Housekeeping
Housekeeping's late this week. Seems to be the story of my life–Ask YPF was late too, and all because the little midget in my right sinus cavity won't stop with the kicking. Bastard. As always, I picked five new blogs to add to the blogroll, and as always I have a wonderful renter that you should go visit.
This week's renter is Joisey Girl, over at Thought Bubbles. I love the humorous way she looks at life–she's not terribly pessimistic, but she does have some stellar snarky moments going on. Go see her by clicking the thumbnail, or clicking here, and tell her Serra sent yer butt over.
I've also added five new blogs down there under Hot Bloggers on the sidebar–all fun stuff, so go take a look.
Mr. Fabulous is the author of Pointless Drivel, which, IMHO, is neither. He's much more pertinent than the title of the blog lets on, and definitely a good read. I found him thru his comments here and today discovered his good taste in linking to Whiplash Smile, so he makes the blogroll for several reasons.
Overthink is another blog I discovered via hits on my SiteMeter. Christine's "day in the life" blogging style is refreshing. She's honest always and by turns she's funny, thoughtful, slightly snarky and always a good read.
Cat With A Pen is one I discovered by wandering around Blog Explosion. She's not your average blogger. You'll find bluntly honest discussions on the issues she's dealt with and at times still living with, all treated with her insight and excellent writing ability. I look forward to each new post, and you will too.
Divinities is a bluntly self-studying take on leaving the zero and finding the hero. Here, Laurie frankly deals with a situation I'm sure many of us have been in. Having left a very bad relationship, she's now found a wonderful man, but finds herself examining everything she feels and sees in minute detail in order to be certain she's found something more real and wonderful than she thought possible. The writing is good and I find that much of her material here speaks to me deeper than I like to admit. Excellent stuff, folks, go check it out.
Chatty at Whatchu Tawkin Bout was last week's renter, and I've added her as a daily read. I particularly liked today's post, even tho I didn't comment, about attending the wake of one of her former students. Deep when it's necessary, Chatty can also slap out the snark with the best of us.
Once I get caffeinated (and waffled up–Honey's cranking out chocolate waffles this morning as I type this), I'll be posting about my mentholated bra.
Stay tuned!
Ask YPF: The Gee Y’all Are Quiet Version
Howdy everyone and welcome to this week’s edition of Ask Your Psychic Fiend. Here’s hoping YPF has kissed Serra’s ass enough since she let a bitch out of Garand’s room so that I can give you all some good answers. By the way, just as a cautionary note: Don’t piss Serra off—she now has the perfect punishment for anyone who provokes her. Trust a bitch when I say you don’t want to spend any length of time trussed up and in Garand’s room. Dayum, that guy’s something else! I’m not even going to dwell on the things I saw during those four hours enough to TELL you just how horrifying it was. Just picture Hostel with lots of aberrant sex and that won’t even come close.
No more—I can’t think about it anymore—I’m in my happy place, my happy place. I don’t see that nasty, horrible room; I don’t see that nasty bald horrible man…ah, much better.
So now—on with the psychic goodies:
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don’t want to be entertained by Your Psychic Fiend’s wiseassed interpretations of coffee grounds thrown at the wall, don’t ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those demonic disciples of Pat Robertson who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, stupid-whore assbags like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
Anonymous Coworker must think YPF’s asleep at the wheel:
If there were a future that even YPF couldn’t reveal, what would it be?
Answer: You’re going to have to get up earlier in the day if you think you’re going to catch YPF breaking the psychic rules. You know that if there’s a reason I can’t reveal something, asking what I can’t reveal just isn’t going to get me to spit it out. Da Grounds get snarky as hell if you try to go rogue on the rules, you know. It’s not fun trying to read answers when all they say is “Paul is Dead. Paul is dead.”
In short, it’d cost you a WHOLE lot more than you pay me now to get me to break down and deal with Da Grounds when they’re mad. Nice try.
Next up we have Amber over at I Want to Be Donna Reed:
Will I ever be rich enough to just BLOG and WEB SURF all day???
Answer: Everyone’s got the whole “I’m rich—I can do what I want” all ass-backwards, Amber. We all think that when we have “enough money” to do what we want, we can just go fuck around all day long. Actually, the opposite is true.
When we’re poor, even though we have to work hard and long to get money for everything and we spend time doing things that rich people can pay others to do, we still have far fewer demands on our time because we’re not bossing all those morons who run things for us because we’re filthy rich. Once we’re off the work clock and we’ve done our thing around the house, we don’t have dumbasses calling to see if we wanted six olives on that Cobb salad we have a standing order for or seven. By the time we deal with all the nitpicky stuff others have to have our OK on (things we’d do in microseconds if we just fucking did them ourselves), there’s no time for all those things we want to do now that we’re leading supposed lives of leisure.
So be careful what you wish for—once you get it, you’ll find you really didn’t want it in the first place.
Our next question comes in from MoeThatsMe. Go Seahawks!
YPF, you KNOW you’re not supposed to take sides on shit like the Super Bowl unless the Pack is playing! –Serra
Yeah, I know, but the Seahawks coach is one we like, remember? Mike Holmgren.
Ohhh, yeah, that’s right. OK, YPF, you’re allowed to cheer for the Hawks—just don’t let Honey catch you. He’s a Steelers fan.
No problem. He forgot the blog addy anyhow.
Anyhow, here’s Moe’s question:
Will I make it home from Sacramento in time to enjoy the Seahawks in the Super Bowl??
The Hawks Rock!
Answer: What, someone actually expects you to take your ass to Sacramento on Super Bowl Sunday? That’s just fucking out of line and I’d explain to these folks that you’re just not going anywhere you don’t have to, unless they’re sending you to Detroit with an all-reservations made, all-expenses-paid trip to Detroit that includes tickets. Being so close to the D here, we don’t even plan to venture out of the house that day—we’ll be stocking the necessary munchables earlier in the week and having everything squared away in plenty of time to enjoy the game from home so we don’t have to drive amidst the tourists, morons and other out-of-towners that will be clogging the roads here.
If you just can’t get out of going, make certain you’ve made it clear that you will be departing Sacramento in plenty of time to make kickoff. Tell ‘em your grandma thinks it’ll be her last Super Bowl and you don’t want to disappoint the old bat. They’ll let you out in time if you’ve got a decent reason.
