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Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Sandy Hook Elementary School Shooting...Reflection.


Last Friday began as any other Friday.  People prepared for their work and school day, said goodbye to their loved ones as they ventured to their places of employment and educational institutions.  Nobody could have imagined the horror that would soon transpire.  Without warning or apparent reason, a young man by the name of Adam Lanza, having already killed his mother by shooting her four times, shot his way into Sandy Hooks Elementary School in Newtown, CT and killed 20 children and 6 school employees before taking his own life. 

I didn’t find out about this school shooting until early Saturday, but as a mother and a human being the news broke my heart.  I sobbed as I read the horrific details and I couldn’t help but think of what that community and the families of the victims were going through and how could they survive such a tragedy.  I had a confusion of feelings as I went between sadness, anger, shock and just plain outrage that something so senseless could happen to children at such a young age without any reason, explanation or warning.  What could possibly bring a man to snuff the life out of so many innocent children and their educators, as well as his own mother?  The sad fact is that we may never know, and knowing won’t undo what’s been done, or bring back those that have been lost…they are gone…forever.
Source

All I wanted in that moment was to talk to my son (who was at his father’s for the weekend).  I needed to tell him I loved him.  I wanted to hold him, knowing so many parents in the Newtown area would be unable to do so with their babies that night and my heart ached for their losses.  What if this tragedy had happened in my community?  What if it had been my child, my niece or nephews, my child’s friends and classmates?  So many thoughts ran though me.

As a parent, as a person, as a citizen my heart has hurt for the Newtown community as they’ve begun laying these senseless victims to rest in the highly publicized funerals, and have wondered how I’d feel knowing that my pain and loss was on display for the entire country through the media.  Would I feel supported by the outpouring of concern or would I feel violated by the lack of privacy in that awful time in my life and in the lives of my family and friends as we mourned over our lost loved ones?

Despite my queries, a few things I knew with certainty.  Life is short and we are without a crystal ball to foresee the future.  We are often quick to anger, long to resent, cautious to love, and slow to forgive.  What if someone is holding onto grudges from past mistakes when something like this happens?  Parents angry at their children for decisions they’ve made in the ignorance of youth, or adults holding onto resentments of mistakes or decisions made by their parents in their rearing?  Any of the 28 victims (including the shooter and his mother) of the Sandy Hooks Elementary School massacre will not have a second chance, a chance to say goodbye, or to apologize to loved ones, and loved ones must go on with any unsettled business forever remaining unfinished.  Don’t wait till tomorrow to open your heart to love and forgiveness because there is no guarantee that tomorrow will come for everyone.  Be quick to love, be quick to hug those you love and to tell them you do.  As humans we are all imperfect, none of us blameless.  Forgive the sins of the past, and love in the present and the future we’re lucky enough to enjoy with the ones who matter most to us.  To all my loved ones, be you family or friend, know you are loved and accepted…flaws and all.
 

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Friday, October 26, 2012

The Monster Bash...Things That Go Bump In The Night

Last week, despite my month long sabbatical, I was honored to once again be invited to the DudeWrite Dance. I've been feeling like the ugly girl in school that no one wants to eat lunch with for fear of being teased lately, so I was super excited when the ever so debonair Michael A. Walker extended his official invitation to submit my ramblings to you fine folks. He's the writer of the blog Defying Procrastination. If you don't currently follow him, I suggest you take a look at his blog!

