“I diin’t thank thet I wuz thuh tiipe tah git prenant at uh yung age, but now ah’m jest thankin’ how I’d make it without Westin’”. Napalm.

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Now that we’reall very  done with your embarasing song and dance show, or whatever, here you go getting involved with the hallowed National Football League. The NFL, for fuck’s sweet sake? Gloria? Why the NFL? Isn’t there a AAA baseball team-wait! I’ll bet Florida has three or four pro hockey teams by now. Get invloved with one of those! ALL of those, I don’t give a shit. Football and Gloria Estefan mix like chocolate chip cookies and Clamato. Hey now…that’s a good one liner. I oughtta remember that for future us-now I am swaying off topic here.
Fuck you, Gloria! I’ll bet you’re some massive football fan, aren’t you Gloria. I’ll bet you were doing the Ickey Shuffle, weren’t you. You were rapping along with Jim McMahon and Sweetness when they were doing the SUPER BOWL shuffle, too, I’ll bet. This is sarcasm, FYI. But seriously…
Are you going to try and design the teams uniforms, Gloria? Have your daughters or sons sing and do the cha-cha at halftime? Bring your gaggle of little dogs to the owner’s box, arriving fashionably late and leaving early to beat traffic? Did you hear about the local football team when they made an 8 game turnaround from the ’07 season and everybody was shitting themselves Dolphins’ aqua and orange? Did you think to yourself, “What is this ‘football’ everybody’s going crazy for right now? I should look into that and get involved! ASAP” Have you been unable to break into Miami’s top-notch dinner party circuit and are too apathetic to get into politics? WHAT IS IT, godddamnit!!?!?! Why? WHY???
Why isn’t anybody stopping this? And please don’t tell me that the Miami Dolphins approached Gloria Estefan. Please. I will kill myself in a red-faced baffled rage. Are you trying to fuck Dan Marino, Gloria? If you’re just trying to fuck Dan Marino and lose interest in the NFL after he shoves your head in a toilet after an advance, I can live with that. Maybe he’ll give you a pity fuck and THEN you’ll move on? Buy some car dealerships, or something? Please? Start a Target-exclusive clothing line or design a fragrance? Handbags? Anything else besides pro football? For the love of god?
Oh dear.  Somebody needs to find Mark Duper and comfort him! I know he has to be taking this news hard. At least he should be. Unless he was “Doing That Conga” in the late 80’s…in which case: fuck you, too, Mark Duper! One facebar nancyboy!
See, Gloria? Now I’m lashing out at Mark Duper, for fuck’s sake. The only end in sight is if the Dolphins lose every game for the next three seasons and the town of Miami drags Gloria out of the owner’s box (perhaps in a conga line?) and skins her alive in LandShark Stdium’s parking lot. Maybe they’ll rename it Miami Sound Machine Stadium. In that event, I will have no choice but to start watching hockey or reading books to fill my autumntime Sundays. Shutter to think it.

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Oh Bristol. Bristol, my sweet Bristol. Look at you. You’re a fox. You’re well-bred, totally eighteen, have totally rocking tits, crazy life experience AND conviction. Kudos to you! You tell ‘em! Don’t let them make the same mistake(s) you’ve made in your young life. I wonder what your scars look like…
Don’t go fucking dumb jocks! No way, jose! Marry those dumb jocks, THEN let them fuck you in the cooter and THEN have their babies. That’s the message our privileged popular high school girls need to hear, Bristy. God damn it I love you. Your feet firmly on the ground, you. Shit, you’re so fucking hot…
Sure, you’re a tad on the self-righteous side, but that’s okay. Maybe you’re a mindless zombie. Haven’t decided that, yet. Don’t have all of the info I’d like to have to make that sort of character evaluation. I’d like more data, if you wouldn’t mind meeting me for dinner. Or maybe a couple of drinks in Canada? I’ll meet you in Edmonton, drinks on me. How’s that sound? Christ…you are so much hotter than your mom. She isn’t really hot at all, I don’t think. You’re amazing…

You can tell me all of your thoughts and “your” opinions on all of that whateverthefuck it is you’re thinking about these days. Your son/daughter/whatever it is and how much you love it, but also how you wish you would have waited to have sex and thusly get pregnant and thusly reproduce because…uh….of….er….whatever it is you wish you could be doing now if you didn’t have that little tit-nibbler to carry around everygoddamnedwhere you go. I want to be close to  you…
If it sounds as though I am patronizing you, please do not misunderstand me and my tone my dear beautiful Bristol. I love you for your mind, without question. I want to hear all of that shit, I really do. I know you care about stuff or whatever. So much you have to spout it out! Start a fucking campaign, for the love of sweet cripes’ sake! I will love you down so hard…

