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perfectlyinked's blog: "small town america"

created on 11/07/2008  |  http://fubar.com/small-town-america/b257725  |  8 followers

My windows are rolled partway down while I drive home this evening. The warm, humid air ruffling my bangs hasn’t really affected the heavy aroma of slow-boiled cabbage permeating every inch of air space in my car; I just can’t shake the smell.

I’m on the way home after work. It’s a 45 mile drive. Some people tell me they couldn’t commute so far day in and day out, but I love my time on the road with my favorite bands cranked up to speaking-blowing volumes. Today with the breeze forcefully caressing my skin and the beauty of the sunset before me, I couldn’t ask for a better time. This must be why the song “These Days”  by the Black Keys sucker punches me straight on, no holds barred.

Dan Auerbach’s soulful croon makes me smirk with the line “Men come in different shades. That’s how we’re made” and its universal truth. But in the next moment, his sorrow surrounds me like a blanket. “that little house on Ellis drive is where I felt most alive. The oak tree covered that old Ford. I miss it, Lord. I miss it, Lord.” All his emotion spills through my speakers and threatens to spill from my eyes. I am completely overtaken.

And in that same moment I realize how much I love everything I have and everything I am. 

I have that small house. That simple life. My existence is surrounded by the beauty of Spanish Moss covered trees and punctuated by pink sunsets not violent colors so obscene. The minutes spent hand turning the earth for the garden in my front yard or sitting around the room laughing with friends will never be seen as wasted time. Even as Auerbach fills my ears with his melancholy regrets, I realize more than ever that my choice to live this life instead of making the choice for something more glitzy has made me a better person. 

Georgia, despite popular opinion, has not and will not ruin me. And, here is Dan Auerbach to attest to this truth. 

My car is filled with the scent of cabbage because the woman who delivers medicines at the pharmacy where I work cooked a meal today. She woke up early. 5 a.m. early. She labored in her kitchen, this 65 year old fairy godmother of mine who can tell the dirtiest of jokes. The ham baked to tender, juicy deliciousness in the oven while she cut cabbage and let it boil then simmer its way to perfection. She cooked rice with neck bones added for flavor and whipped up a batch of Jiffy cornbread muffins. And she did all this before coming to work at a place where she is often taken for granted. We enjoyed the meal at lunch cracking jokes and complaining about the natives, and when the day was done, she offered the entire batch of leftovers to me to take home for myself and my roommates. Her giving nature never ceases. 

I had to leave a kidney as collateral that I’d actually bring her dishes back this time. 

The Southern Sunday dinner smells only add to my appreciation of these days. My days. And it makes me embrace the woeful nature of this song even more intensely. I realize how many regrets I would have if I left my life behind to chase after greener grass; that realization makes me understand the sadness in this song all the more. And a tear rolls down one cheek.

I may look back at this time one day and miss it, but for now, there is nothing wrong with living in my little corner of the world. 

There's a certain thrill to posted nude pictures of yourself online. I'm not going to deny that I enjoy it...if I didn't, I would never have started an nsfw folder. Unfortunately, it seems like I won't be able to enjoy that twinge of excitement any longer. 


I had a message in my inbox from someone on my friend's list. I'm very thankful that person was kind and respectful enough to message me right now. (and to that person, I owe you one). Apparently, they'd seen pictures of me on another website. Someone from my friends list here (because I'm not naked anywhere else) has taken my nsfw photos and posted them on an amateur porn site called "home grown freaks." Isn't that nice? This person has also labeled me "big tits and crazy tats" which is the kind of title I've always aspired to have...really.

I'm not exactly surprised this happened. People never fail to prove themselves to be fucking assholes. I also realize I put myself in the position for this to happen by having an nsfw folder. However, knowing that doesn't change the fact that I'm bothered by this. I have the folder open to friends. I have a lot of friends. That means anybody, really, can see. So, it's not like I've kept it exclusive or whored myself out for bling and pimpouts and all that other shit. I've been here two goddamn years and know people I've invited that hit levels above me in a matter of weeks simply because I don't care about the points. So, this person, whoever they are, could look at these pics any old time they wanted. But that wasn't enough. They had to take them and post them elsewhere just to get a few laughs. It isn't fucking funny. 