By now you all know that my friends are probably not like yours, but if they are than you're a lucky individual. You never know what will be discussed, debated, decided or done when you put us together. Last weekend was a wonderful example. For three nights my friends and I put away our makeup and fancy clothes and instead became creatures of the night (not prostitutes you pervs! What kinda girl you think I am?) In the spirit of Halloween, enter the Haunted Forest, but as the sign says, you must enter at your own risk.
When one entered the Haunted Forest, strobe lights blinked, fog filled the air like a heavy monster concealing mist, yet you were aware something was out there. Now add people; warm blooded, warm brained hikers unaware of what awaited them as they entered the trail. Monsters hid at every corner just waiting to jump out and grab them, or scream some blood curdling scream. A young girl sits in an electric chair and flails around, electricity shooting off of it just as the unsuspecting victims go by. An alligator jumps out of a stream only inches away from the frightened hikers forcing them to hurry through the pitch black tented room that brings them to Elm Street, my home for the weekend. As the anxious hikers feel their way through the pitch black room, all the sudden there is a scream, then an excited utterance of "Warm BRAINS!!!" Just as I grab their heads screeching, "I'M HUNGRY!!"
Brains? I smell BRAINS! YUMMY WARM BRAINS!!
The hikers are now in a sort of run from my zombie self, before being slowed by a creepy Gothic doll looking creature in the path coming toward them making frightening sounds. Wide eyed they sneak by and catch a glimpse of a very scary creature in a casket. They hold each other as they hug the opposite side of the trail. They watch and wait for the hideous creature to rise, or reach, or do something...but nothing happens. Just when they change their focus to what lays ahead, the creature in the casket lurches from the casket grabbing them as they fumble, fall, run or even kick at him before departing.
Imagine that jumping out of the casket after you!
Now I'm explaining it from the perspective of the people paying to enter the haunted forest expecting to get their hearts pumping. However, I feel I must stop there and paint another, very different picture. What do you think we were doing after the hikers passed our point and before the next hikers? You guessed it...we were laughing our asses off.


A young couple comes through, and judging from the screams we were hearing further up the path as they approached, we knew we would have some fun with them. The young man held the young woman as they exited the dark Elm St. entrance to be greeted by my scream and search for warm brains. She screamed trying desperately to hurry by, then became frightened by the Gothic doll. Still paying attention to us behind her, she was completely unprepared to deal with the casket creature jumping out of the casket at her, and fell backward and into a tree before getting up and running full speed up the path. Man-Friend was bent over laughing and snorting, casket creature remained on his knees removing his mask as he gasped for air through the uncontrollable laughter, and I fell to the path laughing hysterically.
 
 
Worse still, some demented parent brought in his 7 year old daughter who all but cried the whole way through yelling, "I'm just a kid, I'm just a kid!" every time something jumped out at her. The mother in me wanted to protect her since her asshole father was laughing too hard to even walk correctly (and I'm pretty sure I smelled piss as he walked by), but alas, I am an asshole. After all, daddy's paid good money to see her terrified. I mean, much like Amusement parks where parents bring their kids, watch them become terrified, and are themselves amused, we were there to provide a service. I put on my best scream and grab yelling, "I Love Little Girl Brains!!" while running my hand through her hair with her yelling "Don't touch me!", then trying desperately to get past creepy Gothic doll, but was stopped dead in her tracks as the hideous casket creature jumped out of the casket blocking her path. The color drained from her face and in rapid succession the little girl kicked the creature four times before making her escape. I swear, I almost peed on myself I laughed so hard.
 
 
Speaking of peeing (don't act surprised I'm gonna go there), did I mention alcohol? For this occasion our coolers were filled with beer, lots of beer, which means lots of peeing. There are no bathrooms in the woods. That being said, each lady participating had scoped out spots closest to our station where the creepy lighting and strobe lights failed to reach and which were out of sight (and hopefully sound) of the other creatures of the forest. I had just such a spot and after watching the little girl kick the crap out of casket creature yelling "I'M JUST A KID!" I had to run in search of it. I tell Man-Friend (for the case of this blog the creepy Gothic doll) what I'm doing, barely get my britches down and his flashlight comes on! Are you fucking kidding me! "Man-Friend!" I yell hoping he'll sense the desperation in my voice and kill the light...but no...thinking I'm calling him to me, he shines light in my direction approaching me. I struggle to get my pants up, while still in a squatting position before standing up and showing my ass to all the monsters in the forest. Yeah, I guess if you looked at the pic above it wasn't like someone was gonna get turned on just from seeing my ass in the woods, but still! Can't a monster girl piss in the woods in privacy?
 
 
OK, back on point, ours was just one station in a long, well done trail of horrors. There was a cemetery veiled in fog swarming with hideous monsters and zombies coming toward the walkers on the trail as strobe lights made maneuvering challenging.

As hikers hurriedly left the cemetery, they are shocked as a 12 foot monster blocks their path and a gun shot fills the air. Screams could be heard throughout the forest as they run through a barrage of these characters in desperate search of the exit. Now I mentioned at the beginning that these were my friends. Allow me to introduce you! The pic above:  The daughter of my handyman by day, chainsaw massacring friend by night (the butcher a potential suitor, but I assure you, his blade is no match for the chainsaw of her father should he misbehave).


