tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35307976927556022262024-02-07T00:08:45.208-05:00A Bitch Called MomWARNING: This blog is written by a PMSing mom. There will be lots of bitching. Here moms can say all the things they wish they could in real life if no one would be traumatized by it. SPEAK YOUR MIND. If you don't, I'll just say it for you. So you can either live vicariously through me or grow some big, clean-shaven ovaries and say it yourself. BTW if you're a bitch, but not necessarily a mom or a woman or PMSing, you're welcome, too. ALL BITCHES ARE WELCOME. Amen.Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-88756771286257686382016-03-15T11:50:00.000-04:002016-03-15T11:50:33.346-04:00A New Beginning<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmgXmj2RYwdvkNUAswIHdE4c_lwIGsDF9vFzV5fu3I-Z-YYHjmD1KebFS_xqKjF9-9VjfCu2T-cEi0qOoaburM-EBJ8QsT7Ud98T5Y5t8-P3CUz-Wa2_uZ8GAdGDBOiqyDecFNacLT1Hc/s1600/ordination+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmgXmj2RYwdvkNUAswIHdE4c_lwIGsDF9vFzV5fu3I-Z-YYHjmD1KebFS_xqKjF9-9VjfCu2T-cEi0qOoaburM-EBJ8QsT7Ud98T5Y5t8-P3CUz-Wa2_uZ8GAdGDBOiqyDecFNacLT1Hc/s320/ordination+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the f*ck happened to all my hair?</td></tr>
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Hi, all my friends out there in the blogosphere! I bet you didn't expect to hear from me, huh? Hey, cut a bitch a break. I've been doing big things and I'm here to bring you along for the ride.<br />
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As you know, I've been enrolled in an accelerated PhD program since 2011. Yeah...turns out...not so accelerated. You can blame me for that. I was about as diligent with that as I am with this blog. You see how that turns out, right? However, I did manage to complete it within the allotted time (four months to five years). I came in at four years and ten months. Sweet. <br />
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So, it's official! <br />
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Just call me Dr. Bitch! You know you want to and several of you were waiting expressly for this opportunity. Have at it! I'm so cool with that. On this blog anyway. You know I don't go for that shit on the <a href="http://www.thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/">zen</a> blog. <br />
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Along with my newfound doctor-hood, I've started a <a href="http://www.thewellfedspirit.com/">spiritual counseling practice</a>. In light of this, I've had to make a few changes to this blog. Some of your favorite posts as well as some comments that I may or may not have made in the past, have been deleted. Also, there will not be nearly as many f-bombs dropped as usual. I'm not eliminating them altogether though. Because fuck. That's how I roll.<br />
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But I'm making these changes in order to spruce up my image for all my new and future clients. Once they get to know me, they will understand both sides of the complexity that is me, but I can't scare them off right at the beginning.<br />
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I want to take a minute, though, to thank all of my lovely blog friends who have supported me from the very beginning. Your kind words of wisdom and support have been invaluable to me. Even though I look around blogger and can no longer find most of you, I hope that one day you will see this and know that you are loved. I hope that your lives are happy and that your journeys have taken you to new and pleasantly unexpected places.<br />
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There I go getting the <em>zen</em> bitch mixed up with the <em>bitch</em> bitch again. <br />
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Anyway, stay tuned for the fun. I promise not to leave you hanging just because I'm all doctored up and shit.<br />
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Love you guys!Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-6975051093799273862015-09-16T12:06:00.000-04:002015-09-16T12:14:43.935-04:00The Struggle is Real<img alt="baby eating" src="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/b63/baby-eating-1559787.jpg" height="300" width="400" /><br />
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Hi, guys!<br />
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I know nobody probably cares anymore, but I just felt like posting today. I don't know why. Probably because what I wanted to say was more than 140 characters long. Since it's my blog that I set up originally so I could bitch when I'm PMSing, I think I'll do just that. Bitch. It's what I do best.<br />
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So...<br />
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There was one slice of cake leftover from my boss' baby shower at work yesterday. It was just sitting there on the break room counter, minding its own business. It wasn't bothering a soul. Honey, I walked past that thing five times, casting subtle glances upon its deliciousness as I went about my morning, just praying that someone else would eat it. <br />
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Then around 11:30 am, my stomach started doing that thing where it's insisting on being fed. You know that thing where your stomach is basically making you its bitch? Yeah, that. I said to myself, "Mrs. Hyde, maybe the Universe will intervene and the cake will be gone." It would be better for all concerned if it played out that way. No tummy ache. No guilt. No buttercream icing clinging to my chin at the staff meeting.<br />
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The Universe did not intervene. The Universe was all, "I'ma need you to eat the healthy snack you planned and not run up those stairs, grab the cake and scarf it down as fast as you can so no one will see you because everyone knows you're trying to eat better and exercise and what will people think if you devour a piece of luscious, delicious, decadent red velvet cake?" Ok, so at some point the Universe stopped talking and it was all me, bad grammar, run-on sentence and all. <br />
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Then I remembered that I don't give a fuck what people think, so I ate the cake. It was <em>so</em> good! But I will not feel guilty about it. What I will do is eat better for the rest of the day and resume my health(ier) eating and trying to get in some exercise, for the love of all that is good.<br />
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But, yeah. The struggle is real.Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-65143707828384274692011-07-16T12:23:00.000-04:002011-07-16T12:23:29.575-04:00A Very Bitchy ApologyHey guys! I just wanted to jump on here quickly and apologize for my absence. Sometime before our anniversary celebration was over, I got a full-time job. Like, an actual job that pays actual money. Good for me, right? Add that to my accelerated PhD studies, kids (three or four, depending on whom you ask), marriage drama, and several weekly workshops and I'm sure you'll understand why I haven't had time to blog.<br />
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I haven't forgotten about you, though. I still love you guys and I will definitely try and find time to come on here and bitch about the new job. And the missing, now-adult kid. And the possibly-soon-to-be-ex.<br />
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For instance, I would have thought that being a receptionist in a medical office would allow me to sit on my ass for hours, thereby adding extra layers of cellulite to an already cellulite-riddled ass. But no. That would be too much like right. I have never been so fucking exhausted in my life.<br />
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The good news is, all that walking and faxing and filing and copying and shit has gotten me off my ass enough to not get <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/public-service-announcement-laptops.html">LADLE</a> again.<br />
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We'll see how long this job lasts. The last job I had lasted exactly thirty-six minutes. And I will <i>never</i> look at banana cream pie the same again.<br />
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Try not to get into too much trouble until I get back. Ha! I just gave someone advice on staying out of trouble. That's some funny shit...Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-24531938867778366962011-06-29T12:06:00.000-04:002011-06-29T12:06:21.350-04:00The Best of ABCM: Day 5Today's blast from the past comes from December 2010. I was on a bitchy roll in December. People were pissing me off left and right around the holidays. Must be why there are so many gems from that time.<br />
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Five down; two to go. Who remembers this fat ass dog?<br />
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font: italic normal bold 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">PSA: Dog Love is in the Heart of the Beholder</h3><div class="post-header" style="color: #989898; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb;"><img src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQtgW3yYPUqwSASiUJJMw0BQ_fhVVBgIalNXoEk6YLRMI9hMTnhFg" /></span><br />
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I get it. Your dog is the cutest thing since those funny looking Olsen twins. Aw, come on. When Full House premiered and they rolled out those buggers as one little baby "Michelle," didn't you think, "What the hell <i>is</i> that?" Eventually, we grew accustomed to their weird little faces and they became adorable to us. That's how I feel about your dog. He's cute in the same way as any creature who licks his own ass is cute---from a distance.<br />
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The reason I've got a bug up my ass about canines today, aside from not getting any for at least five days (sleep, that is. the other thing either now that you bring it up. thanks), is because some woman <b>whom I don't know</b> felt it necessary to send us a picture of her dog in a Christmas card. My husband knows her from work, so there are a couple ways I could look at this. On one hand, she could be some old bitty whose only companion is her beloved dog and who wants to share her love of said dog with the world because he makes her so happy. On the other hand, this could be hubby's other wife on the other side of town making sure 'daddy' has a picture of his cherished pet to carry with him at all times. Either way, I don't give a shit. I don't want a picture of that bitch's bitch in my house.<br />
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Let me clear something up for all you psycho dog owners out there: <b><i>You</i></b> love your dog. <b><i>You</i></b> want to dress your dog up in tiny designer outfits and carry it in your purse and take portraits of it and feed it caviar and oysters. <b><i>You</i></b> want to look up from the desk of your dead-end job and gaze into the blue/green/brown eyes of the loyal pup waiting patiently at home for your return. <i>You</i>. Not me.<br />
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There's a way to gauge whether or not you should send those $200 Petco portraits out to someone. Ask yourself a couple of questions. The first one should be, "Does this person know my dog?" If the answer is no, stop, calm your hyper ass down, remove the address label from the envelope, and step away from the postal worker. Your third grade teacher couldn't give less of a fuck about Trixie or how good she was when you took her to see Santa. The second question is, "Does this person love my dog?" Again, if the answer is no, save that precious portrait for someone who does. Don't waste your money; we're in a recession in case you didn't know. If you send a picture of your dog to someone who doesn't love him, it will end up in the trash. Or, and this is probably just me, it will get folded origami-style into the shape of a mouse and given to my cat. Sure, I may like your dog, it's not likely, but stranger things have happened. I may even think he's cute. But if I'm not falling all over myself trying to get to your house to play with the pwetty wittle puppy wuppy who's a cute dog? who's the cutest wittle puppy in da whole wide world? then I DON'T WANT A PICTURE OF YOUR FUCKING DOG.<br />
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As I was writing this, a commercial for an animal shelter came on. The dog was cute and the voice over was funny. Now that the commercial is over, I have no desire to ever see that dog again. See how that works?<br />
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While we're on the subject, the same thing goes for your kids. I don't know how many pictures of anonymous kids I have in my goddamn photo albums. A girl I worked with once gave me an<i>8x10</i> of her five-year-old. An 8x10, are you kidding me? What do you have a stash of gi-fucking-normous pictures stuffed in your bra to pass out like pro-life flyers? I had never even met the little heifer. Are people so proud of their little bundles of joy that they must insist on forcing their likenesses onto virtual strangers? Or are they so desperate for human companionship that they must create connections where clearly none exists?<br />
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Just to be clear any and all pictures of pets and children (let's throw in old people while we're at it) for whom I don't personally have love and/or affection will be trashed and burned, not necessarily in that order. You can waste your money, your Christmas card, your postage, and your time cutting those huge sheets into individual pictures if you want to. It won't last five minutes in my house.<br />
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Who the fuck is that? I don't know. Some dumbass I met on the bus stop gave me a picture of her twin rhesus monkeys. They were on a hit sitcom back in the '90's and then they grew up to vaguely resemble humans.<br />
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I apologize if this message is late and you've already purchased the Best Value package of pictures this year. Just think of it as advanced warning for next year. Besides, the dog will be a year older and a lot less cute. So will the kids.</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><br />
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</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06158645736865180289" rel="nofollow" style="color: #000dfc; text-decoration: none;">The Empress</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb;"> </span>said...</i></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-62346235680713563" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>I hear ya! I know someone who had a giant ass portrait of their dog taken so they could hang it over their fireplace. Do they have a name for crazy old dog ladies?<br />
Hugs!</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">To which I replied:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div></dd></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>Let's think of some now: dog crones, bitch bitches, wiener geysers...</i></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><br />
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</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/08377041200096389115" rel="nofollow" style="color: #000dfc; text-decoration: none;">Kara Hoag</a> said...</i></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7384574319610058800" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-1521513321383123001" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>I would rather have a picture of someone's pet than someone's kids any day. ANY day!<br />
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But seriously, please don't send me either.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
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</i></div></dd></span></div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-27991856896641207322011-06-28T00:00:00.002-04:002011-06-28T00:00:05.600-04:00The Best of ABCM: Day 4A quick update to the story about <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/12/bottoms-up.html">the liquor store opening up next door to the church</a>: the liquor store won. And I spend as much money as I possibly can there. Just for shits and giggles. I don't even need all this alcohol...but you and I both know it <i>will </i>be consumed.<br />
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For my next act, I will perform great feats of entertainment and education...sexual education, that is. This post, from December 2010, is the most popular post I've had to date. I wonder why?<br />
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The sex? The numerous penis references? The laughter at the expense of the not-so-<a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2011/02/dear-mrs-hyde-if-im-not-coming-im-going.html">heavily-schlonged</a>? (I invented that term, btw. Go check it out at UrbanDictionary.com.)<br />
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Who knows? It's anybody's guess really. I'll let you decide, loyal reader. If by some coincidence your Nana is visiting you today, do her a favor and steer her <i>away</i> from the steamy video added here for your <strike>horn dog</strike> viewing pleasure.<br />
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But if she's anything like <i>my</i> Nana, she may have already seen it.<br />
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font: italic normal bold 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">Sick Bed Sex Ed</h3><div class="post-header" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7459699976599987069" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS A PICTURE OF PEOPLE IN THEIR BIRTHDAY SUITS. THEY'RE NAKED. IF YOUR DELICATE SENSIBILITIES WILL BE OFFENDED, COME BACK TOMORROW WHEN THIS POST WILL STILL BE HERE, BUT MAYBE YOU WON'T BE SO UPTIGHT.</div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm sick. And not in my usual "what the hell is wrong with that woman?" way. I'm sick in the sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever so get the fuck outta my face way. I hate being sick for lots of reasons, but the biggest one is because I have to sit still. I suck at sitting still which means I don't get much rest which means I stay sick for longer than I should have. Does the flu know that it's three days before Christmas? Does the flu know that it ruined the Winter Solstice party my youngest kids and I planned? My nine-year-old cut paper up into confetti-sized pieces to serve as "snow" and we couldn't even use them. You mean to tell me that I don't get to vacuum up a trillion tiny pieces of paper? Darn.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I dragged myself to the computer today so as to interact with the outside world and I came across this video. Now before you even think about it, you <i>must</i> watch the video. It's imperative to your understanding of the rest of this post. And it's hot. Pay close attention to the condom wrapper that will appear in the lower right quadrant of the screen. Don't blink because it's only there for a second.</span></div></div><div style="color: #cbcbcb; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
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</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gzat5a3dK98?fs=1" width="480"></iframe></span><br />
