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For.  The.  Win.

Brett Ratner is, to be quite frank, a talentless, misogynistic, shameless, smarmy, fame-whoring assclown douchegargle.  I think the last few days’ events have proven that true.  From his classless quotes about Olivia Munn (yes, she’s a hacky twit, but undeserving of that), to his homophobic verbal diahrea, to his admission that he ( Read more... )

Note to KT:

The quickest way to put me off of wanting to fuck you is to assume that I do…

At the time, I thought I was doing you a favor, trying to treat you like a human being instead of the breathing Real Doll™, but then you did the beer bottle stunt in public - while I wasn’t around, thankfully enough - proving that you don’t have much sense of ( Read more... )

( Oh, the bitchery… (I'll have to explain some of it in detail later.) )

Today is not the day to call me an arrogant, passive-aggressive, aloof, toxic jerk.

The cold-hearted bitch is just not having it today.

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Oh, my blood sugar is the closest it's been to in-range normal that it’s been since the beginning of the summer.  No wonder I feel like such a honking bitch.

Yes, I am a Virgo.

I am, at this very moment, consulting an online version of Emily Post to ascertain what the appropriate lead time is for sending invitations to events for which RSVPs are necessary.  Not because I’m hosting a function or anything like that; I hung up my hostess mitts back in 1997.  It’s more that I have this nagging annoyance in ( Read more... )

Sometimes the coldhearted bitch in me wells up and threatens to scream out I don’t know what love is and I couldn’t care less.

Mutual delusion does not suit me, considering that I can create perfectly good alternate realities on my own.

Tyson
must
DIE.
(And to think that there was a hot minute thirty seconds where I would have considered having sex with him.)

That is all.