Note: Telling them that your grandfather is “suddenly dying of lung cancer and you have to go home to call him an ambulance” just won’t do it. Hat tip to MalSnay for what has to be the worst excuse to leave work EVAR.
Mona’s back, folks, with a very good one:
Dear Psychic Fiend,
What will I be?
Will I be pretty?
Will I be rich?
Will I get ‘Que Sera, Sera’ out of my head?Mona
Answer: You’re damned lucky that song didn’t get stuck in YPF’s head, Mona! Dog, that’d be SOOOO annoying. Serra’s got the theme to Firefly stuck there now (she got the last DVD in the series from Netflix yesterday and the bonus features rock!) so there’s just no room for Doris Day, fortunately. The pain from the sinus infection the body has is bad enough—YPF would have to jab a knitting needle thru the body’s eardrums to make THAT shit stop!
Oh, that’s right, you had a question. Da Grounds have the answer: You’re already all of the above, so it’s too late. As for that song, go listen to the Firefly theme here:
Take me out to the black
Tell ‘em I ain’t comin’ back
Burn the land and boil the sea
You can’t take the sky from me.
That ought to chase that little ditty right out of your head.
Our next question is from LisaB:
Am I going to win big bucks in the lottery this year?
Answer: You know I can’t answer that question—it’s covered under the “Delicious surprises I can’t tell anyone about” clause in the Psychic Handbook. (Y’all didn’t know there was a handbook for this shit, did you? Oops—wasn’t sposed to tell you that either….) Anyhoo, do you really want a bitch to spoil a surprise that wonderful? Do you really want to know before it happens that someone may or may not dump an assload of money on your head, enabling you to have hot and cold running chocolate served by half-dressed men who are also coached to tell you that you’re gorgeous and hot and thin?
No, I didn’t think you did. But I can tell you that it helps if you actually buy a ticket for the drawing, for Dog’s sake! Sheesh! You gotta meet the Universe halfway here!
Next up is Clora Clairvoyant. Clora, YPF’s awful sorry for being so rude to you lately. I won’t do it again. At least not until I can purge the hideous images from last week’s punishment from my little brain.
Am I silly for going to a club for a “slumber party” night just because Janice Dickensen is hosting it?
Answer: Who’s Janice Dickensen? Whoever she is, don’t let her put your brassiere in the freezer—it’s hell on the elastic.
NEXT!
Hiya Ian!
Will I get my hedious lick-ass American visa on time? Or should I get the wedding postponed again?
Answer: Shit, not even the office you applied for that visa at knows if you’ll get it on time. You’d think they’d quit picking their asses long enough to get some work done ONCE a month or so, but NOOOOOO! They just love that “get paid to jerk off” thing they have going on. Da Grounds recommend calling them until you’re taking so much time away from their playing of games like “Grab ass,” “Pin the tail on the bureaucrat,” and “Photocopy our asses and mail them to our wives/girlfriends/boyfriends/hubbies” that they finally get your visa out to you just to shut you the fuck up.
It’s the only way to get it done, since they’re not going to do it without being nagged so much they think they’re home when they’re actually at work.
And that’s it for this edition of Ask Your Psychic Fiend. Maybe YPF’s being nice this week means that I’ll get away with more snark next week.
Don’t bet on it—I can still tie your ass back up, no problem. –Serra
Sighs…I know, Serra. You don’t have to do that. Wasn’t I a good YPF this week?
Yeah, you were this week, but that doesn’t mean I’ll quit watching you.
Why am I not surprised? It’s not like you have anything better to do.
Have a nice week folks, and see you next time.
Ask YPF Answers and This Week’s Renter
Due to Blogger’s being a royal bitch, I will let YPF do the Ask Your Psychic Fiend answers tomorrow. I know I had a bitch of a time posting anything yesterday, including the comment I needed to leave for SpiderWalk. Seems she had this stalker from Ypsi, poor thing. I tried half a dozen times to let her know it was me, but first comments were down, then MY ISP went down like a whore on payday, then all of Blogger went tits-up.
Meanwhile, I do have a new renter. Everyone, go say hi to Joisey Girl! She’s an American living in Stockholm with her Swedish fiance. She’s a great read, so either click the thumbnail or go see Thought Bubbles here. Excellent reading and I’m glad to have her as a renter this week.
Comment Me Now!
Good evening everyone! It’s time once again for Ask Your Psychic Fiend, the meme that asks the question, “Is Garand YPF’s new boyfriend or did Serra finally find the perfect punishment?” Questions are posed in the comments for this post; answers are posted Friday when YPF is allowed to use the computer. I have to limit her time on the blog because she’s just too obnoxious for words and the one day a week she’s allowed to blog is all my nerves can take.
I expect YPF to be somewhat respectful this week. When I pulled her out of Garand’s room, she was shaking, babbling gibberish and begging me not to ever make her go in there again.
Here’s the rules:
Note that the “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” feature is for entertainment purposes only. “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” is explosive when combined with MD 20-20, non-non-toxic, and classified as a Schedule I drug. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics you’re not willing to take shit about–I don’t actively seek to embarass people, but there’s trolls out on the Net. If you’re easily offended, don’t post a question, because you’re likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not microwave Your Psychic Fiend. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely no matter which of her multiple personalities claim responsibility for the creative work. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can’t take a joke then don’t Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won’t like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can’t take a joke.
This post is stuck to the top of the blog until Friday at 6 am, so you’ll find other posts underneath it until I let YPF have her time.
Beo–Don’t read this or you’ll go blind
Laurie over at Stranded in Suburbia has tagged me. Although I hate tags for memes, I love Laurie, so I’m going to bend over and take it like a man. Beo, don’t say the title didn’t warn you–skip this post and go find something over at Jesster’s to read.
Seriously, bro, don’t read this one.
Didn’t you leave yet?
OK, I think he’s gone now, so on with the meme.
The rules: The tagged victim lists 8 different points of their perfect lover/partner, mentioning the sex of said partner.
Tag 8 victims to join this game & leave a comment on a post letting them know they’ve been tagged. If tagged before, no need to contribute.
8 attributes of my perfect (if such a thing exists) lover:
1. Sense of humor–must be intelligent and somewhat twisted. The occasional juvenile humor’s ok, but if your best funny line is, “heheheh…you said sex,” it’s not going to cut it. Also remember that too many puns will get you beaten upside the head with the remote control.