<div style="color: #cbcbcb; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Hot, right? Wtf? What happened to the other font I was using?</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Hopefully, your eye is keen enough to have noticed the Magnum condom package. Magnum, for all you rock-dwellers, is a line of condoms designed by Trojan for the comfort of <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/11/honestly.html" style="text-decoration: none;">well-endowed men</a>. I feel I should say that again for those who may not have understood. </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><i>MAGNUM</i> is designed for the comfort of <i>WELL-ENDOWED</i> men. </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">The problem is, most men think they're well-endowed. The truth is that a large number of Magnum users are not. Would you like to know how you can tell if you should save your extra 35 cents per condom and go with the standard size? No? I'm going to tell you anyway, Nubby, because it's bad enough that you suck at oral sex, but now you're flopping around in a condom that's two sizes too big and the shit is starting to piss me off! </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">I'm sorry. I'll try to keep the flashbacks to a minimum.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">If the condom slides off every time you extract your <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">pocket rocket</a> from a <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">honey pot</a>, you might have a little dick (imagine I just said that in my Jeff Foxworthy voice). I'm just kidding. Sort of. It might not be small, but it <i>is</i> too small for those Magnums.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Have you ever blown up a condom like a balloon?</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><img src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTs1jgjT5elfsHPgyAdddzjZQ_y5EeehaArqVIrJIEPnDtPL_CZeQ" /></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">As you can see, standard condoms can hold a lot of...what's the word I'm looking for...weight. If your <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">pecker</a> is bigger than the above picture, forget the Magnums and go straight to hot air balloons. And please upload a porn so that the rest of us can see this mythical beast.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Don't get upset and click the 'next blog' button, Wee Willy Winkie, all hope is not lost.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">There are two ways in which one could consider his <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">trouser snake</a> to be "big": length and width (girth, if you will). Most women prefer a nice healthy girth. Change the word 'healthy' to 'hefty' for me. Length can be a good thing, too, but if you're blessed with a lengthy <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">tube steak</a>, please consider the following. The average unaroused <b>vagina </b>is 3 to 4 inches long. When a woman is properly aroused, her <b>vagina </b>elongates to accommodate the <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">pork sword</a>. So that takes it to, say, 5 to 7 inches. If your <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2010/12/fun-with-words-naughty-bits-edition.html" style="text-decoration: none;">mutton dagger</a> is longer than the depth of her <b>vagina </b>and you get a little overzealous in your love making, you will be slamming repeatedly into her cervix. </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">That shit hurts. Stop it. </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">All you girthy men pay close attention. The key words to either facet of well-endowment are <b><i>properly aroused</i></b>. You know how it's so much easier and pleasant to remove a ring that's stuck on your finger if you lubricate it before attempting to yank it off? Yeah, like that.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Please don't confuse the two. If a woman tells you that you are big, ask that bitch to be specific. Am I wide or am I long? It's big, but is it strong? Can I make you scream on a train? In Spain? While dancing in the rain? Men, it's important that you know which one she means, so that you can give her pleasure accordingly, with little to no discomfort (see <i>cervix slamming </i>above).</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">And lastly, for all you gentlemen who are neither average nor big, don't fret.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><img src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSk5vBgxfe-AwLNbKHyM7L-iilMa8jG-6eN0AYhn7RAnLGHtczjyQ" /></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Not everyone is laughing at you. No, really. All you need to do is get really fucking good at cunnilingus and pack some big, powerful toys in your overnight bag.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">And please, for the love of multiple orgasms, walk past the Magnums in the drug store.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">I'd like to thank <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/" style="text-decoration: none;">The Empress</a> at <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/" style="text-decoration: none;">The Ranter's Box</a> for teaching me all the nice new references to male genitalia. I had fun with them. There are plenty of words for <b>vagina </b>on her blog, too, but since we've only recently gotten "permission" to say <b>vagina </b>out loud, I thought I'd stick to <b>vagina</b> instead of beating around the, um, bush. </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">I swear, I didn't plan that.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">FAVORITE COMMENTS:</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12508347229501155001" rel="nofollow" style="color: #000dfc; text-decoration: none;">Lolamouse</a> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">said...</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-48614714472551991" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>...As for the Magnums, the DC schools give that brand out to kids because they're considered the "cool" condom. It's part of their pregnancy prevention program. I guess they grow em big in DC!</i></span></div></dd></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Indeed, Lolamouse. Indeed. Nobody under 21 should be allowed to pack that much heat.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
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<dt class="comment-author " id="c4361937740423719244" style="background-position: 0px 1.5em; border-top-color: initial; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: initial; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -45px; padding-left: 45px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/13480766951670643937" rel="nofollow" style="color: #000dfc; text-decoration: none;">Rabbit</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb;"> </span>said...</i></span></dt><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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<dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-4361937740423719244" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Great... My Fair Lady will never be the same again...</i></div></dd></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">I'm also quite skilled at ruining fairy tales and nursery rhymes, Rabbit.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Stay tuned, my friends! Only three more flashbacks left.</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</div></div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-43197490935913491892011-06-27T00:00:00.000-04:002011-06-27T00:00:00.729-04:00The Best of ABCM: Day 3I apologize for the break in the action. As I am constantly trying to be a better person, I went on a spiritual retreat this past weekend. Spiritual, not religious. Many of you know that I have "issues" with organized religion in general, so I can assure you that no one was waving a Bible in my face, proving to me that I am a wretched, wretched person. I have no problem with God; His "children" are who I generally have problems with.<br />
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Now I'm back and feeling all enlightened and what not, so I thought I'd share a post that sought to bring enlightenment to one reader who was finding it difficult to mind her own damn business. Enjoy!<br />
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/ca/Dear_Abby_Walk_of_Fame_4-20-06.jpg" /></a><br />
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font: italic normal bold 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">Dear Mrs. Hyde, the ABCM Version (from January 2010)</h3><div class="post-header" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">So...this woman emailed me at thewellfedspirit@gmail.com because she needed a fresh take on a situation at work. Apparently, she was gossiping about a co-worker, only to find out that her assumptions were untrue. She asked for my opinion as to what her next move should be, and as </span><a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2011/01/aunt-flo-and-assholes-who-love-her.html" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;">I specified previously</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">, she chose from which of my personalities she wanted to get an answer. She chose both. I just want it to go on record that she </span><i style="color: purple;">chose</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"> to do this. Okay? I will not be held responsible for any trauma caused by my response. Let's all keep that in mind as we're wondering what the fuck she's on and how we can get a prescription that strong.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Here, I'll let her tell the story.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Okay, here's the deal. At my job, there was a rumor going around that one of the married women in my department (Mrs. K) was slipping down to the mail room and having noontime quickies with a guy down there. Now, I don't really like Mrs. K--she's the kind of person who is always talking about her new this or that. I can barely afford to put gas in the car. So, like everybody else I started whispering when she disappeared at lunch time.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Last week, I just happened to be in the mail room when she came down with her lunch. I hovered around to see which guy she would disappear with... Well, they didn't disappear. Her and the dude who wears eyeliner (Mr. E) were watching Ellen on a portable tv.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">So, now I feel like an ass, and I'm not sure what to do. Mrs. K notices that people are acting funny around her, but I don't think she knows why. I don't want to point out the obvious (Mr. E doesn't seem to be interested in women) because that's an HR violation.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">What should I do?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Um...yeah...how can I put this delicately? Oh, I know. </span><b style="color: purple;">Mind your fucking business</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">. You said that you feel like an ass? Congratulations, you are. I mean, why in the name of Idris Elba's edible chocolate abs are you so concerned with what Mrs. K is doing on her lunch break? Get a life, boo. Because if you had a life, you'd be too busy to concern yourself with the potential sex lives of co-workers, married or otherwise.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">I understand the mind of the hating ass bitch. (In case this is unclear, the hating ass bitch is you) You see a woman who has more material possessions than you. She drives a nice car, wears expensive clothes, owns a nice home, and has a gorgeous dick slinger to boot. She has worked hard for those things and is proud of her accomplishments, so she flaunts them. But that's not what you see. You, with your bad credit, hooptie, broken down slum apartment, and four baby's daddies see not the hard-working woman who has her shit together, but instead a stuck-up, bourgeoisie bitch who throws her wealth in the face of others. You know what? Maybe she is, but that's not the reason you hate her. You hate her because </span><i style="color: purple;">your</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"> shit is </span><i style="color: purple;">not </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">together.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Your time can be much better spent if you focused more on achieving your goals and less on being a bitch about hers. You can spread rumors about her. You can put sugar in the gas tank of her BMW Z4 Roadster 2.5i (don't get caught because that's reasonable cause for a beat down). You could give her man the best blow job of his life in the parking lot while he waits for her to clock out from her high-paying job, but that won't change your situation. I get it. Misery loves company. What misery should start loving is effective fucking solutions.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">What 's the difference between a happy bitch and a miserable bitch on one hand, and two miserable bitches on the other? Well, that's obvious, but the constant in both situations is that the original miserable bitch is still miserable. Think about it: do you really want her to be unhappy or is what you really want is for </span><i style="color: purple;">you</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"> to be happy, too?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Whether or not Mr. E is gay, because that's your implication, is none of your concern. There you go minding someone's business again. You should have no HR issues if you remember this: gay man or adulterous woman...there's no difference when you're slandering people.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">To help your jealous ass save face, I submit the following. Go to your co-workers, you know, the ones with whom you've actively engaged in Mrs. K-bashing, and say, nonchalantly, "Girl(s), we were tripping. That bitch is down there watching Ellen with Mr. E, harming no one. I think I'll take this as a sign and mind my own dumb ass business from now on." Then eat your ramen noodles and shut the fuck up.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">From now on, concentrate more on 'doing you' than 'fucking her' (over). Jealousy is not attractive. It's an ugly, poor, insecure, low self-esteem having punta.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">You didn't know I spoke Spanish, did you?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Please.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">I don't watch George Lopez for nothing.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><br />
</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;">And now for my favorite comments:</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/05646237105840617885" rel="nofollow" style="color: #000dfc; text-decoration: none;">Chief aka Dad http://unsoundreasoning.blogspot.com</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb;"> </span>said...</i></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-5673045889914361289" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Now ya know I'm not one to complain...but ya might have expanded on "You could give her man the best blow job of his life in the parking lot while he waits for her to clock out from her high-paying job" to include "and anyone else in the parking lot"...and provided a map to the parking lot...just a suggestion :-)</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Does anyone know where Dad is? Haven't seen him in awhile. I guess I could just go ask Jumble Mash, but I don't really feel like it, so...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">AND this was my first introduction to <a href="http://michellelcsw.blogspot.com/">The Reckmonster</a></div></dd></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3200122337856427998" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/08846718419590267145" rel="nofollow" style="color: #000dfc; text-decoration: none;">The Reckmonster</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb;"> </span>said...</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-1824159676702198169" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>I just stumbled on your blog and I have one thing to say: You are a bitch-ass fucking genius!!!! I'm pullin' up a chair, parkin' my fat ass right here on your blog and waiting to be entertained some more! LOVE IT HERE!</i></div></dd></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><dd class="comment-body" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Anybody who thinks I'm a bitch ass fucking genius is all right with me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></dd></span></div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-72811411881125967972011-06-23T15:23:00.001-04:002011-06-26T14:54:47.765-04:00The Best of ABCM: Day 2<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Today's Best of ABCM is a post from December 2010. The holidays always make me sappy...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://faqs.org/"><img height="302" src="http://www.faqs.org/photo-dict/photofiles/list/2543/10075tequila_shot.jpg" width="400" /></a></span><br />
