Every time you come around my london london bridge want to go down. (???!) Apparently I am old and therefore do not have my finger on the pulse of… what-the-fuck-ever those ignunt lyrics are supposed to mean.
Please pass the gravy, bitches! I just spent an hour in the middle of JoAnn Fabrics burning up an electric turkey trimmer on a ginormous chunk of upholstery foam. Shoppers were trying to shout over the wrrrrrrrr as huge chunks of neon green foam went flying out in all directions. I believe someone earned an Electrified Bird Carving PhD on this day. I tried to Butch-up with this steady, inconspicuous look on my face that I am sure read: “Heyull yes, fool! I do this stunt all the time, not just holidays”.
All this for the new built-in bench in my kitchen.
O’. How I suffer for my art.
I have decided from now on when a man steps in front of me in line, speaks over me or otherwise assumes I am invisible, I am just going to take a step back and say, “Oh! I did not realize you are male. Please, sir. You first.” Trial run this morning at brunch, and then again later at the Homo Depot. A+ on your lesson, dicklick. Five gold stars. Check plus PLUS! Course, one was a shaky, skinny little dewd and the other apparently did not realize he had a penis. But still.
I’m proud to be unfuckable, fellas, but ya’ll best recognize!
Don’t make Mr. PotatoHead snap on the angry eyes.
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