Republican Primary and hopefully for President, because at this point, are you fucking kidding me. AND. If he isn't nominated for the party and doesn't show up on an independent ticket later, I am going to vote for burning the country down because the idea of pure chaos is so unbelievably tempting as a solution, I cannot deny my other side (it may actually be 75% and about to jack another 10%, just sayin'). Fuck it. NMFP - Not My Fucking Problem, go ahead and shove it down my throat like Linda Lovelace you bastards, I am opening wide and suppressing gag. For you. My haters, cause we gotta hate.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Love you. Mean it.</div><div>(fingers crossed)</div><div>
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-16424219797266435222011-08-10T20:19:00.000-04:002011-08-10T21:04:50.569-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6yO4rqzBnxo/TkMqs8vzA6I/AAAAAAAAExo/GawFU_VXh_M/s1600/photo-790571.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6yO4rqzBnxo/TkMqs8vzA6I/AAAAAAAAExo/GawFU_VXh_M/s320/photo-790571.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639398110107206562" /></a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-55762704870615434032011-08-09T13:06:00.000-04:002011-08-09T13:07:01.672-04:00we shall overcome.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gFQWOurCF7c/TkFpJQv7E1I/AAAAAAAAEvQ/tZEpMpKZIbQ/s1600/obstacle.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gFQWOurCF7c/TkFpJQv7E1I/AAAAAAAAEvQ/tZEpMpKZIbQ/s400/obstacle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638903816280281938" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-38725030038784625452011-08-08T06:00:00.000-04:002011-08-08T08:45:42.784-04:00yes you do, buddy.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-84Bhn8KWEsc/Tj_aX-sg9mI/AAAAAAAAEkQ/KyGE6P3sib4/s1600/coke.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-84Bhn8KWEsc/Tj_aX-sg9mI/AAAAAAAAEkQ/KyGE6P3sib4/s400/coke.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638465363992704610" /></a>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-73647967213567869392011-08-05T20:08:00.001-04:002011-08-05T20:08:36.981-04:00Smurf<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sf6J2D5PPYM/TjyGBfDbOjI/AAAAAAAAEjk/vkZBkDnBJDc/s1600/photo-716982.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sf6J2D5PPYM/TjyGBfDbOjI/AAAAAAAAEjk/vkZBkDnBJDc/s320/photo-716982.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637528193634875954" /></a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-37887806675774783212011-08-05T08:42:00.000-04:002011-08-05T08:43:22.857-04:00Apopka City Food Truck Bazaar<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3x4ArdMNk1o/TjvlbDPYfiI/AAAAAAAAEjY/xgLlQyAU_9g/s1600/photo-702858.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3x4ArdMNk1o/TjvlbDPYfiI/AAAAAAAAEjY/xgLlQyAU_9g/s320/photo-702858.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637351611473362466" /></a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-1607105077365246492011-07-29T10:23:00.000-04:002011-07-29T10:24:01.582-04:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o-TuQwRNFyw/TjLCgnOs9qI/AAAAAAAAEhY/D_gjDlWqlZg/s1600/photo-741583.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o-TuQwRNFyw/TjLCgnOs9qI/AAAAAAAAEhY/D_gjDlWqlZg/s320/photo-741583.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634779949336164002" /></a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-11106658803048707232011-07-28T13:37:00.002-04:002011-07-28T13:48:28.147-04:00aren't you glad I am not your wife.<div>It's a funny thing, whenever I have had to move, my houses have always been swarmed by some sort of bug. Once it was mosquitos, the next grasshoppers, then moths, another tiny ants, and this one, the mother of all bug fears for me, palmetto bugs. My girlfriend says it is the bad energy being released and that I should expect such each and every time. Flying fucking cockroaches, coming in from outside, every night now and I am spraying chemicals so much and everywhere I am almost sure one of the cats or kids might die soon.</div><div>So. This has been my world but fuck it we have one more night in this house of poison, at the time of this writing; we close on the new one tomorrow and FUCK if I am sleeping in Creepsville any longer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Setting. 1:30am. AM.</div><div>My husband has been asleep for about 2 hours. I have just taken my sleeping pill and it's kicking in, making me drowsy, aw sweet slumber, I am becoming mush in the blanketyness love... but then I hear something. A rustling. My eyes pop open. And I know. I know wtf that sound is and I know if I do not attend to this, if I don't look over for confirmation at least, I will be somehow attacked in the middle of the night. Possibly eaten. More likely mangled beyond recognition.