Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday Shenanigans
Wikipedia
can be edited by all
where's Smeagol's page then?
So I hope Friday's shenanigans did not frighten anyone into never reading my blog again, though in all honesty I can't see how such an adorable fella would scare anyone away... ugh those photos (probably more than 200 of them) still make me shudder...
So I went to Probation and got my photo taken with everyone down there... man I have never gotten so many compliments or accidental (though I do not think they were all accidental, if you know what I mean) palms on my barely-covered ass. This one guy was all like "Man, Stevester, you are a confident man, mmm mmm mm, you are a very confident man" while looking me over, pretty sassy in my book.
I went to the Marshal's office, stopping to let the guards get a look at me, and then they had me stand in front of a camera that went Gawd knows where while some guy guffawed into the radio...
One of the guards tells me to say I am a "self surrender" when I get to the window, and I get back there and there is this guy who looks at me and does not even attempt a smile, I tell him I am a self surrender and I swear to you all, his hand twitched like he was going to shoot me. I was afraid I was going to be put into a jail cell and have to use my one phone call to contact my manager to come and get my silly buns... how embarrassing!
One of the funniest points was I went into the little cafe we have in the building to mess with our janitor, and the lady who was working the counter saw me and doubled up laughing, and stayed that way for a good minute to a minute and a half... just deep gutteral laughs that seemed to shake her whole body, very nice! These 2 lawyers were in there getting food, and they didn't smile or anything, just turned their heads like "ugh this is so disgusting I am just not going to comment", and I once again remembered why I do not like working at the Firm anymore... it seems a lot of lawyers have no sense of humor whatsoever, maybe it is because of all the work they do as associates, because most of the people here used to be lawyers and are pretty funny...
No matter, I go up to the judge's chambers. The first judge I went to was I guess talking to someone on the phone, and when he saw me he goes "Bob, I'm gonna have to talk to you later, there's a large black man wearing a tutu in my office" and hung up without listening to see what Bob had to say about that. He also said I reminded him of something, and uttered the words "drag queen" and "albino stripper", 2 things I never thought a judge would say in my life. I would recount the story, but even if I do not use names I am not sure if I can go to prison or not, so I will keep it to myself.
One of the judges wanted to know where the Tylester's matching outfit was, and if maybe he should not be wearing a yellow one, which I thought was actually pretty sassy kinda classy.
I have video, but with video comes a quandary: I know for a fact these will end up on Youtube, I mean come on...in all honesty if it was one of you I would have already posted it on somewhere... but should I edit out the parts I am not in and if I do that would that detract from the quality of said video? I mean the videos are totally hot but do I really want to see them on NBC's "To Catch a Predator"?
In a word, yes.
I will post the videos because I have no shame, because I have such high self esteem that for the life of me I cannot see why it would not be awesome and hot to watch these videos, maybe emulationg Toboggan Boy by masturbating whilst crying softly, spread eagle on your bed... ugh.
Anyway let me make sure the videos are legally alright, here are a few more photos to whet your insatiable appetite:
Friday, June 27, 2008
I have no words to title this post...
Please not on Youtube
Don't post on MySpace either
no one wants to see.
Please enjoy the above haiku, and the hidden message along with it. and now, what you have all been waiting for:
Don't post on MySpace either
no one wants to see.
Please enjoy the above haiku, and the hidden message along with it. and now, what you have all been waiting for:
Thursday, June 26, 2008
A Promise
A gentle man touch
open toilets, all can watch
downtown drunk tank
Alright, I know you are all waiting with baited (and masturbated) breath to hear more about Gravy and how it turned to her threatening to have me "whacked", and I promise I will get to that story tomorrow. I need to know your opinion on something and I need the honest truth, not like when Will would tell me my parents died while I was on lunch every day and laugh when I called to find them still alive.
One of the practical jokers here is having his 50th birthday celebration tomorrow. It is supposed to be a surprise. Somehow, the higher ups decided while trying to think up an adequate prank to play on him on his special day, that they should contact the Stevester and have me do something.
I created a powerpoint, transposing his face onto one of the rowers rowing Washington across the Delaware, and various other things, and assumed my job was done. Nope.
*sigh*, I really don't want to tell you all this, but I am sure you will be angry with me if you see it on Youtube and did not get the opportunity to see it first.....