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font: italic normal bold 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">Bottoms Up!</h3><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">In the spirit of celebration, I have decided to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-teenagers-lets-ship-them-all-to.html" style="text-decoration: none;">piss off as many people as possible</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">today. Those of you who usually find me lovable or at least entertaining might want to tighten your big girl/boy drawers. It's about to get bumpy in this bitch.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I was on my way inside my favorite grocery store,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/11/some-of-my-best-friends-are-white.html" style="text-decoration: none;">Aldi</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">, yesterday when I noticed a protest going on just a few yards away. About 15 people with signs that read, "Church and liquor don't mix" and "God doesn't approve" were shouting at anyone within earshot about the travesty that was unfolding before our eyes. A liquor store was opening right next door to their church and they were not happy about it. And worse, God wasn't happy about it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Let me briefly interject that I find it hilariously ironic that someone decided to build a liquor store right beside a church, but that's just me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Anyway, a young man approached me as I struggled to shut the trunk of my van while maintaining a death grip on my reusable bags so they wouldn't fly away in the 40 mph winds. He politely asked if I would sign their petition to prevent the liquor store from opening next to their awesome, wonderful, sent-straight-from- heaven church. I told him I didn't really care whether there was a liquor store next to his church because hey, it ain't my fricking church, but that I would sign the petition if that would make him happy enough to skip his little ass out of my face.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">"I don't understand, Ma'am." He was so well-mannered. His mama would have been proud.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I explained to him that it's all a matter of perspective. What if, instead of seeing this situation as a curse, they looked at it as a blessing. If there is a liquor store next door to your church, doesn't that give you countless opportunities to "save" the "sinners" who might have a "drinking problem"?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">He said, "Ma'am, I can see how you would think that, but there are many members of our church, including myself, who are recovering from alcoholism and it's not a good idea to have a liquor store there while we're trying to worship."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">At this point, I'm about two seconds away from cursing him out because he's called me "ma'am" twice already. Asshole. He starts to rattle off a list of the long line of alcoholics in his ancestry and I told him to save the drama for his mama. My father was both an alcoholic and a drug addict, my mother still is a drug addict, I have at least six other family members with addictions of some kind and my husband is just a shot away from being an alcoholic himself. I, myself have at least</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/10/ode-to-one-i-love.html" style="text-decoration: none;">three shots to go</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">before I get there, so I'm good. The point is I'm familiar with addiction, so you don't need to sell me on it, Little Preacher Boy.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Here's my question: at what point do we make addicts responsible for their own sobriety? For that matter, when do we make people, in general, responsible for their own lives? I understand that it is a daily struggle for addicts to maintain their sobriety. I applaud anyone who battles with this disease and manages to come out on top most of the time. Temptation is everywhere. How will a recovering addict learn to deal with temptation in a healthy, productive way if we shield them from it? How can they know the victory of overcoming an obstacle, if we hide the obstacles from them?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">If you're an alcoholic and you work at a dentist's office in a shopping center that just so happens to be three doors down from a bar, are you going to quit your job? Petition that they uproot their entire business so that you won't have to walk past it everyday? Or will you walk right past it and, when you feel tempted, keep on going until you find an AA meeting? Isn't that what's supposed to happen? When you find yourself in a situation that you feel you can't handle without the assistance of alcohol, you need to seek the assistance of those who are there to support you because they all have been where you are and will not judge you. Right? If that's not how it works, you definitely won't find my ass parked at an AA meeting when I finally fall off the edge of this cliff. Fuck that.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">If you walk down the street in any poor neighborhood in America, you will find a church on the corner. If you keep walking in the same direction, you will find a liquor store one block down. Keep walking and you'll find that the pattern repeats itself: church, liquor store, church, liquor store. This is where poor people find solace. If it can't be found in church, we'll just walk down a block and find it at the bottom of a bottle.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I wonder if the protesters would have been as up-in-arms if the store were opening a block away. Is proximity the issue? Is God okay with liquor stores being erected a whole city block away from the church, just not right next door? And wouldn't the recovering alcoholics still have to walk past the liquor to get to the Lord? Or vice versa?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">What's your take?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">To those who will un-follow me now, I say, "Hey, it's been real." I'll see you at the next meeting. To those of you who will stick around, I say, "Thanks for having my back whether you agree with me or not." And feel free to cuss my ass out if you think I'm being offensive. You know I'd extend the same courtesy to you. That's how love works: I piss you off, you put your foot up my ass, we have a good laugh or cry, and then start that shit all over again.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Oh, well...bottoms up!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">****Update: I just remembered that I'm supposed to include a comment or two from the original post. Sorry about that. Here you go!</span><br />
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<dt class="comment-author " id="c4160966333070129605" style="background-position: 0px 1.5em; border-top-color: rgba(128, 128, 128, 0.496094); border-top-style: dashed; border-top-width: 1px; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -45px; padding-left: 45px; padding-top: 1.5em;">Sullie said...</dt><br />
<dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-4160966333070129605" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I wonder if that church has a problem with Jesus turning water into wine...<br />
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Anyway, you know good in well that the liquor store is supposed to be a block away--so that everyone can pretend NOT to see fellow church goers patronizing the establishment...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<dt class="comment-author " id="c6603490971711596190" style="background-position: 0px 1.5em; border-top-color: rgba(128, 128, 128, 0.496094); border-top-style: dashed; border-top-width: 1px; font-weight: bold; margin-left: -45px; padding-left: 45px; padding-top: 1.5em;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/07430385034730974906" rel="nofollow" style="text-decoration: none;">holly</a> said...</dt><br />
<dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-6603490971711596190" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Isn't the whole point of church to come repent after getting too drunk and _____? I'm confused as to what these people were all up in arms about. Apparently alcohol is the root of all sin: not the pedophile deacons or judgmental snobs or anything...God forbid we blame our sin on ourselves - there's always something else you can blame.<br />
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But hey, that's a whole soap box of mine I don't need to get into on your comments. Glad you took away the warning before entering your site - it made me feel naughty.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Thanks, ladies!</div></dd></span>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-19929944531889140932011-06-21T22:00:00.001-04:002011-06-21T22:00:01.889-04:00The Best of ABCM: Day 1Approximately one year ago today, give or take a week, the creation that you all know and love came to be: A Bitch Called Mom. I approximate its inception because I don't know the exact date that I started this blog. I don't know the exact date because, well, this is what happened.<br />
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I started blogging because: 1. I read somewhere that every writer should have a blog. Sheep that I am, I signed up for a blogger account. 2. I honestly wanted to share my experience and wisdom with the world. I thought I could help people, women especially, go through some of the toughest times in their lives and come out on the other end happy. If you're not familiar with my blog <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/">The Well-Fed Spirit</a> and you only know me from this one, you're in for a rude awakening if you should ever end up over there.<br />
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I created the Well-Fed Spirit and everything was going fine until one day, the bitch came out. PMS was wreaking havoc on the villagers and scaring the crap out of them, to boot. It occurred to me, during one particular tongue-lashing my husband was receiving, that I could blog my frustrations and unwelcome hormones away. Hopefully.<br />
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And so the bitch that you now know as Mrs. Hyde was born. But then the <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/">zen bitch</a> felt bad about putting all that negativity out into the Universe and deleted the first two posts. Then the PMS bitch said, "Better on the internet than in my head," so I started it again.<br />
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A few months back, a blog friend <a href="http://rantsravesfactsnfics.blogspot.com/">Semi-True Torystellar</a>, Tory to me because I'm cool like that, recommended I do sort of an ABCM Hall of Fame for my most popular posts. I don't remember her exact words or even when she said it, but I wrote it down so that I wouldn't forget. And I <i>would </i>have forgotten. I don't know how many brain cells I have left, but let's just say that they live so far apart, they only get together on the holidays to cry about how they're the last of a dying breed. I'm not going to re-post the most popular, though; sometimes what is popular is not necessarily good. I'm going to post the ones I think are the best of the best from past year.<br />
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It took me awhile to come up with the posts I think are the best ones because I think that all of my shit is gold. But I didn't want to bore you with three straight months of reruns, so I had to pick. I'll also include one or two funny/interesting comments that the post originally received. They will appear in no particular order, which means one day you might get a re-post from January 2011 and the next you might get one from July 2010. Gotta keep you guys on your toes.<br />
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Our first post is a blast way back from August 2010. It's a special post to me because it was the first time I met The Empress of <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/">The Ranter's Box</a> fame. She's my sister from another mister and I love her to pieces. Go check her out if you haven't already. It's a relatively short one since I've probably bored you enough for one post today.<br />
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And now our first Best of ABCM post:<br />
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<a href="http://globetrottier.com/"><img height="290" src="http://rickoshea.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/meat.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font: italic normal bold 18px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;">Fuck Meat Eaters</h3><div class="post-header" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-62353977791110503" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 408px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">I just read a post by my <a href="http://thebitchywaiter.blogspot.com/" style="text-decoration: none;">all-time favorite blogger</a>. Now just because he's my favorite doesn't mean I agree with everything he says. I'm not his fucking clone after all.<br />
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His post was about vegetarians. But not just about us, totally and completely trashing us. And his stalkers, um, followers just made the discussion even worse. There were racist comments, ignorant comments, dumb-as-fuck comments. It made me sick.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I know that there are A LOT of vegetarians and/or vegans who take that shit too far. I, however, am not one of them and I get sick and tired of defending my goddamn personal decision. Bitch, I didn't say your ass had to be a vegetarian; I said I'm a fucking vegetarian. If you want to eat a big ass pile of fucking meat, I don't give a shit. Knock yourself out. But don't fucking judge me because I choose not to.<br />
<br />
Stop being so fucking stupid. "Vegetarian" is not synonymous with "punching bag." Please stop saying stupid shit to me. No, dumb ass, plants do not have feelings, too. Yes, dumb ass, vegetarians do, in fact, give head and probably a helluva lot better than you because we know how to give pleasure as well as receive it.<br />
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This is the last time, the last <i>fucking</i> time, I will defend my personal decision to be a vegetarian. From this moment on, all you hypocritical assholes will get a kick in the nuts or a serious punch in the tits when you demand I defend my position. See, I really don't care whether animals are harmed or not.<br />
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BTW, fuck you.</span></div><br />
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<br />
Here's the only comment I received from that post:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Hi Mrs. Hyde! I found you through our favorite blogger The Bitchy Waiter. Like you I too am a vegetarian. That fucknugget who wrote those nasty racist comments on BW's vegetarian posts pissed my ass off. And I said so. I even wrote my own follow up blog post relating to being a vegetarian. ...You are funny and I look forward to reading more of your blog posts.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Have a great week, The Empress</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">http://rantersbox.blogspot.com</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Fucknugget...don't you just love her?</span></span>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-25624700774370113252011-06-20T10:14:00.000-04:002011-06-21T09:32:00.440-04:00The Vagina MonologueI know I'm supposed to be posting The Best of ABCM, but I have a funny, yet painful story to tell you. After you laugh your asses off at my expense today, you'll be happy I waited. To my male readers, I apologize in advance for the numerous vagina references that will ensue. Here's a <a href="http://www.pornhub.com/">link</a> to something you'd rather occupy your time with. Don't click it if you're at work. Or school. Or church. Or your kids are within fifty feet of your computer. You've been warned.<br />
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<a href="http://northsandiegobusiness.com/"><img src="http://www.northsandiegobusiness.com/wp-content/uploads/image/VDAY.gif" /></a><br />
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I hope I don't gross you out too much because this is a story about my recent, failed attempt at hair removal.<br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't like using razors because, as some of you know, the texture of a black person's hair makes shaving an almost painful venture. Add to that the fact that razor bumps look atrocious and I'm sure you see my point. I'm not a big fan of using clippers because you have to do it damn near everyday and it leaves a look that's similar to stubble. Also not attractive. Home waxing kits have a tendency to take off your skin. Ouch. So being gainfully unemployed and therefore unable to indulge in spa hair removal, I was down to my last option: depilatories. Yes, I tried to use Nair for my personal...um... landscaping.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I know you're laughing at my stupidity by now, but in my defense, the bottle said it was "safe for the bikini area." Who knew that crap was going to seep into my lady bits? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So there I was with Nair carefully placed along the perimeter of my hoo ha, Nair covering both of my hands because boy, can that shit get messy, and suddenly my clitoris was on fire. And <i>not</i> in a good way. It had taken me all of fifteen seconds to apply it and by second number sixteen, I felt like there was something eating through my skin. Turns out, that's exactly what was happening. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It took fifteen more seconds to get all the gunk off my hands and yet another fifteen to get it off my crotch. All total, the depilatory from hell was on my body for approximately forty-five seconds. In those forty-five painful seconds, it had broken my skin and left me bleeding and raw. I felt like a cat had clawed its way into my pants. And although there are long lines of people waiting to get into my pants, that's just not the way.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It took me <i>and</i> my friend, a Reiki II and a Reiki master respectively, to heal my aching lady parts. Truthfully, I probably could have done it myself, but there are some things with which you take no chances. Vaginas fit in that category. I could barely even walk on Saturday, but by Sunday morning, thanks to Reiki healing and a healthy dose of Percocet leftover from some surgery or another, I was 99% better. Today, I'm at 100 percent.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's times like this that I'm glad I don't have a job. How the hell do you call your supervisor and explain that you can't come to work because you burned your cooch?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I guess this means I have to go back to shaving. I know everyone is going to come on here and give me advice about the best razors and what not, and that's fine, but I think I've tried them all. Maybe I'll go all rogue hippie and just let it grow into a wild, wiry overgrown garden kinda thing. I do like gardens... </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">You can stop laughing at my dumb ass now. It was a momentary, albeit tortuous, lapse in intelligence. Okay, you don't have to stop. That shit is hilarious and even I know it. When I told a few of my friends, they were very sympathetic, but I know they were laughing inside. All except one friend who just laughed outright in my face. Bitch. That's one of the reasons I love her, though because I always know where she stands. Gotta love a bitch who will laugh in your face and not behind your back.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Tomorrow, for sure, I'll feature my best posts from this past year. You won't want to miss the bitching, the name-calling and the judgments that I've passed on people this year. I even called a woman the "c" word once, and I hate that word. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But that cunt deserved it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-52818197856640560912011-06-18T10:13:00.000-04:002011-06-21T09:30:53.906-04:00It's Time For a Quickie<div><a href="http://www.momlogic.com/"><img src="data:image/jpg;base64,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" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>I just had one, so since I know that many of you aren't getting it regularly either, I thought I'd share mine. You can thank me with cash. That would make me a blog whore, huh? Oh, well, it's better than giving it away for free.</div><div> </div>Jazz.<div><br />
<div>What is <i>that</i> about? </div><div><br />
</div><div>It's as difficult to navigate as Shakespearean poetry. It's akin to nails scratching a a chalkboard. In a word, annoying.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Whenever a man wants to impress a woman, he tells her he likes Jazz. I thought guys stopped doing that, but I swear, I heard a guy saying that to a blonde with big boobs just yesterday. Every time someone wants to seem "deep" or "mature," they proclaim to like Jazz.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Nobody likes Jazz.</div><div><br />
</div><div>That's the biggest crock of bullshit since Tom Cruise pretending to be in love with Katie Holmes so no one would know he was gay. Please. Jumping up and down on Oprah's couch. Who does that? He looked like a fucking idiot.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Straight guys were like, "Dude! Get your dumb ass off that couch and go to a gay bar or something."</div><div><br />
</div><div>Gay guys were like, "Don't send his jazzy ass over here. We don't fuck with him like that."</div><div><br />
</div><div>So yeah.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jazz. Tom Cruise. Bullshit. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Don't ask me why I keep fucking with Tom Cruise. Something about him just bothers me. Maybe it was how he was on TV telling women they shouldn't take medication for postpartum depression. Hey, asshole: no uterus, no fucking place in the conversation.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And yes, I realize that I've used the word 'fuck' a lot today, maybe even more than usual. Well...it's that kind of fucking day.</div><div><br />
