• Tonight Chris and I both bawled for like 75 minutes str8 watching the Six Feet Under finale. Fokken exhausting.
• My Chihuahua Wheezie gots a lot on her mind so she sits on Daddy’s belly in the hot tub to relax.
• Babygrrl has a new ball gown made every year, but I been wearing the same tux to every Bash for 4 years. My cheapass is just happy the theads still fit.
• I scored a phat vintage cowboy shirt on Ebay, faded Johnny Cash black with black pearl buttons.
• That old dying neighbor lady who wanted to sell me her house has gifted me with a fairly desirable antique sofa. I can’t give it a good home since the love shack is already furnished. Is it unforgivable to sell such a gift?
• My dear grandma Ethel Opal often used this phrase: “I am fixina (insert verb here) directly.” The word “fixina” is common in the South and raises nary a brow. However, the word “directly” might be some old east Texas add-on, and she pronounced it like DRECKLY. “I am fixina fix lunch dreckly”. (Translation: I aint doing nothing until after my soaps.)
I was only on this web site to find a little sumpinsumpin for a certain demure sublime gawdess who will remain NAMELESS in such matters
::: big eyed look :::
But… slappin my knee and hollering two times!!!
These are some of the yummiest big gurrrlz I have EVER seen!!!
Brazen babes casting their luring spells 2 sell some night gowns n whatnot. (!!!)
I would have put this on my Butch only filter so as not to offend any Femmes with my… ah… exuberance, but then again… maybe some of ya’ll would actually like to shop. LOL
Awwww… Check out these scrumptious bitty babes on the half shell! They would pair so lovely with a Chardonnay.
http://www3.telus.net/camilleallen/camilleallen/id8.htm
Well huzzah, huzzah. I’ll just throw back my legs and pollute my britches with delight.
-Mr. Burns
The Simpsons
(Warning: you could get fired if you are not allowed to view salad ingredients or side dishes at work.)
Christine is outta town tomorrow so I will be setting out in my Big Fat Daddy bachelor ways.
Pot pies. Check.
Sausages. Check.
Beer. Check.
Air freshner to frantically spray when she gets home instead of cleaning. Check.
Biggo cigar. Poo! I quit smoking. 
Ya’ll KNOW I ain’t no kinda bullshitter! Those are real porn titles.
Bonfire of the Panties
Star Whores: The Empire Likes Back
Three Men and Some Gravy
Yank My Doodle, It’s a Dandy
Big Trouble in Little Vagina
Tits of Fury
and my favorite: My Other Car is… Your Ass
I got no kinda use for no carrots though, shapely as they may be.
Ya’ll pray for me.
If she put a little tinfoil on her new antenna, I bet she could pick up most of the cable channels and prolly even wireless internet access. Maybe she can hear us talking on our cell phones. Mmm. Bet when she came home with chrome stuck in her head her mama sure called somebody on that cell phone.
Today I had a surging urge to loot, pillage, and gnaw on a biggo turkey leg! But instead I had lunch all alone in a cafeteria with the over-70-set. Square shaped fish from the bottomost depths of the great freezer sea, macaroni and canned cheese, and that dang green jello with bumps in it. I just go there for the bumpy jello, no lie. I love that shit!
I crave your mouth,
Your voice, your hair.
Silent, starving I prowl
Through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me,
Dawn disquiets me,
I search the liquid sound
Of your steps all day.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
For your hands the color of the wild grain,
I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your loveliness,
The nose, sovereign of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
And I walk hungry, smelling the twilight
Looking for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barren wilderness.
–Pablo Neruda (everything this guy wrote hits like a THUD)
Give me your eyes.
I do not ask to touch
The hands of you, the mouth of you,
Soft and sweet and fragrant though they be.
No, lift your eyes to mine;
Give me but one last look
Ere I step forth forever;
E’en though within that moment’s crashing space
I shall know all
of life and death and heaven and hell.
- Angelina Weld Grimke (fucking WOW)
Also on the subject of poetry, when Annie and Fisto where here, I took them to the Women’s Museum. While there I read that any of Emily Dickinson’s poems can be sung to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas”. I won’t post the song nor her poems here, but check it out the meter next time you read Dickinson’s work. Kinda silly to be all folksy-sing-songy about fucking DEATH n’ heartbreak n whutnot!