I swear I'd like to kill that bitch...! Dude, remember vulva puppets?
My sister and I should not be allowed to communicate via internet after approximately 9:00 pm, especially since, in our current mutual lack of mobility, she has begun engaging in such unhealthy, mildly nefarious activities as late night browsing of Encyclopedia Dramatica and...well, I’ve obviously taken to raving about whatever subject enters my increasingly depraved consciousness, particularly when sleep-deprived and lacking other entertainment.
My diatribe for the evening?
Recently an uncomfortable number of people from my past that I dislike intensely (a couple of whom are SERIOUS nutters) have decided to contact me online using various methods, while I become more and more displeased.
I’m convinced this is happening because they know (probably via an ad one of them placed on Craigslist) that I’m without a car at the moment and therefore less able to flee from them.
Everyone knows that crazy people can easily outrun the relatively sane through sheer power of psychosis.
Tonight a person tried to get my attention who, though a relatively minor character in my admittedly somewhat degenerate history, managed to earn an unusual amount of my enmity for quite some time.
This was obviously instant fodder for a largely stream-of-consciousness email to the two people on the planet who I know will always at least pretend to read my harangues with some measure of enjoyment and not judge the often violently offensive or outright nonsensical content.
An excerpt for your reading pleasure:
I go months...(or could I have said well over a year, even?)...without any internet drama.
Sudenly I feel surrounded by it.
(In my defense: Contributing to my current ill-humor is having to listen to a mouse squeak endlessly somewhere in the kitchen causing Dara to bark endlessly at said mouse. I'm pretty sure this is the same rodent who runs across every surface in the kitchen at least every couple nights, leaving a trail of fecal bread crumbs for future directional reference. NOT a soothing atmosphere conducive to the ignoring of bullshit.)
...
Anyway, {Remember} the bitch from ****? As in, "Oh, God, This place makes the average trailer park look like a fucking gated community and even the resident scum think this girl is a bottom-feeder?"
...
{She previously commented on photos of me, obviously trying to get my attention.}
...and she was saying these little innocuous things like...."it was too show how sexy your navel is."
...I do NOT want that bitch looking on my navel with lust and trying to vagina-flytrap me as a way of making amends!
I keep scratching at my back like I can feel the herpes CRAWLING on me!...
{Tonight she made a comment saying “I wonder if she (meaning yours truly, of course) still hates me..."}
So, months later, the empty-headed mattress had to push it a step further...
This, in turn pushed me over the line into, "I know I should ignore this trout-sucking skank but...fuck it."
...
I mean, a few rules of thumb.
A) If I've previously made it obvious that I'd kick your teeth in if I wasn't so cautious about blood-borne pathogens and I haven't said anything since then that might suggest otherwise, I probably am not looking for us to be pals. I hold grudges. It's not a flaw; It's called learning from my mistakes.
B) If you think this may have been an oversight on my part, that somehow I just forgot to mention how my memories of you have suddenly become warm and fuzzy in a way that does NOT involve mold, ask me directly. Do not refer to me in the third person
C) Keep that shit private. To do otherwise is a sign of a piss-poor upbringing. It also means I very well may own your ass.
Er...actually, in her case, I think enough people have already paid for her ass in crack-rocks that I should find another euphemism for dogging her up in public...
Wait...That one's a little problematic too...
You get the idea. Feigning homicidal urges for the entertainment of friends and family while insulting someone highly insultable is fun.
Amusement ensued from my usual colorful language, particularly “vagina flytrap,” which is in this case used as a verb meaning, “...the act wherein a girl who annoys and/or repulses you attempts to establish a rapport with you by making cutesy, pseudo-sexual comments.”
***
Moments later, my sister sent me an email with the subject line “Behold Vaginabike,” thus establishing the theme for the evening.
It included this image.
This made me happy.
Understatement.
More aptly, all rage was transformed into labial glee!
I giggled at the stern (but proud) looking woman wearing what looks very much like an Amish-style bonnet, standing in front of a vagina bike! It even has hair!
Well, a little bit...the scraggly aspect actually made me laugh even harder.
My response:
Bahaha!!!
I LOVE freaky vagina art!
