Weather: Cloudy with a chance of Bitch, or an aimless posting
what Emma needs is a good, solid cry. Try as we might, we have been unsuccessful in invoking the deluge, the usual ploys have left our eyes dry rimmed and our disposition increasingly sour.
yes, ladies and germs, witness again the monthly battle of the whore-moan. Akimbo they are, splayed and flayed.
Bitch is winning, in collusion, as usual with Hysterical, Weepy is waging a valient dry-eyed battle, Lethargy awaits on the sidelines, but Bitch is about to meet her most virulent contender, cuz, ladies and germs, Rage is in the house.
Rage is a fitful contender, making, praise be, only tri-monthly visits at best.
Rage nearly took off the head of the unsuspecting muni attendent who had the FUCKING gall to ask us to remove our monthly pass and FUCKING swipe it like a MOTHERFUCKINGGODDAMNED plebe.
he was out of line.
Only fat, rolly-polly tears can diffuse this bete noir.
Rage thrashes against the usual litany of woes, screeches, scratches, is FUCKING unhinged because we forgot to pick up the bath salts and are running out of cigarettes. You do not want Rage wandering the streets in search of cigarettes after two fortifying glasses of wine, itching for a fight.
(and please, please don't mention the president)
We are going to make the brave attempt to assuage rage by reading to her, her favorite kind of trash nazi/political intrigue thriller that we keep on hand for occaisions such as this. It is unlikely to evoke the tearful release that we so desire, but it is likely to distract Rage enough so that we might enjoy a solid night's rest. As to the bath salts, we have found a suitable alternative after much rummaging and balking on the part of Rage.
wait, before we get into the bath, Rage would like her two cents worth: BUSH YOU WORTHLESSCOCKSUCKER, SHARON YOU FUCKINGFUCKWIT, RUMSFIELD YOU ARE FUCKING CONSTIPATED, TAKE SOME METAMUCIL ALREADY, ASSCROFT TWO WORDS; TITS! TITS!
FOR ANYONE WHO SAYS WHERE YOU AT WIHTOUT THE INTENDED IRONY, YOU FUCKING TROGLODYTES, GO BACK TO FUCKING GRAMMAR SCHOOL, GRAMMAR SCHOOL, GET IT?
BRITTANY SPEARS, GO AWAY!
PARIS HILTON, GO AWAY!
MICHAEL JACKSON, DUDE WHERE'S YOUR CAR?? CUZ, I'M PRETTY SURE IT ABSCONDED WITH YOUR SKIN COLOR, YOUR BALLS, AND YOUR HUMANITY.
ok, sweety, that's enough, lets check it and retire to the tub.
n'oublie pas que les temps change...
what Emma needs is a good, solid cry. Try as we might, we have been unsuccessful in invoking the deluge, the usual ploys have left our eyes dry rimmed and our disposition increasingly sour.
yes, ladies and germs, witness again the monthly battle of the whore-moan. Akimbo they are, splayed and flayed.
Bitch is winning, in collusion, as usual with Hysterical, Weepy is waging a valient dry-eyed battle, Lethargy awaits on the sidelines, but Bitch is about to meet her most virulent contender, cuz, ladies and germs, Rage is in the house.
Rage is a fitful contender, making, praise be, only tri-monthly visits at best.
Rage nearly took off the head of the unsuspecting muni attendent who had the FUCKING gall to ask us to remove our monthly pass and FUCKING swipe it like a MOTHERFUCKINGGODDAMNED plebe.
he was out of line.
Only fat, rolly-polly tears can diffuse this bete noir.
Rage thrashes against the usual litany of woes, screeches, scratches, is FUCKING unhinged because we forgot to pick up the bath salts and are running out of cigarettes. You do not want Rage wandering the streets in search of cigarettes after two fortifying glasses of wine, itching for a fight.
(and please, please don't mention the president)
We are going to make the brave attempt to assuage rage by reading to her, her favorite kind of trash nazi/political intrigue thriller that we keep on hand for occaisions such as this. It is unlikely to evoke the tearful release that we so desire, but it is likely to distract Rage enough so that we might enjoy a solid night's rest. As to the bath salts, we have found a suitable alternative after much rummaging and balking on the part of Rage.
wait, before we get into the bath, Rage would like her two cents worth: BUSH YOU WORTHLESSCOCKSUCKER, SHARON YOU FUCKINGFUCKWIT, RUMSFIELD YOU ARE FUCKING CONSTIPATED, TAKE SOME METAMUCIL ALREADY, ASSCROFT TWO WORDS; TITS! TITS!
FOR ANYONE WHO SAYS WHERE YOU AT WIHTOUT THE INTENDED IRONY, YOU FUCKING TROGLODYTES, GO BACK TO FUCKING GRAMMAR SCHOOL, GRAMMAR SCHOOL, GET IT?
BRITTANY SPEARS, GO AWAY!
PARIS HILTON, GO AWAY!
MICHAEL JACKSON, DUDE WHERE'S YOUR CAR?? CUZ, I'M PRETTY SURE IT ABSCONDED WITH YOUR SKIN COLOR, YOUR BALLS, AND YOUR HUMANITY.
ok, sweety, that's enough, lets check it and retire to the tub.
n'oublie pas que les temps change...
posted by emma at
10:15 PM
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