2. Honesty–If you can’t be honest with me you have no business in my bed or in my life. Life is too short to fuck with a liar on any level.
3. Maturity–I do not like saying, “ooooh, riiight there, now a little harder” one minute and “Do I really have to tell you that picking your nose just isn’t attractive? No it isn’t all right because we’re sleeping together,” the next. Anyone with a case of Peter Pan Syndrome need NOT waste my time. Been there, done that, and he stole the T-shirt because he thought it was cool.
4. Supportive–If someone expects me to back them 100%, he must be ready to do the same for me. I’m not a high-maintenance girl, but don’t expect me to stick behind you if you pull the rug out from under me.
5. Drive–My partner, above all, must have drive. I don’t just mean a sex drive–any imbecile who has passed puberty has a sex drive. I mean that he must want more from life than sex, TV and food. I’ve been here, done this, and I simply need more.
6. Understanding–I’m not perfect, either physically or mentally. I work on myself mentally all the time, but physically there isn’t much I can do because of the fouled-up back surgery. I don’t expect physical perfection either, so remember that any standards you apply to me should reflect an understanding of the facts at work in both our lives.
7. GIVE and take–I emphasize the “give” portion because too many people exist who forget that part of the equation. I have needs too, and while I expect a good portion of our “us” time to focus on you, I have an equal expectation that another good portion will focus on me.
8. Practicality–Another quality I especially look for after dealing with one too many people who lack it. I really don’t like dealing with people who have no common sense; I have little patience for it.
Guess that’s it. I’m not tagging anyone. If you want to do this meme just leave me a comment.
Housecleaning
It’s time to clean house again. Funny how that happens–I do it and do it and yet I still have to do it. Trouble is, I keep finding great new (to me) blogs and just must add them to the blogroll. It doesn’t matter that whatever is kicking my head from the inside out is still kicking, I just have to do it. I’m driven that way, I guess. So enough about my headache and on to the new Hot Blogs list.
My renter this week is Chatty at Whatchu Tawkin Bout, the blog of an 8th Grade teacher who sounds like she’d be one of my favorites (if I were still in 8th Grade, which some people think my emotional age is). I know I keep saying “funny, smart, excellent reading” when I add new favorites to the blogroll, but I actually mean them, and Chatty’s right up there with the best. Either hit the link or click on her thumbnail over there under the kittykitty.
As for the Hot Blogs additions, here they are, in no particular order:
The Adventures of Twatwaffle Jones–Oh, come on, doesn’t the name just scream piss-yer-pants funny? It did to me, and it lives up to its billing. I can’t remember how I came across it but I likee, so here she is.
Life My Way–I’m renting blog space from Bozette this week, so I’m also giving her a shout out. She’s a prolific blogger with two or three blogs (perhaps more) and all are fun reads. Thanks Bozette for letting me rent.
This is the truth; my truth–Tina doesn’t blog often, but when she does it’s worth it. Insighful, thoughtful, and funny. I should have added her a long time ago, but I a lazy type.
Miss-Ann-Thrope–Another fun read I’ve found thru BE. Smart woman meets idiots and Mr. CFP makes for snorting, giggling fun.
The Monaco Manifesto–A read I found by virtue of him having the nerve to let me rent space. As you know, I’m not fond of sweetness-and-light blogging, so he fits in wonderfully here.
Just PureMood–PM’s been visiting here a bit lately, so I strolled over to look at her work. I wasn’t getting over there as often as I’d like but my RSS feeder finally decided to let me add her, so I’ll get to enjoy her more often now. Again, smart, funny, insightful and downright good writing.
I’m always on the lookout for new additions to the blogroll, so if you think I’d like to read you, just leave a comment on one of the posts and I’ll go peek.
You’re not fooling anyone
Hat tip to Towleroad for this one
Tom Cruise is whining again, folks, like that should be a fucking surprise to anyone who's had his jumping on couches and strange relationship press field days shoved down their throats. I just thank Dog for Netflix–anytime some dumbass makes the mistake of thinking this dillhole's life is worth reporting on I have something else to watch. The difference this time is that the reason Slapnuts is in the news reeks of censorship.
It seems that the Scientology poster assface doesn't like an episode of South Park. I'm sure you all know which one he doesn't like. Well, in the US, if a public figure doesn't like being made fun of, that's just tough shit. According to the laws, celebrities don't get to object when they're made fun of because it's a side effect of making all that Undogly money that they make. Good for all us cranky, snarky bloggers, isn't it? Unfortunately, it may not work the same way in the UK. It seems Mr. Cruise is threatening to sue if the episode airs again, and reportedly Paramount has agreed.
Aw, hell, Paramount–suck it up. If one looks at the literal content of the episode, Tom Cruise is literally in (Stan's) closet and all his friends are just begging him to come out. It's an (animated) representation of (a badly drawn) Tom Cruise in a (pretend) closet in a (non-existent) house in a (made-up) little white bread mountain town.
In other words, "What's the big fuckin' deal, bitch?"
If it's the overall implication that he's actually gay but not telling anyone that bothers him, that's just tough shit. After all, if two marriages, two children, innumerable relationships and a massive pile sprinkling of talk concerning Tom Cruise having relationships with men and the assload of video and still pictures tiny little small snippets of images that really aren't him at all supposedly in gay-looking positions don't convince the world that Tom Cruise is not gay, how will one more lawsuit manage it all by itself?
After all, most legal opinion is that while Tom can certainly try to sue, most of the approaches his legal team can take to a lawsuit miss an important link somewhere along the line. While he can be mad all he wants about the episode, it's clear that its intent is satirical, not defamatory. He would also need to prove any harm to his reputation or his career by either picturing him unwilling to get his sorry ass out of a little boy's closet or by the scene's use as a euphemism for a man hiding his homosexuality. Seems to me it'd be pretty difficult to prove that one little cartoon trashed his career, in the face of all he's done to destroy his credibility as an action star all on his own.
In short, I was never crazy about the little whiner, and I've become less crazy about him because his behavior in the past year has not been that of a stable individual. Normal people do not jump up and down on Oprah's couch, moon repeatedly over a woman they've only dated a month, get into bitchfights with NBC interviewers based on little more than being asked to back up a line of bullshit Tom came up with in the first place, nor do they go buy fucking home ultrasound machines when their girlfriends are pregnant.