</div><div>My one year anniversary is coming up soon, so stay tuned for The Best of ABCM. I've written some gems that many of you have yet to read. Needless to say, you're in for a treat.</div></div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-21426507907958060002011-06-12T23:12:00.001-04:002011-06-12T23:12:50.145-04:00Where Do You Think You Are? Walmart?I have good news and bad news. The good news is, I have another kick-ass guest post for you. The bad news is, it's the last one, so new blog posts on either of my blogs will be sporadic at best. You probably won't even notice seeing how blogger is screwing us all over anyway. You know what they say. You get what you pay for.<br />
<br />
My next, and final, guest blogger is Amanda from <a href="http://bitchinmommy.wordpress.com/">Bitchin Mommy</a>. Amanda just might be that <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/11/honestly.html">long lost sister</a> I told you about once. She likes to bitch about shit, too. Ergo, I fucking love her. Enjoy her post over here and then go to her blog and show her some love `a la A Bitch Called Mom. You know, bloggy style. Tell her I sent you 'cause I love when people do that shit.<br />
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<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.edrugsearch.com/edsblog/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/wal-mart-prescriptions-online-300x279.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.edrugsearch.com/edsblog/walmartpharmacies/&usg=__4LaZEIop5T2_vf79c0cS8UaEqDA=&h=279&w=300&sz=17&hl=en&start=36&zoom=1&tbnid=lcvbtNxkuygoMM:&tbnh=148&tbnw=159&ei=RH_1TZ2FMcHEgQevnNm8DQ&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dwalmart%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=131&vpy=256&dur=2828&hovh=216&hovw=233&tx=91&ty=95&page=3&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:12,s:36"><img src="http://www.edrugsearch.com/edsblog/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/wal-mart-prescriptions-online-300x279.jpg" /></a><br />
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<br />
<b>We Need a Clean-Up on Aisle U</b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7a7a7a; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Attention shoppers: Some of you are nasty asses.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7a7a7a; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"></span><br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I have worked in retail off and on since I was sixteen years-old. My first job was in softlines at the big, blue box. I worked in women’s and accessories. It sucked. A lot. This was before the 24-hour supercenter of today – which shows my age a bit. The store would close at 10:00 p.m. and we’d be lucky to get out of there by 11:30 p.m. due to “zoning” the store. Women’s always took the longest to straighten. We bitches can tear up a clothing rack. Would it kill us to put the sweater back where we got it, instead of tossing it on top of that pile of nicely folded shirts? Or hey girls, that’s a table of folded jeans, not a place to plant our ass. Nor a jungle gym for our monkey kids, for that matter.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">At my current retail job, we had a very busy weekend. We had a bagillion coupons out that were about to expire, so every penny-pinching cheapskate – I include myself in that group – came out in droves to get them some savings. There’s nothing worse than a cheap bitch in a clothing store. She is going to tear up everything in her path to find the one shirt, in her size, that will bring her total up to the spending minimum to use that coupon. Now, I understand the need to get the most for your money. I love the high you get when you walk out of a store with four bags of groceries for $14.00 because you took the time to match coupons with weekly sales. Yes, sadly, my life has become so dreadfully dull that couponing can be the highlight of my week. What I don’t understand is the total disregard for items that don’t belong to you and that you know someone else has to clean up after you. I think it’s only fair that, if I catch you tossing an entire table’s worth of folded shirts in the floor with no intention of picking them up, you should have to serve a “retail sentence” of sorts. The perfect sentence would be that you have to work the sales floor in a popular, women’s clothing store on Black Friday, the week before and the week after Christmas. You would never make a mess in a store again. I promise.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I’ll also let you in on another truth that we womenfolk like to pretend doesn’t happen: We DESTROY restrooms 100 times worse than men. It’s true. Even if your husband/boyfriend/son has the aim of Helen Keller in your bathroom, they are more sanitary than we are in public restrooms.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Men generally don’t give a shit (pun intended) who knows they are taking a shit. My husband loved to regale me with stories of the home office men’s rooms at lunchtime. God help you if you were foolish enough to try to talk on a cell phone in <em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">that</em> restroom. There was no buffering the, um, noise. Most women DO care if others know they are taking a shit. We will go to painstaking lengths to hide the fact we are engaging in a completely natural act. In doing so, we cause toilets to overflow due to too many “courtesy” flushes. We stop up toilets with toilet paper, somehow thinking that will mute the sounds coming from the bowl. Worse, we wait too long before going, praying we can finish shopping/working/whatever and make it home so we don’t have to go within earshot of other females. When it becomes futile to postpone the inevitable any longer, we rush to the restroom. Sometimes ladies, we don’t quite make it in time. I’ll let your imaginations work on that one a minute. And yes, it’s as bad as you imagine. Unless you have the pelvic floor and kegel muscles of a Yoga goddess, you shouldn’t try to prevent things from moving along. Go to the damn restroom. You’re never going to see those other bitches ever again anyway (unless it’s at work. Then you have to weigh if you would rather Tina in Accounting talk shit about you for taking a shit on the toilet OR taking a shit on the floor or yourself.) If you can’t bring yourself to shit in a public restroom, for Christ’s sake, don’t eat an entire Big Box meal from Taco Bell before going out knowing you have IBS.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If you thought the above paragraph was gross, don’t read this.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Why would I mention the sales floor and waste elimination in the same post? Wait for it………wait for it………Bam! Got it?</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">That’s right, girls. Some of our fellow bitches are so stubborn about not shitting in public restrooms, when they’ve waited too long and now CAN’T make it to the facilities in time, they go to first available private place. Yeah…..the fitting rooms. I’ll say it again. Instead of going to the restroom, like normal humans, some women defecate in the fitting rooms. And as an added bonus, usually on a pile of clothes. Double fun for those of us that have to clean it up. It’s not bad enough we have to pick up after you like we’re your mother on the sales floor. Now we have to literally clean up after your ass, too. Women have pee’d in the fitting rooms, as well. To that I’ll say, if you have an overactive bladder to the point you’ve taken to pissing in fitting rooms, you shouldn’t leave the house. At least not without a catheter. This isn’t a problem at my store alone. This happens at EVERY store. A word from this mutha: Don’t take off your shoes in a fitting room. Ever. EVER.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The moral of today’s story? Don’t drop clothes, or anything else, on the sales floor. Thank you for shopping. Have a nice day. :)</div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-73656825278364932422011-06-08T00:02:00.000-04:002011-06-21T11:29:16.989-04:00Study Break: Grade School LotharioThe rumors are true. I'm smokin' hot. I'm so hot, in fact, that even young guys want a piece of my a-...um...action. <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2011/04/whos-your-mama.html">Case in point</a>. I've been ogled, fondled, and inappropriately hugged all my life, so I'm used to it by now. Just don't rub your crotch against my ass on the dance floor because I will <i>never</i> get used to <i>that</i> bullshit. Most women, I dare say, have been accosted by a member of the male species at some point in her life. But you haven't been hit on, <i>really</i> hit on, until you've been hit on by a fourth grader.<br />
<br />
I shit you not.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://static.berceaumagique.com/photo/ea/b4/24662/400/2/bonnet-mini-don-juan-2.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.berceaumagique.com/produit_bulle-de-bb-bonnet-mini-don-juan_ELBONG02.html&usg=__OTlar2kls035LktgcSohwHmTNC8=&h=400&w=400&sz=37&hl=en&start=101&zoom=1&tbnid=2a4_KiixRzGIBM:&tbnh=149&tbnw=149&ei=tvLuTeDPOtDAgQfR_oCVDw&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dmini%2Bdon%2Bjuan%26hl%3Den%26gbv%3D2%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=291&vpy=174&dur=2986&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=146&ty=110&page=6&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:101" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="http://static.berceaumagique.com/photo/ea/b4/24662/400/2/bonnet-mini-don-juan-2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what came up when I googled 'mini Don Juan.' Adorable, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I was picking my daughter up from school the other day, minding my own business, which you know I always do, when this mini Don Juan started grinning at me. Being the <strike>bitch</strike> polite adult that I am, I warmly grinned back at him.<br />
<br />
Why the fuck did I do that?<br />
<br />
I basically gave DJ an open invitation to lay down his pint-sized mack. Here is a word-for-word transcription of the conversation that ensued.<br />
<br />
Again, I shit you not.<br />
<br />
Fourth Grade Romeo: I like your hair.<br />
Me: Thank you!<br />
Fourth Grade Romeo: You sure look beautiful today. (I'd never met this little boy before. At least I don't think so. Vodka tends to kill brain cells.)<br />
Me: Aw, how nice of you to say that. Thanks so much.<br />
FGR: What's your name?<br />
Me: Mrs. Hyde.<br />
FGR: My name's Romeo.<br />
Me: That's nice.<br />
FGR: Are you off work today?<br />
Me: Um...yeah. (What a strange question)<br />
FGR: Where do you work?<br />
Me: (stopping myself from explaining my work situation to a 10-year-old) Why?<br />
FGR: Well, I was thinking if you're a nurse or something and I break my arm, I could come to your job and you could fix it.<br />
Me: No, I'm not a nurse, you creepy, creepy little boy. (Where the hell is my daughter?)<br />
FGR: You wanna get out of here and go someplace private?<br />
<br />
Okay, so he didn't say that last line, but couldn't you see the conversation going in that direction? Just give him a few more years. He'll be the president of the Future Stalkers of America.<br />
<br />
That is all. Stop trying to prevent me from doing my paper that's due by the end of the week. I will not get caught up in long, hilarious conversations with you people. I'm on a mission here. Besides, I've been trying to post off and on for about a week, but blogger's being a little bitch.<br />
<br />
I've got one more guest post coming up soon, assuming I'll be allowed to post anything at all on here. Thanks again everyone for your patience while I'm pursuing my dreams!<br />
<br />
Love you!Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-18102100681046851232011-05-29T00:00:00.003-04:002011-05-29T00:00:01.616-04:00Kids Are Dumbasses, TooSince we're all missing Bruce during his hiatus, I thought I would put up his guest post next. For those who don't know, Bruce has four blogs that he writes. <a href="http://bruceejohnsonjadip.blogspot.com/">Four</a>. <a href="http://unfilteredstupidityabounds.blogspot.com/">Fucking</a>. <a href="http://dreamodeling.blogspot.com/">Blogs</a>. <a href="http://boyswillbemen.blogspot.com/">Man</a>. I'm still trying to keep up with my measly two and I'm not going through half the bullshit he is. Hang in there, Bruce. We love you and we're all pulling for you.<br />
<br />
I try to encourage everyone who guest posts to embrace their inner 'fuck.' People tend to look at you funny or gasp in horror when an F-bomb is dropped, so, of course, I try to drop them every chance I get. Bruce, however, is no stranger to 'fuck.' And since you read my blog on a regular basis, neither are you.<br />
<br />
How about a little Evil Twin to go with your hot dog and potato salad? Join Bruce and I as we 'fuck' our way through the holiday weekend.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You people are such perverts. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://assets.nydailynews.com/img/2011/02/10/420x316-alg_chris_lee2.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.nydailynews.com/topics/Vito%2BFossella&usg=__LWuM9_dQTEAPsvlFaSNOtHBV-WY=&h=316&w=420&sz=14&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=HW9SOQAc0sacjM:&tbnh=156&tbnw=259&ei=qrPhTY7RA4_AgQf-wsHOBg&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dpoliticians%2Bin%2Bcompromising%2Bpositions%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=724&vpy=259&dur=1760&hovh=195&hovw=259&tx=136&ty=82&page=1&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:9,s:0&biw=1366&bih=643"><img src="http://assets.nydailynews.com/img/2011/02/10/420x316-alg_chris_lee2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>hiya-</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i am evilbruce the evil twin of <a href="http://bruceejohnsonjadip.blogspot.com/">JADIP bruce</a></i><br />
<i>for those that do not know me, i use the word fuck.</i><br />
<i>alot.</i><br />
<i>and rant.</i><br />
<i>alot.</i><br />
<i>about what ever pisses me off.</i><br />
<i>but.</i><br />
<i>like i always say....</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>sooner or later i will piss you off... </i><br />
<i>consider this an apology in advance. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>no. </i><br />
<i>fuck that. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>get over it! </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i offer no apologies.</i><br />
<i>none.</i><br />
<i>this is my rant.</i><br />
<i>i will rant and you will listen...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.tripletsandus.com/disney/bambi/jpg/Disney-Bambi-birds.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.tripletsandus.com/disney/bambi.htm&h=722&w=558&sz=183&tbnid=7y_8-2jckKPqqM:&tbnh=255&tbnw=197&prev=/search%3Fq%3Ddisney%2Bbambi%2Bpictures%26tbm%3Disch%26tbo%3Du&zoom=1&q=disney+bambi+pictures&hl=en&usg=__MZyBTFT9n-8kikP9rWavwQsmR3k=&sa=X&ei=26TKTafYBcuXtweE_uHjBw&ved=0CC0Q9QEwAA">or go here.</a></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>oh and thank you to the most wonderful Mrs. Hyde for allowing me to come over here and fuck with your chi...whatthefuckever</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>on to the rant!</i></b></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i was wandering up and down the street the other day.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>you know, in a car.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>well, actually my truck.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>just. wasting. fuel.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>driving.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>cuz i am 'merican!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>fucking</i></b> driving.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>(the kids to the bus stop.</i><br />
<i>ya know 5 feet down the street.</i><br />
<i>in everytown USA.)</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>and thinking.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>a lot.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>a.fuck.of.a.lot!</i></b></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>shit that people are looking for and find my fucked up site, cuz they were looking for it these fucktards and i am making fun of them...</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>1. porn (why does porn not trend more?)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>2. stupid celebridicks (like the one that i do not mention)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>3. stupid celebrichicks (like the one that i do not mention)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>4. fuel prices, mortgage rates, and apple pie (well, not so fucking much on the apple pie</i></b><b><i>)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>5. some celebridick or celebrichick is (getting married, divorced, breaking up)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>6. famous person (dies)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>7. some disaster (</i></b><b><i>happen everyday)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>8. sports dingus (some overpaid athlete says/does some fucked up shit)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>9. health shit (there is always some new miracle drug...i prefer pot)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i>10. wild card (some days something really new and different happens...not fuckin likely)</i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i></i></b></i><br />
<i><b><i></i></b></i><br />
<i>what to write for Mrs Hyde?</i><br />
<i>could i write about the insurance and pharmaceutical clusterfuck and the reason that healthcare has</i><br />
<i>skyrocketed?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>oh simple, way to simple...greed.</i><br />
<i>no that will not do...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>what about?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>fucking fucktards</i></b> that have pissed me off?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>petulant little sniveling shits!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>this includes my overly pampered snot nosed kids.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>yes.</i><br />
<i>at times they have pissed me off.</i><br />
<i>to the point of killing them?</i><br />
<i>not quite.</i><br />
<i>not even close.</i><br />
<i>but they do piss me off.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>this post is not about my kids.</i><br />
<i>i can tell them what it think about them to their faces.</i><br />
<i>but not when i am pissed.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>nope.</i><br />
<i>i wait to calm down.</i><br />
<i>some times.</i><br />
<i>not always.</i><br />
<i>red hair.</i><br />
<i>a bit.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i am talking about the other peoples kids out there.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>yep.</i><br />
<i>the kids in question?</i><br />
<i>the dumbass little <i><b>shitdrippings</b></i> that walk in front of your car as you are driving down the road and flip you off?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>they piss me off...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>yep.</i><br />
<i>but not as much as the whiney <b><i>shitnosed little fucktards</i></b> that think life is so unfair.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>you know,</i><br />
<i>cuz they are driving a USED bmw...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i live in a well-to-do neighborhood...</i><br />
<i>we rent.</i><br />
<i>cuz the school system is good.</i><br />
<i>and cannot afford to buy and pay the taxes.</i><br />
<i>but that is another story for another day...</i><br />
<i>those taxes?</i><br />