I'm not the only person he's done this to.


As embarrassing as it may be for me to have to deal with this, I'd still like to do the right thing. At least, I think it's the right thing. This guy's username on this site is Soooooo Big. Here is his link http://www.homegrownfreaks.net/forums/Soooooo-Big-m29368.html Please take a look at some of these other women and if you recognize them as a friend of yours on here, let them know before you jerk off to the pics you find. Each of those girls should be able to decide on their own if they want the pics removed or not. Supposedly this can be done by contacting the webmaster. I've done so. We'll see. 


It's not so much about having other people see my tits. they're awesome tits and their joy should rain down on the masses. But, they're MY FUCKING TITS and I should be able to choose where pics of them are posted. 


In other news, I am still hoping Witty will be my roommate in a little over a month. She's still got to let me know for sure. 


Also, I had a Christmas party this past weekend. I think I might have actually experienced time travel. The party was a success for sure. I had compliments on the food, my interior decorating skills, etc etc etc. The only thing that really concerned me involved some friends of friends. An old friend of mine and her boyfriend brought another couple with them. They all showed up fairly late into the shindig--as in most people were here by 9 and they showed up after 11. For the next two hours, this other couple kept talking to everyone about the size, consistency, and contents of my dog's feces. I have a great dane. That's a big dog and everything but who really gets amazed at the size and contents of dog poop? Probably the same kind of person that would steal such a nice girl's photos. Fucking assholes.  


1) Put your iPod/Windows Media Player on Shuffle
2) For each answer push the "Next" button for your answer
4) Tag 20 friends
5) Everyone tagged must do the same thing

1.) If someone says "Are you okay" you say: Slavedriver-converge

2.) How would you describe yourself? stone to wake a serpent-isis

3.) What do you like in a Guy/Girl? lice halo-birds of prey

4.) How do you feel today? wild ox moan-coalesce

6.) What's your motto? the purveyor of novelty and nonsense-coalesce

7.) What do your friends think of you? magical chylde-electric wizard

8.) What do your parents think of you? mangled by mongoloids-birds of prey

9.) What do you think about very often? swollen and halo-baroness

10.) What is 2+2? barnburner-harvey milk

11.) What do you think about your best friend? modern times-black keys

12.) What is your life story?out on the tiles-coalesce

13.) What do you want to be when you grow up? void of harmony-alabama thunderpussy

)14.) How do you feel when you see the person you like? i got mine-the black keys

15.) What will you dance to at your wedding? scumbrella-east of the wall

16.) What will they play at your funeral? grad-baroness

17.) What is your hobby/interest? questions to root out fools-coalesce

18.) What are you afraid of?  it was fear of myself that made me odd-alexisonfire

19.) What is your biggest secret? liquor blisters-birds of prey

20.) What do you want right now? the gnashing-baroness

21.) What do you think of your friends? distance closing in-kylesa

22.) What will you name this note?  anxiety hangover-eyehategod



Why is it that so many men love porn but frown on a girl having nude pics online? 


why is it that any girl who does have even a hint of nudity in her pics is just crying out for the wrong sort of attention? is there no other possibility? can she not just be comfortable with or like the way she looks?

Why does it seem that nearly every guy i've ever met seems hung up on monogamy and commitment and defining a relationship?

are all men really that insecure? really?

why can't i find a "real ghostbusters" pke meter on the internet?


statistics is the worst subject. ever.


does everything i say have to be picked apart and overanalyzed? wait a minute. i'm the one going for my masters in clinical psychology. let everything the fuck go. there's not always a hidden meaning or a hidden agenda. 

where is my rob gordon?

how hard is it to understand, "i don't want ANYTHING from you. i'm going to die alone and all my cats will eat my fucking face off. and i'm ok with that"?


focus factor works.


i watch It's Always Sunny more than I should. I now reference it at least once a day. 


I finally read Slaughterhouse V. It was good. It wasn't, however, the enlightening experience I've always been told it would be and that sort of disappointed me. People should learn to shut the fuck up and not build up my expectations so I'm not sorely let down in the end. 


I heart drugs.


