To successfully complete my mission, I would need to . . . → Read More: Black Friday: The Aftermath]]> I typically skip Black Friday because I hate people. But this year, after hours of holiday cheer, I decided “What the hell?!” If I could stay awake until midnight, I had a good chance of pepper spraying some fools. Also, shitfaced shopping stimulates the economy.

To successfully complete my mission, I would need to be prepared. Operation Black Friday was about to go down yo.

___________________

Thanksgiving: Hella Late

Fuck ya! So glad I bought this extra fo-teh of Mickey’s!

Shake, unscrew and spray forty of malt liquor on face while making Courtney Stooden facial expressions.

You no know Courtney Stooden? Lemme introduce you:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’m awake, I’m awake!

Jump into skintight black rubber suit. Pull up skull patterned leg warmers and lace up high-heeled Air Jordans. Secure drivers license, ATM and credit cards into fanny pack while simultaneously holstering container of Red Bull/Vodka onto same. Lock and load hand glocks with rainbows and unicorns.

Grab coupons, ads and bucket of leftover Kentucky Fried Chicken. Jump into eco-friendly limo and head for, uhhhh, Walmart bitches! Inhale leftover chicken. Rub greasy hands all over rubber suit to aid in impending sticky situations.

Make detour to Goldies Adult Superstore to pick up entourage/security team . . . on sale for $19.99 each.

These are my bitches!

Roll up to Walmart bumpin Rebecca Black’s “Friday” as I throw on my stunna shades. Instruct chauffeur to park, then hold my place in line. What? You think I could trust that fool alone with my bitches? Those girls are total skanks.

Finally the line begins to move. Panic-driven, I nose dive out the window landing seamlessly into a rolling somersault followed by three backflips and finishing with the splits. And, the crowd goes wild! (Raahhhh!!)

After taking a bow, I give a shout out to my homie, the chauffeur, for holding my place. Then I kindly redirect him to the back of the line. Not surprisingly, he heads straight back to the limo as I shout, “You can consider that your tip, fool!”.

As the line gains momentum, so do I as “Eye of the Tiger” plays inspirationally in my head. A lot of pushing and bitch slapping ensues, and, soon I find myself jumping over trampled shoppers who mistakenly left their shanks at home.

Then KAPOW! BLAM! BOOM! I karate chop into the air as I elbow suckas and mace their faces off. No one can stop me from getting in! Muahhaahaa!

I’m like Pokémon on crack!

Click here to view the embedded video.

Once inside, I head straight to electronics to pick up my 52 inch flat screen TV for $3. Sold out. No problem, I’ll just move right on to the XBox. Sold out. Digital camera. Sold out. DVD player. Sold out. Damnit!

Then, just when I was about to give up, I saw it - my 52 inch flat screen TV! It was there, in that woman’s cart! My precious!

At first I was very polite. I respectfully requested that she help move it into my cart. But when she declined and called me a “crazy bitch,” I jumped on her back and poked my fingers in her eyeballs.

Girl was as sturdy as an elephant and I was having trouble taking her down. She spun round and round like a record baby, but I still managed to hang on. Then, using her WWE throw-a-bitch-over-the-head-and-squeeze-really-hard maneuver, she had me within her grasps.

We were face to face when she squeezed me so hard I farted. The resulting change in air pressure (in combination with my well thought out grease laden rubber suit) propelled me into the air like a rocketship . . . right through the roof I went, all the way to the moon.

And then it started to rain bananas and there were . . . Carebears?

So, I slept through Black Friday. What’d you do?

It all started on a dark and dreary night.  . . . → Read More: It Was a Dark and Dreary Night . . .]]> So I was just getting over a bad case of procrastination and about to draft the conclusion to my last post when I came down with the sickness! God was punishing me – for what, I’m not fucking sure. But anyways . . .
_______________________________

It all started on a dark and dreary night.  The clouds lingered against the full moon and fog permeated the cemetery miles from my home.  You could almost hear the flannel ripping off abtastic male beefcakes before the sound of wolves howling echoed throughout suburbia.