<i>yes.</i><br />
<i>we still pay, in a way, by the inflated rent.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>but these irritants are just that...irritants...</i><br />
<i>like gnats.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>nope.</i><br />
<i>they are not my subjects today.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i am talking about the <b><i>kids</i></b> that run the fucked up bullshit we call...</i><br />
<i><i><b>the governmonster of the good old USofA.</b></i></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>wait? what?</i><br />
<i>they are not kids!</i><br />
<i>no?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>then stop! the! fuck! acting! like someone's<i><b> fuckedup</b></i> little child.</i><br />
<i>take responsibility for the position you were fucking voted into!</i><br />
<i>stop pointing fingers like a petulant <b><i>FUCKTARDED, BRAINDEADED</i></b> child.</i><br />
<i>stop acting like the neighborhood bully!</i><br />
<i>stop <b><i>fucking</i></b> stealing from the poor and giving to the rich!</i><br />
<i>stop your incessant vitriol laden <i><b>whinnyassed bullshit.</b></i></i><br />
<i><i><b></b></i></i><br />
<i><b><i></i></b></i><br />
<i><i><b>stop politics as usual </b></i></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>stop doing what is in your best interest.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>kids are selfish.</i><br />
<i>i understand that.</i><br />
<i>but they are kids.</i><br />
<i>that we mold.</i><br />
<i>into adulthood.</i><br />
<i>by teaching!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>but no!</i><br />
<i>all you prostiticians!</i><br />
<i>stop being part of the <b><i>fucktarded problem and become the fucking solution</i></b>!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>figures, tho.</i><br />
<i>these kids</i><br />
<i>they are all lawyers.</i><br />
<i>born from rich parents.</i><br />
<i>silverspoon and all in hand!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>born to argue</i><br />
<i>and prove points.</i><br />
<i>and talk in circles.</i><br />
<i>to confuse.</i><br />
<i>and divide.</i><br />
<i>and conquer.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>just like a couple little rich kids</i><br />
<i>trying to win mommy's and daddy's love.</i><br />
<i>and making the other sibling look bad.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>fucking SHAME ON YOU!</i></b></i><br />
<i>all of you.</i><br />
<i>there is not one of you worthy of holding my jockstrap.</i><br />
<i>let alone the future of my kids.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>grow the <b><i>fuck</i></b> up.</i><br />
<i>and do your job.</i><br />
<i>lead the <b><i>fucking</i></b> country!</i><br />
<i>stop the bickering like a couple <b><i>fucktarded children</i></b>.</i><br />
<i>mrs. red, mr. red</i><br />
<i>mr. blue, mrs. blue</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>red and blue together make purple.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>i love being purple.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>he said</i><br />
<i>she said</i><br />
<i>fuck you</i><br />
<i>bullshit!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>fuck you and your dirty little fucking agendas</i><br />
<i>for the people that bankrolled your bankstarded fuckeroo into fuckity fuck land.</i><br />
<i>where you instantly forget the reason you are there.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>to govern</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>of the people</i><br />
<i>for the people</i><br />
<i>and by the people...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>not of the unions.</i><br />
<i>not for the corporations.</i><br />
<i>and by the big businesses</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>for the common good.</i><br />
<i>not the wealthy good</i><br />
<i>not the moneygod.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>for us.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>the people that pay your <i><b>fucking</b></i> salary</i><br />
<i>and give you life-time bennies.</i><br />
<i>and retirement.</i><br />
<i>and luxury.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>while we lick the scraps of your pots</i><br />
<i>like a junkyard dog.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i></i></div><br />
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<i><b><i>fuck you</i></b>!</i></div><br />
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<i>cuz you have fucked me for the last time.</i></div><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b><i>fuck you</i></b>!</i><br />
<i>and the whores you rode in with...</i><br />
<i>your fucking rich agenda bedfellows.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>SHAME THE FUCK ON YOU!</b></i><br />
<i>children of a fucked up moneygod.</i><br />
<i>fuck you for all the reasons...</i><br />
<i>and more</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>the revolution is here.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>who will stand with me?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>till next time,</i><br />
<i>keep it stupid, simple</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>vote BET in 2012!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div><br />
</div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-35667749663811429042011-05-26T21:38:00.001-04:002011-05-27T17:10:57.813-04:00The Art of BitchdomToday I'm up to a bit of thievery. I'm stealing a post from my friend <a href="http://jumblemash.blogspot.com/">Jumble Mash</a>, but as it was a guest post I did for her, it may or may not actually count as larceny. I don't really care whether it does or not because my eyes hurt after staring at a computer screen for five straight hours.<br />
<br />
Yup, this is all the effort you get from me today...just enough to copy and paste. I'm sure there are a few readers that we don't share and, therefore, have not read this particular post before today. If you did read it a few months ago at Jumble Mash, just put on your best shit-eatin' grin and pretend like you didn't.<br />
<br />
Before my eyes completely disengage from my head, I will be popping over to catch up with as many of you as I can. Stay tuned for more guest posts coming both this week and next. Awesome stuff, folks. You won't want to miss it.<br />
<br />
Well...here ya go.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s417.photobucket.com/albums/pp255/FrauleinM/?action=view&current=Bitch_please.gif&sort=ascending"><img src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTen7ubr25Ql28c_xI1scE1MWW7aftCleywA4UcwCkPZ4IkfNgf0g" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Bitchin' ain't easy. You'd think it would be what with celebrities running around making it look like a piece of cake. Like Ellen Degeneres. Helping people and giving away prizes on fake game shows and dancing her skinny ass all over the place... What a bitch, right? It takes finely honed skill, nay, talent to perfect the art of bitchdom. I should know. I practice my craft every single day.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Just the other day, for example, I was in one of my "classes" (I parenthesize the word because I have no intention of telling you what kind of class it is. I can't have you all up in my business. I don't know you like that.) and the "teacher" was trying to recall a certain song that would go a long way toward helping her make her point. I thought I might know the song, as did several others, but none of us could think of the name. Except this one woman.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I want to interject that this woman is a psycho. Her very existence depends upon her getting married and having kids before she turns 40. <b>She'll be thirty-nine in a couple of weeks</b>. Needless to say, she drives me batshit crazy with her incessant whining about not having a man and not being married and not having kids. She asks everybody for advice and we all try to help her, but all she does is piss and moan some more. Maybe if she'd shut the fuck up for two seconds, she could get a man to do her. There are plenty of ways she could use her mouth to land herself a man and none of them involve whining. Just saying. Also, she doesn't listen and she always has to be right. Always.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Now for my part, I was going nuts trying to think of the name of this song. You know how you're trying to recall some tidbit of information, but it's playing hide and seek in the crumbling crevices of your rum-soaked brain? No? It's just me? Well, anyway, the teacher and I had already established that she and I were thinking of two completely different songs, but it was still driving me crazy trying to remember the name of my song, the one that was sitting on the tip of my tongue taunting me with its elusiveness.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Psycho Betty, not her real name, decided that the song we were both looking for was "The Climb" by Miley Cyrus. I said, "No, that's not the song I'm thinking of. The song I'm thinking of is sung by a dude."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>She says, "No, it's not. It's The Climb by Miley Cyrus." Wow! I didn't know that bitch could read minds. Even so, her skills are grossly underdeveloped because I hear a man's voice singing in my head. I think I know the difference between Miley Cyrus' <s>annoying</s> feminine twang and the smooth baritone of a man. I guess when you're single for as long as she's been, the lines between bass and soprano get blurred.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>By this time, I had completely given up on the teacher's song. I tried to relay this to Psycho Betty, but she didn't hear me. All she heard was her inner psycho telling her that she was correct. I went into the hall to call home and ask my ten-year-old if she could remember the song that was, at this point, about to cause either a psychotic break on my part or an early death on Psycho Betty's part. That's how much both the song and the bitch were getting on my nerves.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"'Live Like We're Dying' by Kris Allen," my brilliant daughter says.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Yes! I can relax now.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Not quite.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Psycho Betty insists, "Mrs. Hyde, the song you're looking for is The Climb by Miley Cyrus."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I lost it. "That's not the fucking song, you neurotic moron! If you say "The Climb" one more time, my foot is going to climb right up your ass." The whole class went silent, even Betty and the teacher. Oops. Let that be a lesson to all you Psycho Bettys out there: just shut the hell up and listen sometimes.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I didn't mean to go off on Betty. I actually like her and I did apologize to her later. I normally try to restrain my bitchdom in public. But sometimes...every now and then when the psychos threaten your sanity, you just gotta let that Bitch roam free.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I love you guys! Thanks for hanging in there with me!Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-73387161099499024722011-05-18T17:10:00.000-04:002011-05-18T17:11:29.123-04:00Slut stigma<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://u1.ipernity.com/4/27/46/1522746.a418a0ac.560.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.ipernity.com/doc/hannes/1522746&usg=__becVTlVaAWnN_v3gbSlb5laJdzU=&h=381&w=560&sz=80&hl=en&start=21&zoom=1&tbnid=ArDaNEmSdBPkBM:&tbnh=144&tbnw=182&ei=DTXUTcvEGamQ0QHIurzeCw&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dslut%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch0%2C700&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=576&vpy=261&dur=1417&hovh=185&hovw=272&tx=159&ty=99&sqi=2&page=2&ndsp=23&ved=1t:429,r:18,s:21&biw=1366&bih=643"><img height="272" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/4/27/46/1522746.a418a0ac.560.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone knows how much I love to talk about <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/12/sick-bed-sex-ed.html">sex</a>. Truth be told, I talk about it way more than I actually engage in it. Which sucks. Big time.</span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But enough about my stagnant love life... One of my very dear bloggy friends, Holly over at <a href="http://hollypelesky.blogspot.com/">Bitchin'... But Not A Bitch</a>, has graced me with the pleasure of a guest post. Her post is about America's favorite past time. Baseball, you say? I think not. Today, we're talking about sex. More specifically, all the sex people assume you're having once the hymen is breached. Crude, I know, but let's remember whose blog you're on.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Holly's blog, I think, has accomplished something on one blog that I need two blogs to do: she has blended a mixture of warmth and wisdom with a little touch of bitch thrown in for good measure. Please stop by her blog and tell her the Bitch sent you. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now that all the niceties are out of the way, bloggers and blogettes, I give you <a href="http://hollypelesky.blogspot.com/">Holly</a>...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;">Post-baby and pre-marriage, a stigma follows you, telling people you're a slut. It might be true, or it might not; but the cat is out of the bag regarding your virginity. And not being a virgin is all it takes to become a slut.<br />
<br />
Before the stitches had even dissolved, men were trying to have sex with me. But not really trying, because they didn't think they had to, so more just making lewd comments and inviting me into their bed or futon in their apartment or van, depending on their degree of creepy.<br />
<br />
This is one such story.<br />
<br />
I worked at the Olive Garden: a breeding ground for single people of all ages who like to fool around with their co-workers (I didn't know that when I took the job [or I would have offered to waitress for free]). One of the joys of working in a restaurant is never having a set schedule, but being at their beck and call for every lunch and every dinner. So it was one of these days when I was working a double (knowing Ms. Hyde's readers must be bright to keep up with her sharp wit, I will not explain the obviousness of this term) that a co-worker approached me about hanging out with me between meals. He had some </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">innocuous one syllable name, like Ron or Rob - either of which he was too young for. He wasn't particularly attractive (balding but not quite bald - and still at that awkward length where he isn't sure if he's going to grow it into a comb-over or shave it off completely). These factors considered, I should have told him to fuck off. But I mistook his patheticness for harmlessness. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">So I drove him back to my place (he didn't have a car - see previous sentences). I had no intention of even saying his god-awful name, let alone fooling around with him. So I went about my daily chores - like feeding my puppy in an upside-down frisbee since I had spent all my money boozing. It was while I was putting the Kibbles back under the sink that Ro(b/n) called out from my bedroom. I turned around (it was a tiny one-bedroom apartment and you could see the entire place from the kitchen) to see his blue sailboat boxers around his ankles. And that's when he said it:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
"Are we going to have sex or what?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
<br />
I went for the "or what" and drove him back to the OG in what has to have been the most awkward 3.1 miles of all time.<br />
<br />
The next day, neither Rob nor Ron reported for his scheduled shift.<br />
<br />
I have never seen him since. And in all these days since, I have never lost a moment of sleep about the one that got away.<br />
<br />
But I'm sure he has. I have that affect on pathetic people.<br />
<br />
Let this be a lesson to you men: if you want to wow a girl, get a car.<br />
And more than that, wait to drop trou until she wants to see what you've got underneath.<br />
Yeah, the second one is more important. Unless she's a gold-digger.</span></span>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-5465055277976898372011-05-14T12:09:00.001-04:002011-05-14T23:24:58.314-04:00Sexy Vamp<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://worldofblackheroes.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/top-10-sexy-vampires_5.jpg&imgrefurl=http://worldofblackheroes.wordpress.com/category/black-supervillains/&usg=__uAi-cR_rZbTXgM6mPpdFTUoRQhM=&h=300&w=300&sz=21&hl=en&start=49&zoom=1&tbnid=h_PaS0a3Bi4cIM:&tbnh=149&tbnw=146&ei=3qXOTfrWNYL2gAfmo5W9DA&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dsexy%2Bblack%2Bvampire%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch0%2C900&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=557&vpy=235&dur=7393&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=114&ty=132&page=3&ndsp=24&ved=1t:429,r:3,s:49&biw=1366&bih=643"><img src="http://worldofblackheroes.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/top-10-sexy-vampires_5.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I have a few hours to kill (ha!), so I thought I'd type up a post on my favorite subject (besides dumbasses, that is): me. I know what you're saying. Bitch, you always talk about yourself. What else is new? It's true, but I want to talk about something that will really clue you in as to the magnificence that is me.<br />
<br />
Some of you know that I recently <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/2011/05/naturally-beautiful.html">cut off all my hair and went "natural."</a> To the clueless few of you who don't know what "went natural" means, I stopped relaxing my hair. This is a far bigger deal than you think, both the haircut and the lack of a relaxer.<br />
<br />
Hair is a big part of what makes a woman feel special and/or beautiful. For at least the last 15 years of my life, I've worn <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2011/04/shameless.html">my hair</a> long and luxurious. It was instrumental in the creation of my sexy bitchitude and the main thing holding it together. I don't really know who I am without my hair. When I made the decision to cut off all my hair and never (well, maybe not <i>never</i>) relax it again, I was worried about how my self-image would change.<br />
<br />
I cut it off and the first thing I felt was...<br />
<br />
<br />
Wait for it...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fat.<br />
<br />
Nothing like extremely short hair to accentuate the bigness of your ass. Already having struggled with weight issues since giving birth almost 17 years ago, I was none too please about having my extra poundage so clearly...<i>defined</i>. I decided to shrug it off, hit the track, and significantly decrease my chocolate intake.<br />
<br />
So as I sit here munching on a chocolate bar, licking its melty goodness from my fingers between keystrokes, I'm almost giddy to tell you about an experience I had yesterday, big ass and all.<br />
<br />
I had to get a much needed oil change for the minivan that certain of my blog friends who shall remain nameless seem to despise. (Rhymes with The Pimptress) Realizing that it had been eight months since the van had had one (don't tell hubby), I hightailed to the cheapest oil and lube shop to get 'r done.<br />
<br />
As I pulled up, I noticed that one of the mechanic or technicians or whatever the hell they're called followed me with his eyes from the moment I drove up, watched me get out of my car, and never took his eyes off me until I walked inside the building and up to the counter where he stood.<br />
