1. A conversation between PittGirl and Sister of PittGirl:
[picking up a copy of James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces that is lying on Sister of PittGirl’s table] What’s this, Sister of PittGirl?
Oh, PittGirl, that is a great book about —
It’s lies, you know? All lies.
I know, but some of it is based in fact and–
Lies, I tell you. All lies!
But it’s a really good book and —
I know. I read it.
Oh. Ok. So you know that it —
LIES! ALL LIES!
I love to mess with her. So fun.
2. If it snows in late April/practically May, almost killing the Hibiscus planter you left outside thinking it was, I don’t know SPRING!, after you shake a fist at the weather gods, you should be allowed to sic a rabid starving pigeon on any person that dares to breathe a word about “global warming” unless that person says specifically, “Global warming, my ass.”
3. Does anyone have a good picture of Jim Lokay (fanclub = 77 members) that I can superimpose the word FAIL on his forehead? My Facebook fan club currently has 301 members and NONE of them are people that I made up out of thin air with the Random Name Generator.
How long before I can overtake that world-famous Burgher iJustine (164 fan club members but over 1,000 supporters)?
I know. Never.
Darn you, iJustine and your hot nerdy hotness.
Also, if I HAD used the Random Name Generator, these are the names I would pick:
There are just not enough people in the world named Ormerod. I think I’ll name my mp3 player Ormerod. Wait, scratch that. Diggory Ormerod Coveney. Yeah. Solid. Sounds like the kind of guy that Saucy Carmiesha Juicy would show her thong to.
Ok. I’m trying not to judge, I am. But, you know what sucks? My sister and brother-in-law are going through the process to adopt a foster child. In order to become a foster parent/adopt a foster child you have to go through this insanely rigorous process that includes hours and hours of classes, CPR training, home visits, a medical physical, criminal history checks, etc. You even have to have a fire escape plan posted in your house! So my sister basically has a piece of paper near her stairs that says, “Turn around. The door is RIGHT. THERE!”
But any loser with a couple million good swimmers with a hankering for eggs can bring a child into a life where “420” rules.
Like, way to advertise it, dad.
I am a well known member of the local bdsm community and by escorting me to various functions you will gain acceptance more quickly within the community along with being invited to attend various functions and private parties.
Well, aren’t we all looking to get ahead in the local BDSM community?
Also? Is it really that hard to gain acceptance in the local BDSM community? Don’t you just show up and say, “I’m a freak!” and they start hugging you?
I think I might need to become less of an innocent, eh? And DEFINITELY less judgmental of the freaks.
I’m kidding! Don’t write me, yo.