Wednesday, August 12, 2009
The Apocalypse
Friday, July 31, 2009
There are a lot of predictions out there, but I am here to tell you they are all pure rubbish.
I, personally, know when the world will end....
Are you ready for this? ........
The world will end on the day that I, Priscilla, am on time to work.
Seriously!
But not to fear, you are all very much safe.
We may all actually live forever, because my friends, this will never happen.
So stop your worrying. I will protect you.
I will not even leave my house until 8:00 every morning. I feel as if it is my duty.
I, personally, know when the world will end....
Are you ready for this? ........
The world will end on the day that I, Priscilla, am on time to work.
Seriously!
But not to fear, you are all very much safe.
We may all actually live forever, because my friends, this will never happen.
So stop your worrying. I will protect you.
I will not even leave my house until 8:00 every morning. I feel as if it is my duty.
Posted in: Being an only child, Brutality, Droppin it like it's hot, medicated and motivated, perfection, Selfishness, Therapy | 0 bottles of beer on the wall | |
Short Shorts with a Big Belt... Gag me.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
I walk the line of originality and odd when it comes to my occasional fashion choices. Of course I consider them to be original and my gal pal considers them to be odd, but at the end of the day I pull it off anyway...
This whole short shorts with a big belt thing though is WRONG. Just wrong. Who the hell let the bleach set into their roots long enough to let it drain into their skull and thought this fashion mistake up?
One, I can barely see your ugly ass shorts you probably paid way too much for considering it took less than 1/4 of a yard of fabric to construct them because your hideous belt takes up half of your ass.
Two, considering the fact that the shorts are barely there anyway, your big ol' five pound belt is weighing your hoochie shorts down in the back.
Now, not only can I almost see your who-ha and clearly see the pillows of your dimpled ass, but I can see your crack too.
Seriously?
I own some daisy dukes and I sport those suckers proudly, but minus the belt!!!!
You whore bags need guidance. And likely contraceptives. Something could slip in there far too easy....
This whole short shorts with a big belt thing though is WRONG. Just wrong. Who the hell let the bleach set into their roots long enough to let it drain into their skull and thought this fashion mistake up?
One, I can barely see your ugly ass shorts you probably paid way too much for considering it took less than 1/4 of a yard of fabric to construct them because your hideous belt takes up half of your ass.
Two, considering the fact that the shorts are barely there anyway, your big ol' five pound belt is weighing your hoochie shorts down in the back.
Now, not only can I almost see your who-ha and clearly see the pillows of your dimpled ass, but I can see your crack too.
Seriously?
I own some daisy dukes and I sport those suckers proudly, but minus the belt!!!!
You whore bags need guidance. And likely contraceptives. Something could slip in there far too easy....
Posted in: Being an only child, Brutality, Droppin it like it's hot, medicated and motivated, perfection, Shaking my tail feather also known as dancing, Shopping | 1 bottles of beer on the wall | |
All of them!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Men.
Men and their stupid man penis.
Sometimes I would just like to break that thing off and shove it all the way through their left ear whole so that there might finally, possibly be some form of stimulation in the brain.
That's all.
Ugh.
Pop the cork, I'm done with the day.
Men and their stupid man penis.
Sometimes I would just like to break that thing off and shove it all the way through their left ear whole so that there might finally, possibly be some form of stimulation in the brain.
That's all.
Ugh.
Pop the cork, I'm done with the day.
Posted in: Being an only child, Brutality, Droppin it like it's hot, medicated and motivated, Selfishness, Therapy | 0 bottles of beer on the wall | |
Third Person
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Priscilla loves to speak in third person. It is a cheap little thrill. For some reason she gets happy butterflies in her stomach and a burst of energy out of hearing her own voice say her own name and speak of her own life.
She especially loves to have long drawn out conversations with her gal pal when they both speak in third person. It makes them sound like they are speaking of the most fabulous celebrities (which they would both be if they would ever be in the right place at the right time to get discovered).
This is also a great tactic she uses in public so she can talk to her gal pal about a not so glamorous personal subject, and no one knows it is really about her. "Did you know Priscilla laughed so hard at the party last night she peed in her pants a little?" Bystanders will just think she is a horrible gossip, in which they will either not care at all or go home and pray for her, which is doubly great because she can never get enough prayers! But in reality, she is just telling her own shameful little secrets. She is so much fun, really! Not to toot her horn too much, but she is! ::toot, toot::
This post makes her laugh.