<br />
During this eye bath, I became self-conscious. I looked over my modest clothing to see if I had inadvertently spilled something on my shirt. My boobs tend to be food magnets; their favorites being mustard, spaghetti sauce and red wine. But no, he couldn't have seen that while I was still in the car...could he? As my muffin top was securely jammed into my jeans, I knew he wasn't staring at that particular "problem area." I had already done the cursory makeup and hair check before I exited the van, so I was good there. Finally, I said to myself, "fuck it" and went about the business I had come for.<br />
<br />
When I walked up to the counter, I immediately noticed that the guy's breathing increased. I only noticed this because for the past week, I've been reading this vampire series and vamps can, apparently, notice subtle changes in things like that. Call me a wannabe, but that shit has me fascinated to the point that I've been acting like a vamp ever since I started reading the books: watching how people breathe, noticing smells and other things I wouldn't normally notice, biting people. Don't judge me. Last month I was acting like a werewolf. Okay, you can judge me. A little.<br />
<br />
Thinking it was curious that he was suddenly breathing a lot heavier than he had been a few seconds ago, I proceeded to tell him what I was there for. He asked me a question, but he spoke so softly that I didn't understand what he'd asked. He cleared his throat, mentally strengthened his resolve, increased the volume of his voice and asked again. I gave him all the info he needed, then took a seat to wait.<br />
<br />
Ten minutes later, he came back to report on what the dude under my car found, and he kept tripping over his words. "Mrs. Hyde, um, my guy said you have two tucked up fliers, I mean fucked up tires, I mean...DAMN...I shouldn'ta said that. Um...(chuckle) I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me...He said your tront fliers...UGH!...your FRONT TIRES are bad and you need to change them soon (mumbles something unintelligible under his breathe). You want us to undress them CHANGE them or are you, um, good?"<br />
<br />
So...I sat there, brow furrowed, trying to figure out if the guy was having some sort of breakdown and if so, should I grab my shit and leave or call 911 and <i>then</i> grab my shit and leave? Even better, I should grab my shit and leave, and call 911 from the comfort and safety of my home. Swallowing hard, I informed him that I would tell hubby about the tires, I just needed his flustered ass to get my oil changed. I'll let you imagine the conversation about whether I wanted the regular or the premium oil change.<br />
<br />
See how I casually threw in the fact that I have a husband? He was starting to freak me out and my vamp senses were telling me to get the fuck outta there. But, bad ass bloodsucker that I am, I stayed.<br />
<br />
Fifteen more minutes later, this was now officially the longest fucking oil change I'd ever had considering there was no one before me. Urkel told me my car was ready. I walked over to him to pay for my services and he started breathing heavy again. I eyed him cautiously as I removed my credit card from my wallet and tossed it on the counter so as not to touch his creepy ass hands. He ripped the paper off the printer thing, picked up a pen so that I could sign the invoice thingy, and promptly lost control of the pen. It flew in the air, did a few somersaults, and came down <i>millimeters</i> from my face. Urkel damn near killed himself trying to apologize.<br />
<br />
What did I do?<br />
<br />
I grabbed my shit and left...<i>fast</i>.<br />
<br />
I came to the conclusion, as I ran scared from the Oil and Lube, that I made Urkel nervous. I guess this means short hair or long, fat ass or no, I've still...got it? I don't know if I want it that fucking badly. If I wasn't so freaked out, I might have gotten my oil change and new tires for free. Oh well, live and learn. Right?<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll post a pic after I put a couple layers of makeup and shit on my face. Maybe not. Don't know if I'm ready for the whole world to see my new look.<br />
<br />
Thanks, you guys, for hanging in there with me during my <strike>procrastination</strike> studies. I have a few more guest posts coming up in the next couple of weeks. I'm going to try and alternate between my personal posts and my guest posts just so you won't forget me. No promises, though. Please come back and support my guests.<br />
<br />
Love you!Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-34881903062772430482011-05-10T11:01:00.001-04:002011-05-18T17:11:47.786-04:00Hug you, Asshole!Wow.<br />
<br />
We're ten days into May and I haven't had time to post anything on this blog. That's just wrong. Oh, I've had plenty to bitch about, like the dumbass who almost ran into my van and had the <i>nerve</i> to yell at me from his speeding car. Or my seventeen-year-old playing hooky, telling me she didn't, and sticking with the lie long after it was apparent that I had proof that she did it. Teenagers are so stupid. I hate them. All of them. Yours, mine, the Pope's. All. Of. Them.<br />
<br />
Excuse me while I call President Obama and find out how I can arrange one of those convenient burials at sea.<br />
<br />
I want to thank those that offered to do a guest post for me. I want to send a special thanks to those who actually sent guest posts. Thank you so much for enabling my need to ignore my readers at this busy time in my life. Bartender! <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/10/ode-to-one-i-love.html">Cuervo</a> for all!<br />
<br />
Before I present the first guest post by that awesome Aussie, <a href="http://just-tish.blogspot.com/">Mynx</a>, I want to post some of the homeless tweets that were submitted in the comments of the last blog. This is probably grossly un-PC of me, but I adored the homeless tweets. I'm not exactly sure what that says about me, but there you go.<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://dontmakeitlikeimdumb.blogspot.com/">Annabelle</a>: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">New Fridge box WOOT! Party at my corner. Bring your own sterno.</span><br />
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From <a href="http://muse-on-fire.blogspot.com/">Lovkyne</a>: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">to the person who stole my water while i slept: i've been constipated for days and mixed my laxatives in there.</span><br />
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From <a href="http://alotoflayers.blogspot.com/">The Onion</a>: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">@smellsUNLIKEteenspirit don't go with the chinese food behind Lings. Too much fire, gave me the runs, TP?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://bitchinmommy.wordpress.com/">AmandaO</a> submitted these gems: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">@BoxCarWillie Hey man, left my jar at your box behind the station. Don't open it - those ain't pickles....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">@ the subway trynn 2 hustle sum nickls. im sooooo booarrredddd txt me:)</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cbcbcb;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And my absolute favorite from <a href="http://thingsiliketoeatandothernonsense.blogspot.com/">You're Lucky I Don't Have A Gun</a>:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">@maninthemirror look at me like that one more time and i'm going to punch you in the fucking face.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
What? Did you think I was going to take the heat for ragging on the technologically advanced homeless all by myself? Um...hell no.<br />
<br />
For those who don't know my first guest poster, Mynx, she is the awesome Aussie author of two blogs. (Bow before my kick ass alliteration skills.) <a href="http://just-tish.blogspot.com/">Dribble... </a>is her journal. "I don't know where this is going," Mynx says. "But you are welcome to join me for the ride." If you want to take a ride of a whole 'nother kind, stop over to her naughty blog <a href="http://mynxxx.blogspot.com/">Simple Pleasures</a> and prepare to be...stimulated.<br />
<br />
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mynx. Bow chicka wow wow...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.chacocanyon.com/images/hug-free-zone.gif&imgrefurl=http://www.chacocanyon.com/pointlookout/100512.shtml&usg=__0liBCqIqL2-EfzRSJxcy6T94VlA=&h=239&w=220&sz=8&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=BuOe8IAiNmIvUM:&tbnh=148&tbnw=136&ei=LVLJTcqvJcfXgQebmcXZBw&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dunwanted%2Bhugs%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=654&page=1&ndsp=19&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0&tx=72&ty=81"><img src="http://www.chacocanyon.com/images/hug-free-zone.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am thrilled to have the opportunity to guest again here on “A Bitch Called Mum”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have partied here before, when Mrs Hyde gave me the opportunity to release my inner “fuck” and tell a story all about how I surprised everybody on the Kindy Committee with my ability to not only say it loudly but multiple times.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The post below doesn’t use the fabulous Fbomb but was written when I was feeling rather fierce.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For those that know me, know I often sign off comments and posts with an affectionate “hugs”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One time, a male blogger (who I am no longer in contact with) struck up an email friendship with me which soon become obvious he was hoping for a bit more “Naughty Mynx” than the regular everyday Mynx from Dribble. (So not interested in that stuff)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He followed my blog and I started following his. And commenting. And the rest as you say is history...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You might consider this to be an overreaction, perhaps, but considering his attitude (and the way he kept hitting on me), I think his wife was probably right to be a little suspicious of him...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">December 21st 2010</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have been chewing on this all day and I think it is time to spit it out. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The other day I left a comment on another blog that was basically "get well soon, Hugs". Now the blogger happens to be male and also had spent the weekend suffering from food poisoning and was apparently rather unwell. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now this morning, I woke up to an email asking me (very nicely) to "be careful" what I wrote in the comments on his blog as he found it tricky to explain to his wife why I sent "hugs". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now those that have been following me for a while would know that I often send hugs. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes I even send kisses....to men even. And if you get hugs and kisses WOW. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That is me. I do that. Deal with it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So being me I decided that the best thing to do would be to prepare a form letter for use in future, should I slip up and leave hugs where I shouldn't.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As with form letters, just print and delete unnecessary words.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dear wife/ husband/ girlfriend/ boyfriend/ significant other/ sex slave/ doormat</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It has been brought to my attention that you are concerned/ upset/ jealous/ miffed/ peeved/ curious/ about the fact that I left hugs/ kisses/ smooches/ death threats/ lace underwear/ chocolate cake on your husband/wife/boyfriend/ girlfriend/ partner in life/ master/ housekeepers blog.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Please be reassured that I have no intention of </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1/ Flying ..................(insert distance) to have a mad passionate affair</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2/ Driving..................(insert distance) to have a mad passionate affair</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3/ Walking................(insert distance) to have a mad passionate affair</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In fact, I am too bloody tired to have a mad passionate affair with the man already in my bed so why the hell would I want one with ..................................?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just because I write stories of a rather naughty nature and my profile pic focuses on my luscious /delightful/ glorious cleavage/smile/wineglass, doesn't mean I am looking to jump the bones of anybody other than my sexy husband.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Please accept that if ................................. blogs that they are sick /dying /in debt to the tax man / just ran over their dog /got yelled at by you, I am most likely to offer sympathy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Standard sympathy includes virtual hugs. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hugs/ Smooches/ Love/ Kisses/ regards/ Happy Holidays/ yours sincerely</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mynx xxxxxx (delete if considered offensive)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The blog world is the only part of my life where I don't have to deal with people telling me what I can and can't do. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have enough bullshit in my real life. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Don't like my comments, delete them. I am a big girl, I will survive.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just don't try to tell me how to write them. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It only pisses me off.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Whew! Remind me not to get on Mynx's bad side.</span>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-57661638995504742352011-04-18T02:35:00.000-04:002011-04-18T02:35:48.880-04:00ABCM QuickieNot the fun kind of quickie, but just like the fun kind, there's no time for foreplay. Just some brief albeit semi-interesting bullshit. I feel like there should be a comma in that last sentence, but it's 2 AM right now and it's hard to give a crap at 2 AM.<br />
<br />
Question for you:<br />
<br />
What do people do when they have no job, no prospects, and a reserve of skills that mean jackshit? Why, go back to school, of course!<br />
<br />
Yes, you read me right. I'm doing what I have sworn for nearly two decades that I wouldn't do even if someone paid me.<br />
<br />
I swore that if Maxwell (pre-haircut)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.musingsfromamadmozart.com/storage/maxwell.jpg%3F__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION%3D1253416954930&imgrefurl=http://www.musingsfromamadmozart.com/main/tag/maxwell&usg=__2kbi7DWX7LkAWmQL_gF0PZ3GrEU=&h=296&w=300&sz=21&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=1NwTj3t_3ENhbM:&tbnh=141&tbnw=141&ei=XMmrTYrPBJT2gAeeuIT0BQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmaxwell%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=1099&vpy=280&dur=3085&hovh=223&hovw=226&tx=152&ty=124&oei=O8mrTeDiD4bpgQeKm-XqCA&page=1&ndsp=24&ved=1t:429,r:15,s:0"><img src="http://www.musingsfromamadmozart.com/storage/maxwell.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1253416954930" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.musingsfromamadmozart.com/storage/maxwell.jpg%3F__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION%3D1253416954930&imgrefurl=http://www.musingsfromamadmozart.com/main/tag/maxwell&usg=__2kbi7DWX7LkAWmQL_gF0PZ3GrEU=&h=296&w=300&sz=21&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=1NwTj3t_3ENhbM:&tbnh=141&tbnw=141&ei=XMmrTYrPBJT2gAeeuIT0BQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmaxwell%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=1099&vpy=280&dur=3085&hovh=223&hovw=226&tx=152&ty=124&oei=O8mrTeDiD4bpgQeKm-XqCA&page=1&ndsp=24&ved=1t:429,r:15,s:0"></a>was the professor and Boris Kodjoe<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.deadline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/boris-kodjoe-picture_20110319055755.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.deadline.com/2011/03/boris-kodjoe-tom-arnold-and-lenny-clarke-join-pilots/&usg=__7sJlNjfU-EFKzAxiGhyE5A3lJNI=&h=445&w=318&sz=35&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=VQctnimWZEI0TM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=102&ei=uMmrTevDFM6dgQfW57TzBQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dboris%2Bkodjoe%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=353&vpy=97&dur=1247&hovh=266&hovw=190&tx=92&ty=128&oei=p8mrTfr-M4begQfcyYz-CA&page=1&ndsp=27&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0"><img src="http://www.deadline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/boris-kodjoe-picture_20110319055755.jpg" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.deadline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/boris-kodjoe-picture_20110319055755.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.deadline.com/2011/03/boris-kodjoe-tom-arnold-and-lenny-clarke-join-pilots/&usg=__7sJlNjfU-EFKzAxiGhyE5A3lJNI=&h=445&w=318&sz=35&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=VQctnimWZEI0TM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=102&ei=uMmrTevDFM6dgQfW57TzBQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dboris%2Bkodjoe%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=353&vpy=97&dur=1247&hovh=266&hovw=190&tx=92&ty=128&oei=p8mrTfr-M4begQfcyYz-CA&page=1&ndsp=27&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0"></a>was my own personal, sexy, muscular lecture hall chair (I think my friend <a href="http://soapboxvirtual.blogspot.com/">On My Soapbox</a> would call that a seat wiener), you <i>still</i> couldn't get my ass into a classroom again.<br />
<br />
Well, I've enrolled in an accelerated Ph.D program and I haven't seen hide nor hair of Maxwell or Boris. I feel so betrayed. Now, I don't know who the hell made me think that I could take an accelerated <i>anything</i> after 17 years of absolutely no formal education, but whoever it was did a bang-up job.<br />
<br />
So, I came to let you know that I have a new, legitimate reason for not blogging regularly. I will try, between three hour lectures, endless research, and daily assignments where I must write 7- 15 essays, to come on here and complain about shit and comment on your blogs. I suspect, though, that I will have a limited amount of vocabulary left after I've poured it all into 7 - 15 fucking essays per day. That may be a bit of an exaggeration. The dude gives us 7 -15 questions and we must answer each with a thorough 1-2 paragraphs. Yup, smells like essays to me.<br />
<br />
I hope professors aren't still uptight, sexually repressed bastards and bitches. My knees aren't as strong as they once were.<br />
<br />
Before I lost my mind, I submitted a guest post to <a href="http://jumblemash.blogspot.com/">Jumble Mash</a> because she's really busy at work right now. That post is scheduled to appear on her blog on Tuesday. Consider that my second and final post for this week, so after you stop by her place, come over here and show an absent, stressed-out bitch some love, will you?<br />
<br />
My fried brain and I thank you.<br />
<br />