I'm in the middle of writing a book and I have no idea what I'm going to do when I'm done. It's going to be published. What then? Who the fuck is going to buy a book about Elvis coming back as Jesus but not really?


I need socks. 


I also need to refill my wineglass. thanks. 

I am hooked on Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia. It's crass. It's dark. It makes me laugh until I hurt. It's pure genius. I blame my dear friend The Olive for ever demanding I watch it in the first place, but that's a completely different matter altogether. I don't have cable or satellite so in the last several weeks I've managed to buy all 5 seasons and watch them over and over again. 


I watch them while I write. I watch them while I fold laundry. I watch them while I do homework. I watch them...ok you get the point. 


The only problem is that with all this watching, my 5 year old has been seeing more and more and has become quite a fan of the show. This is to my detriment which I will prove with the following example:


Two days ago, I came home to find that my cat, as cats are often guilty of, notified me that his litter was too full by shitting in my kiddo's tub. I was just happy that he's not the kind of cat who leaves said notifications on the carpet. My kid, however, was furious. He asked if we could put the cat outside so the mean dog next door could eat him. When I said we couldn't, he proceeded to chew the cat out about his "smelly mess" and advised him not to leave "unwanted presents" in any more tubs. 

Yesterday, I walked into the kitchen to find a large yellow puddle in and around the cat's food bowl. I call for the kid and ask him what the hell happened. He says "Gonzo must be saying his litter is full again." I let him know that cats cannot possibly make that large a puddle when they pee. His response? "ok. ok. ok. fine. I don't like when he poops in my tub, so I pissed in his bowl to get him back. We're even."

So, I just realized that I'm coming up on my 2 year anniversary here. I have mixed emotions about this. It seems that I just can't quit here no matter what else goes on in my life. As ridiculous as it can sometimes be, I've still met enough people on here who've made my life much better and continue to do so. I guess that means I'll probably see a few more anniversaries. So it goes. 


Philemon--you're my wonderwall

Witty--I've never had as good a friend as you and never will

Mclovin--you always make me smile no matter how i feel

Jim--you're the reason i started enjoying this place to begin with

seamus--you're absolutely adored. no question.

jay--you're too much for words

witchie--you're certainly one of those people who makes this place worthwhile

pedro--fubar just wasnt as much fun when you weren't around

jed--fuck you and thanks for the music. 


And to everyone I interact with regularly who I didn't name outright, you're still much appreciated and often loved. 

I'm posting this here just for the sake of garnering some more attention for it and the writers' social site I created with my dear Olive. I don't know that too many people here will get it or enjoy it, but I figured it was worth a shot. 


Also, if you'd like to read more, i'll give you the link to where parts 2-6 are posted. It's a serial story that hasn't seen it's end just yet. 


We all have our Idols. I reckon that's the best way to explain what happened Tuesday at 4:15 p.m. Really, it explains the aftermath of "Elvis' Return To The Building--that's how I been referring to all this. It's Friday now. Been more than 3 days and even though I'm waiting in line for the Big Show down in Tallahassee, I'm still pretty clueless. Judging by how fast this line's movin', I imagine I'll figure a few things out pretty soon.

Here's what I know so far.

Every single radio station, television station, live web stream....every media outlet possible broadcast The Return. I happened to be at work. I own a bar and keep a television on for the daytime patrons which means The Regulars. We had it on Three's Company--the episodes when Suzanne Somers was still on. Two of The Regulars were down at one end of the bar arguing over whether Jack's friend, Larry, was really a gay. The TV screen went black in the middle of a closeup of Somers and her school-girlish pigtails. She is the essence of every dumb blonde joke, that Chrissy Snow. "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" began to play and I remember thinking What is this bullshit? just before the screen showed a young Elvis descending onto a stage from the heavens. And when I say young Elvis, I mean 50s Elvis not bloated and sad 70s Elvis.

We were all silent a moment watching the King lower gracefully to the ground with arms extended and face staring grimly towards the camera. It was just plain odd.

"What the fuck's wrong with the TV, Mack?"

I snapped out my fixation on Mr. Presley. "Can't be the TV, Percy," I replied. "Just bought the damn thing. Cost me 600 bucks down at Wal-Mart. Maybe it's the cable or the channel itself." I grabbed the remote and changed the station but they were all the same. The screen started to close in on Elvis as his feet touched down on stage while the music simultaneously quietened down.