Remember the "pussy pillows" and "vulva puppets?"
http://www.yoni.com/gifts/arty-gifts/pussy-pillow-5.html
http://www.yoni.com/gifts/healing-gifts/mini-vulva-puppet-5.html
I would have WAY too much fun going around refusing to communicate with anyone by any means other than the vulva puppet.
...
*sigh*
Even though I WOULD like to have SOME money to my name, shit like this makes me glad I'm not rich.
I might re-decorate the house with a vagina theme on a whim.
Hell, there'd probably be a vagina bike parked outside.
Dude...
Vagina convertible! Picture it!
Yes, by then I was bouncing with absolute giddiness at the thought of a bright pink Vaginamobile of my very own....driving along with the top down (lips open), vulva puppets on my fingers...having the left and right hand ones converse at stoplights.
Oh, it would be a thing of beauty!
...I wonder where I could buy a fuzzy vulva to hang from the rearview mirror...you know, like fuzzy dice...
...Or, oh my god, an air freshener! A vulva air freshener!
You’d think my older, wiser sister would step in and talk some sense into her impetuous, obsession-prone younger sibling, but no...
Instead she says:
Now I definitely have to get you a vulva puppet. You have made it a necessity...
If we ever strike it rich, remind me to make sure you do not spend all the money on pussy....
{Regarding the vaginamobile...}
Haha. Can you imagine driving along with the labia majora flapping in the wind like a demented flag on each side? Flap Flap Flap Flap!
{Insert appropriately juenile “fap” jokes...Please do not make any “insert” jokes in response...}
As soon as I got to the “demented flags,” I sprayed tea out of my nose, probably causing permanent damage to both my sinuses and my keyboard.
Of course, I immediately requested permission to share her side of this exchange, via LJ and Facebook, with all of my dearest internet friends (who I'm sure are all thankful for her abundant generosity).
As you can see, she responded in the affirmative, right before mentioing that she might follow me back to posting on LJ more because, “Sometimes F/B makes me feel a bit constricted, like my underwear are too tight or something.”
I have yet to respond to this gem...What can one say to such a confession from a family member?
Thus, no new vagina-related email has arrived for me in quite some time.
However, though the night may be old, the morning is young...and neither I nor my female sibling have gained the slightest bit of maturity since adolescence.
My heart is warmed by the glowing potential I feel in the world.
My diatribe for the evening?
Recently an uncomfortable number of people from my past that I dislike intensely (a couple of whom are SERIOUS nutters) have decided to contact me online using various methods, while I become more and more displeased.
I’m convinced this is happening because they know (probably via an ad one of them placed on Craigslist) that I’m without a car at the moment and therefore less able to flee from them.
Everyone knows that crazy people can easily outrun the relatively sane through sheer power of psychosis.
Tonight a person tried to get my attention who, though a relatively minor character in my admittedly somewhat degenerate history, managed to earn an unusual amount of my enmity for quite some time.
This was obviously instant fodder for a largely stream-of-consciousness email to the two people on the planet who I know will always at least pretend to read my harangues with some measure of enjoyment and not judge the often violently offensive or outright nonsensical content.
An excerpt for your reading pleasure:
I go months...(or could I have said well over a year, even?)...without any internet drama.
Sudenly I feel surrounded by it.
(In my defense: Contributing to my current ill-humor is having to listen to a mouse squeak endlessly somewhere in the kitchen causing Dara to bark endlessly at said mouse. I'm pretty sure this is the same rodent who runs across every surface in the kitchen at least every couple nights, leaving a trail of fecal bread crumbs for future directional reference. NOT a soothing atmosphere conducive to the ignoring of bullshit.)
...
Anyway, {Remember} the bitch from ****? As in, "Oh, God, This place makes the average trailer park look like a fucking gated community and even the resident scum think this girl is a bottom-feeder?"
...
{She previously commented on photos of me, obviously trying to get my attention.}
...and she was saying these little innocuous things like...."it was too show how sexy your navel is."
...I do NOT want that bitch looking on my navel with lust and trying to vagina-flytrap me as a way of making amends!
I keep scratching at my back like I can feel the herpes CRAWLING on me!...
