Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Saturday, December 4, 2010

BLOG SHOG: Old Lady Perfume

OK, here is an eternal question I need answered: WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY


do old ladies wear half a fucking bottle of perfume a day? I mean, like, I have finally worn my mother down on this one because I got tired of my nostrils burning in the fucking car whenever I'd give her a ride someplace.

And it's never one of those light, pleasant citrusy scents. No, it's always one of those heavy, spicy, "exotic" scents, the ones with notes of patchouli and European primal forests and the rare Gofrigyself orchid... *slams head on the desk*

I don't know which is worse--the perfume or the BO from the gang members/frat boys in here. (Like there's a difference these days; both come from money unethically obtained and neither recognize the law.)

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