"Aw, horseshit," I'd yelled down the bar to Percy and Frank. "You guys into Elvis?"

"Naw, Mack, not since I was a kid."


"Nope." I'd powered the thing off by then and walked over to the satellite radio hookup I had over behind the bar. I kept it on XM's channel 47, Classic Vinyl. Everyone seemed to like it just fine when we weren't in the mood for daytime television bullshit. As soon as I pushed the power button, Elvis' undeniable voice blasted through the speakers.

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

I'd heard no applause. He continued on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I gotta whole lotta shakin' up to do tonight. I'm here to give you some news that may be hard to stomach at first. The King is back, folks. The gospel foretold of this day. I am the King, Christ returned to Earth. Ever since I was a kid, I knew God had something special for me. When I passed on to the heavens above, he gave me a little speech and let me know I was his son and that I'd return one day to fulfill his plan. I'm here, folks, to do just that. I know there will be doubts. Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away."

The station went to silence then. We were all silent. There was such a tension in the air for a few moments then Frank finally cut it with a joke about terrorists not making good Elvis impersonators. Then I poured us all a shot of my best scotch. TV, radio, even the Internet...none of it has worked since.

This line's movin' slower than I imagined and I have to say I'm a little antsy. I have no fucking idea what's going to happen, pardon my language. But, sitting at home tonight wasn't an option. That thing that looks like Elvis and is calling itself the messiah made that much pretty clear the second time we saw it. That was Wednesday morning at about 10:30. We were all waiting for it, really. With nothing else to entertain us, the stories had already gotten pretty wild. Of course, the crazies were already out in full force, too. The tabloids, all the newspapers, every customer, every whispered word held stories of what could be going on. It was really Elvis after a lot of plastic surgery. This is the one people who were sure he'd never died, The Elvis Spotters, were always going on about. Then there were The Invaders. These people were sure it was aliens. Jesus Freaks were divided. Some said God would never pick such a loose hipped rock star to represent Jesus, Lord and Savior. The other Freaks thought it was a comforting, modern image...and smart of God to use such a recognizable, trusted face. The Conspiracy Theorists decided it was a government experiment and then The Desperate Housewives with their Elvis memorabilia in the form of Russell Stover collectible tins and Ty Beanie Babies were ready to be led like sheep to a slaughter. Everyone else just sort of waited on some answers.

Strange world we live in.

So, Wednesday at 10:30 in the a.m. Every television, radio, computer, even mp3 players and intercom systems announced another speech when they simultaneously began to play Elvis' version of Amazing Grace. We were all on the edge of our seats right where that...thing...wanted us. And we all hung on every word. I know I did. Frank and Percy had their eyes glued to the television set from their end of the bar, too.

"Thank you for more of your time, ladies and gentlemen. I'll be brief so we can all get on with our day and prepare. As some of you may have figured out, it's time for my next big comeback tour. We're callin' this one The Judgement. We've got a lot of dates and stops to make to fit all you folks in. I ain't doing this tour alone though. I've got some good ol' boys to help me out. My apostles. Let me introduce you. This here's Peter, one of my original disciples. You might be more familiar with him as Bobby Fuller. That there is Andrew. Some people call him Dimebag but Darrell seems more appropriate, don't it, son?"

Frank, that dumbass, couldn't help himself apparently. "What kind of guy wants people callin' him "Dimebag", Mack?

On the television, Elvis continued on. "That's James the Greater. His name here was Rhett Forrester. James the Lesser was, well, not too well known as Jaco Pastorius."

I held my temper. "That guy did, I reckon, Frank."

"Well, who the fuck is he?"

I was trying to pay attention to Elvis over Frank's big mouth. He pointed down the stage bending down on one knee after a twist of his hips. "Then, there's my dear John who was named Joe Strummer for some time." He stood back up and made one of those stupid little kisses towards the audience. I always hated Elvis.

Frank cleared his throat still waiting on my answer. I sounded strained. I couldn't help it. "I think he got shot a few times at one of his concerts or something. Saw it on the news."

