This one is for my LJ pal NotBatman. When I told Henry who requested it, he said, “Yeah well I’m NotDoingIt.” He reminded me that he’s old and that it “might really hurt” him. I was like, “Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for, Papa.”
Obviously he did it because I rule the roost.
This is for my ho, Brenna. And these were too good to only post one.
Blake goes, “Dad, you look like Ron Jeremy” and Henry got all defensive and said, “Ron Jeremy’s old and fat!” and Blake goes, “I know.”
I HAVE THE SHAKES.
LadiesŽ Night – Vote for my rendition!
Just imagine how GORGEOUS these songs will sound when I’m DRUNK!
My favorite part was when Alisha cowered in a corner and then tried to kill herself by swallowing a deflated balloon.
I should reacquaint myself with these songs before I go all balls out and hit record on my first try. I totally only knew the “Ladies night” parts. I winged the rest. AND I BET YOU COULDN’T EVEN TELL!
Blake just said, “Oh father, thank you so much for bringing me over here tonight so I could witness the next American Idol!”
Tip: Turn your volume down. Down more. Further. All the way.
Oops, perhaps I should have prefaced with that. Oh well.
For Andrea, who thinks it would be hot to see photographical evidence of Henry cooking couscous at midnight.
I was standing on a chair for this shot! Look at my 70s rainbow picture frame in the background! Henry was a teenager in the 70s!
I was only alive for the last six months of the 70s!
I didn’t eat any of the couscous, but Henry, that little blumpkin, swears it was delightful, if only it weren’t so goddamn salty.
My posse is too busy having a meeting of the LAME CLUB in the living room and you know what, that’s fine.
Because I got a sandwich. I made it myself. Between the hearty grain slices are slices of American cheese and PICKLES. Mama likes her some PICKLES.
Here, have some pictures of me fellating my sandwich. It felt good. It felt good for BOTH of us. The rest of those skank ass hoes in the living room can get fucked, but it won’t be with a delicious sandwich, I’ll tell you that right now.
They’re over there waxing about Pennsylvanian accents. I mean, really? Me and my sammamish for lyfe. Fuck the haters in the living room.
I be gettin’ down with the pickle. Teabag my lips, bitch. Do it right. Let your juice run down, whut whut.
I am supa annoyed right now. Supa supa. It’s OK, I enjoy entertaining myself.
Have yo’ lame hoe down in my living room.
Hay guess what Henry killed our Internet connection so I’m trying post from my busted Blackberry and I’m sort of panicking right now OMFG.
And at the same time, Chooch got pissed off while hanging out with Alisha, Janna and Blake (yes, he’s still awake, which is the result of baking the recipe for AWESOME PARENTING) and I had to deal with talking him off a ledge.
Oh my god, this night is going swimmingly.
I used to place a lot of personal ads just for kicks back in the day. My friends would be like, “Please to be stopping whoring yourself, you’re going to get kilt.”
But it was FUN and THRILLING you guys. I used to love to meet new people back then, and it would usually always be in a group setting.
This one time however, I got brave. I told some dude, “Hell yeah, come up to my love palace, let me interview you to be my friend.” (Because you see, I had a boyfran, I was just looking for a boy that was a fran.)
(Sorry, I’m distracted because the episode of Degrassi where the princifuck calls Claire a bitch is on and I had to stop to yell into the other room, “Can you BELIEVE that shit??”)
Anyway, this dude rolls up to my crib and suddenly I feel like maybe this guy could be dangerous, how the hell would I know, I don’t dole out criminal background checks. So I don’t answer when he rings the bell.
He knocks.
I still don’t answer.
He knocks harder.
I crouch down in the shadows of my living room.
He begins banging and yelling, “I know you’re in there! You invited me over! Let me in!”
I retreat to the bathroom and hide in the shower.
He lingers for awhile, probably rubbing one out on my patio, hollering about me being a bitch tease.
He starts dragging something across my bedroom window and it goes SKEET SKEET and sends corresponding chills up and down my vertebrae.
And then he killed me.
No, he totally didn’t.
Sometimes I really kick myself for not opening the door. He might have been holding a beautiful bouquet of perrenials in his Freddy Krueger hands.
Shit I wish I could remember that bastard’s name. I’d like to send him a Christmas card. Facebook him, even.
This is what I have been doing:
Meanwhile, these assholes are lounging out, watching TV. So you know what I did? I turned all of the spotlights on and shone them on their dumb faces, and those lights BURN like INTERROGATION LIGHTS, so what’s up.
The people who live behind me are having a bonfire. We live in the city. They have already had one fire in their house, so I suggested to Henry that he maybe call the police, so then I can have something to write about and rap FUCK THA POLICE AT THE SAME TIME.
I think there is some saying about that, involving two town tramps and a stone.
Janna wants me to write about the time she and I went on a double date picnic thing with our boyfriends when we were 17.
So this one time, Janna and I went on a double date picnic thing with our boyfriends when we were 17. It just so happens that my boyfriend then was psycho-ycho-ycho and a runaway (living in my grandparents’ shed and then under my bed when he became too a’scared to stay in the shed alone because the Boogeyman was scratching at the door).
We’re having a nice time at this picnic in Mingo Park, playing card games and maybe eating stuff too, I can’t remember.
