|
||||
Ah, gentle readers, I have missed you so... School has been kickin' my ass. That reminds me. Last night on the radio - this really lame and sophomoric show called Love Line that runs on KROQ in the Los Angeles area - I heard the guest hostess actually refer to her "tushy." I gagged, my friends. What kind of normal, well-adjusted, adult human being calls her ASS a tushy? I do not use the word "tush", let alone "tushy," and there is no way in hell I am ever gonna refer to the too-round-and-squishy part of the back of my body as such. No, my friends, I have an ass. A butt. Sometimes a rear or rear-end, and sometimes a backside. I do NOT have a tushy. And I think if you are over the age of 3 and do - or know anyone who does - there is something very deeply wrong with you. You are obviously a woman (or man) far too involved with your little white fluffy poodle with the pink satin bow in its top-knot, whom you call Caesar or Mupsy. Or perhaps Mupsy is a cat named Mr. Fluffytail. Either way, there is something very, very disturbing about you, and I do not want to know you. Ever. Bygones. Oh, and by the way, Katie, you suck. Excellent Quote(s) of the Day: "Apparent" is one of those words I can never remember how to spell. Is it -ent or -ant? I am too lazy to look it up right now, so who cares? But I digress. I like that thought. It's something we'd all do pretty well to remember, Mimi Smartypants' views on memoirists and the like notwithstanding. I think that was her, anyway, who doesn't like writers who have those moments of pure and perfect epiphany/realization. I read a lot tonight and I'm still shell-shocked over the destruction of my project. Sue me if I got it wrong. Okay, see, I didn't. I read further, and it's all right there in the same post. Go read it yourself. What the hell, Winona? By the way, my favorite item(s) she stole? Hair accessories. I'm really just beside myself over that one. Stupid Quote(s) of the Day: I don't know about you, but I don't want to eat a chicken sandwich that's been sitting out on the counter for two hours in my air conditioned house, let alone one that's been sitting on an army truck or in a backpack under the sun in a swamp or desert. But what really makes that quote for me is the "bad boy" at the top of it. What is it about pencil-pushing desk geeks that they think talking tough will make them sound like one of the guys in the field, gettin' shot at and eating bbq chicken sandwiches that have been sealed in foil-lined plastic pouches in 95 degree weather for the last 3 weeks? Surprisingly, some members of his department think more research is needed. That doesn't sway Darsch, though... "I don't even want to tell you how long it took to develop the McNugget." It's compressed bits of chicken, Jer. Parts is parts. It probably tastes a helluva lot better sitting under a heatlamp for 12 hours than an army sandwich that's been in a warehouse for 6 months in 100 degree heat, but then, what doesn't? Least Original Costume Idea It's only been done a million times, Jules. Including the movie DOA, in which Meg Ryan wears a slip with felt letters she cut-out and pinned on spelling the word "Freud" down the front. Admittedly, you were like 3 when that came out, but still, shouldn't a student at Coumbia University come up with something slightly more original? And the award for the Most Horrifying Costume and Quote Goes To... Thank God she knows her limits. BTW, is anyone else out there as horrified by the Anna Nicole Smith Show as I am? It's astounding to me that anyone can be as horrific as that barrow-like harridan. She is a proverbial vision of a train wreck, replete in spandex and classic make-up sparingly applied with a trowel, burping and mumbling her way thru every mind-numbing drug-induced show. It is truly the single most appalling spectacle I have ever seen. And yet, it has been picked up for a second season. Trailer Trash Mommas, rejoice. There is hope, little darlin. You too can grow up without the tiniest bit of book-learnin, marry a millionaire, and git yerself your own teevee show. What I really want to know is how much that lawyer guy makes an hour to sit on his ass and eat Anna's food and play her Playstation. Eat a cookie, you freakin' twig. Oh, joy. I am not a moose, by any means. I'm 5'7 and weigh between 134 and 140 pounds. (I haven't been on the scales since my last doctor's appointment 6 weeks ago, when I weighed 133.) But that's a far cry from the 118 pounds I weighed before I suddenly put on 20 pounds a few years ago, and farther still from the 112, Linda Hamilton T2 body I used to have. So it does not fill my heart with joy to have to share my living room with Jennifer Garner, let alone a bunch of snooty, anorexic, binge-and-purge cookie-eaters in swimsuits and lingerie, the likes of which I can no longer wedge my fat ass into no matter HOW many fucking sit-ups and lunges I do. I mean, it's depressing. And it fills me with an ire I never before understood when it was directed at me. But I want to take every waify, flat-stomached girl I see and kickbox her ass into the next century, then stuff her into a box so she will never again see the light of day, let alone pull air into her tiny little lungs so that her enormous fake bosom swells and her teeny little stomach shrinks still more. But I am NOT bitter. Bygones. Peace out, copyright 2002
- 2005 Katie Doyle; all rights reserved
In which Katie shares sad news - Wednesday, Apr. 01, 2015
|
Katie's Pals
L'ours
Pete Other Stuff Katie Digs
|
|||
-
1
|