"With a name like Dimebag? No! You don't say! Hard to believe, Mack. 'S a damn shame."

I missed a few words listening to Frank but caught most of it. "... Philip better known as Peter Tosh. This guy here is Gram Parsons to you all but I've known him as Bartholomew. Next to Bartholomew is Matthew. He lived here in the Rolling Stones as Brian Jones.

"Hey Frank? Percy?...What's all these guys got in common?"

"This a riddle?"

"No, Frank. It ain't a goddamn riddle."

"oh. uh, Bobby Fuller was murdered and I reckon that Dimebag fella was, too."

"Yeah, but Gram Parsons od'd."

I turned back to the television trying to work it all out. "... his back turned is Thomas. Turn on around, son, and let them get a look at their beloved Jim Morrison. He's a little shy.

"Jim Fucking Morrison?"

"They're all dead, Mack. That's the connection."

"No shit, Frank. No fucking shit" and that's all I said for quite awhile.

"On this side of Thomas, there's Thaddeus. He looks so much like his daddy, that Jeff Buckley. The kid jerkin' 'round in the middle there is Simon. You probably know the name Woody Guthrie even if you don't recognize him. And then back here behind everyone hiding out is Judas. Come on out and show them your face, Kurt. Come on, now. They aren't going to stone you... That's everybody, ain't it? Yeah, so anyway, folks, you'll be getting a list of tour dates in the mail. We all expect you to be at one of these dates. It's free. Get on a bus or drive your car. Walk. It don't matter none. We'll take care of it. Just come to the show. If we have to come looking for you, you've ruined any chance you've got at salvation. We just don't have long enough for that. I expect you'll have your mail today. Now, I've been getting some bad publicity--you got to expect that. But, I also expect to see ya'll there all the same."

And that was that. The screen went black again and I ran out of scotch.

another repost....revamped. enjoy. 


If you drive about a mile or so from my yard, you'll pass the pleasant stench of a dairy farm. It's devastatingly rural in these here parts which makes it insanely hard to meet anyone. In fact, I'm having a t-shirt made for me to wear when I venture into town for supplies. It's going to read:


(my tits are big enough that wearing such a long statement is, in fact, conceivable)

However, considering the small percentage of people who are actually literate around here, I don't really know how much good it's going to do me. And for those who can read, most won't have a clue what "infectious" actually means and they'll still probably ask if the tattoos hurt. By and large, the shirt is just really for my own amusement.

So, what I'm left with then is the wonderful world of Internet dating. Men (and sometimes women) who would never dare talk to me in a public place will say any and every thing imaginable when able to hide behind a computer screen. All women who spend any time on the Internet know this; it's not news. I do manage to find a diamond in the rough from time to time, though. And usually between a couple messages and a bit of texting, I can figure out who's good to meet and who would be a waste of my time. Alas, I am not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and so sometimes, I misjudge or perhaps my desire to get laid overrides my good sensibilities. It's highly likely that it's the latter. I'm an honest girl.

It's rare that I actually consider a whole Ted Bundy kind of deal because the actual occurrence of such a psychopath is also rare. I travel long distances alone. I'm used to being on my own and I really don't pay attention to the fact that being female is supposed to make me more vulnerable. So, I meet whoever I see fit. I figure it's better than meeting someone in a bar while under the judgment impairing influence of alcohol.

I met Mike on an online dating sight. 99% of the people I end up meeting contact me first. Rarely do I actually read a profile or see someone and make the first move. I'm used to having a ton of bullshit messages to sort through. I'd like to think I'm special but I suppose the same is true for all women. Mike was an exception to the norm. He was cute. He lived nearby in Tallahassee. He didn't seem too dim, so I wrote him a condescending email about the picture he had of his vehicle on his profile. He took it in stride and messaged me back. I gave him my number, we text over the weekend, and I asked him to meet me in a park that Monday evening.

He agreed. Smart boy.