Someone VERY HIGH in the food chain thought it would be a good idea if Brown Bear would dress up in a pink leotard and tutu, get wrapped up in a huge gift box, jump out and sing "I am Your Brother" from Renaldo Lapuz on American Idol (Youtube it), finishing the show by doing the worm in said tutu, all while "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred plays in the background. There will be pictures and full motion video, and thus my quandary: If I post these media jewels on here for you all to see, how can I be sure they do not make it onto Youtube or even worse CNN somehow? I mean the idea of a fat black guy wearing a leotard and tutu doing the worm down a crowded hallway is adorable of course, but should it be internet-video worthy? It's quandaries like these that keep me awake at night, ladies and gentlemen... I put the vote up, I trust you will choose wisely.
By the Way, the Tylester can vouch that not only am I not joking, I am not exaggerating either. I seriously am going to wear a bright pink leotard and tutu ensemble and will sing and dance for the entire company. It's funny, because before this was leaked out to the public only about 10 or 15 people were going to show up, now there's like 40 or 50 (I am not sure of the exact number), including judges, who all intend to come, thus ensuring I do not back out. Everywhere I walk someone is pointing at me and laughing, like that day I wore suspenders to work. I am glad that I am secure enough in my own manhood to wear bicycle shorts with lace on them and this whole getup, especially since the wife offered to pay me to dance in said outfit.
All of this, though, boils down to a central question: Would a pink leotard and tutu, paired with bicycle shorts with lace on them, make me automatically gay? I mean, that's a big step that I might be taking without looking to make sure it's not off a precipice. I mean there was that one time that I raped those dudes in jail but that wasn't gay that was because I was angry, so...
Seriously though does that make me gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)?
Vote bitches!
open toilets, all can watch
downtown drunk tank
Alright, I know you are all waiting with baited (and masturbated) breath to hear more about Gravy and how it turned to her threatening to have me "whacked", and I promise I will get to that story tomorrow. I need to know your opinion on something and I need the honest truth, not like when Will would tell me my parents died while I was on lunch every day and laugh when I called to find them still alive.
One of the practical jokers here is having his 50th birthday celebration tomorrow. It is supposed to be a surprise. Somehow, the higher ups decided while trying to think up an adequate prank to play on him on his special day, that they should contact the Stevester and have me do something.
I created a powerpoint, transposing his face onto one of the rowers rowing Washington across the Delaware, and various other things, and assumed my job was done. Nope.
*sigh*, I really don't want to tell you all this, but I am sure you will be angry with me if you see it on Youtube and did not get the opportunity to see it first.....
Someone VERY HIGH in the food chain thought it would be a good idea if Brown Bear would dress up in a pink leotard and tutu, get wrapped up in a huge gift box, jump out and sing "I am Your Brother" from Renaldo Lapuz on American Idol (Youtube it), finishing the show by doing the worm in said tutu, all while "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred plays in the background. There will be pictures and full motion video, and thus my quandary: If I post these media jewels on here for you all to see, how can I be sure they do not make it onto Youtube or even worse CNN somehow? I mean the idea of a fat black guy wearing a leotard and tutu doing the worm down a crowded hallway is adorable of course, but should it be internet-video worthy? It's quandaries like these that keep me awake at night, ladies and gentlemen... I put the vote up, I trust you will choose wisely.
By the Way, the Tylester can vouch that not only am I not joking, I am not exaggerating either. I seriously am going to wear a bright pink leotard and tutu ensemble and will sing and dance for the entire company. It's funny, because before this was leaked out to the public only about 10 or 15 people were going to show up, now there's like 40 or 50 (I am not sure of the exact number), including judges, who all intend to come, thus ensuring I do not back out. Everywhere I walk someone is pointing at me and laughing, like that day I wore suspenders to work. I am glad that I am secure enough in my own manhood to wear bicycle shorts with lace on them and this whole getup, especially since the wife offered to pay me to dance in said outfit.
All of this, though, boils down to a central question: Would a pink leotard and tutu, paired with bicycle shorts with lace on them, make me automatically gay? I mean, that's a big step that I might be taking without looking to make sure it's not off a precipice. I mean there was that one time that I raped those dudes in jail but that wasn't gay that was because I was angry, so...
Seriously though does that make me gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)?