Tom Cruise did these things, not anyone he may choose to sue for piss-taking him on a stupid (but hilarious) cartoon show. If he doesn't want people making fun of him, he should quit making it so fucking easy to do so.
Ask Your Psychic Fiend: The Swearing in Chinese Version
Howdy everyone! Welcome back to Whiplash Smile for another edition of Ask Your Psychic Fiend.
This week was purely awful. In the week since I’ve been allowed to blog last, I’ve been shoved into a flannel thong, had my hair cut into a mullet, been douched with Orange Spice essential oil, mailed in a cardboard box, been strip searched three times, then dipped in honey and turned loose in Cellblock C at Alderson Prison. The women there took one look at me, threw my ass in the shower, and shoved me, soaking wet and mad as hell, BACK in the fucking box, marked it “Return to Sender” and here I am, home again!
Guess that woman whose nipple I bit off won’t forget ME for awhile, will she? Serra’s really going to have to step up her game if she wants to punish me.
So, let’s get started—on with the asswaiver and the fun:
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don’t want to be entertained by Your Psychic Fiend’s wiseassed interpretations of coffee grounds thrown at the wall, don’t ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those demonic disciples of Pat Robertson who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, stupid-whore assbags like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
Our first question is from Anonymous Coworker:
Ooh! This is where I ask two questions to make up for last week.
1) They’re not going to convict me for what I did, are they?
2) Would there be any benefit to me revealing my identity?
Answer: Da Grounds of Awesome Augury usually only let YPF answer one of your questions per week, but it’s my turn on the blog so the rules can piss off.
Answer #1:Yeah, they’re going to convict you. But then they’ll find you “Not guilty by reason of Nogification and sentence you to community service, where you’ll work at the cat shelter as a personal valet. Take the flea repellent along and you’ll be just fine.
Answer #2: You MUST stay anonymous, for many reasons. First, it’s the hook to your blog, no one knowing by reading it who you are. It gives you more artistic freedom than most bloggers get, so why futz it up? Second, there’s that domain name you bought—if you’re not anonymous anymore, that’s sort of oxymoronic then. Third, you could get seriously Dooced over some of your past entries, and that would just suck. Who would Serra read that I like THEN, huh? She reads a lot of blogs, but never lets me comment, the bitchbag. Sometimes I make her comment tho—she just doesn’t know it.
Hey—I’m only a bitchbag when you’ve earned it, YPF! –Serra
No, you’re a bitchbag all the time. Seriously, can’t you take meds for that?
Sigh…Just do what you’re supposed to here or I’ll truss you like a turkey and toss your ass in Garand’s room for a week.
You wouldn’t.
Don’t bet on it, slutball.
Uh, ok…on to the next question….
Seamus asks:
Is this false Spring gonna last – really – everything is leafing and coming out of the ground – even my attitude!???
Answer: It might, but chances are slim. Da Grounds says it’s very likely you’ll get slammed hard one last time this winter, so don’t count the buds before May.
Next question’s from Clora:
Now that I know I’m not pregnant, will people still read my blog?
Answer: Yep, they’ll read yer blog, because within six months you’re going to have another preggers scare. That’s what happens when you do those “parties” that men who pick you up on the strip take you to and forget the condom check…
Glaring from Serra
Uh, I mean, of course they’ll keep reading you Clora! House of Snark’s a great blog, written by a great upstanding member of the Vegas community, and you’re hot to boot. Who’d dream of NOT reading you, I’d like to know…is that better, Mistress Serra?
You forgot to tell her that if she wants to promo her blog, Blog Explosion’s an interesting place to go do it.
Oh, ok, Mistress Serra. Clora, it’s a great place to do it. Honestly.
MUCH better, YPF. Keep up the good work.
I’m trying very hard not to flip Serra off…Garand’s room? EW!
Next question is from LisaB:
Hmmm, have I met the man of my dreams? And has he met me?
Answer: Since Da Grounds show perfection only exists in dreams, it’s difficult to say you’ve met the personification of all you seek in a man. However, it’s YPF’s conceited opinion that you’ve met a damned fine one, well worth the time and effort. Da Grounds advise taking things as they come for the time being, and letting the coming cusp event lead you from there.
There you go again…sighs…with all the mumbo-jumbo like you’re a real psychic or something…
Serra, you KNOW there’s a fork in the road coming—it’s right there in Da Grounds.
Yeah, so SAY that instead of trying to audition for the online version of the Psychic Fiends Network.
Fine. Whatever.
Excuse me?
I mean, “Yes, Ma’am. Did I mention how lovely you look this morning?”
That’s better.
Our next question is from SpiderWalk aka BunnyWalk for our arachnophobic reader. You can quit scratching now, MooCow.
lol! This looks like fun. I can’t resist
If I forget what my sins are when I go to pray…will they still be forgiven??
Answer: Boy, that’s a loaded question if I ever saw one, SpiderWalk. Isn’t acknowledging that what you’ve done is actually a sin part of the forgiveness process? Or is that only true with religions that practice regular confession of sins? Seems to YPF the best answer is that only you and the Deity you pray to can be certain of what is and is not forgiven, since Da Grounds don’t really deal in theology. YPF would tell you go to Ask Blog Jeebus but he’s out of the blog business, at least for now.
Sorry, that’s the best answer I can give you, since I don’t know who you pray to or what set of teachings you believe in. Mostly Ask Your Psychic Fiend deals in the precognitive, not the theological.
Next up is Indri:
Am I ever going to use the rock tumbler my old boyfriend gave me because he knew I liked shiny rocks, or is it time for me to give it up?
Answer: As with all treasure, that call’s in the eye of the beholder. Da Grounds honestly don’t see you pulling it out for use anytime soon, but they also show that if you park it on a table at a garage or yard sale, sure as shit someone you know who shows up will bitch that you’re getting rid of “such a nifty thing” and try to make you feel bad for parting with it. Unless it’s your child asking you to keep it and try it out, fuck ‘em, feed ‘em carp. YPF personally thinks every kid should get to check out a rock polisher at least once in their kiddiehood, but anyone else who feels you should keep packing it away and kicking it around in the box every time it’s underfoot is either a member of the household Serra and I live in or is just as bad a packrat as they are.
In either case, they should be confined to a 10X10 space and only allowed to keep the shit that fits in there with them. It’s the only true punishment for a packrat—forcing them to either live with no room or to rid themselves of some of their useless shit.
