Friday, December 09, 2005

i'm just a girl lucky me

Thank God LJ is on the ball. I'm receiving email notifications of comments that were made in
NOVEMBER. They're almost as reliable as Verizon. I emailed them on November 26th and they promised
to respond within one business day. I received their email yesterday.

Ok working another shift tonight after working another shift last night and Tuesday night. 40 HOURS OF OVERTIME RULES!!

The other night Jon Stewart said Bush wrote "The Complete Idiots Guide to Redundancy for Dummies," but after seeing
MSNBC and FOX's news coverage of the passenger who was killed by an air marsall, I think those two networks co-authored the book.

Female Offspring #1 sent me this story about a Belgian Shepard who died saving
her owner's lives in a fire, along with the scathing comment that we should have gotten a Belgian Shepard.
Not to be outdone by a friggin' B.S., I sent her this riveting news story:
"Yesterday while watching Seinfeld with her owners, Mr and Mrs Goddess,
their black Lab Holly heard George Costanza squeak a dog toy. Holly immediately went to
her toy box and extracted one of her squeaky toys.
"We were absolutely amazed and stunned by her brilliance," said Mrs. Goddess.
"We knew she was bright," said Mr. Goddess. "but we had no idea how
bright. She actually knew the difference between a squeaky toy and a
bone. When we first got her she was so intellectually challenged that she ate her own poop. Now
after just 14 months, she recognizes a squeaky toy when she hears one and she only eats the cat's poop."
Added Mr. Goddess, "She's much more intelligent than our feline, Stupid
Cat. Her greatest accomplishment was licking the electrical outlet without
killing herself."


Last night when I was reading my latest copy of "Minature Donkey Talk," which is more fun than a bucketful of babies, btw,
Male Offspring #7 called me and asked me what I would think
if he bought me a cape for Christmas.
(Note the tentativeness and fear I instill in my offspring. They know enough to get surprise gifts pre-approved.)
I'm like, "Unless that cape has a big yellow "S" on it and unless my alter ego is Clark Kent, and unless I'm able to leap tall buildings in a single bound,
I'd say it's an incredibly BAD idea." Now I know ponchos and capes are all the rage in certain
parts of the country and in Transylvania, but no fucking way am I going to be caught dead in one unless I
can't find a winter coat big enough to fit me. Even then, I'd consider sewing two coats together before I'd wear a cape.

So on St Nick eve, I put a pair of pantyhose on my fireplace, hoping that the bearded holy man would bring me tons of wonderful stuff.
This has been a tradition in our family since somebody figured out they could get even MORE toys if they make
St. Nick Day separate from Christmas. So my guess would be roughly two generations. Alas, the big twit filled one leg
with grapefruit and one leg with fresh oranges. Damn it.
GODDESS DOESN'T DO FRUIT....unless it's floating in two shots of whiskey.

Well I will certainly sleep better tonight knowing that scientists have wasted huge amounts of time
and money to deduce that Beethovan died of lead poisoining. And where did the large doses of lead come
from, you ask? (Fuck you for not asking!) From his nightly paint sammiches? NO! Damn it.
From his wine goblet. Proving once again that DRINKING KILLS!!!

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