Vote bitches!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Gravy Guzzler
I must seek Buddha
for he's copied me too long
Only I'm that fat
Gravy Lady
We had other guards working on the night shift, and I got along with the majority of them really well, laughing and joking and reminiscing of times past... but through it all, Ercie (from now on Gravy) was there, constantly talking about me behind my back and biding her time when she could ruin me, drinking her gravy in anger and listening to herself getting fatter by the second.
Things were not going so well at the security company. The client (a law firm in Kansas City) started claiming that things were coming up missing, and automatically assumed that security was doing it, because of course no one at a law firm would ever steal things. While this logic was shaky at best, we did have a thief. Gravy. Let me explain.
Gravy was a thief. She would randomly come back from her inspection rounds eating or drinking something, and something just like that would be missing the following day when the owner of said beverage or food came up missing. This was annoying, but also funny because apparently a year or so before I started working there her nephew was a security guard who was notorious for stealing things, including from the other guards, prompting my main man McKillin (this is not far off of his real name) to get back at him. You see, this guy was, as all thieves are supposed to be, not liked by anyone who was not a douchebag thief themselves. I know this sounds cruel, but this guy, like Gravy now, was completely oblivious to the their peers' hatred of them, and would routinely steal from the very guards working on his shift and eat or drink their food in front of them.
McKillin informed me (with much enthusiastic "dahniggaaintlyin" from his peers) that he had had enough. He brought in a 3 liter of cheap strawberry soda, which he knew was the nephew's favorite. He drank about half of it during his break, and - now I am not sure he did this in the back stairwell or in the bathroom, as he would have had to walk past said nephew to get to the bathroom, which was the only room back there and might cause some interest in why he would take soda into the shitter, and pissed in it, almost filling it back up. He then placed the soda in the fridge, and went and relieved the nephew like usual.
Well, we all know how this ended up, and the nephew, long story short, quit in disgrace, to become a homeless person who masturbated on passersby in the long tradition of his family.
I said all that to say this: Gravy was a damn thief. At the point this whole saga takes place, 2 good retired veterans had been summarily fired simply based on Gravy's accusations that they had stolen. This caused the ire of not only me, but the other guards as well, as just in the Salem witch trials, she was acting all high and mighty, informing other guards that if they got on her "bad side" (which sounded like it would take a day trip and a couple of oxygen masks to get to) that they might be next. This led to a lot of grumbling, and increased security measures, meaning more work for me. I now had to go floor to floor and relieve each guard individually, instead of calling them while I watched porn in my office (I wish I had been smart enough to watch porn in my office). This led to me being a complete douche back to Gravy, informing her that she was going too slow, that she could only take one lunch from now on, and the like. That's when the Presidential Platter disappeared.
Tomorrow: What Happened to the Presidential Platter? Will the Stevester get in trouble? And... a thinly veiled threat on the nerdiest man alive! Join tomorrow, same time, same address, at.... steveshaikus!
for he's copied me too long
Only I'm that fat
Gravy Lady
We had other guards working on the night shift, and I got along with the majority of them really well, laughing and joking and reminiscing of times past... but through it all, Ercie (from now on Gravy) was there, constantly talking about me behind my back and biding her time when she could ruin me, drinking her gravy in anger and listening to herself getting fatter by the second.
Things were not going so well at the security company. The client (a law firm in Kansas City) started claiming that things were coming up missing, and automatically assumed that security was doing it, because of course no one at a law firm would ever steal things. While this logic was shaky at best, we did have a thief. Gravy. Let me explain.
Gravy was a thief. She would randomly come back from her inspection rounds eating or drinking something, and something just like that would be missing the following day when the owner of said beverage or food came up missing. This was annoying, but also funny because apparently a year or so before I started working there her nephew was a security guard who was notorious for stealing things, including from the other guards, prompting my main man McKillin (this is not far off of his real name) to get back at him. You see, this guy was, as all thieves are supposed to be, not liked by anyone who was not a douchebag thief themselves. I know this sounds cruel, but this guy, like Gravy now, was completely oblivious to the their peers' hatred of them, and would routinely steal from the very guards working on his shift and eat or drink their food in front of them.
McKillin informed me (with much enthusiastic "dahniggaaintlyin" from his peers) that he had had enough. He brought in a 3 liter of cheap strawberry soda, which he knew was the nephew's favorite. He drank about half of it during his break, and - now I am not sure he did this in the back stairwell or in the bathroom, as he would have had to walk past said nephew to get to the bathroom, which was the only room back there and might cause some interest in why he would take soda into the shitter, and pissed in it, almost filling it back up. He then placed the soda in the fridge, and went and relieved the nephew like usual.