Speaking of her chainsaw massacring father, the handyman by day likes disassembling body parts by night.


The white faced vixen is her mother. The two creepers behind her our good buddies, and the only thing standing between the chainsaw and the daughter's potential suitor (as I'd be too busy capturing it on film!)


This is just a little innocent foreplay!


She worked so hard keeping our chainsaw friend away from his daughters potential butcher that she was just zombified!

Not all hikers made it through the forest with dry panties, some fell, some hit, one even hugged me and wouldn't let me go in the confines of the dark entrance to Elm Street (I guess it had been a while and any ghoul would do). Some screamed, some laughed, some cried, some ran...fast. One thing that was consistent through it all? The things that went bump in the night (our beer drinking, feel good, asshole selves) did a lot of laughing at others expenses...and will be doing it again this weekend.

All joking and monstering aside, this haunted forest is a fundraiser for a local motorcycle group that uses funds raised during the year to buy Christmas presents for underprivileged children in the area, as well as assist with any other issues our community's children may be in need of during the year. What better excuse is there to have such a frighteningly ghoulish time?
The DudeWrite Dance is actually a contest where the normally dudes only man cave allows us ladies in to dust out the cobwebs, puff up the bean bag chairs, vacuum up the cheesepuff crumbs and throw away the pizza boxes and beer bottles...oh, and we'll let some of our friends read your silly little thoughts if you do.  All kidding aside, it's a huge honor and a contest, so get your butts over there and read the other talented ladies being allowed to visit the man cave this weekend.  Vote for your three favorite...and by three, I mean two others and me!
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Monday, September 17, 2012

Porn Patio and The Jerk Room

I know you guys are wondering if I'd fallen off the map, died, been kidnapped and subjected to unspeakable sexual acts as surely that's what it would take to keep me from blogging for such a long period of time and such tragedy it would take to keep me away from all of the blogs that I love and follow, but rest assured, I am alive and safe (but say nothing about the unspeakable sexual acts...yet).  In my last post I mentioned that I was entering into a new business venture.  It was not something that I had really planned to do, especially not at this time, but getting laid off from my job presented a "now or never" type of opportunity.  I am now a beef jerky making fool.  I've been trying to think of a catch phrase, and kinda like "Nobody Jerks Your Meat Like Me!"  Too much?  Yeah, I might get asked regular how much it would take for them to find out, and since I'm not a prostitute (though I'm not hating on the ones who get paid for what the rest of us give away for free), I better keep thinking.  In entering this new venture, I've transformed a room in my home to make production more streamlined.


As boring as this may seem and as upsetting to my home environment and financial stability as this has proved, life and living have happened and given me a few things I felt obligated to share with you.  First, I must give a little photographic background.
 
This is my back patio and part of the yard.
This is Woody, guardian of the patio.
Many of the best and craziest times come from this space.  Oh if Woody could talk!  (I'd probably be arrested, or be hounded by porn producers wanting me to star in their next movies, etc.)  You guys probably remember how recently photographic proof of my exploits ended up in the hands of the local police, and now the whole police department knows what I look like wearing nothing but a beer and a thong, but that's a whole other story
 
I decided to quit giving into my fear of relationships and how bad I suck at them and decided to get real with Man-Friend.
You remember Mr. Happy Pants Morning Person.
About a week ago, we had some friends over and were sitting around the patio round table, discussing all sorts of topics.  I'm not sure how the topic of reincarnation came up, but Mr. Happy Pants looks at us all dead seriously and says, "When I die, I hope I'm reincarnated as Blondie's patio!"  I about spit my drink out my nose, which would have been really bad cause I had a pretty high octane drink and would probably have scarred my sinuses for life.  Fortunately my sinuses were spared.  This got me thinking about all the things that Woody could testify to if he could talk.
 
Despite my own propensity to get naked and freaky on the patio, I am not the only one who gets some action in the back yard.  I mean lets take Woody for example.  Woody's got back, and by back I mean he's got several butt shaped formations on the back side of the tree.
 
 
Whatever your personal butt preference, he's got it.  Big butt, little butt, wide butt, he's got them all.  Enter alcohol and horny men here.
 


Since there is a lot of alcohol drank around the round table, Woody gets a lot of action.  But Woody's not the only one who was getting action on the porn patio this past week.  I have a whole new view on the term "doggie style".
 
