Don't Read This

Rambling...that's my middle name. I would change it, but I don't like change...unless it's jingley change. That I like. That and donuts. But not the "fat-free" kind. Those are yucky. What was I saying?

11/10/09 8:45 PM

I'm Back!

I'm back! I know, I know, you want to know where I've been for 3 years, right? Well, I'm sure that's not all you want to know. For example, you probably want to know why Rihanna has such a big forehead. Right? Stop looking at me like that.

Anyway, where I have been is kind of a big deal. You see, dear readers, I've been off helping to feed the poor in distant third world countries. Okay, not really, but I did give a french fry to a starving kid who was sitting in a ditch once. Fine, he was sitting right beside me and he's my nephew, but he really wanted it and I couldn't resist the longing in his eyes as he said, "Give me a damn fry, asshole." He's such a cute little thing. Everyone says so. Okay, nobody says so except his parole officer. Not really. What she actually said was that if he didn't get some serious mental help, he's going to kill somebody.

Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I got a new job! I'm a doctor! No, not really, but I did apply. And by "apply", I mean I went recently to update my immunizations. That shit hurt! I hate needles. But, I was brave. I didn't even flinch. Not even a little. Okay, maybe a little. Fine, when she stuck the needle in, I screamed, "OH MY FREAKIN' GOD, YOU'RE KILLING ME!!!", but she didn't mind. Actually, she did and told me to get the hell off her lap, but who could blame me?

I got my immunizations because I don't want that dreaded Swine Flu. I hate pork. And a sneezing pig just freaks me out. Except if the pig is a cop, but you shouldn't call them that, I found out. But, he had no right to pull me over. I know my rights. He said I wasn't allowed to vomit out of my window while I was driving. Well, could I help that I was suffering from a terrible stomach virus? Not really, I was drunk, but he didn't know that. He quickly found out when I offered him a shot of my vodka, but a high fever will make you do crazy things, am I right?

Anyway, I would type more but my 6-year-old blabber-mouth son is yelling at me from the back seat saying it's illegal to blog and drive. Like he would know. He can't even keep his diaper on straight. I would pull over and beat him, but it would take too much time to un-duct tape him from the seat. Well, somebody stole his car seat. Don't judge me.

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I was born in Rangoon and was raised by a one-legged goat-herder who suffered from halitosis, crunchy hair, and a cough due to cold. One day while I was out helping my goat-herding legal guardian collect a couple of stray goats who were bleating and eating our neighbor's poppies (they weren't really poppies...they were carrots, but he tried to fool us so we wouldn't eat his "upside down flowers"), I happened upon a book written by Mark Tween (yes, I know it sounds the same as that other guy, but trust wasn't him) and instantly fell in love with book binding. It was beautiful.

Later when I was in high school (okay, prison, but they did teach us things), I decided I wanted to become an amateur milk I went to finishing school (where I learned to finish the folk tales I used to spin but never finish when I was a kid and an old plate of beets I refused to eat when I was eight because they reminded me of my Aunt Edna's blood boils)...and the rest, as they say, is history. Well, not the kind you'd read in a book...unless you happen to be writing a book about me, which would be pretty unlikely...unless you're my mother and someone raised you from the dead. She's not actually dead, but that's what she always screams at my brother. "You make me so mad, I wish I was DEAD!"

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