Well, we all know how this ended up, and the nephew, long story short, quit in disgrace, to become a homeless person who masturbated on passersby in the long tradition of his family.
I said all that to say this: Gravy was a damn thief. At the point this whole saga takes place, 2 good retired veterans had been summarily fired simply based on Gravy's accusations that they had stolen. This caused the ire of not only me, but the other guards as well, as just in the Salem witch trials, she was acting all high and mighty, informing other guards that if they got on her "bad side" (which sounded like it would take a day trip and a couple of oxygen masks to get to) that they might be next. This led to a lot of grumbling, and increased security measures, meaning more work for me. I now had to go floor to floor and relieve each guard individually, instead of calling them while I watched porn in my office (I wish I had been smart enough to watch porn in my office). This led to me being a complete douche back to Gravy, informing her that she was going too slow, that she could only take one lunch from now on, and the like. That's when the Presidential Platter disappeared.
Tomorrow: What Happened to the Presidential Platter? Will the Stevester get in trouble? And... a thinly veiled threat on the nerdiest man alive! Join tomorrow, same time, same address, at.... steveshaikus!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
My neck and my back...
Suck a dead dog's ass!
Eat a Polar Bear's asshole!
Rock over London!
(a haiku-ized rendition of "Lick a Bulldog's Nasty Asshole" by Wesley Willis)
Ah, where to start, where to start.... hmmmm.....
Well, my sister is pregnant again, with number 6... I gotta tell you, when you have 1 kid, you are a good planner, 2 kids, a well balanced family, 3 kids, you must have an enormous dong and buns of steel, along with rippling muscles and a rapist wit... But dammit any more than 3 or 4 kids you are no longer building a family, you are having a litter. Past like 4 you should just start numbering them, and having the hospital tattoo their number on their foreheads, just raise them to believe thats how all kids do it, they just put makeup on to cover the numbers.
Anyway, congrats and yadda yadda yadda, on to other business. My middle kid (the ball-puncher) turns 6 today, effectively making me seem even more old and useless, I will have to defeat him in unarmed combat to make myself feel better...
Anyway, updates done, on to the phun tyme!
The year was 2003, and I was working in security (but not for Eddie Murphy). Life was for the most part alright, I mean we were always broke but it was a happy kind of broke, for though we had no cash whatsoever we still ate every day and that put us leaps and bounds ahead of Smeagol, who was still working booty ass overtime and coming home to sit on the couch in his thong until bedtime every night, with no dinner or anything of the sort to show for it but a rash and a nasty itch that no cream could cure.
"Well if you liked your job in security, why were you looking for work, Stevester?" You might be wondering. The short answer is a fat assassin threatened my life, giving the company a valid reason to send me to the butthole of the Midwest, Kansas. At the BPU plant on 12th and Quindaro, to be exact. And another BPU out in the Kaw Valley, which also sucked. Let me explain.
I had been promoted to Supervisor. Stevester and supervisory positions do not mix, because as long as Stevester is getting paid, Stevester does not give a flying rat's ass what you do, and this is the way I managed as well. As long as the work got done, I could care less if the security guards took 2 hour shit breaks, hour-and-a-half lunches or if they went and slept on the table in the conference room, farting and stinking the entire area up in a most awesome way. For most of the evening shift employees, this was awesome - they loved Stevester's "I don't give a shit" mentality and borrowed it for their own models on how to live. All except Ercie.
Ercie was a very large woman. I had no problem with that. Ercie was old. I had no problem with that either. Ercie also hated me because I was promoted over her and I was a third of her age. Yet again, fine with me. but the culmination of all of these shitty qualities led to some issues. I will explain:
Ercie was a thief and a liar, 2 qualities you would rather not have in a security guard. She was also lazy, but then again so am I, so I have to assume that is a desirable quality. She would buy the family meal at Church's Chicken, which usually consisted of 4-5 pieces of chicken, 2 corn on the cob, family sized mac and cheese and mashed taters and gravy, and eat all of it, including literally DRINKING THE DAMN GRAVY after she was done. I would have to endure this, completely disgusted as I watched and listened to her get fatter by the second while waiting for her to go on tour, and as soon as she was done have to listen to her usual "You is lazy Wallace, I don't know how you got to be supahvisah..." and with that she would slip into a diabetic coma I assume, as her body tried desperately to build another roll in which to store all the fat she had just ingested, and failing miserably.
