Peyote & Grits

Helllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooo Posssssssums!

Oh mummy has missed you so very much.  I've not been in the blogesphere the last few days because I've been on the move! Traveling to Chicago for work, filmed an episode of a webisode called Strangely Normal, and enjoyed bacchanalian behavior in the desert with friends.

We've celebrated the autumn equinox, saying goodbye to summer and boxing up our yeasty tight jeans, & side boob exposing tank tops.  Then mother nature went and played a trick on us.  Its hotter than the devils twat right now. 113 mothafucking degrees in Los Angeles. This is the kind of weather that makes you want to snatch every track of weave out of your head, douse yourself with powder and reject the notion of masturbation. Doesn't that piss you off? When it's too hot to touch yourself?  It's like the gods are deliberately conspiring against your happiness. Because when you make love to yourself, you know exactly what to expect. Actually, the heat doesn't stop me.  There's only one thing that does-- Too Fat For 15.  That show is SUCH A BUZZ KILL. Seriously. Its bad enough that teenagers exist.  I mean come on, aren't you slightly annoyed at them? I personally don't trust nobody who has used a microwave their entire life. And do these lil crumb snatchers even use book covers anymore? I don't mean the kind you buy, I mean when yo mama went shopping, and when she put the groceries away you used that goddamned Cub Foods bag to cover your Social Studies book.  Do these lil shitsters with their smart phones and apps even know about Mesopotamia anymore? Do they even teach Latin in school anymore?  And what about TrapperKeepers?

Okay pause--I'm not making fun of fat kids. Childhood obesity is especially sad. I'm just targeting them because it's really hot outside, and I am on my 3rd Red Stripe. So don't go calling the ACLU or DCFS okay asshole? I think you know by now that I'm a horrible fucker.

But I'm your horrible fucker. I've got to get back to picking cotton, as I have a lot of irons in the fire. Next blog I will provide sordid details with pictures from my last few adventures.  Especially the one about me climbing an stacks of hay 10ft high behind a bar in Hollywood.  Yes, I'm that moron who dances with the lamp shade on her head.

Just wanted to check in and say hello. Alright little engine, keep chugging up that hill.
ithinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIknowIcan!
Go Bears! Ithinktheywill

ciao for now kiddies,

x

NEXT BLOG: How bird poop can cure wrinkly your labia.