Trolling for hate mail/comments – since I never get any hate mail and all the popular kids do and I can be popular really! You know you like me, you know you do! Maybe I need to kill snails instead… or club baby seals or something…

Today – in a few hours – some MAN is coming to my HOUSE to POKE ME.

WITH a NEEDLE.

Oh getcha heads outa the gutter! *L* A paramedical exam is apparently necessary for someone, anyone, who reads my height and weight on insurance paperwork. I’m not surprised really. What I am, however, is HUNGRY! because since he is gonna POKE me with a NEEDLE I must FAST for 12 hours.

I’m sure he’s a VERY nice guy – but he’s coming to my house, ARMED WITH A NEEDLE that he will POKE me with, and a little cup I must PEE in, and blood pressure cuffs and a scale and a measuring tape and…

They’re sending a MAN to FAT GIRLS house after FORCING HER TO FAST for 12 hours.

I may just eat him. “good morning Ms…” RARCHOMP!

He’d better not be skinny. If they’re gonna STARVE ME for 12 hours, the least they can do is send me one with meat on his bones.

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PS. The ‘killing snails’ in the title is in reference to this post by Dad Gone Mad which apparently has gotten the silly internets in an uproar for his little boy being a little boy. Seriously, internets, lighten up. If killing snails was a crime, all them people using pesticides would be criminals after poisoning the lil fuckers. Not to mention, if he were REALLY raising a sociopath, would he tell you? sheesh.

myself, I prefer my snails drenched in butter and garlic, baked and served on a platter in a French courtyard by a cute waiter with a lovely accent and a thing for fat american girls…

mmmmmmmmmmm snails…

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PPS: And no, I don’t really club baby seals. Well, not anymore, though I have fond memories of the little *squish* sound the club always made right before the *crunch*…

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PPPS: Oh for crissakes, i was KIDDING about the squish sound! It’s more of a “thudsquick”

#23 [36×365]

Bubba
My very own redheaded drama geek. Big brother from day one: friend, boyfriend, my first fireworks, ex, friend, and brother still. Not many could make it as long as we have – distance can’t dim love.

thirtysix

#22 [36×365]

Doug
First experience with a ‘bad boy’ – huffy bike, leather jacket, curling hair, thuggish walk even at 7. My first kiss: unfrozen by your lips during freezetag in your yard. Getting into trouble was worth it.

thirtysix

#21 [36×365]

Tammy
Across the street, first girl friend I remember. Board and darts in the carport. One birthed the scar on my thigh. I should have listened, and Jimmy shouldn’t have thrown – memory marked in flesh.

thirtysix