Shit was going down.   

Zombie dog knows what's up.

As I lay in bed, I had an itchy, scratchy feeling that things weren’t quite right. I hocked a loogie and it seemed legit, but little did I know the haunting hour was near. I quickly faded into sleep unbeknownst of the events to come.

As I pried open my bloodshot eyes, I was disappointed to see it was only my Beagle . . . panting feverishly in my face – his way of alerting me of his urge to purge.

I frantically jumped out of bed and began running blindly down the hall.  My ghostlike locks flowed in the wind as I ran in exaggerated slow mo towards the sliding glass door.

Finally, I reached the door. Then, click, pull, “OUT!” I screamed!

Beagle: “Baaaarrrrffffff.”  

Me: “Noooooooo!” [Also in exaggerated slow mo.]

As I positioned myself to release my best blood curdling scream, his warm half digested diner oozed its way between my perfectly manicured toes. With eyes wide and my jaw dropped low, I waited anxiously as he regurgitated his earlier meal (less clean up, LOL). 

It was then that I realized my scream had not manifested! I swallowed hard, and felt the flame of the devil radiating from the back of my throat! DAMNIT! Ah, I mean “darn it,” I whispered under bated breath.

To combat this ailment, I needed to whip up a lil witch’s brew of frog legs and kitten balls. I grabbed my bolt cutters and my cat . . . it was about time – he was a damn whore.  Then a shake of this and a pinch of that and voilà, my concoction was ready for the taking.

When I awoke the next morning I was surprised to find myself shivering naked in the fetal position. Apparentlah my herbal remedy had lost the battle. And . . . my poor cat.

Over the next three days I alternated between shivering violently and combating menopausal-like sweats. I was going through the change. I was becoming a werewolf.

It was a cosmic twist of events that had propelled me into the realms of the mythological.  Namely, a combo of: 1) my fuckin dirty mouth; 2) contaminated dog puke; 3)  ingesting whore cat balls; and, 4) my overactive imagination.

It was upon this realization that I demanded to be handcuffed to the bed. I couldn’t be trusted. The moon was full and I had a pair of cut-off jeans I wasn’t afraid to bust out of.

As I laid there transitioning, I imagined my life as a werewolf — alienated by friends and family due to my hairy disposition. I’d have to use Frontline or worse yet, what if I got lice?  And, there was also the social stigma associated with mauling people to death.

. . . not to mention other awkward situations.

But, becoming a werewolf wasn’t all bad. For instance, according to Teen Wolf (circa 1985), my newly acquired ballin skillz would elevate me into an overnight sensation for the WNBA! I’d get rich endorsing deworming products and become the spokeswoman for the Potty Patch. I’d also start my own high-end fashion line for furries!

Hundred Dollah Bills Y'all!

It was only after a long and tantalizing internal debate that I decided that becoming a werewolf was not for me. I was going to need psychological professional help – and a general practitioner was not going to cut it.

So I decided to contact the Department of Fish and Game for assistance (because they deal with outdoor species and shit). After listening to my plight, they assured me everything would be okay.

That evening they abducted me. Then took me to thier evil laboratory and conducted vigorous testings and anal probings. Bastards!

Eventually though, I was released after test results concluded that I was not a werewolf. But little did they know, I had something far more  sinister . . . strep throat.

Muahahahahaha!!

The end. xoxo

The other day I was rummaging through my memory box when I stumbled upon a familiar small glass vial.  Unfortunately it wasn’t filled with Angelina Jolie’s blood – just remnants of patchouli oil from a decade or so ago.  

As I unscrewed the lid, the scent of what . . . → Read More: This One Time When I Was a Deadhead. . .]]> True story.

The other day I was rummaging through my memory box when I stumbled upon a familiar small glass vial.  Unfortunately it wasn’t filled with Angelina Jolie’s blood – just remnants of patchouli oil from a decade or so ago.  