And if any of you would like to guest post for little old <i>me</i>, shoot me an email. Just ask <a href="http://just-tish.blogspot.com/">Mynx</a> how much fun it is to be my <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/12/fuck.html">guest</a>.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying Jumble Mash owes me a favor or anything...<br />
<br />
Oh, and would somebody do me a solid and run over to <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/">The Well-Fed Spirit</a> and tell the zen bitch and her followers that we're gonna be busy for awhile?<br />
<br />
I've got mad love for all my loyal <s>subjects</s> readers. Thanks for your continued readership, support, awards, and patience. When I've completed this program, you're all entitled to either one free counseling session or one free e-download of my book.<br />
<br />
Of course, I mean a five minute trial session or the ten-page e-book sample.<br />
<br />
You're welcome.Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-81105638049886611512011-04-07T11:07:00.000-04:002011-04-07T16:52:12.917-04:00Who's Your Mama?<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41LRxNxXm3L._SL500_AA300_.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Ceramic-Figurines-Multicolor-CBK/dp/B001AMSLEY&usg=__EqckLBP6TwsOGJ-1yiuaSq4Eyu4=&h=300&w=300&sz=10&hl=en&start=180&zoom=1&tbnid=h9crHyrCyyxMJM:&tbnh=149&tbnw=225&ei=29CdTY-QFYbVgQf31oHHBA&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dfat%2Bchickens%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26tbm%3Disch0%2C4900&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=1107&vpy=195&dur=5100&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=120&ty=102&oei=gtCdTZmOK-SV0QGl0uW_BA&page=10&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:17,s:180&biw=1366&bih=643"><img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41LRxNxXm3L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
The following is a paid advertisement from Sit On Your Fat Ass Productions and does not necessarily represent the views of Mrs. Hyde, A Bitch Called Mom, or <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/">The Well-Fed Spirit</a>.<br />
<br />
Just kidding. The last time I had ads on my blog, I only had about 20 followers. Took the ads off, now almost 200. So...the ads stay gone.<br />
<br />
What I really want to do is tell you about a conversation I had yesterday in a parking lot.<br />
<br />
Apparently, I have a face that says, "Please bore me with your mindless, personal bullshit" because strangers are always coming up to me and telling me all their personal business. Once a lady, in the same parking lot now that I think of it, just started telling me about her illnesses and all the medication she had to take but couldn't afford. She started crying, bawling actually, and people were looking at me like I had done something to her. I would have given her a hug, but...I didn't know that bitch. I didn't know what kind of germs and shit she had. I mean, she said she was sick, right? So I gave her two dollars to put toward her next crack hit and hightailed it the fuck outta there.<br />
<br />
In our area we have what might be called a super shopping center. Nobody really calls it that. I'm just making this shit up as I go along, but roll with it. In this super shopping center there is a Walmart/Sam's Club/Home Depot Complex, several smaller stores and restaurants, and my favorite store<a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2010/11/some-of-my-best-friends-are-white.html"> Aldi</a>. Directly on the backside of this complex, the <i>ass</i> if you will, there are even more stores including, Giant, Marshall's, Dollar Tree, etc. I count at least 24 additional businesses that I haven't named. Needless to say, I <i>live</i> in this shopping center.<br />
<br />
Back to the conversation. Let me set the scene for you:<br />
<br />
Approximately 1:00 PM on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. The temperature was about 60 degrees, but as it was not that warm when I initially left the house, I was wearing a <s>whole sheep</s> heavy cardigan sweater.<br />
<br />
I had just left Sam's Club and was in the parking lot placing my 17-pack of bread in the trunk of my van. The minuscule amount of exercise it took for me to walk from the store to my van with all that bread was enough to encourage a hot flash. I opened the driver's side door and proceeded to remove the five pounds of sheep's ass from my back and toss it into the passenger seat.<br />
<br />
As I did this, a young man, a baby really, happened by. And so the following insane conversation ensued.<br />
<br />
Man Baby: Damn! Who knew you were hiding all that under that sweater?<br />
Me: Are you calling me fat?<br />
Man baby: Naw, Ma. I'm saying, you looking good. (the preceding comma was not a mistake. 'I'm saying' is an expression all its own)<br />
Me: Do I look like your mama?<br />
Man Baby (laughing his ass off at the hot old lady): You damn sure don't look like <i>my</i> mama. That's just something young guys say to women who look good to them. Like 'baby,' but less offensive.<br />
Me: You think it's <i>less</i> offensive to call me 'Ma' than it is to call me 'baby?' Of all the things I need, one more person calling me 'Ma' ain't one of them.<br />
MB: I thought older women didn't like to be called 'baby.'<br />
Me: So now I'm old?<br />
MB (fidgeting nervously and wishing he had just admired my ass and boobs from a distance): No, um, you're not old, just older than me. A little. I think. Look, I was just trying to give you a compliment. I saw you standing there and when you took off your sweater, I saw your body and I was like 'wow.' I just wanted to tell you how good you looked.<br />
Me: Actually, you were like 'damn', but whatever. What do you like about it?<br />
MB: Huh?<br />
Me: My body. What do you like about it?<br />
MB: Um, your um...the whole thing.<br />
Me: Do you like my ass?<br />
MB (sweating bullets): Yeah. It's...it's nice.<br />
Me: Good. I was wondering if the injections were working or not.<br />
MB: Injections?<br />
Me: Yeah. I get chicken hormones injected into my ass once a week.<br />
MB: Why the hell you do that, Ma?<br />
Me (giving him the evil eye): Because not all black women were born with Beyonce booties. Besides, have you <i>seen</i> the asses on those Purdue chickens?<br />
MB: .......<br />
Me: What? You never heard of that? How do you think Kim Kardashian's ass got so big? The only downside is that you have to keep getting the injections because the hormones don't last long. Think about it: every time you see Kim K, her ass is a different size. That's cause she's in various stages of chicken ass withdrawal.<br />
MB: ......<br />
Me: What I really hate are the side effects. You see this? (I show him a gray hair on my chin) It looks like a hair, but it's really a feather. They grow everywhere that hair grows. EVERYWHERE.<br />
MB: Yeah...I'ma...um...it was nice...yeah. (He starts walking real fast toward Walmart)<br />
Me: Hey! Are you all right? You don't look so good. Watch out for that truck!<br />
<br />
That'll teach him to call me an old fat mama.<br />
<br />
What?<br />
<br />
I'm was merely preparing the lad for his future relationships. Because when you accost women in the parking lot of the Walmart/Sam's/Home Depot complex, all you'll get is crazy.<br />
<br />
Okay, this didn't really happen. When he doled out his initial 'compliment,' I grinned politely, got in my van, and drove away.<br />
<br />
But now you understand the craziness that goes on in my head.<br />
<br />
I told you it was scary.Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-56260684880775318102011-04-04T00:00:00.015-04:002011-04-04T00:00:05.541-04:00There's Bullshit AfootThey say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. You know who said that? Some bitch who steals people's shit.<br />
<br />
I realize that I am the most creative bitch the internet has seen in awhile. I know. But just because I've got ideas spewing from my every orifice doesn't mean that you can take your pick of them without giving me at least a cursory backlink on your blog when you take my idea and do a whole fucking post on it like it was YOUR idea.<br />
<br />
For example, last week on Facebook, my friend <a href="http://www.micaelchadwick.com/">Micael Chadwick</a> had this to say: "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;">If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, why does my soul want to scream with every fiber of its being: 'GET YOUR OWN FUCKING IDEAS!!!!'"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I read this I yelled at my computer screen, "I know, right!" It reminded me of a time when I did a blog post that I will not mention and then a reader did a similar post shortly thereafter and didn't even bother to mention where their brilliant post idea came from. I immediately thought of writing this post, but then life and its incessant bullshit happened, so I said fuck it. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But then...<i>then...</i> it happened again. Now I'm calling bullshit.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.find-me-a-gift.co.uk/images/product_images/bullshit1_1_.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.find-me-a-gift.co.uk/bullshit-button.html&usg=__MMmcXlRCFPTwGiiJn86PwEdwe7Y=&h=300&w=300&sz=38&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=_gbn1TY1kye9wM:&tbnh=152&tbnw=151&ei=SkGXTfLVLMGtgQetzeTOCA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dbullshit%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=675&vpy=86&dur=1937&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=128&ty=137&oei=GUGXTYyANoLPgAeSnfW7CA&page=1&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:3,s:0"><img height="200" src="http://www.find-me-a-gift.co.uk/images/product_images/bullshit1_1_.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Maybe you don't know that it's bad manners and all sorts of fucking assholeness to take a fellow writer's idea and pass it off as your own. It is. I know how hard it is to come up with fresh ideas all the time to entertain your readers. That's why my ass isn't on here everyday wowing you with my brilliance. I'd love to, but some of the shit that goes on in my brain should actually stay there. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This, however, is <i>not</i> one of those things.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Every time I read an article or blog post that sparks an idea for my own genius, I make it a point to mention from whence that genius came. I expect the same respect <i>especially</i> if you have the nerve to call yourself my loyal reader, or worse, my friend.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Let me be clear about what I mean. I do a blog post about, say, cute kittens (which I would never fucking do) and you love it because your kitten is incredibly adorable. You make a comment and inform me of such. Next week your kitten does the cutest backflip trying to catch a toy mouse and you must blog about it. That's not what I mean. That's your cat and your experience and you're a weird cat person and I expect you to write about cutesy <s>bullshit</s> stuff.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">No, what I mean is this: I write about, say, stem cell research and its pros and cons and then you, dear loyal reader, write about the exact same thing the very next day. And nowhere in your post is the sentence, "I was reading a post on ABCM and it got me thinking..." <i>That's </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">what the fuck I mean.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Unlike Micael, I don't mind if you borrow my ideas. To the contrary, I'm an attention whore and anytime someone uses an idea they got from me, I feel good. Important, even. But I want my fucking credit and from this politically correct, non-confrontational post and beyond, I will call your ass out. I will post a link to your stolen post so that all of my <i>actually</i> loyal readers can come to your blog and call you a thieving bitch. Or something like that. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Don't think I don't love you though. I do. This is what we <s>crazy bitches</s> mothers like to call 'tough love.' I both adore and welcome any opportunity to express my tough love.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Pay close attention to the number of followers to your right ~~~~~~~>.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If the number goes down, you'll know that I have offended the perpetrators. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't give a fuck.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But then, you knew that, didn't you?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;">On a totally unrelated note, I want to say a GI-FUCKING-NORMOUS thank you to all of my friends for sending me your love and support during my time of bullshit overload. This is probably a sad thing to admit, but you guys in my cyber world are some of the best friends I've ever had. For some reason, I don't have a lot of friends in real life...I wonder why that could be?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;">Oh, yeah. I'm a bitch.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;">Anyway...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Big kisses and inappropriately long hugs to you all!</span> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-75233871145041754952011-04-02T10:10:00.000-04:002011-04-02T10:10:46.315-04:00Indecision<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.coolfreeimages.net/images/heartbreak/heart_break_07.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.coolfreeimages.net/heart_break_1.php&usg=__S5frSTf0czI8yhbdo-Cz5W5eE3s=&h=713&w=600&sz=135&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=iR79q3PBdglwfM:&tbnh=146&tbnw=135&ei=zS2XTbX5MYfQgAfwncXYCA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dheartbreak%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:10%2C300&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=1119&vpy=126&dur=2989&hovh=245&hovw=206&tx=122&ty=136&oei=zS2XTbX5MYfQgAfwncXYCA&page=1&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:20,s:0&biw=1366&bih=643"><img height="400" src="http://www.coolfreeimages.net/images/heartbreak/heart_break_07.jpg" width="335" /></a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i love you</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">part-time</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">in the moment</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">temporarily</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">from time to time</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i don't mind</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">our incompatibility</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">they say that opposites attract</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">your yang to my yin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">your sin to my sin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">your vodka to my gin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">your excess to my lack</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">my nightmare is your dream come true</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">you look a little confused, boo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">don't you know who I am?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">it's me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">the center of your world</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">it's me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">the one who makes your toes curl</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">muscles tighten</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">eyes roll to the back of your head</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i'm the one</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">who makes and</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">breaks your bed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">and that's not even my best room</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i hate you</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">part-time</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">in the moment</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">temporarily</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">from woman to man</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i can't stand</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">our incompatibility</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i don't talk and you don't listen</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">you lose, i win</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">when i sin, you sin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">just like that?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">what are we missing?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">you don't know how to love me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">you say</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i say</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">you did fine yesterday</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">what the hell happened</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">to today?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i'm still me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">well...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">maybe i have changed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">a little</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">reassessed my game</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">a little</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">stopped placing blame</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">just a little</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">my vision is sharper</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">hard to believe, but</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">still true</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">i'm a different person</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">a brighter star</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">a better me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">and you, boo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">you're still you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">If this poem seems familiar to some of you, it's because I shared it once at <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/">The Well-Fed Spirit</a>. Just wanted to let you know that I'm still here. This bullshit, too, shall pass. Thank you so much <a href="http://bruceejohnsonjadip.blogspot.com/">Bruce</a> for checking in with me and making me realize that bullshit is bullshit. Love you to itty bitty pieces!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Hope all is well with all of you. I miss the hell out of you guys. I will try to get caught up on all your lives as soon as I can. Promise.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">There is a light at the end of this tunnel. I see it...but I haven't reached it yet. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Love and big hugs,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Mrs. Hyde</span>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-58977759153893617252011-03-25T11:10:00.001-04:002011-03-25T11:17:53.760-04:00Gimme That Good...Um...Love<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mary J. Blige has a song called Good Love. I couldn't find a video on YouTube (imagine that), but if you're interested, here's the song.</span></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/t1rjVJvcppc?fs=1" width="425"></iframe><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Good Love features a rapper by the name of T.I. I'm not about to bore you with the details of his rap sheet, no pun intended, I actually want to talk about this song. Specifically, T.I.'s part of the song. There is a line he has that I consider to be the ultimate hook-up line. Ordinarily, I'm not big on corny pick-up/hook-up lines, or pick-up/hook-up lines in general, but I <i>can</i> appreciate a good one when I hear it.</div><div><br />