NEXT!
Hiya Se7en—good to see you back.
Dear YPF, I can’t seem to remember my question, can you tell me what it was? And then provide the answer as well?
Signed,
Brain Dead in NO
Answer: Da Grounds know the question as always, and YPF has to admire the way your mind works. First, don’t go quite so fast—increase intensity slowwwwly. Second, DO wear THAT. It really shows off your ass and you look hot.
YPF! You tell that nice man the TRUTH and I mean NOW!
Fuck you, ho—I’ll say whatever—
NO! Tell him the truth NOW.
Fine. Bitchass hobag.
Se7en, Da Grounds show that you’re seeking, but they really don’t know what of the three specific trains of quest you meant to ask YPF about. Just because YPF wouldn’t mind seeing you in something leather, sexy and tight across the ass, it doesn’t mean I should encourage you to do it. It’s really not nice of me, and…
Now you’re just laying it on thick because you know you’re in trouble. Stop it and behave.
Sigh…OK, Se7en, don’t forget your blood test appointment.
And that’s all the….THUMPTHUMPTHUD…mrrrfurrf fffffoosnt
Hi, folks, Serra again. That’s all the time I’m going to let YPF show her ass on my blog this week. Since she was nasty-assed to people four times, she’s going to spend four hours in Garand’s room…
MMRHFFF MMRRRRFFGGGGGGGG!
Yes, you are, you snotty little rat-assed dipshit! He doesn’t work today, so I’m sure your punishment will be quite, um, interesting, don’t you think?
HFNNNNRRRRRRR!
Tough shit—maybe next time you’ll do as your betters tell you to.
That’s it folks—see you next time.
Comment Me Now!
Good evening everyone! It’s time once again for Ask Your Psychic Fiend, the meme that asks the question, “Is YPF back from Alderson and did it teach her a lesson?” Questions are posed in the comments for this post; answers are posted Friday when YPF is allowed to use the computer. I have to limit her time on the blog because she’s just too obnoxious for words and the one day a week she’s allowed to blog is all my nerves can take.
Here’s the rules:
Note that the “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” feature is for entertainment purposes only. “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” is explosive when combined with MD 20-20, non-non-toxic, and classified as a Schedule I drug. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics you’re not willing to take shit about–I don’t actively seek to embarass people, but there’s trolls out on the Net. If you’re easily offended, don’t post a question, because you’re likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not microwave Your Psychic Fiend. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely no matter which of her multiple personalities claim responsibility for the creative work. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can’t take a joke then don’t Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won’t like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can’t take a joke.
This post is stuck to the top of the blog until Friday at 6 am, so you’ll find other posts underneath it until I let YPF have her time.
Well, it's been a day. Some good, some painful.
It's day 2 of a migraine for me. It's either a migraine or some asshole kicks me in the head when I'm not looking. I got halfway thru something I needed to do, but will have to finish tomorrow, and spent the rest of the day wondering why my right eye is watering and trying to catch the little kicking bastard. When I get hold of him he's going in the can YPF normally haunts.
I did get a package UPS today, which was very welcome. I got the replacement flask for my press pot. Once again I am allowed to escape the brown water substituted for coffee in this house and can get back to goodness. YAY! And just in time for Ask YPF tomorrow. She is back, by the way, and I'll let her tell you about it tomorrow.
I'm heading back to a cool washcloth, some Peppermint EO on a cloth (the Peppermint-Lavender blend I usually use is making matters worse, which is very strange), and Disc 2 of Season 1 of Firefly. I love having it commercial free–too nice! It's tops on the DVD wish list now.
This Week’s Renter
I’m putting up a short post to welcome my new BE renter, Chatty! Chatty keeps a great blog over at Whatchu Tawkin Bout, and in the short time I’ve been reading her I’ve giggled every time I stop by. As always with blogs I give space and shout-outs to, she’s smart, funny, and doesn’t play games.
A new place to find me is renting space over at Bonanza Jellybean’s blog. She’s been kind enough to let me rent space there and thanks to that I’ve found yet another good read. Anyone who thinks Paris Hilton is as big a waste of oxygen (not to mention couture) as I do is always a great find.
Go check both these great folks out.
I am in Hell
H'sMa broke the flask on my press pot–the one present sent to me by my family this past Christmas. When I heard the crash, she told me it was "just a bowl."
I'm in Hell. I'm so furious that I'm nearly speechless.
———–
UPDATE: This might seem pretty minor to some readers, but it's not to me. I treasure gifts, especially ones so well-suited to my needs (in this case, the need for drinkable coffee without having to listen to bitching). Those who know Beo know how much thought he puts into gifts, and with the disappearance of my espresso machine in the move (after asking SPECIFICALLY for it to be one of the first things unpacked and handy) it was especially welcome.
It made matters worse to be told lies about what was broken. Sure, I'd have been mad about being told my press pot's flask was busted, but being told, "Oh, it's just a bowl" and knowing it was a lie immediately just boiled my blood more. I know I must sound like a freakin' two-year-old. My days are filled with dealing with piles of other people's bullshit, and having their malfunctions fuck me over like this is pushing the limits of what I can take.
I have ordered a replacement flask (which HONEY is paying for–he says he'll "get it out of Ma") from the maker, so I'll have it working again in 6-8 days.
The topper here? She has not even said she was sorry for wrecking my gift from my brother.
SPT: Don’t eat the soup
As we begin Sock Puppet Theatre, once again H'sMa has again taken it upon herself to see how long it will take to piss me off. Yesterday's topic: You need to eat. Keep in mind that anyone who has seen the size of my ass is certain this should never need to be a topic.
H'sMa: So, Serra, whatdayawant for lunch?
Me: Uh, I'm not hungry Ma.
H'sMa: But you need to eat.
Me: Sighs…I'm not hungry.
H'sMa: How about some of the vegetable beef soup I made yesterday?
Me: You mean the stuff in the crock pot?
H'sMa: Yes, certainly–it sure smelled good yesterday, didn't it?
Me contemplates the fact that not only did it smell like ASS yesterday but that the ass soup sat in the crock pot on the counter from the time she turned it off until now, sans refrigeration. Me shudders.
Me: Stepping up the bitch factor in my voice…I said I wasn't hungry Ma.
H'sMa: But you need to eat.
Me gives up. Just sounding bitchy about the subject of food isn't going to work. Me is going to have to 'splain to Loosey why she can't be in the show at the club.