Tomorrow: Part II
Eat a Polar Bear's asshole!
Rock over London!
(a haiku-ized rendition of "Lick a Bulldog's Nasty Asshole" by Wesley Willis)
Ah, where to start, where to start.... hmmmm.....
Well, my sister is pregnant again, with number 6... I gotta tell you, when you have 1 kid, you are a good planner, 2 kids, a well balanced family, 3 kids, you must have an enormous dong and buns of steel, along with rippling muscles and a rapist wit... But dammit any more than 3 or 4 kids you are no longer building a family, you are having a litter. Past like 4 you should just start numbering them, and having the hospital tattoo their number on their foreheads, just raise them to believe thats how all kids do it, they just put makeup on to cover the numbers.
Anyway, congrats and yadda yadda yadda, on to other business. My middle kid (the ball-puncher) turns 6 today, effectively making me seem even more old and useless, I will have to defeat him in unarmed combat to make myself feel better...
Anyway, updates done, on to the phun tyme!
The year was 2003, and I was working in security (but not for Eddie Murphy). Life was for the most part alright, I mean we were always broke but it was a happy kind of broke, for though we had no cash whatsoever we still ate every day and that put us leaps and bounds ahead of Smeagol, who was still working booty ass overtime and coming home to sit on the couch in his thong until bedtime every night, with no dinner or anything of the sort to show for it but a rash and a nasty itch that no cream could cure.
"Well if you liked your job in security, why were you looking for work, Stevester?" You might be wondering. The short answer is a fat assassin threatened my life, giving the company a valid reason to send me to the butthole of the Midwest, Kansas. At the BPU plant on 12th and Quindaro, to be exact. And another BPU out in the Kaw Valley, which also sucked. Let me explain.
I had been promoted to Supervisor. Stevester and supervisory positions do not mix, because as long as Stevester is getting paid, Stevester does not give a flying rat's ass what you do, and this is the way I managed as well. As long as the work got done, I could care less if the security guards took 2 hour shit breaks, hour-and-a-half lunches or if they went and slept on the table in the conference room, farting and stinking the entire area up in a most awesome way. For most of the evening shift employees, this was awesome - they loved Stevester's "I don't give a shit" mentality and borrowed it for their own models on how to live. All except Ercie.
Ercie was a very large woman. I had no problem with that. Ercie was old. I had no problem with that either. Ercie also hated me because I was promoted over her and I was a third of her age. Yet again, fine with me. but the culmination of all of these shitty qualities led to some issues. I will explain:
Ercie was a thief and a liar, 2 qualities you would rather not have in a security guard. She was also lazy, but then again so am I, so I have to assume that is a desirable quality. She would buy the family meal at Church's Chicken, which usually consisted of 4-5 pieces of chicken, 2 corn on the cob, family sized mac and cheese and mashed taters and gravy, and eat all of it, including literally DRINKING THE DAMN GRAVY after she was done. I would have to endure this, completely disgusted as I watched and listened to her get fatter by the second while waiting for her to go on tour, and as soon as she was done have to listen to her usual "You is lazy Wallace, I don't know how you got to be supahvisah..." and with that she would slip into a diabetic coma I assume, as her body tried desperately to build another roll in which to store all the fat she had just ingested, and failing miserably.
Tomorrow: Part II
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Tech Support Shenanigans, Phun Tyme Edition
Linoleum knife!
cuts like a rusty razor!
But can save the World!
I figured I would delve back into the victimless crimes that are the Gateway years, followed by the even better Cap years, great times all.
Horny old Lady
This was not a single person, this was a group designation. These old ladies would call, and spend the entire time trying to talk you into either free phone sex or coming out to live with them, with absolutely no idea what you look like or if you are Jeremy, who let me remind you, was sitting 2 cubes away, his gorgeous breasts glistening with sweat as he fumbled valiantly to remove the condom-like wrapper from his quickly suffocationg Snickers bar.
Anyway I would rather not get into specifics, but the thought of some old lady digging in her irrigation canal while asking me about hard drive specifications and can she get a floppy was enough to, sadly, give me a half mast while still disgusting me (what can I say, I'm a horndog, even thinking of Jeremy oiling up his manboobs almost got some movement....I'm so ashamed!)
