(Untitled)

[hugitoutbiatch]

Alright, you got me.

Never thought I'd say this, but...

What I'd really like to do is go home and hammer the wife until she can't see straight, reiterate to my sweet baby girl the fact that she can't date until she's forty and menopausal, and bribe my son with transformers.

Barring that, I want somebody who can make a goddamn decent French roast.

Comments

[passionforshoes]

I disagree. The French didn't do so bad with the pastries.

[hugitoutbiatch]

There's a reason why a Danish is called a Danish and not a Frog-pie, toots.

[passionforshoes]

Then what's your excuse for the éclair, pumpkin?

[hugitoutbiatch]

A fucked up Boston Cream, snookums.

[passionforshoes]

And the croissant, honeypie?

[hugitoutbiatch]

You mean cresandwiches. Love 'em. Have them with sausage rounds and a Happy Meal.

[passionforshoes]

Clearly, you have low expectations when it comes to food.

[hugitoutbiatch]

Are you kidding? I'm lying through my teeth. Pork's against my religion.

But a croissant is just twisty bread so I'm not gonna be fucking impressed. Now wine might be a different story.

[passionforshoes]

If I go by your record of preferences, I suspect boxed wine is your favorite.

[hugitoutbiatch]

Honey, when you can fucking afford Romanée-Conti you don't put it in a box.

[passionforshoes]

Since you said that, you should be nice and treat us all to a bottle or two.

[hugitoutbiatch]

Who the fuck's "us all"? You got a friend in your pocket?

[passionforshoes]

Yes. Mr. Rocket keeps me company on those hot and lonely nights. He deserves a little nip every now and then.

[hugitoutbiatch]

Somehow I don't think that's the standard way to sterilize your vibrator.

[passionforshoes]

Shows how much you know.

[hugitoutbiatch]

I fully admit my ignorance on the subject of vibrators.