I am so proud of you for not murdering your unborn precious bastard giftcurse. I want to know more about you. Let me INSIDE YOU, Bristol! I want to just poke around in there. In that fresh young beautiful mind of yours. Good god in heav’n, yes! What you think America’s poor, angry and confused youth should be doing with their bodies. Tell me the what’s and why’s. You’re an angel, I swear to fucking god…

Oh, fuck it. I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t care what you fucking think, baby. I just want to get my hands all over those rockin’ sweater cows and taste what’s doing downstairs, if you know what I mean. No penetration! No penetration, I promise. We’ll take it slow and easy, darling honey. If you want to put your hands down my pants, that’s your business…actually I doubt you give a good handjob (yet)….so how’s about we just masterbate ourselves and watch each other from across the couch? I think that could be fun and an enlightening experience for you, as I doubt those jocks you’ve let fuck you have given two shits about trying to get you off. Blowing their load 5 inches deep while in the back of their parents’ SUV, or whatever it is you retard Alaskan hicks do to fuck when you’re 17 years old. Those guys are all assholes. I really care about you…

Wait. I’ll bet you don’t masterbate. Didn’t think about that. Well, how about we just talk some more and see what happens? Don’t tell your mom. She won’t get it. She doesn’t appreciate how mature you are like I do. You should be sitting on my face. SLIME ME!

What’s the hang-up, baby? I’m not like those other cock-brained teenagers you’ve had inside of you. I’m here to take care of your needs. We’re going to have a good time, you can relax and enjoy your sexy little self. Precious little Obediah’s (or Ezekial or Ruth or whatever its name is) at grandma’s mansion. We’re good to go.  Saddle up!

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Lauren. Honey. Take a seat. Audrina is fucking your shit up right now. I’ve been seein’ a lot of prep for the upcoming HILLS season around the internet, and I have to say that Audrina is looking b-a-n-g-i-n-‘! You know it’s true, too,  and I am sure it drives you crazy/to making yourself throw up after lunch and dinner.
Looks to me like she took her fake balloon-lookin’ tits out, and she is looking better than ever. Way better than you, that’s for sure. It’s sooo great that you have a clothing line, and junk…maybe you should focus on that this year. Eh? Let Audrina have more camera time. You and that voice of yours.
Where did YOUR tits go, by the way? Are you not eating? Oh sweety. You should start eating again. All of the anorexing in the world ain’t going get that bleh-ass body up to Audrina’s level of excellence. She has those “fuck me” eyes. (I just made that term up.)

I know what you’re thinking right now, Lauren. You’re all, “YyyyYUCK! I mean, she looks like Droopy Dog! Like, gag me!” (Oh dear.)

You’re lying to yourself and you’re sooo jealous, omg. Unless you’re making out with Audrina in some awesome candlelit booth in some rad L.A. restaurant trying desperately to get Audrina’s top off (oh! Or better: in a jacuzzi, but you’re wearing a potato sack under a garbage bag and a swimming cap!), Lauren Conrad, I’d prefer you just exited stage left and never came back to The Hills.

Hey, now here’s an idea! Move to New York with that spun-off bitch and be on her show. She’s not all that hot, either. You two could talk shit on Audrina the entire time, or whatever. All the way across the country and on a completely separate show, not watering down Audrina’s show with your average looks!
You just can’t compete, LC. I wish you’d stop trying. You’re dismissed. Audrina, come and sit on daddy’s lap. He has something he wants to “tell” you…

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Dear Piles Of Dirt-
You are so fucking lame I can hardly stand it. Why are you just sitting there? I know you were dug from something, but are you GOING anywhere? Why is there rebar all over you? You’re dirt. Get lost, already (back on the ground, flat)! Christ. I can’t see over you, I am not going to DRIVE my car over you, that’s for sure. Walk over you? Fuck that shit, it’s all I can do to just plain old WALK flat-style, so fuck off! Am I supposed to be prepared for off-road terrain 24/7? Of course not, you jackass mound. I live in a city, mostly for that very reason.
No, I am not going to shovel you back down to earth myself, either, you fucking heap. You’d love that, wouldn’t you. I didn’t dig you up, you are not my responsibility! See what I mean? You’re a fucking BURDEN. A RESPONSIBILITY. Go away. No pile of dirt “taller” than my field of view should go un-flattened for more than 3 days in Southern California, for serious.  Flatten out, you eyesore. You hazard. You nuisance.  I dismiss you. May the wind pick up something fierce….that way.