Me: Ma, did you ever put that soup away yesterday?
H'sMa: No, of course not, it's in the crock pot on the counter.
Me: Then it's no good anymore. Things like that need to be refrigerated.
H'sMa: Heavy on the scorn…No it does NOT! It's BEEN cooked, you know.
Me: Yes, Ma, it does. Between the protein and the water, it's a perfect place to grow things that cause food poisoning.
H'sMa: Oh, no it's not, you're just not thinking…
Me: Fine. Eat all you want, but I'm not touching it.
H'sMa: Well! Huffy and dramatic…I make nice food and you…
Me: Refuse to get sick again just to be nice and avoid fighting with you. I'm going upstairs.
Aaaand, scene.
The soup is still sitting on the counter. The guys, notorious for eating anything, have not braved opening the lid. That shit's three days old now. I'm not even lifting that lid to throw it out, at least not without a cattle prod and a cage handy. It's H'sMa's monster; SHE can tame it enough to make it go away.
I'm sticking with things I see come out of cans JUST before I eat them from now on! Fortunately Honey brought home six cans of Campbell's Tomato so I'm good for a week.
RbW Update: Girlfriend fired
In an update to this week's Raised by Wolves, Julie Carpenter, The Impaler's love mate, pagan bride and favorite snack, has been fired from her job, within hours of Jonathan "The Impaler" Sharkey's announcement that he is running for Governor of Minnesota.
From KARE 11's website:
Hat tip to MooCow for the link and info
The partner of the new gubernatorial candidate, Jonathon "The Impaler" Sharkey, says she's been unjustly fired from her job.
News traveled fast Friday when Sharkey announced he was a vampyre and he wants to be Minnesota's next governor. Just hours after the Friday news conference, Sharkey's girlfriend learned she was losing her job as a school bus driver.
On Saturday she tearfully read from the letter the Princeton School District gave her employer, Peterson Bus. The letter says, "It is our opinion that Ms. Carpenter does not serve as a role model, nor is suitable to provide transportation services for the Princeton School District, in light of recent media reports of her husband/friend to be a vampyre who is running for public office, and Ms. Carpenter informing other bus garage employees that she is a witch."
As far out in left field as I think these two are (and that's a fucking far-flung mile), I think the bus company has probably just financed the campaign singlehandedly. Playing Vampy Scooby Snack in her off-the-bus hours, while decidedly odd, isn't illegal. It's certainly not illegal to be handfasted to someone running for pubic orifice. So long as she isn't sacrificing children instead of transporting them to and from school, there really was no cause to fire her under the law.
Yes, I'm getting to the point, folks, shush.
Since there's no mention of misconduct, poor work attendance, or other acceptable reasons to shitcan the lady, it sure looks from here like there's a nice juicy discrimination suit just waiting for the right bus-chaser to come along. It's nearly 2 pm Central time, and by now I'm sure there's a legal secretary in front of a computer, pouring legalese into a document so that it's ready to file as soon as the courthouse opens tomorrow, thereby starting the process of making sure Mr. Sharkey and his ladylove have no problem financing this whole fiasco.
My congratulations to the Peterson Bus Company and to the school district of Princeton, Minnesota. I'm sure the whole town is damned proud of your discriminatory stand-up stupidity behavior.
I’m My Own Grampaw
Remember this post where I asked my fan in Ypsilanti to come out and play?
I'm a total redneck inbred loser moron dipshit.
No, really I am.
Check it out: Apparently the ignore I placed on my own IP with Site Meter either expired or my IP's not as static as I imagined it was, because those hits from Ypsi are My. Fucking. Hits. I realized this when I went to HaloScan to see if my lurker buddy had commented on the blog. I compared about a handful of IPs to the SiteMeter info and sure as a dog returns to the scene of a shit, those are all my stoopid hits. Here I thought I'd picked up a new reader to join you other two, and it's just me.
Sorry to get you all excited. Maybe we'll get a new reader someday.
Raised by Wolves Poster Child of the Week
I’ve read a couple of posts about the new candidate for Governor of Minnesota, Jonathan “The Impaler” Sharkey and just couldn’t see that anyone would seriously make claims such as being a vampire (Sorry, Jon…may I call you that? Tough shit–I’m going to anyhow), a Satanist and owner of two covens (link link Since when does anyone actually OWN a coven? I thought they were run differently, but what do I know?) and still expect to be taken seriously as a candidate for Governor.
I thought it was a publicity stunt. Shows you how much I know.
I had originally intended to take an objective view of Sharkey’s candidacy, but I just can’t type when I’m laughing so hard tears are coming out my eyes. Most of the material I cut consisted of nicely explaining that no matter how many times a Student Council candidate claimed he was putting a hot tub in the caf, it NEVER happened.
NEVER, Jon. That’s how your issue points and your solution to them come across.
Having said that, let’s also state the obvious: This man’s a fruitbat of the highest order, an absolute nut goodie, and if he thinks his blood-sucking ass will be living in the Governor’s Mansion or the White House, he’s been Raised By Wolves.
Duuuuude. Seriously. There is no way in Blue Hell that you will ever be elected to either Governor or President. There’s a couple reasons for that, and I’m surprised you didn’t think about them before blowing all that cash on the nomination papers.
1. You’re a Witch, a Satanist, and a fucking Vampire! (Don’t correct my spelling, Jon. I know you spell it Vampyre and I just don’t give a rat’s ass.) If you’ve been involved with politics practically since birth as you claim here, then you know as well as I do that even the most lily white of hearts is blackened, either with truth or with lies, during a political campaign. You even spell out how it’s happened to you personally in other failed campaigns. Not even the state that elected Jesse Ventura will allow you to govern it.
2. People just aren’t going to buy the impalement shit, Jon. Personally, I’m pissed off that you left my assbag neighbors off the list, but even the most extreme left-living folk aren’t going to believe they’ll someday be able to view bodies on pikes outside your mansion. Not only does Minnesota NOT have a death penalty statute on the books, no state in the Union has one allowing impalement as a legal way to execute Death Row inmates. There are too many pivotal legal changes that must come about for anything you’re using as talking points to ever actually happen.