</div><div>T.I. says, "Now, not only will I hit it if you throw it to me, but I'ma beat it like you stole it and you owe it to me." Wow! I'm not into skinny guys, but I suspect that if he said that to me after a few lemon drop shooters, I'd be pantyless in the backseat of his smoky, pot-infused limo.</div><div><br />
</div><div>For those of you not well-versed in the hip hop language, let me give you some alternate meanings for the above term "beat it":</div><div><br />
</div><div>1. Tear that ass up.</div><div>2. Lay some good pipe.</div><div>3. Have you climbing the walls with unadulterated sexual pleasure</div><div>4. Fuck the shit out of you</div><div>5. Make love to you so deliciously that you will be in awe of his sexual brilliance. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Now imagine that someone has stolen something very precious to you. Imagine the fervor with which you would kick some thieving booty if you so happened to catch up with them. Got that in your head? Okay, now put the two together.<br />
<br />
See what I mean? From zero to pantyless in 2.5 seconds. I'll wait while you go open a window...or take a cold shower. Whatever flies your kite. Whatever flies your freak flag as my friend <a href="http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/2011/03/its-dirty-quiz-time.html">The Empress</a> would say.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Hopefully, though, he can back up all his big talk. Don't you hate when a guy (or woman. can't leave out my two male followers) raves about his (her) sexual prowess and gets you all excited only to later discover that he (she) is a horrible lay? That's the worse. In fact, I can't think of anything worse than a disappointing sexcapade. World hunger? Wars and rumors of wars? Republicans? Nope, not as bad. If I got myself all hot and underpants-free and T.I. was incapable of "laying it down," there wouldn't be enough <a href="http://abitchcalledmom.blogspot.com/2011/03/chick-fil-assholes.html">banana pudding milkshakes</a> in the world to stop me from kicking his bony ass.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, good dick will have a woman doing things she never thought she'd do. Since I'm so fucking awesome at making lists, I shall create one that declares all the things a woman might do in the name of good dick.<br />
<br />
-hold illicit drugs that will be available at a later date for purchase<br />
-when caught with said drugs, refuse to rat out her good dick. After all, should he be imprisoned, he might be forced to share that good dick with a 300-pound killer named Tiny<br />
-ignore her children, friends, boss, mama, and/or husband<br />
-gain the sudden urge to take up cooking, baking, and cosmetology, specifically nail grooming in order to give her good dick a relaxing pedi after a hard day's work restocking the napkin dispenser at McDonald's<br />
-quit her job two years before retirement, sell her house, and move across the country to be with good dick while he attempts to break into the acting biz at the age of 45<br />
-walk in on good dick having a threesome with two hookers and quietly close the door to give them their privacy<br />
-pay good dick's way through bible college<br />
-give good dick her car to go shopping while she catches the bus in a thunderstorm with her three small children<br />
-spend her tax refund on video games for good dick's Xbox 360<br />
-<a href="http://make-daddy-a-sammich.blogspot.com/2011/03/bbq-rules.html">this</a><br />
-or do anything else that skyrockets her into "dumb bitch" status<br />
<br />
Come on ladies, you know you've been a dumb bitch for good dick before. I dare say that I am doing that right now. Damn you, good dick!<br />
<br />
Fellas, if you don't naturally have good dick, you damn sure better go out and buy you one. It'll change the whole course of your relationship. You know how you like to pretend that you're in charge? Well, good dick actually is.<br />
<br />
Ladies, as well as gentlemen who can appreciate its power, tell me what <s>dumb ass</s> regrettable things you've done in the name of good dick.<br />
<br />
</div>Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-51422735774443483982011-03-24T00:00:00.009-04:002011-03-24T00:00:07.591-04:00Sister Wife WantedLike I have a tendency to do when I'm getting my lazy, fat girl on, I sat down with a big piece of birthday pie to catch up on my favorite TV shows and others that pique my interest. Here is where I gloss over the fact that not <i>one</i> of you came over here on Sunday to wish me a happy birthday. It's okay. It's not like I feel unloved or anything. I'll have to tell you about how I went to Atlantic City to celebrate all by myself in another post.<br />
<br />
Okay, so maybe I should have mentioned that my birthday was coming up. Whatever. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, it really doesn't matter because when people ask about my age, I will continue to say "thirty" like it's the truest thing since the Big Bad Wolf.<br />
<br />
Speaking of wolves, why is there a wolf in so many fairy tales? What the hell do we have against wolves? What do wolves <i>really </i>represent in fairy tales? I'll have to look into that.<br />
<br />
Sorry ADD moment over...maybe.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tlc.howstuffworks.com/tv/sister-wives/about-sister-wives.htm"><img src="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/sister-wives-250x150.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Anyway, I was watching an episode of Sister Wives that I had recorded. I used to record the whole series, but there's enough bitching about husbands and kids in my life as it is, so now I just record on an as-needed basis. As in I <i>need</i> to know how this one dude convinced four separate women, fucking <i>four</i>, to marry him and have his babies...concurrently. Women can't share bathrooms, opinions on parenting, or recipes, let alone husbands. You know you left out an ingredient when you gave your best friend your grandmother's apple pie recipe. Here she is wondering why hers doesn't even come close to tasting like yours and you're giggling inside your head. Don't even get me started on the discovery that some other woman owns the same outfit as you, like the designer only made one. But this man actually made it sound like a good idea to four different women that they all be married to him and share his love, affection, home, and penis at the same time. That's a charming mother fucker right there, folks.<br />
<br />
As I watched yesterday's episode (don't know what day it originally aired as I hardly ever watch live TV) I started thinking about what the advantages would be of having a sister wife. Let's bullet point them, shall we?<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul><li>It would be nice to have someone around who can be calm when I'm being a bitch. I can't count how many times I've said to hubby, "When I'm in bitch mode, you need to pick up my slack like I do for you. We can't both be bitches at the same time. They may be poster kids for birth control, but we do love them. Don't we? Really, I need you to tell me how we feel about them." I need someone who gets that. Someone who will relay the message to my clueless kids that I'm in a <s>crappy</s> grumpy mood and should be given some space at that time. </li>
<li>Do you know how much money I would pay when I'm not in the mood for sex to simply say, "It's Mabel's turn. Go ask her."? Then Mabel would do the wifely duties thing and I wouldn't have to deal with the morning-after-no-sex grouchiness. Big. I'd pay big.</li>
<li>And speaking of sex, it would be cool to have someone with whom to commiserate and share notes on hubby's, um, style. Don't get me wrong, he has a knack for getting me there (TMI, I know), but after 17 years of marriage (which I also recently celebrated), things have a tendency to get predictable. Tweak nipples...vulva rub...now a little oral...stroke, stroke, stroke, BIG FINISH...damn, I don't feel like getting up to go pee. Not necessarily in that order or time frame. Mabel and I could brainstorm ways to spice up chandelier-swinging and I wouldn't be left to scour the internet for hours on end all by my lonesome. (If you don't hear from me in awhile, it's because this bullet point has caused my demise.)</li>
<li>If there were a second or third or fourth woman around here, I could drop the guilt about how I only occasionally contribute to the family's finances. I'd put those bitches to work and I could continue to run the household and write and blog and get fat without a trace of guilt. Why the hell should I worry about getting fat? He has three other wives to gawk at. Let their asses be anorexic. Pardon me while I get another slice of Lemon Supreme Pie. No, really. I'm about to stop typing to take the clothes out of the dryer and since I'll be downstairs anyway, cut myself a <s>fucking enormous</s> modest slice of pie. Be right back.</li>
</ul><br />
Okay, where was I?<br />
<br />
I'm just saying that they might be on to something. They are under investigation right now and the husband could possibly go to jail for being a bigamist. I don't understand that at all. He's only legally married to the first wife, but lives with and raises families with all the others. Since when is that a crime? If living with a whole shitload of people is a crime, I know a whole lot of families in the 'hood that now have one more thing to worry about.<br />
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So what's the problem? They're just <i>saying</i> that he has four wives. Forget about the love and values they share, he doesn't really, legally have four wives. It's not a crime to say shit, freedom of speech and all that. I could <i>say</i> that I'm the Queen of England, but if I roll my black ass up in Buckingham Palace with that bullshit, I'm coming back out feet first. Does that make it wrong that I said it? Maybe in the UK, but I'm not really sure and I don't give enough of a shit to look it up right now.<br />
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The government is just mad because they can't tax him four times. Or perhaps that their chronic state of stick-up-my-assness prevents them from being charismatic enough to have four women, <i>who get along with each other</i>, agree to bear their seed and fuck them proper like.<br />
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Suggestion, assholes: stop trying to deny people the label of 'family.' There are all different kinds of families. My best friend is more like a sister to me and I sometimes introduce her as such. Will I be arrested for that? Growing up, and I still see kids do this today, I used to pretend that my friends were my cousins. How come you didn't lock me up and throw away the key? Surely, I was a menace to society showing all that love to people who didn't even share my blood.<br />
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This is a free fucking country! Why are we letting these bastards decide whom and how we can love?<br />
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I'll tell you one thing, though. I'd hate to be around when all four of those bitches hit PMS at the same time.Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-69529508589222270632011-03-17T15:28:00.000-04:002016-04-09T17:43:55.262-04:00Chick-fil-Assholes<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyv68GmUqQorZBhjDyT8htqJKylmDzBwsHKW6ctM4mO8F5cJw3zkfIe2dbVYm8fau-SdrpvzB_ilJlYkrgtvvntNagpW9E9jyvwQGxUjMGlx1n1XSFVknyd1M-8Ve-t7lK4RY475fi7eVD/s1600/Boycott+Chick-Fil-A.jpg&imgrefurl=http://releasingreligion.blogspot.com/2011/02/chick-fil-controversy-shines-light-on.html&usg=__xnwHZlOQLzhkybnja4MzDGIpmJI=&h=200&w=200&sz=12&hl=en&start=111&zoom=1&tbnid=AIVdMZ8HgHxDzM:&tbnh=149&tbnw=149&ei=BF-CTd21AYjUgQedhdjNCA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dno%2Bchick%2Bfil%2Ba%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:10%2C3079&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=154&vpy=148&dur=321&hovh=160&hovw=160&tx=82&ty=78&oei=u16CTZbBJdH1gAeV-ZHDCA&page=7&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:111&biw=1366&bih=643"><img src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcReRchZbYMosGxxdIzmJSyaKaVyIKQTpsmGNfGsS30pJh8_4QkQ" /></a><br />
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Apparently my penchant for diabetic, coma-inducing dairy foods has caused me to piss off some friends, gay and straight alike. My colon was also pissed off because I'm lactose intolerant. Neither of those facts was enough to stop me from consuming it and tweeting about it yesterday: a Chick-fil-A Banana Pudding milkshake. It was actually the producer of the best orgasm I've ever had. And all I had to do to achieve it was offend about 10 million of my closest friends. That's a record even for me.<br />
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Read <a href="http://news.change.org/stories/yes-chick-fil-a-says-we-explicitly-do-not-like-same-sex-couples">this</a> if you don't know why my mistake was so egregious.<br />
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Honestly, I forgot. That's the extent of it, really. With so many corporations giving American citizens their asses to kiss, it's sometimes hard for me to keep up with all the bastards whom I should be boycotting. You can bet I won't forget again, but just know that karma has already kicked my ass for this one. I trotted my lactose intolerance back and forth to the bathroom for the remainder of yesterday. My family was not happy with the smell that permeated the entire house. It was enough to make 3/16/2011 a day to be remembered in Hyde family history.<br />
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My stomach and I are like a guy and his schlong. We both know we should pass on those cookies, but we just can't help ourselves.<br />
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I apologize. I absolutely support marriage rights for same-sex couples. With the way we piss all over the institution of marriage in this country, I can't honestly understand how they think gay and lesbian couples are going to make it worse. It's just another excuse to discriminate and I will not give my dollars to any company who supports discrimination.<br />
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So long as I remember...I think I'll start a running list of all the asshole companies who can't have my money. Does anyone know how to make a blog button to that effect? We could add to the list as the jackwagons present themselves.<br />
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Damn...I guess I should take those paper towels back to Target, huh?Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3530797692755602226.post-25373751442169370772011-03-16T17:00:00.000-04:002011-03-23T12:56:38.698-04:00Victoria's Dirty Little SecretVictoria has a dirty little secret. Amidst the lace and the frills, the satin and the silk, the padding and the bigger padding, she hides it. Among the fragrances, the body washes, and the diamond-studded brassieres, she conceals it. She's a sly fox, that Victoria.<br />
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If you look closely, though, the secret is not that hard to find. Discreetly open one of the drawers all the way at the bottom of the display case and you will find it. Open a closet deep into the recesses of the storage room and you will discover her secret: it's me. Me and all the other amply-endowed women of the world whose bras are hidden like wine stains on a white carpet.<br />
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<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://images.thegauntlet.com/pics/boobs.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.thegauntlet.com/article/1225/14486/Save-the-Boobies!.html&usg=__UicRnRnSgtdsXAVcDU7rLV9ynJQ=&h=286&w=423&sz=18&hl=en&start=8&zoom=1&tbnid=7yocKhc823c-SM:&tbnh=85&tbnw=126&ei=MCOBTe-pEcOV0QH8pr3yCA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dboobies%2Bunite!%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D643%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:1&itbs=1"><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQDlT4kxq_VTwDXHduEKnd3jPHiU5hJ4-AlkLNTSnxB0JB8ATZ_&t=1" /></a><br />
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They need to bury us under tables, in drawers, and behind closet doors lest they offend the delicate sensibilities of the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee. We wouldn't want the IBTC to go on a rampage, thrashing their barren chests about in protest, would we? Oh, the horror! The absolute insanely hilarious fucking horror!<br />
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I'm sorry. I don't mean to lash out at you <s>flat-chested</s> small-boobed women. I tend to do that when I feel judged. I'm working on it. No, really.<br />
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My question is this: if everyone wants to look like us, shouldn't the biggest boulder-like flopper stoppers be on brilliant display? Shouldn't underwear models be shaped like me (at least on top)? Shouldn't the Victoria's Secret fashion show feature women who, through no control of their own, come bouncing happily down the runway? I feel robbed of my rightful place in bobby royalty. Women are praying at night to deities in whom they don't even believe just so they can wake up with the body of a bombshell. Women are paying doctors thousands of dollars and enduring weeks of excruciating pain just so they can complain about how men no longer look into their eyes, but rather stare at their chests. And yet they bury us under mountains of glorified training bras and tiny thongs like we have the plague...<br />
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What would happen, Victoria, if you leave us all out there, big and small boobies alike? Might we lock bra straps in peace and harmony? Might we stand side-by-side, hand-in-hand and sing our henceforth self-proclaimed national anthem: <i>Man! I Feel Like a Woman</i> by Shania Twain? I think that the mixing of bra sizes would serve as evidence that real women do exist, and would therefore provide no plausible reason for anyone to purchase your padded, pinching monstrosities because the world would realize that women come in all different shapes and sizes. And that all their boobies are beautiful.<br />
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Fuck Victoria!<br />
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I'll take my business to Lane Bryant. True, I'd have to hide in the bushes on delivery day so I could knock the driver out and take my pick before the general public has access to the five measly bras in my size, but I'd get a bra. A pretty one, not the white one my grandmother wore. One with lace or animal print or polka dots or stripes or any color other than black or white or a nude that looks nothing like my nude skin. In my size.<br />
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And it damned sure won't be hidden in some obscure little drawer in the back.<br />
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I apologize, loyal readers, for my absence. Well, I haven't really been absent. I've been reading your posts, but I don't feel I'm in a good position to comment on anyone's life other than mine right now. I'm going through <a href="http://thewellfedspirit.blogspot.com/2011/03/perfect.html">some things</a> and as I work through them, I will keep you posted. Know that I haven't forgotten about you and I still love you to teeny tiny pieces.Dr. McCoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02785824680618255554noreply@blogger.com21