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Dear Hot Chicks Who Won’t Let Me Fuck You -
Quit bumming me out and fuck me already! Or at least let me take your top off and try getting to third base before stopping the “makeout sesh” with some bullshit about being “too drunk” or “feeling generally uncomfortable”. That would be fine, too, for now. Am I so immediately unappealing that you won’t humor me with at least that? It’s not like you’ll get a lasting disease by letting me put my grubby paws around your tits. Is my sweet and tender touch a less attractive social option for you than going home to sleep? Damn, yo!

Short ones. Tall ones. Ones with perky tits. Ones with (what look to be) big floppy ‘uns. Ones with great asses, or maybe just really nice jeans, but how would I know you won’t let me see your actual naked ass. Indie-looking ones with worn t-shirts and dolled-up ones trying to look like you’re some kind of big deal. Ones with “awesome tats” (uniquely YOU! You express yourself, girl! Did they hurt? Tell me more! Fucking strange coincidence that you’re wearing a wide open-backed top and also just happen to have all kinds of shit tattooed all over your back.). Ones who look like lesbians but aren’t, some trying to hide your wonderful huge flapjacks beneath baggy overshirts. (I see what you’re trying to hide! I want in! You look smarter than those other ones, I love your glasses. Let’s talk about stuff. Oh shit! You like bands? Me, too! Let’s talk about bands or whatever and have a couple of drinks! My treat. Doesn’t that sound like a fun night? After that we can go back to your place and make out, or whatever. No? Of course not.) A barely quantifiable fraction of a percent of the lot of you seem to be at all interested in giving me a legitimate shot at your privates. Not even a dry hump against your unmentionables. You make me sad. Water, water everywhere, etc.

Are you TRYING to make me feel poorly about myself?

Did I not offer to buy you a goddamned drink? Geezus. Was I not making eye-contact while you were rambling on and on about random gossip bullshit and going as far as asking you questions thereby opening up greater opportunity for you to prattle on and on about your super interesting whatever-the-fucks? I totally do both, so why the cold shoulders at last call, dolls?
Now, I cannot pretend like I’m goddamned Tom Cruise (“Days Of Thunder” era T.C.) and it’s probably obvious to you that I have neither an interesting nor well-paying career. Have I ever tried to mislead any of you to thinking otherwise? Doubt it. Does brutal and painful honesty get a guy anything anymore?
Apparently not.

I know you’re fucking somebody tonight and it sure as shit ain’t gonna be me. Is it that guy wearing a brimmed hat? He’ll tell all of his lightly bearded friends about porking you, you know. Each and every one of them, maybe via mass text even. Hipsters are worse than jocks in that way. 100% true. You should fuck me instead, beautiful. I have no friends and my mom will not put up with my talk of T & A during our daily phone calls. Still not interested, ey. What if I told you that I am allergic to latex?

Fuck it. I’m going to go home, fantasize about older women and jack off with a sheep skin condom on.  Do you see what you’ve done? Hot Chicks Who Won’t Fuck Me: You’re dismissed.

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Dear Dita Von Teese-
Why in the shit do I know who you are? Oh, that’s right. I like porno.
Just so you know, you pasty  lil’ tart:  WE GOT IT. You’re a fucking vampire or a pirate pin-up, or whatever you are. You have aggressively big fake-ass titties (how STRANGE!). You’re a throwback to…uh….Rockabilly Time kinda, but also….more 16th Century Slovikland or something. Totally gothed-out! Creative to be sure. Very different. You would have been the most twistidest-yet-somehow-also-classiest whore in Nasfaratu’s castle, no doubt about it. Kudos. Now please leave.

We all understand your deal, okay? You’re totally different but still full-on fucking glamorous, etc. You own your (whacky!) sexuality n’ stuff, and (bonus!) we all get to have a looksy. Celebrating you with you. Hooray! . Now please go away. I am sick and fucking tired of running into you while e-searching for super-horny-all-the-time naked ladies with less of a “deal” going on with them.