We met at the park as arranged. He looked like his pics. Even cuter I guess. He made me laugh some. We talked about tattoos and music since he plays the drums. Musicians are always wicked hot, no? He had shitty tattoos which meant I'd never take him seriously but I was having an enjoyable time so far. I got a rundown on the fact that he'd been in a motocross accident which almost ripped his arm off and he took pleasure in partially disrobing to show me the nasty scars. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't enjoy the show since I took little time appreciating the damage which might have led to such scarring. My attention was drawn elsewhere. Anyway, discussion of pain treatment following description of the injuries started a Red Flag flying but I ignored it. What do I know about long term pain? I figured, for the time being, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

This very gorgeous park has a train trestle running right over the lake. I love it. Rephrase: I love looking at it. By this time it was dark, though; enjoying the sites was no longer an option so this idiot decides to drag me up to said tracks and we cross over like something out of the fucking lost boys. I totally caved to the peer pressure and eased my way across holding onto him with one hand and carrying my heels in the other. Not as romantic as it sounds. Trust me. He did help me down the other side so I wouldn't bust my ass...hand on my waist and all that, but somehow images of being squished by an oncoming train sort of ruined the warmth of the moment. I heard a car horn and nearly peed myself halfway over the damn thing; I kid not. This craziness sent up Red Flag 2.

We then sat in his truck in the air conditioning and talked for a bit. I found out he'd just gotten out of REHAB when he moved to this area. He was living with his aunt because the rest of his family didn't really want much to do with him. He bowled on a seniors league every Wed night with this aunt. I help death row offenders, you know, so rehab is not a big shocker. I try not to judge, but rehab and a senior bowling team? He also informed me he didn't have a job and lived off an allowance his parents sent him. By this point, Red Flag 3 was flying high.

We made a store run for candy and drinks then headed back to the park. We got out and headed back through a wooded area to a table but before we could get to it I caught up to him and pulled him in for a kiss. I have no shame. I mean, he was cute and my mood is always improved by candy. I'd spent all this time talking so I felt I really had to get in at least a kiss to show for it. We went back to his truck for music and ahem talking.... now... during all the time we were texting, we talked metal. I like metal. He text that he had no rap on his ipod like it was some sort of golden ticket. I start looking through said ipod. I'm sure you can guess what i found--lots of rap--which is no big deal if that's what you like. I'm not really that sort of dickhead music nazi (ok a little), but be honest about what you like, you know? So...Red Flag 4

We made out some more anyway and he made a joke like a lot of guys do about serial killers on the internet and I joked back like I always do. It alleviates some of the tension that comes with meeting someone on the freako Internet...unless you take the joke too far. He took the joke way too far and I sort of got this little naggy feeling saying 'hey, hey...wtf?' but he's also a splendid kisser so I ignored it. I ignored it until he put on a song--mid make out session--by Eminem about strangling a girl and whatnot. He sort of sang along. It all made me quite uncomfortable and I stopped the kissing and sat looking at him oddly.

"I'm kidding! For realz, j. Kidding. Seriously. I'm sorry if I took the joke too far, girl."

Red Flags were flying all around at that point.

okay so I blew him in the back of the truck anyway. I figured if I was going to die, I'd at least have some fun first.

This is actually a repost but it's been awhile and I revamped it to share with my mates at [sic]Phukars


So you've met a foxy lady on the world wide web and want to make sure you get to meet her? well, i have some tips and tricks to ensure you'll meet the little lass and also work your way right into the cotton panties you never imagine her wearing!


1. Probe Into Her Inner Workings.


Just to avoid any confusion later, be sure to always ask right at the start of your interactions, "So, do you like anal?" because that's the first thing any respectable girl wants to discuss--you shoving something up her ass before you even know her name. To ensure a fast meetup, ask her to spread her cheeks in front of the bathroom mirror and take pics of her asshole for you. Quickest way to a girl's heart? Yep. Through her asshole.


2. Ask Intimate Questions


Absolutely ask for her bra size. It's common knowledge that a 2 digit number and letter combo will determine whether or not her tits are nice. She's already sent you 47 pictures of herself topless but you still need the size of her slingshot, buddy. Girls love talking about their tit size as its more important than her IQ could ever be.


3. Talk Like A Man


Be sure to ask the following, "The question is, baby, are you sure you can handle this dick?" She'll be a bit flustered at your manliness, but she'll absolutely say, "You know I can. Every inch." At this point, you should remind her, "Yo, I been dicking ladies since I was 10. I got mad skillz, so I hope you prepared to get FUCKED." I'm tingling just thinking about such an exchange.