3. Announcing that you’ll be leaving the office of Governor (should enough Ecstasy fiends actually show up at the polls with enough concentration to vote you in) two years into the term of office to pursue the next step in Vampire World Domination is not going to help your candidacy, not even a little bit. It’s kind of like applying at McDonald’s and telling them you’re already scheduled to start at the Wendy’s across the street next week. I wouldn’t hire you at Mac and Don’s Supper Club and I doubt the voters of Minnesota will hire you either.
All that said, I think your candidacy will get a lot of attention in the coming months.
Pointing and laughing is attention, isn’t it?
Housecleaning
It’s Saturday, and in the home I was raised in, that means it’s time to clean house. Time to move last week’s Hot Bloggers list into the main list, time to make a new Hot Bloggers list, and time to clean up in general. I didn’t remove any blogs this week because I suspect I accidentally removed some I didn’t mean to last week. If you’re pissed because I removed your blog, email me and I’ll let you know if it was done on purpose or not.
Now for this week’s shout-outs:
I Want to be Donna Reed is a new blogger’s venture. Amber’s a mommy of two who writes about the things that go on in her head as she meets her new challenges. She’s on a well-deserved vacation right now but she’ll be home again very soon.
SpiderWalk is a fairly new-to-me blog with insightful writing, excellent photographs and heaping helpings of snark. I’m already a fan and it’s my pleasure to add her to the roll here at Whiplash Smile.
You Knit What? is something anyone who knows a knitter will say at least once in their lifetime. This blog highlights the fug that can come with the fun. I’d say more here but you just have to go see what I mean to truly understand.
Suburban Turmoil is a blog I found via my week’s rental at Stranded in Suburbia (BIG props to Laurie–she really knows how to make a bitch feel welcome, and I’d rent from her again anytime she wants). I don’t know why anyone calls this a Mommy blog except for the fact that Lucinda is actually a mommy–she’s everything I look for in a blogger and she’s a riot to read.
Bitchet is another blog I’ve come to like because she was first gracious enough to visit me here via Laurie’s blog. I don’t get to her place as often as I’d like because she doesn’t have an RSS feed, but I try to get over there as often as I can. Once again, a smart, funny, no-nonsense person and a good read.
If you haven’t had a chance to go visit Karen yet, go do it now before she has to move on. She’s this week’s renter and it’s been a pleasure having her here.
I think I’m finally back to what passes for normal here. That means I should be getting caught up this week. Do whatever voodoo chants you like to offer prayers that I stay healthy please. I have a lot to do.
To my fan in Ypsi
I never ask lurkers to out themselves here, because I think it’s mostly futile–people who want me to know they were here leave me comments. Those who don’t, well, don’t. But once in a great while I check out my hit counter and wonder about certain recurrent hits, like the one I’m seeing a lot of from Ypsilanti, MI. So, this once, I’m asking about a lurker.
Hi, whoever you are!
I’d love to return the honor of all your visits here, but I don’t know who you are or what blog you write on, so if you’d like to tell me either holler in the comments or email me please.
I promise I won’t bite.
Ask YPF: The Big Kids Version
Hi everyone! It’s once again time for Ask Your Psychic Fiend, the Friday feature that answers the questions you all ask about what the future holds for you.
I have to tell you, it’s been a shitty week. Having my ass stuffed into a coffee can full of cigarette butts was bad enough, but then the Serrabrat shoved the can into a Priority Mail box and sent me somewhere. I don’t know where it was, because wherever she sent me didn’t want my ass either (and me dressed in nothing but a red sequined thong) and sent me back. Then when I finally get OUT of the CanO’Butts, Serra makes me watch Blue Collar TV with her! THAT ought to be my punishment when I get out of line! Sheesh, you see this guy once and you’re screaming not to ever have to see him again:
I can tell you one thing, though. It’s true—the idiots they pay to handle the Almighty U. S. Mail DO play volleyball with your packages! I heard ‘em while they were batting me around—“Side out” “12-4” and all that shit. I spent two days somewhere (don’t know where because no one tells me anything) because the package made such a good volleyball. Nice—they jacked postage rates so their employees could play volleyfuckinball.
Anyway, let’s get on with it before Serra blows another gasket. Here’s the asswaiver:
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don’t want to be entertained by Your Psychic Fiend’s wiseassed interpretations of coffee grounds thrown at the wall, don’t ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those demonic disciples of Pat Robertson who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, stupid-whore assbags like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
Now that we’ve taken care of the basics, let’s get to the fun part. LisaB’s our first seeker today:
PF is getting very addictive!
Will I get some major good news in the next week?
Answer: Da Grounds (today they’re Michigan Cherry coffee grounds from the new press pot) say that good news is coming your way, but since the Universe seldom works on the schedule we want it to, there’s a good chance it won’t be precisely THIS week. In the timelessness of The All, our days are but eyeblinks, and our years but…
Oh, shit YPF, get to the point already! It’s not like you’re REALLY psychic, you know! I just let you do this because it gets too fucking crowded in my head if I don’t let you out to play this once a week. –Serra
Sighs…Whatever, bitch. I’m getting there. Don’t get yer granny panties in a wad.
Fine. Just get done—I want to taste the good coffee with the chocolate in it. I don’t make it for YOUR enjoyment.
Yes, you do. Everything you do is because I’m surreptitiously governing every move you make.
Bullshit. Does that mean you secretly want to be the main attraction at a lesbian gang bang? Because next time I’ll make SURE you get past the guards at Alderson.
Yawn. You couldn’t get a tissue past a guard at Alderson. Still don’t know why you thought packing me with contraband would be a good way to ship me there. Even smoked-up cigarette butts are still cigarettes, dumbass!
Whatever, stoopid—just get to work!
Fine.
Now, where was I? Oh, yeah.
LisaB, your life has many good things coming, but predicting when they’re coming isn’t an exact science. You’ll get them when you need them the most, as always.
Onward, we take a question next from Cass:
Will my landlady ever call me and tell me I can move in already? This waiting BS is killing me! Or is it going to turn out that it’s gonna fall through and I’ll have to seek shelter elsewhere….
Answers: Your landlady either lost your number or…see that line in Da Grounds? That’s your wanting to take that cuddlepuppy to your new home.
Wait, that’s actually left from last week’s grounds slinging. Sorry. Wipewipewipe
Call the landlady back or track her down and get a handle on what’s going on. Make her get this sewn up for you so you can either get moved or look for another place, because there’s a reason she’s not getting off the pot on her own. Serra had a show promoter to deal with like this once—she had to call SIX times to get a confirmed spot, and when she finally got to the show there was so much bitching from folks who didn’t like the show that she was the only one that truly did well there. Yet she’d had to practically lead the promoter by the short hairs to get in? I think both the promoter and your landlady suck.