{Tonight she made a comment saying “I wonder if she (meaning yours truly, of course) still hates me..."}
So, months later, the empty-headed mattress had to push it a step further...
This, in turn pushed me over the line into, "I know I should ignore this trout-sucking skank but...fuck it."
...
I mean, a few rules of thumb.
A) If I've previously made it obvious that I'd kick your teeth in if I wasn't so cautious about blood-borne pathogens and I haven't said anything since then that might suggest otherwise, I probably am not looking for us to be pals. I hold grudges. It's not a flaw; It's called learning from my mistakes.
B) If you think this may have been an oversight on my part, that somehow I just forgot to mention how my memories of you have suddenly become warm and fuzzy in a way that does NOT involve mold, ask me directly. Do not refer to me in the third person
C) Keep that shit private. To do otherwise is a sign of a piss-poor upbringing. It also means I very well may own your ass.
Er...actually, in her case, I think enough people have already paid for her ass in crack-rocks that I should find another euphemism for dogging her up in public...
Wait...That one's a little problematic too...
You get the idea. Feigning homicidal urges for the entertainment of friends and family while insulting someone highly insultable is fun.
Amusement ensued from my usual colorful language, particularly “vagina flytrap,” which is in this case used as a verb meaning, “...the act wherein a girl who annoys and/or repulses you attempts to establish a rapport with you by making cutesy, pseudo-sexual comments.”
***
Moments later, my sister sent me an email with the subject line “Behold Vaginabike,” thus establishing the theme for the evening.
It included this image.
This made me happy.
Understatement.
More aptly, all rage was transformed into labial glee!
I giggled at the stern (but proud) looking woman wearing what looks very much like an Amish-style bonnet, standing in front of a vagina bike! It even has hair!
Well, a little bit...the scraggly aspect actually made me laugh even harder.
My response:
Bahaha!!!
I LOVE freaky vagina art!
Remember the "pussy pillows" and "vulva puppets?"
http://www.yoni.com/gifts/arty-gifts/pussy-pillow-5.html
http://www.yoni.com/gifts/healing-gifts/mini-vulva-puppet-5.html
I would have WAY too much fun going around refusing to communicate with anyone by any means other than the vulva puppet.
...
*sigh*
Even though I WOULD like to have SOME money to my name, shit like this makes me glad I'm not rich.
I might re-decorate the house with a vagina theme on a whim.
Hell, there'd probably be a vagina bike parked outside.
Dude...
Vagina convertible! Picture it!
Yes, by then I was bouncing with absolute giddiness at the thought of a bright pink Vaginamobile of my very own....driving along with the top down (lips open), vulva puppets on my fingers...having the left and right hand ones converse at stoplights.
Oh, it would be a thing of beauty!
...I wonder where I could buy a fuzzy vulva to hang from the rearview mirror...you know, like fuzzy dice...
...Or, oh my god, an air freshener! A vulva air freshener!
You’d think my older, wiser sister would step in and talk some sense into her impetuous, obsession-prone younger sibling, but no...
Instead she says:
Now I definitely have to get you a vulva puppet. You have made it a necessity...
If we ever strike it rich, remind me to make sure you do not spend all the money on pussy....
{Regarding the vaginamobile...}
Haha. Can you imagine driving along with the labia majora flapping in the wind like a demented flag on each side? Flap Flap Flap Flap!
{Insert appropriately juenile “fap” jokes...Please do not make any “insert” jokes in response...}
As soon as I got to the “demented flags,” I sprayed tea out of my nose, probably causing permanent damage to both my sinuses and my keyboard.
Of course, I immediately requested permission to share her side of this exchange, via LJ and Facebook, with all of my dearest internet friends (who I'm sure are all thankful for her abundant generosity).
As you can see, she responded in the affirmative, right before mentioing that she might follow me back to posting on LJ more because, “Sometimes F/B makes me feel a bit constricted, like my underwear are too tight or something.”
I have yet to respond to this gem...What can one say to such a confession from a family member?
Thus, no new vagina-related email has arrived for me in quite some time.
However, though the night may be old, the morning is young...and neither I nor my female sibling have gained the slightest bit of maturity since adolescence.
My heart is warmed by the glowing potential I feel in the world.