I can’t say for sure what I was thinking when I said, “Sure! I’ll commit to writing two posts a week for a new site!” but I did it anyway. I’m just a girl that can’t say no. Come to think of it, that probably had something to do with me getting knocked up, eh?
So anyway, I’ve started slutting it up over at a new place called Sprocket Ink. But there isn’t any actual dancing as far as I can tell. And I went through all the storage closets but I couldn’t find a single black turtleneck anywhere. Frankly I’m starting to think Mike Myers isn’t associated with this endeavor in any way whatsoever.
It’s all Jerrod‘s fault. Me writing for another site, I mean. Not for me being pregnant. Probably. That bastard (again Jerrod, not the guy who knocked me up, hi Rocco!) knows shameless flattery and the promise of a pony will get me to commit to damn near anything.
Crap. Now you know it, too. I supposed it’s only a matter of time until one of you shows up on my stoop with a saddle and bale of hay asking for the keys to my apartment. Just like the time I hired Danny the Wonder Pony for that surprise party.
Meanwhile back at the new site, it’s sort of a news thing. I think. Sort of. Maybe. Actually, I’m not entirely sure I understand what kind of site it is. Frankly I’m waiting for them to tell me that my piece on why your junk doesn’t have quills on it but a chimpanzee’s junk does doesn’t really qualify as a news article.
You know what? Why don’t you go check it out and tell me what the hell the site is about and what I should write about for tomorrow’s piece? I’ll owe you a margarita. Which is a super sweet deal for you ’cause when we meet at the restaurant you’ll be able to drink my margarita, too. *sigh*
Well, I mean, obviously you should talk about Nate Dogg being dead. And maybe how his career relates to NPH’s development as an actor.
THAT is how much faith I have in you.
And then you should tell them to hire me for ANTM recaps.
Ping Jerrod! I think they’re looking for a few more peeps. Now I’m off to see if anybody already called dogs on the great regulator.
Ahh, the lure of the pony…I know it well. All too well.
You *get* me. And that’s why I’m getting you a pony.
I’d read the article last week (the original, not yours, although I am feeling a little clairvoyant lately) and almost sent it to you! Clearly I need to amp up my usefulness. Pony?
As for tomorrow, maybe explain how St. Patrick’s Day is really about the war between leprechans and unicorns for the gold at the end of the rainbow. The unicorns MADE the rainbow, which leads to the gold, but the leprechans find it first and site case of Finders Keepers vs. Losers Weepers.
Really, it’s time for the truth to come out!
Holy shit. That just might be exactly what I write. Word for word. In fact, I think I’m done.
So – having quills on their junk is maybe why I keep on hearing about monkeys being locked in a room producing Shakespeare’s sonnets? With a talent like that you’d think they’d be doing more than flinging shit at zoo visitors. (Or maybe this is really how Barbara Cartland is so prolific?)
It’s all about the “little deaths” with you, isn’t it?
So…wait. Jerrod’s not the babydaddy? Or he is? GASP! It’s THE PONY’S?!
Yes. It’s true. Jerrod is the pony’s daddy.
The quills probably explain why they make that awful shrieking noise so often. Can’t blame ’em.
Love me some monkey quills.
I think I’m even more confused now after reading the comments.
I got St. Patrick’s Day with Shakespeare, Jerrod, a pony and monkey quills.
That was back when Mike Myers was funny, right?
…and not animated.
I swear, there were at least 10 minutes there when he was amusing. I mean, So I Married An Axe Murderer, right? RIGHT?
What I wouldn’t do for a pony. With a pony? One of the two, depends on the number of margaritas and if there’s one of those little umbrellas. A little red umbrella and I’m any ponies.
Just so long as it’s not “TO” a pony.
I’m sorta lost on your post, and Sprockets, but that’s OK. It must be the blond hair (up, not down).
Did you just publicly admit that the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?
“Sputnick, move your ‘ead!” So I Married an Axe Murderer was comedic freakin’ genius, baby girl! (obvious overstatement, but that shit was funny)
Monkey quills, the next generation’s writing tools. With squid ink, of course.
Nate Dogg…aaaahhh, smoke weed every day…..guess that turns out not to be the healthiest plan. (yes, I know, too soon)
Heh. You said “tools.”
Mom always said, when in doubt, Snail Porn is a writers best friend.
That explains a lot about my upbringing, huh?
Oh and Danny the Wonder Pony seems like another missed calling. When I think of all that money and time I wasted in school, when I could have just placed a bit in my mouth, given my silky mullet a shake, and whinnied…”who wants a pony ride?” at the PTA meeting, and been on my way to wealth and fame.
I blame the dirty fucking velociraptors. Which are scalier than lilo’s crotch. (See how I brought it back full circle there?)
If a guy’s got quills, I’d say some manscaping might be in order.
Marry me? And my battery-operated chimp dick.
Hells yes. Does it run on those hearing aid batteries or regular batteries. I just want to know if I’m going to have to yell in order for your vagina to hear me.
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