</div><div>I cannot bear to wake my poor tired husband up, oh no. Let him sleep, I can do this, I can totally do this, I GOT IT HANDLED (he is usually called upon for these types of tasks). I peak over his side of the bed and sure as shit, on the floor, is a bastard fucking palmetto bug. I can't wake him. I have to do this. Be strong. So I grab a shoe. I steady myself and with all my might, like a fucking super hero, I LEAP over his sleeping body, right onto the floor like spiderman and start beating the ground as this fucker evades me like a ninja on meth. BAM BAM BAM and now I am screeching because I cannot kill it, have realized this in my head and assume it is going to go on the attack any moment.</div><div>Instead, it rushes into the closet just as my husband wakes up and is turning over to yell "WTF ARE YOU DOING YOU LUNATIC?!?!", ignoring him completely, of course, I begin now throwing every shoe of his and every piece of laundry on the floor to my rear, with no care what so ever, where it is landing, it's projection, it's launch power, NOTHING, all I know is something has to die and it has to die right this instant. I am screaming, throwing things, BAM BAM BAM with the shoe, yelling "FUCK YOU!!!", my husband is yelling at me "WTF IS GOING ON WHY ARE YOU THROWING MY SHOES, OMG WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!" until thats it. I have officially lost it. Not my mind, the palmetto bug.</div><div>So I back up and wait with that shoe in my hand, head full of meds, zoned in like a trained and lethal killer, all while being yelled at for "losing my shit", for "launching all the shoes across the room", "onto the bed", "in the next room", I even "hoisted out" with one hand "the entire shoe rack" to toss "into the" adjacent "wall", but to me it is all just very quiet, far away sounding and nothing to attend to right this moment. I have answered to nothing , I have spoken no words to my husband or acknowledged he is even awake. This is not helping, I am sure, in hindsight.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I open the door and call upon the cats. Come cats. Come help your mother. They saunter in just happy to be IN the room but they know some shit has gone down, as there is a mine field of shoes and clothing. I shut off the light and steady myself on the bed waiting. Perched like a gargoyle. Still no replies to this mutilated face my husband is now making.</div><div>He is obviously irritated (probably traumatized), how could you do this, what is wrong with you, do you know you are a lunatic, you have lost your fucking mind its almost 2am, why are you still awake, have you taken medication, I want to choke the shit out of you right now, you know you are going to kill me one day. The usual, you know.</div><div>And then, almost immediately, the cats bum rushed the bastard out (fucking love those cats, we have mind meld). I again leap over my husband (him increasing vocal levels, screaming at me "again"), onto the floor, and with a mighty cry of "FUCK YOU!!!!" BAM BAM BAM, I totally ended that bugs life. I stood up prouder than a Lion and shook out my mane, sweat beading on my brow, moonlight shining in to illuminate my kill. There was silence in the room and the love of my life, I think his jaw was just sort of hanging open.</div><div><br /></div><div>I instantly returned to total girl and cried and cried until he agreed to get up out of bed and remove the carcass, flush twice, wash your hands with soap and hot water (the OCD in me has to be fed for these things). And he was able to do this because he was wide awake at that point, thanks to Super Jules, Insane Wife of the New Millennium. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, looking at the carnage around the room I said to my loving husband, "Looks babes, I totally cleaned out your closet for you". Never ever have I before thought he might actually choke me but I am telling you now, I came damn close, DAMN CLOSE.</div><div><br /></div><div>Can't WAIT to see what's in store for tonight.</div><div>Totally sure he is excited as well.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-42725170864765532142011-07-28T12:04:00.001-04:002011-07-28T12:06:23.653-04:00bummer.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J4vntKURPTg/TjGIqnmtl9I/AAAAAAAAEhM/No2xG-zK_EU/s1600/methadone.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J4vntKURPTg/TjGIqnmtl9I/AAAAAAAAEhM/No2xG-zK_EU/s400/methadone.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634434874584438738" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-11565558614048069592011-07-26T12:05:00.002-04:002011-07-26T12:17:49.553-04:00I need the super power of giving out Herpes.<div>Cranky like there is a knife sticking out of my back in a place I can't reach to pull it out.</div><div><br /></div><div>I watched the President's address, and the follow up puke-fest that was the Speaker of the House's jacked up reply. This is why I do not watch the news. I read it. Occasionally at that, because if necessary I can shut my browser, or burn the fucking newspaper, stomping the ashes screaming FUCK YOU. I cannot punch out a TV, this would electrocute me and as much as I would like to test out the theory that you have an orgasm when electricity zings through your body, I have a vibrator that can produce the same results. No need for destructive violence. My workhorse even plugs in the wall, I am that fucking hardcore. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you are reading this and are a member of the tea party, then drop me forever as a friend now, because I will never get you, ever, we cannot socialize any more, we cannot be friends, that is all. Government works because those elected compromise, the system is chaotic, on the verge of collapse at any moment, any class in government illustrates this quite painfully, scaring me more than swimming with sharks in a chum bathing suit. Order within chaos, should be our nation's slogan, fuck that One Nation Under God shit. You give here, you take there. This bullshit stance that the House (and let's be honest, its the "newest" members, don't beat around the bush, let's name names, let's call people out publicly and shame them) is taking of "We aren't gonna take it" equals fucking insane, not to mention out of date, not even Dee Snider looks this clobbered up anymore. Default? First time ever? Are you fucking kidding me you assholes? And don't you dare say the president is holding his own ground and not budging in the same way, SOLVE THE FUCKING PROBLEM YOU HALF WITS, YOU WERE ELECTED TO DO A FUCKING JOB THAT WE PAY YOU FOR. CLUE: YOU AREN'T DOING IT FOR THE GOOD OF THE PEOPLE. Nothing about Boehner's speech made me feel like he was considering what was best for me. It was selfish, it spoke direct to a very limited audience that would benefit from no new tax cuts, lining pockets with more gold. Above $250,000, if you make above $250,000 in your household, for fucks sake, the tax hike won't mean you pay the government $10,000 more in taxes, why oh why can't politicians just be honest? They spit thinly veiled lies out like snakes in kitten clothing. On no, you commoners toiling in the fields, if we pass this legislation, every poor person in American will have their furniture, their cars and their dogs taken away immediately, don't let it happen!</div><div>I feel like I'm taking crazy pills.</div><div>I got ON MEDS to feel normal and THIS is the shit I get? </div><div><br /></div><div>"Before I served in Congress, I ran a small business in Ohio." 20 years ago. Good job, so what. One rule of business that I DO know, you have to spend money to make money, and if you think simply cutting back on a budget is going to suddenly save everything, you are both misguided and probably watching more FOX news than should be medically allowed. That station needs a serious case of herpes and the universe as my witness, I hope everyone broadcasting or involving themselves with this Satanic entity (using your own religion, oh no we aren't religious, against you, why not try and cast the demons out of your own producers with your pitchforks and calls for burnings at the stake), go straight to hell, boy, go straight to hell. And get herpes.</div><div>How is it allowed to be called FOX NEWS?</div><div>I want to grind bricks in between my teeth.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know what Cut, Cap and Balance sounds like? Another easy slogan some marketing fuck made up, so that those not paying attention have something small to seize on and remember, as most minds can only handle a list of three of anything easily. It's actually a pretty calculated move, for that I applaud the psychology behind the slick manipulation (nothing like routing for the bad guys in the movies, except this is real life and that dual citizenship in Italy is looking more awesome everyday I tell you). People will walk away from the two speeches numb and only remembering Cut, Cap and Balance, because its old world, advertising like, create a memorable theme and stick with it. Drink Your Ovaltine, shucks, "Wow that sounds awesome hunny, don't you think that Cut, Cap and Balance thing sure is swell, he sounds so smart and speaks to us in simple terms we can understand, want a cocktail now, go ahead, turn on the game, the potpie is almost ready". The fatcats get fatter, and business executives buy new summer homes. The knives are in our backs. We are all working too hard to survive. The Middle class is hanging on by a thread to a cliff and instead of saving themselves, they are going to hand sharp scissors to elected representatives only concerned with 1. Reelection and 2. Not losing their goddamn tax cuts. Hope you have a parachute handy.</div><div>If you make $120,000 and your friend makes $17 million, the amount you pay to the government SHOULD NOT BE THE SAME. Real life example, of people known, not a fucking joke, except for it is, it's a big fucking joke and people are not fucking getting it and I don't fucking understand.