4. Be A Cunning Linguist


Describe your going down skills in graphic detail including the fact that you can keep your tongue working her for hours...because girls always believe that and always fall for it even though it's really not what they want in a sexual encounter. Once you promise all those hours of the same thing, you will change her mind about that whole needing dick thing. All of a sudden, she will just need you to eat her all night long.


5. Compliment Her


After she gets ready for you two to go out, look at her with puppy dog eyes and say, "Wow, you look great tonight, babe. Almost worth the 45 minutes you spent getting ready."


6. Don't Be Too Needy


If possible, show up to your date with hickeys on your neck. If need be, use your vacuum cleaner to give yourself some. Women thrive on jealousy and love for you to make them compete for your affections.


7. Talk About Your Past


Do talk about your time in prison while you two are at dinner. Joke about murdering her or tossing her body out to the alligators. That will surely get her panties wet. It is more than appropriate to sing song lyrics to her detailing rape, murder, and mayhem. Instill a little fear in her. We totally dig men that scare the piss out of us.


8. Discuss Your Hobbies


It's always wise to discuss your drug habits as well. It's like a 3 punch combo--be an asshole, have a criminal record, have a drug problem. It's irresistable. If you don't have one of the components of this combo, simply lie. Fabrication is acceptable.


9. Imply Fate Has Brought You Together


Once you two are making out heavily, look at her, sigh a little, and say, "God you look just like my ex." She'll look wary for a minute, so at this point you should say, " oh but, you know, way better."


10. Be Openly Affectionate


After you blow your wad down her throat, refuse to kiss her until she brushes her teeth. This will drive her wild and will definitely get her to part her knees--your golden ticket to pussyville.

Actress Veronica DeVoid was in court again today seeking damages against a local Los Angeles spa owner. Ms. DeVoid visited the spa, Serenity's Smoke and Mirrors, last summer for a relaxing weekend before beginning her latest film, Cop A Feel 2. The spa advertises itself as specializing in relaxation herbs, aromatherapy massages, and facials.

Ms. DeVoid alleges spa owner, Serenity Swindler, gave her a mud mask facial made of feline feces. The facial cost her $1,349.39. She is seeking monetary damages for the full cost of the weekend stay which totaled $14,857.26. She is also seeking an additional $12,280.15 for emotional distress.

In a press conference yesterday afternoon after the first day in court, Ms. DeVoid related she had, indeed, questioned Ms. Swindler about the strong odor of the mask but was informed it was a special Egyptian mud known to keep skin tight and firm and that Cleopatra herself had been known to lay around for days with the mixture on her face. Ms. DeVoid also informed the press she was alerted by one of Smoke and Mirror's employees. The employee, a fan of the actress, felt guilty over the scam and contacted her via Facebook. Ms. DeVoid stated she wouldn't have been so angry if the mask had actually made any improvements in her skin.

In an interview with Barbara Walters a couple months ago, Ms. Swindler tearfully claimed she never meant the celebrity any harm contending she has known of the wonders of feces facials for years but did not think people would buy into it. The 32 year old swore she uses them often on herself and is always being complimented on her youthful appearance though such claims cannot be corroborated. In court, she failed to produce any evidence of these fecal wonders and refused to comment after court. The judge is still deliberating.

Cop A Feel 2 made in excess of $40 million at the box office its first weekend but dropped considerably in sales afterwards. Ms. DeVoid made about 26 million dollars for that film, her 3rd of the year.

*Author's note: I read a news brief not too long ago mentioning an actress who sued her hair stylist. Apparently the stylist sold her a bottle of water for $1200 and said it was a nutrient rich hair rinse.

We are in debt as a nation into the trillions of dollars yet we ensure we are kept entertained with film, television, pop music, and sports. I use the word loosely because I'm hardly ever entertained by any of it. There are years certain celebrities make in excess of 200 million dollars for starring in a couple shitty films. That goes a long way into saying how fucked up our priorities are. Soldiers, police officers, teachers...pretty much any job ensuring the safety and progression of our society...rake in less money in an entire lifetime of hard work than many celebrities are pulling for just 1 film. It's embarrassing.
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