I know, you're thinking "No she did not just go there!", but yes I did.
For a week, every time I turned around these two were going at it.  I did not know doggie style could be done in so many different positions!  Needless to say, I'm gonna be having puppies soon.  Well, I'm not, but the other yard slut will be.  Then add all the damn bugs getting laid.
 
 
I mean, it's like EVERYTHING around me is getting freaky!  A little side note about these horny pests, did you know that they remain coupled for three days before dying.  Well, mother fudgesnapper!  If I was fucking for three days straight, I'd probably die too!
 
Speaking of getting freaky, it doesn't only happen on the back patio.  In keeping up with my crazy last week, I went to a couple of the local pubs selling beef jerky (and drinking copious amounts of alcohol).  It was kinda late on a weeknight when we walked into the second pub and the place was a little dead.  We spotted a couple friends at the bar, sat down and began chatting.  Somehow we got on the topic of feet.  I know some people hate feet or are turned off by them, but there are nerve endings in the feet that go to EVERY part of your body.  Men, if you wanna turn a woman on, get good at rubbing her feet, and find out where the nerve endings are in HER feet that provide vaginal stimulation.  I assure you it's there.  That's when it happened, the local pub became host to it's first foot orgy.
 
 
What?  This doesn't happen at your local pub?
 
Freak flags aside, I'm sorry I've been MIA and I promise I will soon be in a rhythm and back to writing regular and visiting all your blogs again.  I truly miss all the laughs your blogs provide me.  Please be patient with me as I get this new business going, and manage to live a life worth sharing with you.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Emotions and Man Card

This has been a particularly emotional month for me.  I have laughed, I have cried, I have been so excited I did the jitterbug in my panties on the back patio (don't laugh, you do it too!)  I have felt such a wide array of emotions that I realized last night...I am alive.  Not only am I alive, but I am truly living and I love my life.  It might be crazy, it might not be approved of by all, but it's mine and I'm living it to the fullest dispite the obsticles and road blocks that are thrown in my way. 
A few really cool things have taken place this month.  First, and I can't believe I missed the date to celebrate it, is that this blog is now a year old.  On the 5th of August, 2011, I published my first post on my brand new website under the pseudnym of Blondie McBaffled (I know you're shocked to find out that isn't my real name but it will be ok).
Cel..e.brate Good Times, Come On!  Yeah, now you got
that stuck in your head, don't ya?  You're welcome
Another cool thing that happened this month, and I mean REALLY flipping cool, is us ladies got a little peek inside the man cave at Dude Write.  Myself and 21 other fabulous female bloggers were invited to submit and compete for coveted Ladies and Dudette Man Cards.  There were some fabulous submissions.  Some made me laugh, some made me think, some made me cry. In reading my competitions entries, I didn't think there was a chance in hell I'd even make the top five.  So Tuesday night I come home to an empty house after a dinner date, and because I can, I strip down to my skivvies, pour myself a glass of wine and take it to the patio to enjoy my half naked freedom and find out who the winners of the challenge were.   
First place, my girl Mod Mom for her post Mother Goosed where she dresses up and makes questionable once boring and mundane Nursery Rhymes.  She's an awesomely funny, rocking blogger chick.  Sweet!  You go girl.  Second place "Coming in second place is Blondie McBaffled for her post, "Online Dating... Or Not" in which she offers us a glimpse into her exploits in online dating."
WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY?  HOLY FUCKING MONKEY BALLS ON A STICK!!  DID I JUST READ THAT RIGHT? (I hit refresh just to make sure it was still there...it was).  And that's when it happened:  wearing nothing but my panties, I jumped to my feet and started doing the jitterbug on the back patio.  If anyone had been peeking through the bushes, they'd have seen me practically naked flailing around my patio hooting an hollering like a crazy mental patient doing my best old school dance moves like the funky chicken.  I did mention the wine, right?
After about 10 minutes, I calmed down enough to make a few very excited calls, post my awesomeness to Facebook (because nothing is official until it's facebook official...blog coming), and then I returned to Dude Write to find out who the other winners where.  Third place Lily for her delightfully disgusting tales of drunkenness.  Her drunken conversation with her lesbian friend whom she accused of molesting her with her mind and trying to mind rape her, has had me mentally molesting people all week.  If you aren't following this woman, you are missing a true gem of hilarity. 
Fourth place was Lady Estrogen for her brilliant Dr. Suess style poem about butt sex, or how she'd possibly do it to him and might even like it, but there was no way he was getting in hers..."Hohum, Hohum, Not in My Bum".  I was not a follower of LE before this past week, but I definitely am now.  That was HYSTERICAL! 
Fifth Place was Angie for her post, Keep Your Romance Out of My Bedroom.  Angie's post let the guys of Dude Write know that while there's a time for romance, the bedroom isn't it.  Do the romancing prior to the bedroom.
There were also some chairman's choice awards, and if I had been one of the chairmen I would have awarded it as Youngman Brown did to the fabulous Elsie for her blog about the Christmas she had to tell her children that daddy had been in a donorcycle accident and wouldn't be coming home.  Youngman stated, "Not only was it a well-told story, but it was a well-told story about one of the saddest things imaginable -- telling your kids that their father has died. The children's response was almost as heartbreaking as the way she compared it to Bambi's mother for them."  Here, here!  I couldn't have said it better myself.  I cried to the point of wiping snot reading this...at work.  It was truly a courageous post.

