Seriously? Could you smell worse?
Never mind. Don't answer that.
Also, could you please stop gnawing on your own crotch? For the love of God woman.
Dear two hundred year old man shopping at JcPenney's yesterday,
Sir, I totally respect the fact that you are clearly shopping for your wife, as you were looking at the old lady nightgowns.
You go grandpa! Get you some!
A Chick who hopes her husband lives that long and doesn't, you know, die from smoking so much
Dear Management Type Person at Work,
Seriously? I worked on this project for four weeks, giving up numerous weekend hours, and busted my considerable arse to get it completed EVEN WHEN MY COMPUTER AT WORK TOOK A HUGE CRAP AND DIED three days ago and I had to recreate two huge documents just from my notes and you are SERIOUSLY going to stand there and give A MAN credit for every single thing I did? Seriously?
Right in front of my face like that? Seriously?
Well. Enjoy Hell anyway. There's a special place there for you, I understand.
Smell you later!
Dear Fiber One Bars,
Come with me! My love! To the sea! The sea of love!
Or some crap. Whatever.
While I adore you, your dislike of the song I made up for my Fiber One Bars makes me question your judgement.
I mean really. Me singing, "Fiber One bars! I love you! I love how! You make me poo!" is better than a lot of the stuff that recently won Grammy Awards. Seriously. There was this song that won a Grammy that has lyrics that go: I know you're thinking, thinking that it must be I'm a raw flow cause it never get rusty I aint gotta say it, man dawg trust me. Bust somebody head, T.L.C. where was we?
Seriously. That's really the lyrics.
My song is like way, way better than that. Right?
Anyway. Love you!
The Best Wife EVER
Happy Valentine's day!
Or not, if that's not your thing.
If it's not your thing? Happy Thursday!