You know what’s awesome? A friend finding my self-portrait for sale in someone’s Photobucket album, me reporting it, Photobucket deleting the photo and replacing it with a red box reading, “This image or video violated our terms of use,” or what I like to think of as The Little Red Box of Shame. I wish every site had those little red boxes.
Setting aside my doubt about the validity of this story —- if you can’t afford to buy dog food, you shouldn’t have a dog, a baby and another baby on the way. Also, I suspect the reason your baby daddies walked out is because you’re the kind of freak who breastfeeds her dog, takes pictures and posts them on the internet with the rationalization, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” How the hell are they supposed to explain that to their friends and family? How the fuck are they supposed to explain it to the authorities?
Hunting Trophy
She: Displays glittery snot-filled tissue.
He: “You snorted glitter?”
She: “No. I deliberately inhaled a unicorn fart.”
He: “There’s something wrong with you.”
She: “Don’t hate on me for my athleticism. I had to chase that mythical creature for an hour before he let loose. They’re not as gassy as you’d think.”
…When he was very old he had a model of the perfect woman built in rubber —- life-size. She could be filled with hot water in the winter. She was strikingly beautiful. He called her Sabina after his mother, and took her everywhere…Sabina had a wonderful wardrobe. It was a sight to see them come into the dining-saloon, dressed for dinner. He traveled with his keeper, a manservant called Kelly. Between them, held on either side like a beautiful drunkard, walked Sabina in her marvelous evening clothes. The night he died he said to Kelly: ‘Send Demetrius a telegram and tell him that Sabina died in my arms tonight without any pain.’ She was buried with him off Naples.
– From Justine written by Lawrence Durrell (1957)…I couldn’t hope that he’d have another failure; he wasn’t that rich in heart that he could make good use of it.
– From The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow, 1949Want to hunt puppies? In Brantley county, Georgia, all you have to do is trespass on an animal rescue’s property with a loaded firearm and start shooting. Cops won’t do anything if you say the puppies were attacking your geese. On the rescue’s property. With no proof.
Way to support shitty stereotypes about the south and cops.
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