Next!
Our next victim is Clora Clairvoyant. Oh, Clora—SOOO sorry for being such a bitch last week. I know you don’t mainline meth.
Yet.
Will I ever truly win friends AND influence people?
Answer: Da Grounds say that you’re well on your way when it comes to your inner circle. However, those who don’t know you well think you’re just another crack whore. Don’t worry though—they’ll find out differently about you once they rent your body and see the inner intelligence and beauty…
YPF, I am going to FUCK YOU GENTLY WITH A CHAINSAW if you don’t start being nicer to Clora!! She’s one of our favorite readers, fer Chrissake, and you treat her like some common troll! SHAME, YPF, SHAME ON YOU! –Serra
Fine, fine, do whatever ya want, you boner-biting bitch! Just don’t make me watch Larry the Cable Guy in a baby car seat ever again.
Clora’s REAL Answer: You win friends and influence people every day, Clora, you’re just not aware of it. Each person who talks to you or reads your blog is touched.
Yep, they’re truly touched…in the “riding the short bus” sort of way…
YPF! Behave or back in the thong for YOUR short bus ride to Alderson you go! –Serra
YAWN…You’re going to have to do better than that, Serra. Been there, done that, and they don’t want my ass.
Next up is Melina from the blog entitled “She Speaks 18 Languages and Can’t Say No in Any of Them.” Ain’t THAT the fuckin’ truth…
You have two choices, YPF. You can finish this post before I beat you bloody, or after. Take your pick. Melina’s good people and you’re the last person who should run their mouths about others. –Serra
Fine.
Bitch.
Here’s Melina’s question:
Will it be true love for John and I? Will I be having like 10,000 of his babies?
Answer: It’s too soon to tell—you and he have a major cusp event on the horizon, and the more pertinent question is “When is he going to quit dicking around and ask you out?” Because he IS going to ask you out—he just wants to make sure he’s separated himself from the throngs of men who follow your gorgeous ass around The Cornfield before he commits to a date. I know he’s going to ask you out. YOU know he’s going to. Hell, all Dog’s Children know he’ll ask you out. You know as well as I do though that men aren’t too damned bright—he’s not sure he’s standing out in your mind yet, even with all the communication going on, so he thinks he has to wait for the perfect moment.
Good luck and don’t go with his first choice for a boy’s name ~shudder~.
Next up we have MoeThatsMe.
Just one word….
Why!?
.
You be nice to Moe—we like her a lot too, remember? –Serra
I’m always nice to Moe. She gives me more attention than you do.
I’d give you more attention if I could stand to be around you, YPF. Have I told you lately that I think you’re a psychotic bitch?
Nope. Thanks for the love. Now go away—I’m trying to work here.
Answer, Short Version:
42.
Answer, Long Version: There isn’t one. Seriously. Before Serra starts whining that I’m being “too esoteric” I have to say that’s what Da Grounds are spelling out on the wall—42. I don’t know if that’s your age now, will be your age when you remarry, the number of times you’ll have sex this month, or what it is. But obviously it means something or it wouldn’t be there, would it? So play it as a lottery number or something, go rent a hotel room #42, or whatever it takes to find out how it relates to your destiny because if I see it in a splotch on the wall, it means every bit as much as seeing Mother Teresa’s face in a patch of mold on someone’s bathroom wall does. It’s A Sign.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Our last question is from Seamus, who hands-down has the best HNT pics on the planet.
Good Morning my caffeinated friend! Is there REALLY a tall blond with a big smile in my future???
Answer: Yep, there is indeed a really tall blond with a big smile in your future. But there’ll be Hell to pay when Hot Sauce finds out about her. On the positive side, you’ll get to see that knock-down drag-out cat fight you’ve been fantasizing about, complete with clothes coming off and amazing breasteses flopping around. Just don’t wince too much at the blood…
THWACK!
Whaaaaaaaat?
You know what, you stoopid bitch! “Blond” means MALE, not female! Give him the straight skinny before I slap your ass directly into a Priority Mail box and ship you to Alderson like you deserve!
Go suck the southbound end of a northbound horse, bitch. This is MY feature, NOT yours, and I’m sick of you running your face all thru it!
But it’s MY fucking blog, cooze-face, and I’ll edit your bullshit as necessary.
Nope, I’m not giving him the answer in Da Grounds, because he already knows that tall blond in the future is himself and of course he’s there—you KNOW the boy rolls up a fatty and smokes it before he posts a question.
He does NOT and it’s none of our fucking business if he DOES. The shit should be legal anyhow.
May you mark time in a pile of horseshit in the marching band of life.
That fucking DOES it! You’re DONE!
Serra here folks—that’s it for Ask the Psychotic this week. I just threw her into a box and it’s time to email Martha to find out if they want her snootch to taste like tangerines, peppermint, or if I should just douche her with tea tree essential oil so they don’t catch anything when she gets there.
Thanks again and have a good weekend!
Comment Me Now!
Good evening everyone! It’s time once again for Ask Your Psychic Fiend, the meme that asks the question, “How snotty can the out-of-control ho-bag personality that lives inside Serra’s head be and still be allowed to live outside the cigarette butt can?” Questions are posed in the comments for this post; answers are posted Friday when YPF is allowed to use the computer. I have to limit her time on the blog because she’s just too obnoxious for words and if she wants more time she can start her own fucking blog.
Oh, wait, no she can’t because I won’t let her. She’s not fit for decent company and I refuse to be responsible for her other than her one rant a week.
Here’s the rules:
Note that the “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” feature is for entertainment purposes only. “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” is explosive when combined with MD 20-20, non-non-toxic, and classified as a Schedule I drug. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics you’re not willing to take shit about–I don’t actively seek to embarass people, but there’s trolls out on the Net. If you’re easily offended, don’t post a question, because you’re likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not microwave Your Psychic Fiend. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely no matter which of her multiple personalities claim responsibility for the creative work. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can’t take a joke then don’t Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won’t like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can’t take a joke.
This post is stuck to the top of the blog until Friday at 6 am, so you’ll find other posts underneath it until I let YPF have her time.
Whiplash Smile 