The Reader
This was usually some older guy, and I know someo f you will blast me for this, but dammit if you're that fucking old get someone who was born within the last half century to call for you. These Oldie Oldersons will read every fucking thing on the box if you dare to ask a question that is more complicated than YES or NO, example time:
Me: "OK you old fart what OS are you using?"
Jaggoff: "Microsoft Windows XP Professional Edition Versio-"
Me (annoyed): "OK so Windows XP?"
Jaggoff: "No, Microsoft Windows XP Professional Editi-"
Me: "FuuuuUUUUCK!"
They also will read things that have nothing whatsoever to do with the reason they called, like they get you in a corner and will not allow you to answer the siren call of either alcohol or sweet, sweet death to not have to listen to their wrinkled lips crackle as they lubricate them constantly with that little lip smack old people always do...
Picture Painter
This is the guy (or gal) who has to set the mood and explain in excrutiating detail everything that is going on in their lives when all you want to know is if the damn power got plugged in...
Me: So is the power plugged in?
Idiot: Well when I was 11 I ate a pickle. It was delicious, crunchy without being overbearing, and then I noticed a fleet of German Panzer tanks attacking over the grassy knoll, almost taking out what looked like a wily raptor in a green thong trying to steal a lollipop from a kitten wearing a diaper, and losing the battle badly. I got car insurance throug GEICO and last night noticed a rash on my taint and wonder if it had to do with that 11 year old Laotion boy I have hired on as my gardener/ sex slave, or if it was the unsoftened leather that constitutes the bottom half of my S&M leather/steel spike studded thong?
Me:......so, no?
More Monday, I wrote this yesterday but for some reason BLogger was down and it wiped off half of my damn post... so lame!
cuts like a rusty razor!
But can save the World!
I figured I would delve back into the victimless crimes that are the Gateway years, followed by the even better Cap years, great times all.
Horny old Lady
This was not a single person, this was a group designation. These old ladies would call, and spend the entire time trying to talk you into either free phone sex or coming out to live with them, with absolutely no idea what you look like or if you are Jeremy, who let me remind you, was sitting 2 cubes away, his gorgeous breasts glistening with sweat as he fumbled valiantly to remove the condom-like wrapper from his quickly suffocationg Snickers bar.
Anyway I would rather not get into specifics, but the thought of some old lady digging in her irrigation canal while asking me about hard drive specifications and can she get a floppy was enough to, sadly, give me a half mast while still disgusting me (what can I say, I'm a horndog, even thinking of Jeremy oiling up his manboobs almost got some movement....I'm so ashamed!)
The Reader
This was usually some older guy, and I know someo f you will blast me for this, but dammit if you're that fucking old get someone who was born within the last half century to call for you. These Oldie Oldersons will read every fucking thing on the box if you dare to ask a question that is more complicated than YES or NO, example time:
Me: "OK you old fart what OS are you using?"
Jaggoff: "Microsoft Windows XP Professional Edition Versio-"
Me (annoyed): "OK so Windows XP?"
Jaggoff: "No, Microsoft Windows XP Professional Editi-"
Me: "FuuuuUUUUCK!"
They also will read things that have nothing whatsoever to do with the reason they called, like they get you in a corner and will not allow you to answer the siren call of either alcohol or sweet, sweet death to not have to listen to their wrinkled lips crackle as they lubricate them constantly with that little lip smack old people always do...
Picture Painter
This is the guy (or gal) who has to set the mood and explain in excrutiating detail everything that is going on in their lives when all you want to know is if the damn power got plugged in...
Me: So is the power plugged in?
Idiot: Well when I was 11 I ate a pickle. It was delicious, crunchy without being overbearing, and then I noticed a fleet of German Panzer tanks attacking over the grassy knoll, almost taking out what looked like a wily raptor in a green thong trying to steal a lollipop from a kitten wearing a diaper, and losing the battle badly. I got car insurance throug GEICO and last night noticed a rash on my taint and wonder if it had to do with that 11 year old Laotion boy I have hired on as my gardener/ sex slave, or if it was the unsoftened leather that constitutes the bottom half of my S&M leather/steel spike studded thong?
Me:......so, no?
More Monday, I wrote this yesterday but for some reason BLogger was down and it wiped off half of my damn post... so lame!
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