Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Remember you can fill up the sky

Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It's all bad here, with unnameable traumas, imminently dead aunts and a new twist of a birthday list. And three days notice on a 1940s costume. Cunts. We're not all SUV driving Fianna Fail banking scum. Forcing children into a competition where the winners are decided based on their parent's income is perhaps not the best of life lessons, you stupid fucks.

The batter is lumpy and my arm aches from my futile attempts to remedy this. I need to develop a more circular masturbatory technique so that I might transfer this oft practised action to the annual force feeding tradition that is Pancake Tuesday. But what if this makes my batter lumpy?

Sigh.

Posting will be sporadic, while I deal with and/or fail to deal with, crisis after rolling crisis.

10 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Radge said...

You've had a good run.

savannah said...

it will get better, sugar, just channel scarlett o'hara. it really does work, ah noe! xoxo

problemchildbride said...

It may seem like a small thing right now, hon, when you're in the thick of things, but it's worthwhile noting that while the crises are rolling, they're not lurching. Small comfort I know but them's what we have to grab for when it all turns crappy.

Go at 'em beard first, Gimme! Every problem can be lessened with a good hair-muffle.

Conan Drumm said...

I am stroking my beard supportively in your general direction. Then I'll use it to unbatter the pan.

Manuel said...

sorry to hear that old chap.....terrible stuff.....and condolences too.....

fatmammycat said...

Sorry to hear about your aunt. Is it the lady who has cancer?

gimme a minute said...

Yeah, turns out brown rice and reiki don't shrink tumours.

Who'd have fucking thunk it?

Sarah Gostrangely said...

Take care Gimme.

Good luck with the batterin'.

fatmammycat said...

Oh no, I'm really REALLY fucking sorry. Be on the end of the line if you need me.

problemchildbride said...

That's rotten news there, Gimme. Sorry, pal.

 
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