No…Dita…now just stop. You’re tying yourself up with surgical hose…yes you are somewhat flexible and are sorta into S&Mish faire, or whatever. Very impressive. Still though,  would prefer if you just put your complicated lingerie back on and skidattled on out the door. Oh wow… now you’re pretending to enjoy “hook play”. Man, alright. You sure are one alternative chick! But seriously now.  I am so very tired of you and there is nothing you can tie yourself to and/or hang yourself from that is going to change my mind. Holy cow, here we go. Now you’re showing us the insides of your cooter…hmph. Sweet, thanks. I know, I know…you’re not like those other porno sluts. Not at all. Should be very proud of yourself and your…uh…thing. You’re uniquely different. BURLESQUE to the limit!! Yes. We all understand and good for you. Now please get the fuck out. And take your OUTRAGEOUS vinyl bustier with you, if you would. I have no need for that kind of bullshit here in the cozy confines of my spank bank.  Take on 3 black guys against a dumpster in some random alley and maybe we’ll talk. Get some some of that face cake runnin’ if you know what I mean. Until then, we have no use for you I’m afraid.

Don’t come back either, Ms. Von Teese. You have been dismissed. Permanently. I am close to dismissing BURLESQUE in general if you crazy ladies can’t keep it inside of dimly-lit barrooms during nights with drink specials or in the bedroom with your bored boyfriends and husbands. Got me?

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Dear Beef Jerky-
You’re gross, I fucking hate you!
No wait. I’m sorry. That is a pathetic lie. Not so much the HATE thing, more the GROSS thing. You are a lot of things, you are certainly not gross. Was enjoying handfuls (two and a half) of you minutes ago while trying to think of original mean things to say about vegan pussies. That is-until I finished a fucking $6 goddamned bag of teriyaki-flavored jerky. In about 8 minutes.

My mouth was never full; every (2 and a half) “handful” was of sensible size, more than doable, more than chooable…oops…CHEWable. I am not an ape, beef jerky!!?! I am no pig of a man, okay?? I am a sensible-enough snacker, beef jerky! But what in the FUCK is with you stuffing yourself in such large bags, filled almost completely with (mouth-watering) AIR? You’d think I’d learn by now, impulse-buying at the grocery mart and such. No YOU wouldn’t would you. WOULD YO!! You PLAN that sort of thing happening don’t you. Don’t you! Damn you to HELL!!?! Your small flavor-soaked rubbery chunks and the dry larger chunks, too!

Before this evening’s wallet-vacuuming & pallet-teasing experience, my most recent disappointment with you went down upon returning home from the 99 Cent Store with three “bags” of Plain Beef Jerky. Was REALLY excited to find such an expensive treat at a fucking 99 Cent store and tore into that shit as soon as I got home, believe you me! Those three bags made for about three bites. 99 cents a BITE, beef jerky? Are all dehydrated foods this fucking expensive? Dehydrated apricots and those tasty-ish little dried banana circles…don’t think those would cost me a buck per bite. In theory. If I ever bought or further CONSUMED fruit, non-candied or otherwise. Right? Don’t answer that, beef jerky you bastard son of a bitch. You’re just going to tell me that those snacks are cheaper than you because they don’t taste as good. Get out of my HEAD, beef jerky!!?! You are The Devil himself!

Where was I…right. Pricey as fuck.
Why are you so delicious? What a SCHEMING industry! Even that Slim Jim crap is like $0.99 for a tiny little stick, I think. And that’s just the ground up hooves, for fuck’s sake. DAMN! I hate you. I cannot quit you! Why do you pepper yourself over your salted essence just right? You make me thirsty, but I just want more and more. You are going to drive me into the poorhouse $6 at a time, I am convinced of it.
I’ll bet the serving ounces size on the side of your bags include the little dehydration packet thingy, too. I just fucking know you include that little piece of shit “do not eat! warnings of death! do not consume! no!” pouch  in the weight of your bags.

“Heheheh!” you scoff at us. “Less of me in your bag! You buy! You buy now!”

What a crumby trick!  And that’s about all you give of yourself, too. Crumbs. Expensive-ass, delicious-as-hell CRUMBS!
I’d lay down and cry right now, if my fingers weren’t swollen from all of that salt and had extra fluids to spare.
I can’t quit you, but for the good of others in this financial dungpile we’re all sitting in…BEEF JERKY! You are DISMISSED!

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