The Brothers Chaps turn down the Cartoon Network, because they don’t like what would have been done to their product. I was just wearing my Trogdor hoodie to yoga class this morning. Because when white bitches in the PNWed are wearing your hoodie to yoga class, you don’t really need TV anyhow.

Wave o’ babies. Jazzy.

More later.

I am thinking that my site looks like unholy buttsauce in IE 7. Y/N?

Looks like Furryfox and IE6 only for now. Safari users? Y/N? Opinions?

If no opinion on this matter, then I want an essay on if you could have one food come out of a spigot on your living room wall, O what would it be? Bonus: which is a better tattoo, Abe Vigoda or Susan B. Anthony in hotpants. TY.

My macrolulz is on the cover of I Can Has Cheezburger. Fnif.

I am starting to get paranoid with my new comment filtering, because maybe only half of my comments are showing up in my ass-comments email folder. If you are bored or an interested party, and you are not hellaspamming my comments, will you send me an email and say if your previous comment attempts have gotten et, in say, the last week.

TY! esjay art iasshole.orgy

You might not want to comment. Cause it might get et. Hur. This is making me twitch.

When we last left our hero, her temporary-while-her-house-was-being-built best friend was teaching the young and impressionable about rhyming and stealing, and then got pasted by a car. It’s Ratso Rizzo coughing up blood all over again. I hope you didn’t think that ended my career as a tiny hooligan. Once you get a taste of the naughty life, it takes a lot to come back from that.

As I said, I got thrown into the sticks. Since I lacked retail opportunities, I turned on my own. When I was nine, I started rifling my parent’s drawers for anything I could find, after realizing that was one place in the house I had never been. If someone would have told me not to do that, I probably wouldn’t have. Probably. It just didn’t occur to me that it was an uncool thing to do. And the thing was, I knew my stepfather was rifling through my stuff already, because I was always “up to something.” That’s true. I was. Who wants a kid who isn’t, though? Sometimes I think they might have been happier if I spent six to sixteen staring at the wall and drooling.

So I discovered the world of porn then. For some reason, little kid foolishness I guess, I took a couple of copies of the magazines I found back to my room, to be peeped at under covers with a flashlight. I should have just looked at them during the day. I was a little angry then, because I realized at nine there was this whole adult world I was not privy to, or welcome in. I started realizing in a big way that people had secrets, and that anyone I saw around me could have them. Serious, kind of weird secrets. It felt like a blow to the chest to know how much I was being left out of.

I kind of got the porn, though, and why people would want to look at it. I think, in a really roundabout way, it helped me to figure some things out about myself. I had an indication at a really early age that I liked girls (thank you, Bananarama). So instead of just being all, “Ew, vag/handcuffs/goats” or whatever, it gave me some time to think about what I was looking at, and if I really liked women.

The men, however, were another story. That was fairly “Ew, wristwatch/hair/tubesocks.” No confusion there.

I remember when my stepfather confronted me about my appropriation of his porn. He called me down to the basement where he was working on one of his coin-op machines.

“So, um, you know it’s wrong to go through other people’s, uh, things, and um, take them, right?” he said.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Okay, good.”

Wow. Good talk, Dad. Especially good since he spent the next seven years looking through and taking my things, under the guise of “looking for the scotch tape.”

I don’t know who Brian Smith is, and I don’t know who this teacher Nancy women he fucked is, so fuck off.

Bringing saddy back.

That someone is uploading Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather. You know, somehow I’m down with the giant space turtle and the four elephants, but I don’t understand how trillions of gallons of ocean can dump off the edge of the disc and be regenerated somewhere in the mountains. It’s a damn mystery! If you are not reading Terry Pratchett, I recommend you start with Going Postal. It’s not my favorite ever, but you can get a feel for his style and Discworld without feeling like you’re missing out on a bunch of backstory, because it’s kind of a stand-alone. I just read the entire Tiffany Aching series in opposite order, because these things happen sometimes. SO good! I can’t want until Franny is a year or so older, so she can pick them up. Squid, if you’re out there, Iz would love them. I know you’re busy.

Shatner remembers his legendary “Rock-it Man” performance in 1746. Why? Because I’m a completist, that’s WHY. Thanks Supa!

ANTM withdrawl? (Tits?) Try Cycle 7.5. It’s a little flash atrocity that, if it continues, with be equal parts parodic and moronic. Gaffled from fourfour.

Update! SCRANTON, WHAT? Lazy Scranton. So wrong. I pray that that Steve Carell becomes my next babydaddy. After Tucker Max, of course.

You might trick me once, I won’t let you trick me twice.

That this is my new imaginary boyfriend. Srsly, I am looking for falconry as a skill. This may be my next babydaddy.

Thanks, Halo.