Thank you to all the fabulous men of Dude Write for allowing us ladies the opportunity to visit the man cave last week. 

On a different note and equally emotional...yesterday was my first day being self employed.  I'm embarking on a new journey and spent yesterday and today gutting a room in my house to prepare it for my new business venture.  I'm excited, scared, unsure, apprehensive, and several other emotions all wrapped up into one already crazy person.  This is a whole blog in itself which I will save for another post, but keep me in your prayers as a begin this new adventure.  I will fill you in soon.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

The Quarterback's Bitch...A Sports Commentary (Reposted in honor of the upcoming season)

I absolutely love spending time with intelligent people who are good conversationalists. Last night, I was blessed to be around two such fabulous individuals. I was at a good friends house visiting, when one of his friends came over. We were having great conversation on a lot of different topics, so I'm really not sure how this topic came up, but I knew as soon as the question was asked, that I'd be writing about it today.
Both these men are really big guys, well over six feet tall. The subject of football came up and my good friend asks my new friend, "Man, if you had a son, would you want him being a center?" I must admit, I wasn't sure which position he was talking about when my new friend answered, "Hell, no!" Then they proceeded to talk about how the center is bent over every play while the quarterback reaches his hands between the center's legs. The only thing separating the quarterback's hands from the center's nuts being the cup he wears. I am saying this very tamely, as it was a very animated discussion with my good friend making demonstrative gestures to further his point. I then piped in and said, "If I ever decide to play football and the quarterback is good looking, that's the position I'd want to play!" That's when it hit me...the center is the quarterback's bitch!

 
We were rolling laughing at this crude thought, when my new friend suddenly got serious and says, "You know, man...I've NEVER even thought about that, but you're right. I'd want my son being a head hunter, not having some man behind him rubbing his balls every play!" As you can well imagine, especially those of you who know me personally---I was blinking back tears, I was laughing so hard!
This discussion went on for a while, and then went to even greater depths and I had to ask my new friend, who is a black man in his late 20s, if it would be worse if the quarterback was white. At first, he denied it (with overted eyes), saying that it wouldn't matter, but when my good friend called him on it, he reluctantly agreed that if his strapping son had some weasley little white quarterback bent over him, sticking his hands between his legs..."Hell, yea, that would be worse!"
The funny twist to this story is that the center calls plays and is often the brains of the operation...further proof that the center is the quarterback's bitch! Us bitches usually do have the brains!
DISCLAIMER: I understand that the center is a vital and important position that requires skill and intelligence. I also understand that I am probably offending at least one player on every football team. However, rather than getting your panties in a wrinkle, wear your new bitch title with pride and say, "Thank you for noticing!" (Then ask for a HUGE raise or to switch positions.) Personally, I envy the centers and am thinking of trying out for the San Diego Chargers if it would mean that I'd get to have Phillip Rivers between my legs!