Janna is reminding me that Mike and I had a backpack full of weed with us because that’s when we were attempting to live the thug lyfe by selling pot to earn us some money to get an apartment that was not atop a paint shop like the one he was about to move into sometime after this tale happened.
Meanwhile, we kept smoking all the weed our supplier gave us. Oh well.
Now, Mike had this yellow-soda malady where he did not, absolutely did not like any carbonated beverage with any sort of lemon-lime flavor to it. Just so happened there was a big refreshing bottle of Surge that Janna’s boo Matt brought along with his frisbee that no one wanted to play with, and being the precious girlfriend that everyone knows me to be, I kept trying to coax him to drink some.
“I bet if you would just TRY it, you would LIKE it,” I reasoned, because back then I had this stigma where I felt that everyone should like what I like, and I am so not that person anymore.
Mike kept pulling his lips back into a taut line. But then I caught him off guard and poured some in his mouth.
BAD IDEA.
Mike was so angrified that he grabbed his shit and stalked off, screaming that he was going to walk home. (We weren’t anywhere near his house and I knew he wouldn’t go back there because that would go against his whole point of, you know, running away. Bad ass that he was!) So he finds a phone at some park building and calls his old parole officer. (Mike was in juvie for burning down his best friend’s house. I don’t think they are best friends anymore.) I think that his parole officer didn’t answer. Or that Mike didn’t really call. One of these two things.
And then a bunch of shit happened where he was screaming about killing himself because lemon lime flavoring had tainted his gullet and now he would never be the same. You’d have thought he was a Virgin, just been raped and having his abstinance vow pissed on.
(But when that happened to Darcy on Degrassi, her Christian club friends gave her back her celibacy ring, because Jesus said that didn’t count.)
I can’t remember what happened after that. We probably went off and had sex behind a shanty somewhere. Mike had a super weener.
I can’t remember who wanted the picture of Henry kissing me, but here are TWO for the price of ONE. Clearly, you can see that Henry and I have never kissed before. In fact, he wanted to creep on over to You Tube for some instructional videos.
“Maybe I should call Blake for advice,” he mused. But there was no time for that lollygagging.
“Stop being a blumpkin and just put your lips in a pucker-type thing,” I yelled.
“People are totally going to know that we are only fake-dating and that our child was grown in a pod,” he fretted.
And here is the requested MySpace pic. I’m going to add it to my MySpace with pc4pc as the caption. Look at how downtrodden Henry looks. I beat him with barbed wire at night and then he crawls into work the next day, he lies and chalks it up to another wild night at the S&M club.
My bangs are greasier than Alisha after a romp with a crippled MRSA’d streetwalker in the back of a fried chicken joint on a humid Arkansas day, because I am STRESSED.
For Bonecrusher. Look at his pretty little piggie tails, awuh.
Henry is on his way to pick up Chooch AND BLAKE OH IT’S ON LIKE A CRACK STOVE, BITCHES.
I love how Henry looks like he’s about to receive a football. LOOK AT THE PACK OF CIGARETTES IN HENRY’S SLEEVE, I DID THAT!!
Evonne and Janna attempted to floozy-up the background by pressing their boobs against the window, but unfortunately you can’t tell. Evonne said she wanted them both to lift their shirts and do it like real women, but Janna said no and then cried rape.
Janna never got the SEX talk.
The best part is that Alisha is a lesbian and bowing to a man was very offensive to her. But then I reminded her that Henry isn’t a real man and she was like, “Oh yeah that’s right, he has a vagina-ina-ina, I feel much better.
“
Henry finally came home, with a present for me: he left Chooch at his sister’s house, hooray!
But since he’s home, that means I’ve been able to finally start fulfilling some of the Henry photo-wishes. You’ve already seen him hopscotching, which irritated him but hoo-boy we got some more winners coming up.
And now my friend Evonne (Alisha thinks they’re friends too, which is such a JOKE) is here and she brought me one of those green tea creamy things from Starbucks to fuel my insanity (shit goddamn those things go straight to my lobes).
Henry is trying to act all hilarious and hifalutin’ because he is the alpha male up at 3021 My Street.
But it’s funny to me because we all know he’s really just a meek little boy trying to get through another day without being emasculated. OH HENRY.
At least he gets to watch his beloved Burn Notice with Janna while I’m busy. Wait – WITH JANNA? When did this unlikely alliance happen??
In other news, “Fuck the Police” and “Informer” have officially been downloaded so HOLD ON TO YOUR PANTIES because I’ll be rapping/yelling those bitches later on in the evening, homies. And at some point, Henry will be baking cupcakes.
I keep thinking I missed an entry. I hope that is not so.
“Where’d our caravan go, ya’ll?”
“I think I done parked it over by the cabbage patch.”
“Shit goddmann mo’fucker, I left my tambourine over at that colored man’s yard sale after I got caught pick-pocketing that city girl.”
“Grampa Jeb, where you goin’? It’s time to put on a fresh coat of hemrrhoid cream ‘fore you get all enflamed again and we got to take you back to the ‘firmary in the wheelbarrow.”
[Alisha and Janna pulled in just then and got to see this lovely gang of gypsy farmers up close and personal. Alisha said they had fantastic faces and now I am sad that I only got to see their broad backsides.
]
For Alyson: Henry begrudgingly plays hopscotch and acts like he knew nothing about how it was done. Then explain all the hopscotch porn I found in his drawer!
This was really hard for him to do without his cane.