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot tolerate the idea of a multitude of morons electing unintelligent, gun toting, fetus rallying, "simple" "like you and me" men and women (who are only being considered because they have nice asses, tits, and cheerleader rants about bearcubs), who know not a goddamn thing about history, who use "I was elected as head of my High School Pep Club/Football Team" as if it were a legitimate example of governing experience. Business men in office is a bad fucking idea. Those at the top aren't concerned about the mailroom employee, they are only concerned about the Board of Directors. You should know better. YOU ALREADY FUCKING KNOW THIS, YOU BITCH ABOUT YOUR BOSSES ON FACEBOOK, WHY DO YOU FORGET SO EASILY, FUCKING HELL. And business men who run companies, who fuck Medicare up the ass, that company admitting to over ten felonies - are you fucking kidding me? We elected Lord Voldemort/Rick Scott as our Governor and he is raping Florida as we speak, no apologies, no reach around, violating every safe guard, dodging bullets, as there were none, omgstfupleasegetherpes.com. You know what. He killed Harry Potter. Can you rally behind that? I hate you Florida, and that has nothing to even do with last night.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is why I can't watch the news.</div><div>This is why I drink.</div><div>Fuck off Tuesday, you make me want to hurl razors.</div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-58130287443235038582011-07-26T12:00:00.000-04:002011-07-26T12:08:47.117-04:00yup.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bte0g_gq1gM/Ti7mcKgzvvI/AAAAAAAAEd0/YBUY4D3zJv0/s1600/fu.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bte0g_gq1gM/Ti7mcKgzvvI/AAAAAAAAEd0/YBUY4D3zJv0/s400/fu.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633693555419758322" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7857482334593860810.post-63765764628761644982011-07-21T12:37:00.002-04:002011-07-21T12:41:05.555-04:00want. maybe. uh. get back to me.<div>I leaned over my computer this morning and tiny sticks fell out of my hair, which makes me wonder what I was up to last night. Werewolf shenanigans I have no time for right now. There are must complete items on my procrastination list that I am working on putting off as we speak. A spirit of lazy so ingrained in my being it will take an exorcist to remove (round two). I am that into doing nothing, won't even bother to move my eyes in either direction or swallow the spit working its way down my chin when staring at walls.</div><div>Committed. I am committed to the uncommitted, 50% of the time, or with just argument, 52% of the time. Or maybe the paperwork was using the word in another context. Doesn't matter. Either way, the possibility of coloring books is HIGH.</div><div><br /></div><div>Coloring books are one of the reasons everyone should have a 5 year old best friend. Also, legos. Legos never go out of style no matter how old you get. They need to put those things in nursing homes, up the happiness factor for those rotting, miserable as hell folks. No one really likes bingo damn it, I am not sure why this is the standard activity for the old. When I was visiting my grandmother, they gave out cookies for winning and it made me think of trying to organize a small and very slow prison break just to increase the blood pressure of some given up on life 'we are so bored please just kill us' folk. None of them wanted cookies. What about some Jack Daniels. Lap dance Fridays, late night porn hour on the community television (with popcorn and kleenex provided), weed, maybe some beer bong challenges, fuck it, hand out heroin. Its the end, shouldn't you be allowed everything you want?</div><div>I totally plan on becoming a heroin addict at around 70. Who cares. Give me.</div><div><br /></div><div>So junkies, you cannot buy a pack of legos without selling an ovary (do people buy those things, I am speculating here) for the starter pack, plain blocks, no decoration, no flower pots or people. When did plastic blocks become too damn expensive? Most everything is build a space ship, pirate ship or methadone clinic complete with EXACT directions. Are the children unable to be creative anymore? What happened to jacked up looking houses, holes for windows (had to figure that shit out, didn't you) with tiny cars that looked like wagons? Lego sets can't already be vintage items, this idea is foul and I won't stand for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>List of items needed STAT:</div><div>1. Blocks only lego set.</div><div>2. Fresh from the press, plastic dinosaurs with no moveable anything.</div><div>3. Silly Putty.</div><div>4. Werewolf coloring book with the large set of Crayola crayons, the one with macaroni and cheese orange in there, you know what I mean.</div><div>5. Heroin (you see what I did there).</div><div>6. Fingerpaint (the kind that stains everything) with some of that shiny, slippery paper.</div><div>7. Spaghetti O's, apple juice and some pretzels.</div><div><br /></div><div>Get your asses over here.</div><div>We have priority work to get done.</div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06217522750338335756noreply@blogger.com0