Man, these phony, negligent, opportunistic assholes should be held accountable and fully prosecuted for risking their teenage daughter’s life ALL SO THEY COULD LAND A REALITY SERIES. I call DICK MOVE. Can anybody say BALLOON BOY?
Not to mention…fake, greedy, meatfaced Christians make Jesus cry.
When I was little — like little-little…back before my Hot-boxed Filipina Fuckmachine Mother had a thousand babies and I was forced to work as a biologically-indentured Teenage Mary Poppins With Boss Hooters And A Bad Attitude/Handmaid of Satan — when I was lucky enough to be sick and got to stay home from school, I would climb my narrow ass up on that couch with some pillows and a blanket to be all alone and watch this show. I was COMPLETELY RIVETED — especially by the shawdowy, exterior shots of Collinswood — SO GODDAMNED SPOOKY…and if you know me, you know that I like to keep it REAL SPOOKY. I also like to keep it REAL HONEST — and that means admitting to you now that I recently tried to watch this show all up on youtube…and I’LL BE GODDAMNED IF IT’S NOT COMPLETELY OFF TRACK…except for this theme song. This remains COMPLETELY ALL-TALENT.
Along with “Here’s the story…of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely girls”, the hoppin’ opening theme song of American Bandstand, the beautiful, almost plaintive notes of The CBS Children’s Film Festival theme music, the soothing tones of Mr. Rogers telling me I was special just the way I was, the WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH drone of Charlie Brown’s unseen teachers, and my mother’s voice perpetually barking at me to wash somebody’s dishes, do somebody’s laundry, cook somebody’s dinner, or change somebody’s ass lest I be drug down the hallway by my hair…this theme song is truly one of the definitive sounds of my youth. These are what got me through to the other side and saved me:
Speaking of Girl Fights…my BRILLIANT best friends, Peter and Billy, and I have an ongoing 20 year schtick where we purse our lips and say to each other, “Bitch…don’t MAKE me take off these hoops”, or “Bitch…don’t MAKE me kick off these Jimmy Choos”, or “Bitch…don’t MAKE me hand my Bud Light to Junior and Lil’ Tiger” — or the best: “Bitch…don’t MAKE me put the baby in the stroller.”
You cannot fathom the immensity of the fuck I do not give.
I am so relieved to hear that Abby Sunderland, the 16 year old who was attempting to sail solo around the globe, has been safely plucked from the Indian Ocean after SOS rescue signals were sent out from her little boat yesterday. I certainly admire this girl for her bold and adventurous nature…but as a mother, I do, in fact, have a real quick question for her parents:
ARE YOU OUT CHO’ MOTHERFUCKIN’ MINDS?
In their comments to the press, they’ve said that Jesus put their daughter out on that boat in the first place and that it was Jesus who plucked her young ass from the sea — but either way it might’ve gone…well, that was just fine with them. COME AGAIN?
What is it with these Born Again Hard Bastards that they just LOVE to sacrifice their children on the altar of the lord. THEY LOVE IT. Well, I say FUCK ALL THAT. The lord can just take somebody else’s baby — my baby ain’t goin’ anywhere ALL UP THROUGH THIS MOTHERFUCKER. I’ll chain all three of those adorable little biatches to a wall in their bedroom and feed ’em Cap’n Crunch with Crunchberries and let ’em watch Jersey Shore until the end of time. Better to end up buried in Snooki’s Orange Cookie…than Davy Jones’ Locker, I say.
Sixteen years ago today, I became the mother of a beautiful boy. And, what a boy he is! Talented, hilarious, intelligent, compassionate, egalitarian, wildly interesting, and endearingly eccentric, this young man plans on being a sports journalist, which is his all-consuming passion. Not just the stats, but the magic, meaning, and mythology of sports. Bob Costas? I pity the fool. Otis, My Man…Happy Birthday! I LOVE YOU!
Merry Birfday to one of the great loves of my life — My Sweet Wayne Cole! I would not be who I am today without all the support, guidance, and divine affection that’s been lavished on me since sashaying into your class all those many years ago. I am a lucky dame to have such an awesome mentor, friend, and champion. I love you, Mr. Benchley — always have, always will.
Your Hyacinth Girl, Mrs. Parker.
“I’m gonna keep these ol’ mashed potaters down here on my end of the table because I wouldn’t want ol’ chubby to get ahold of ’em!” — Great Crapaw, 1991
So, what you’re telling my fatass is that not only did I have TOTALLY-FUN, TOP-SHELF MAKE-OUT DREAMS about you BEFORE the flurry of the GREAT 3 AM DOG PISSING…but in an almost unheard of continuation of the scandal and degeneracy, I also fell back to sleep and DREAMT OF YOU AGAIN? Even though I am OVER THE MOON for My One True Love, Gregory — gosh, what a little strange can do for a girl’s outlook…even if it takes place only in her dreams.
I CANNOT believe that I just dreamt what I dreamt about you. What a shameless, ruthless trollop.
I LIKE IT.
muffy bolding 