She is done writing now. She is hungry.
She especially loves to have long drawn out conversations with her gal pal when they both speak in third person. It makes them sound like they are speaking of the most fabulous celebrities (which they would both be if they would ever be in the right place at the right time to get discovered).
This is also a great tactic she uses in public so she can talk to her gal pal about a not so glamorous personal subject, and no one knows it is really about her. "Did you know Priscilla laughed so hard at the party last night she peed in her pants a little?" Bystanders will just think she is a horrible gossip, in which they will either not care at all or go home and pray for her, which is doubly great because she can never get enough prayers! But in reality, she is just telling her own shameful little secrets. She is so much fun, really! Not to toot her horn too much, but she is! ::toot, toot::
This post makes her laugh.
She is done writing now. She is hungry.
Posted in: Being an only child, medicated and motivated, perfection, Selfishness, Therapy | 1 bottles of beer on the wall | |
Tweet tweet
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror--this is always the moment of truth. And, sometimes I am lucky enough not to look like a beaten crack whore (which I am not for the record).
The Medusa look is typical for me. I am also not surprised to be sporting the sporty spice afro look. This morning though I looked as if birds had been nesting in my hair as I slept. There were a couple of defined nests of fluffy tangled, used to be curls.
I was running late.
I gathered them up and made one defined nest that I like to refer to as a bun on top of my head.
Tweet tweet people.
The Medusa look is typical for me. I am also not surprised to be sporting the sporty spice afro look. This morning though I looked as if birds had been nesting in my hair as I slept. There were a couple of defined nests of fluffy tangled, used to be curls.
I was running late.
I gathered them up and made one defined nest that I like to refer to as a bun on top of my head.
Tweet tweet people.
Posted in: Brutality, Droppin it like it's hot, medicated and motivated, my pets | 0 bottles of beer on the wall | |
Poker Face, Spike's got one
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Can dog’s have a favorite song? I do believe so.
Lola, the Chihuahua, woke up from a dead sleep one evening when I was watching one of my many guilty pleasures, Dancing with the Stars. When the cha cha began, “Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets…....” The chui went wild. Seriously from a dead sleep wrapped up on my pillow with her little snout on my neck to wiggling her little butt all around the bed and barking at the flat screen. She is vain like her momma, and this song was written about her after all!
Then there is the boy bulldog… Spike. He is the only boy in the pack, but we really consider him one of the girls ever since we took his manhood. He has become a pure momma’s boy. The faces he makes when he is in a needy mood are priceless. When Lady Gaga’s Poker Face first came on the scene and we heard the male vocal in the background, “Ma ma ma ma” we knew if Spike spoke English he would sound just like that. For the record, he does speak, just not English. Every time we sing that song, he moans right along with us, “rarw rarw rarw rarw.” He is addicted to that song, but he does agree with me that Gaga’s hair is always hideous.
Frenchie, the French bulldog and Sassie, the rescued English bulldog have not yet decided on their favorite selection, but continue to enjoy the variety of music played on 94.7 Jack FM.
Lola, the Chihuahua, woke up from a dead sleep one evening when I was watching one of my many guilty pleasures, Dancing with the Stars. When the cha cha began, “Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets…....” The chui went wild. Seriously from a dead sleep wrapped up on my pillow with her little snout on my neck to wiggling her little butt all around the bed and barking at the flat screen. She is vain like her momma, and this song was written about her after all!
Then there is the boy bulldog… Spike. He is the only boy in the pack, but we really consider him one of the girls ever since we took his manhood. He has become a pure momma’s boy. The faces he makes when he is in a needy mood are priceless. When Lady Gaga’s Poker Face first came on the scene and we heard the male vocal in the background, “Ma ma ma ma” we knew if Spike spoke English he would sound just like that. For the record, he does speak, just not English. Every time we sing that song, he moans right along with us, “rarw rarw rarw rarw.” He is addicted to that song, but he does agree with me that Gaga’s hair is always hideous.
Frenchie, the French bulldog and Sassie, the rescued English bulldog have not yet decided on their favorite selection, but continue to enjoy the variety of music played on 94.7 Jack FM.
Posted in: Droppin it like it's hot, my pets, Shaking my tail feather also known as dancing | 0 bottles of beer on the wall | |
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