English: Philip Rivers on the sideline of the ...
What a yummy piece of man meat!
English: Philip Rivers on the sideline of the 2008 Chargers-Chiefs game at Arrowhead Stadium. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Thursday, August 16, 2012

Online Dating...Or Not

The all boys club we women all envy love and stalk follow each week (while peeking through the dusty shades for a glimpse of what they are REALLY doing in the man cave) has taken down their "No Girls Allowed" sign this week and are finally allowing some lucky ladies to get a glimps. The awesomely talented Dude Write men each get to invite two female bloggers to the Dude Write Dance. (Pick me! Pick Me!!) Since I offered to show up for the dance wearing little more than my tassles (there will be a stripper pole at this dance, won't there?), the super funny, mega talented Workingdan over at Shameful Promotions is sponsoring me for this weeks sneak peak into the man cave.
The dance is actually a contest between some very talented and super funny women bloggers this week. If you haven't been following the contests each week, you should start. There are some very talented penis people in that cave, though this week us ladies are there to dust off the shades, sew up the torn bean bag chairs, and throw away the beer cans and pizza boxes (so that's why we've been invited into the man cave). Come on over to Dude Write, read this weeks submissions, then Sunday through Tuesday go back and vote for your favorite three (when I say three, I mean your favorite two and me).

That being said, I absolutely love online dating sites.  It might sound crazy, but I really do.  Not because I think I'm gonna find my soulmate, fall in love, get married and live happily fucking ever after, but because they give me soooo many candidates to poke fun at.  Just the other day, I got an email from a good looking guy in Hilton Head.  Now Hilton Head is a couple hours drive from here so geographically inconvenient to say the least...but whatever.  He met my "you must be this tall to ride this ride" rule, or at least it said so on his profile.  I'm not completey naive and will admit he could still have been a circus midget or some mom's basement dweller using a fake picture, but for the sake of this blog he met the height requirment and had enough eye candy appeal to warrant a response from me.

So the conversation starts off like this:


Now I'm a pretty smart cookie and his greeting alone gave me a pretty good indication that this guy was what I refer to as a bootie caller, but I was bored and he was easy on the eyes, so what the heck.  Over the next couple hours we sent each other several messages with the standard dating interrogation questions (are you married, do you have a stalker crazy ex, etc.)  Then we get to talking about our kids and the conversation takes an unexpected turn.


So here I am about 2 hours into chatting with this guy and we're discussing my reproductive organs.  What the hell...I got nothing better to do.  I mean, why do something productive like work when you can talk about yor reproductive abilities with a decent looking stranger?  And that's where it gets good.



I was of course laughing my ass off as I wrote this and I believe I snorted from laughter at his response.  I mean really, what's a little latex between two strangers?  If I was gonna give it away like holiday candy why not get a little gonorihia icing on top of it!  He went on to ask me if I was also "alergic to latex" and for some reason didn't like my "No I'm not allergic to latex, and I'm not real quick to play in the rain without a raincoat without getting to know the storm real well" response.  The conversation ended with him saying, "see this is why people start talking about sex first.  Easy to find a woman with similar interests, not so easy to find one you're sexually compatible with."  That was code for a woman who fucks complete strangers on the first date without protection and doesn't worry about the high likelihood he's got crotch rot and may be losing his penis any day now. 

Another thing I love about online dating are the men with fragile egos.  On my profile I state a couple things that are absolute deal breakers for me.  You all know the first one:


It also states a few other things cause I'm a ticky, picky bitch.


That said and publically displayed for all to see, I cannot believe how many men I get messages from that simply do not meet the qualifications.  I try to be polite but sometimes it's not easy.  The biggest complaint that I hear from men is the disrespect of not even being given a not interested response, so I usually do.  As I was working on this blog, I had such an event happen.

I got the following messages from a 5'5" man.  Hello!!!  He'd need a step-ladder to kiss me. It would be really hard to blame him for talking to my boobs.  My eyes are up here dude...if you strain your neck back real far, you might be able to see them.  Ok, maybe that's a bit exagerative, but really!


Ok, maybe that was hitting below the belt a little, but you've got to admit it's a little funny...or maybe I'm just a bigger bitch than you.  I think I hurt the little guys feelings cause he's still sending me rude messages which have gone unresponded.  He's obviously got little man's syndrom and it was not my intention to make it worse when I first responded, but do you think it would be to rude for me to ask him how the weather is down there?

IMPORTANT UPDATE ON HILTON HEAD DOUCHBAG:


Would I really be that much of an asshole?

Oh yes I would!
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