SUCKFEST 2008

So in honor of the Oscars--It was clear I needed to get out to the movies more than once every 6 years. So I'm gonna commit to spending ridiculous amounts of time on my couch before I leave for Germany. Help a girl out, send me your reviews of some shit will ya?

I have but one review. I waited something like a year to see Eastern Promises. I mean, Russian Mafia? London, Viggo Mother Humping Mortenson? It totally promised to be awesome. Here's my review:

Fucking what the hell? So I get it, mafia guy saves cute, product-of-rape, baby. Same old story. Where's the beheadings? Where's the blaspheme? And Russian... okay, Russian is NOT hot sounding. You lost me there. You think I speak German to get laid? (ok, admittedly... I HAVE translated something somebody said in bed to me once into German because it was hilarious--but only in my head asshole! IN MY HEAD!) One f'ing fight scene in the shower room was supposed to turn on the moisture check light? Srsly? That fight sucked. You suck. So It was slippery in there, big deal. Asshole.

What? OH... i get it, you want to know what he said ... ok it was "Wille lasst du mich gerade fichen!!" I know... but it's funny. Category: German -- What is the language least likely to get you laid for $1200, Alex.


So to wrap it up...Eastern Promises: 1 pile of poo.

This is Gonna Be As Romantic As F**k!

I'm back from Rib sabbatical. That is to say, I've decided to take a day off of self-induced Percocet coma-- to you know, work and stuff.

First thing's first: Open e-vites. yes, nope, cannot attend, maybe, Hmmm, definately maybe--- wait for it---

Oh Good God In Heaven, my sister-in-law... has *gulp* scheduled a PureRomance party. It was clear that some Recon was in order. Check this shit out on the Internetz. The thought of unsolicted chin wagging over topics that I know (nor want to know) anything about a) sex toys b) my family members' sex lives c) my sex life (Dude, SHUT. UP!) makes my head want to spin.

Here's a sampling of what I'm in for:

1. I can't wait to hear a discussion over "should I get this? (Yes, it's called Fresh Start --you do the math).

2. Do I need this ?

3. Dude, my brother uses that?" Ish.

And Seriously, Coochy? Because nothing really spells "hot" like a girl who keeps a 32 oz. bottle of Coochy in her shower. It could only be better if it was called Dis Da Shit I Use On Ma Jizz-unk. Now, let's see... where were we?

Oh yeah, so as far as I can tell these parties include NONE of the following:

1. Pure
2. Romance

Can't we just go Ice Fishing? I'm not comfortable with my own brand of self humiliation, much less manufactured.

And of course, I'm supposed to "invite others" so if you like gently used women whipping themselves into silicone and battery induced frenzies or think Anal Lube that tastes like "strawberries" is the Mutts Nutz.... let me know, I'll drive.

How To Take Care of Broken Ribs

So after spending most of Sunday in the ER with yet more brakage (Hey, suck it, i like it rough okay Sister Thomas Allen) It seems that the morphine-induced haze I was in lead me to misplace my "Taking Care of Your Broken Ribs" paperwork that the overly nursy murse gave me.

soooooooo....

I did what anybody would do. I googled "How to take care of your broken ribs." Here's the number one pick: Enjoy.

Spanking Bea Arthur

Now... as an FYI, the following activities are out for say 4 weeks.

1.) Showering myself;

2.) Making my pre-percocet cocktail;

3.) Sparring; and last, but certainly not least

4.) Sexual gratification of any kind - unless somebody can figure out a way I can do the damn thing without crying for my mommy... which is SUPER awwwwwwwwkward.

Lastly, Josh insists I place the following ad on Craigs. I am not inclined to do so, as it contains somewhat obvious give-a-ways as to my identity.

Former lovers call me a bore in the sack, I want you to lay motionless
below while I gingerly writhe to the best of my ability. Thanks.

Thank you Josh for the huge vote of confidence.

VALENTINES DAY...I have one question

When does the vigorous love-making commence?

Is This Real World Or Exercise?

I broke my ribs. Need help with hair... amongst other things.

Over and out.

p.s. Please do not ask.

Harpy Squatter Appears for Breakfast

I don't know who this swamp beast is, but I woke up to find the creature bedding up ma couch, chewin on ma plantz and cursin up a mean streak. As you know, I've no fear of mythical-tawp creatures, and this one seemed friendly enough, but then I sawr the thing was a bleedin and a frothin. Her smell alone hath run afoul of nature itself.

I did what I had to do. I busted out the hot iron. I know, I know... it was harsh but if the law can't stop these Harpies from a squattin in ma house, sumbitches got to be taught a lesson, and shoot, I don't mind if i'm sayin, she turnd out lookin damn close to normalz.

I shall call him B-Unit.

Today I ate the Baby. Yeah Mardi Gras!!! I'm Queen!

In the midst of the revelry, I received the following Mardi Gras Newsflash: "Hanson, don't get that excited... you have to make the cake next year."

Fucksticks.

Well at least I get to take said baby home with me. Well, first I'll take him to the Happy Gnome where baby and I will kick back a few. Then I'll take him to the Wild game... maybe even get him his very own Foam claw, and Wild Onesie.

Excuse Me While I Take off Your Clothes Quietly, You Know In My Mind...

Why merely in my mind you ask? Well, it's just not Scandinavian to accost Crispin Glover outright. That would be totally rude. Doy.

But I seriously nearly ran him down on my way to the bathroom at the Marriot Depot Friday night. Nearly blinded by those pesky hearts coming out of the top of my skull.

But in spite of him being uber talented and kinda cute, he truly seemed real nice. So Thank you Mr. Glover, you made my night, which had, up to that point, utterly sucked eggs.