Tonight's turn table topic:
"We are so cool, why don't people follow us?" Sid and I have come upon the realization that nobody reads our blog.
I (Carolyn) think that our popularity may pick up after the publication of our book "Harnessing the Hoot; The Art of Humor and Modern Dance."
Miss Congeniality 2 and glasses of wine are a sleepy way to spend Friday night.
What do we think of that NuvaRing commercial where they sing the days of the week? I love it. Sid does not. You drunk bastard.
Buying the Cow, I want to Marry Ryan Banks, and Toddlers and Tiaras
"I'm so hung over right now that I think I'd be considered drunk anyways."
7pm has been declared an acceptable bedtime. It's currently 5:05, and Sid and I are struggling to make it.
The topic on the turn table today is Toddlers and Tiaras.
Heather declares that this is white trash. Lady on the tv brags about the family and community bonding.
Grandpa's going to teach a seven year old how to shake it.
7pm has been declared an acceptable bedtime. It's currently 5:05, and Sid and I are struggling to make it.
The topic on the turn table today is Toddlers and Tiaras.
Heather declares that this is white trash. Lady on the tv brags about the family and community bonding.
Grandpa's going to teach a seven year old how to shake it.
A glass of wine, a cup of tea.
Heather has neglected you.
That cunt. That bitch. That lactating hoe.
Kitty cats and match.com.
Walking pneumonia wouldn't keep me away,
but cunt-face sits, on youtube, alone.
Because of my great loyalty to you, blog,
I sit and write, faithfully and predictably
on this Thursday night.
Butternut squash, nutter fut laush,
wine washes down the words.
Quiet apartment, buzzing fridge,
kitty cats, and match.com
Sid's tits keep milking and I
keep typing
Because drunk isn't even the word.
Walking pneumonia
the breakfast song.
Whistle and mother kept saying
the wine washes down the words.
Cunt.
That cunt. That bitch. That lactating hoe.
Kitty cats and match.com.
Walking pneumonia wouldn't keep me away,
but cunt-face sits, on youtube, alone.
Because of my great loyalty to you, blog,
I sit and write, faithfully and predictably
on this Thursday night.
Butternut squash, nutter fut laush,
wine washes down the words.
Quiet apartment, buzzing fridge,
kitty cats, and match.com
Sid's tits keep milking and I
keep typing
Because drunk isn't even the word.
Walking pneumonia
the breakfast song.
Whistle and mother kept saying
the wine washes down the words.
Cunt.
Gettin' there
It's 10:40am.
I woke up a while ago and have been lying in bed. I need to poop, but somebody is in the shower. It would probably be rude to intrude on somebodies shower with a disgusting morning-after-red-wine poop.
God, it's 10:40am and I am talking about disgusting poop.
We can backtrack a little to the red wine. I went on a walk yesterday and came back with two bottles of it. That should get me through this week.
I hate that all I think about is getting through things.
I woke up a while ago and have been lying in bed. I need to poop, but somebody is in the shower. It would probably be rude to intrude on somebodies shower with a disgusting morning-after-red-wine poop.
God, it's 10:40am and I am talking about disgusting poop.
We can backtrack a little to the red wine. I went on a walk yesterday and came back with two bottles of it. That should get me through this week.
I hate that all I think about is getting through things.
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