I usually try to not do it, but today I decided to write my ex-girlfriend a message on Myspace. I don’t really have feelings for her anymore, even though our breakup was a dramatic fireworks show, but every now and then I like to write and see how my life would have been had I not screwed things up.
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It is amazing the amount of meat that comes off a chicken. It is almost like they were created to feed an entire family. They are like large meatballs covered in feathers that roam the hillside. While we are waiting for the meat to fatten, they produce eggs to hold us over, and make breakfast so special. Not to mention cakes, breads, pancakes, panbreads, and all those lovely things that wouldn’t be possible without eggs (shh vegans, I don’t dig the fake eggs).
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Tonight we are having a guy’s night out, and I was curious to see what the guys out there really enjoyed doing once they got a little freedom. Do you still practice the old ‘He Man Woman Hater,’ doctrine? Or have the whippings gone so deep your poker table chit chat has turned into a rumor mill filled with many displays of pussy man blabber about flowers?
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Subject: The rest of my life
From: Your FORMER corporate slave
Date: First day of the rest of my life!
To: FORMER captor (Tom in logistics)
They say that a man can only be so lucky, but I received the most important emails of my life today. Not only am I being personally requested to handle an $80,000,000 inheritance transaction for a cocoa/gold/oil farm widower from Congo, but I have been randomly selected out of over 500,000,000 emails to receive Norway’s biggest lump sum lottery prize of over $75,000,000,000,000. I’M RICH BIOTCH!
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Denton – Michelle Mashburn, 23, a pirate wrench whore, passed away from studentdom, at the University of North Texas on December 15, 2007. Family surrounded her as she peacefully went with her Lord to a new exciting world of master degrees and careers.
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I find it very hard to believe that Peyton Manning has fans. He can throw a dead pig to his blockhead homeboys and despite the fact I love Football more than my wife, that is a very fucking nugatory talent. I hate splitting hairs, but the point I’m trying to make is that this witless penisface crybaby needs to get the fuck out of my television. Take some lessons in tact from Sir Tom Brady, and stop using your “talent” to sell me stupid fucking credit card and cell phone bullshit. Watch this commercial:
Payton Manning at his most invidious worst.
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I was late for swim aerobics. Let’s get that out of the way right now. So I was a little flustered when I was trying to hail a cab. I loved my swim aerobics class because it brought together three things I lived for - swimming, aerobics, and Steve, the instructor. Steve was wonderful. I loved him, really. He didn’t know it then but he did the week following when I told him in the locker room. He blushed but told me he was already taken by a set designer who worked off-Broadway doing irreverent shows about the Amish.
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He’s more than an actor, you know. He’s an author, too. He writes novels for us Gen X-ers. Books about roustabout dudes and the girls they love but can’t hold onto. Books filled with booze, and brawls, and babes with boobs. So I was intrigued when I heard he’d be giving a reading at a bookstore downtown. I got tickets to hear him read, maybe get his autograph for my little sister who had loved him ever since he played that wimpy boy on “Dead Poet’s Society.”
I went with my girlfriend, Chloe, who didn’t think one thing or the other on Ethan Hawke other than he had a striking resemblance to Chip, the guy who served her coffee every morning at Latte Da on Westchester Avenue.
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“I’m sorry,” I said, standing over her table as she ate shrimp cocktail, “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the restaurant.”
I never just walked up to someone famous and told them how much they meant to me.
“You’re Angela Lasbury, right? Of course you are.” Of course she was. Who could mistake the incomparable beauty of Angela Lansbury?
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In history there have been many displays of literary fortitude, yet few displays of sheer magnificence in that regard which transcend the reason of any discerning human. This my friends, is one of those displays.
The Exercise:
Describe a pottery class from the POV of the student, instructor and the clay.
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