As I unscrewed the lid, the scent of what my mom so eloquently referred to as “DIRT,” thrust me into a trance-like state. I was overcome with visions of tie dye and hairy armpits. Oh yes, I’m talking about my senior trip. 

You see, while most high school grads hit up Cancun as their destination of choice for the sex, drugs, and alcohol beautiful beaches and archeological ruins, I found myself yearning for the open road. 

This is how I rolled, yo.

A cross country adventure was calling me . . . as was the music of the Grateful Dead.  I was about to embark on a long strange trip across the U.S. of A. — for what would be the Dead’s last tour before Jerry Garcia died. (Debbie Downer, I know.)

But first I had to break the news to my family. It was . . . ah, awkward.

Me: Dad, I’m road trippin for a month and following the Grateful Dead.  We cool yo?

Daddy’O: What are you going to do?

Me: Follow the Grateful Dead.

Daddy’O: What do you mean?

Me: I’m going to follow the Grateful Dead from California to Florida and then come home.

Daddy’O: But, why are you really going to Florida and then coming back to California?

Me: Um.

Daddy’O: I mean, why do you have to go to Florida? What are you going to Florida for?

Daddy’O: Hmmm.

That conversation left me wondering if my dad believed we had ulterior motives for our trip . . . like smuggling drugs across the country.  He is always thinking about the bottom line, that guy. But, alas, we weren’t that creative in our planning.

I could never compete.

So anyways, my friend and I set off for our Great American Hippy Adventure!  We were on our way to Memphis, Tennessee for our first show at the Pyramid — with no tickets. Yet.

After days of driving, we had finally made it!  It was half past midnight when we secured a room at a super classy Motel 6. There we slept in sleeping bags on top of beds littered with cigarette holes and crack whore funk.

Enough said.

Miraculously, we survived the night without stepping on a hypodermic needle or catching crabs.  It was close though.

The next morning we counted our pennies and realized we’d either need to start hooking to get some cash or start camping like real hippies – no more hotel rooms. 

It was intimidating, I’m not gonna lie. We weren’t exactly predisposed to camping; in fact, we had never pitched a tent or not showered. It was problematic.

Men, they always make it look so easy!

Eventually we found a campsite with plenty of open spots and ventured inside to reserve a spot. But, one look at us, and the attendants hollered “No Deadheads!” Peace and love bitches – we out.

But, because I’m not a giver upper, we used a payphone and called them bitches up. We made a reservation under “Kathleen” and assured them we loved Billy Ray Cyrus – especially his hair. 

Hours later we rolled back in sporting different crochet berets, dancing bear shirts and hemp necklaces and were all like, “Yo bitches, we have reservations.”

After they kicked us out again and threatened us with pitchforks or some shit, we wandered through the campground and ran into some campers that were actually hippies disguised as hikers! Fucking genius.

These guys, I think their names were Cosmic, River and Windsong – or possibly just Erik, Rob, and Guadalupo – were hella cool and were going to let us sneak our tent on their dirt! We’d have to be all James Bondy and shit . . . so it would have to be after dark.

Our hippy friends cleaned up well too!

In the meantime, we decided to head on down to Beale Street where we could take in the sultry sounds of the local blues scene and use my fake ID.  We indulged in a few pitchers then danced around in circles with our hands flailing around like we just found Jesus. 

Late into the night we ventured back to the campground.  There my friend and I concealed our identities with ski masks and hid ambiguously in front of the fire pit. “A little to the left, ah right, now an inch to the left,” we ordered our hippy friends as they pitched our tent.  

I didn’t want to micro-manage, but those hippies really needed to trade in their pot for some crack rock and get their asses moving. “Chop chop bitches,” we shouted until finally 10 minutes later our accommodations were arranged to our liking. 

This was my wing.

Once we were comfortably in our nammies, I clapped twice and the indoor chandelier faded into darkness. I quickly snuggled in under my down comforter and quietly faded off to sleep.  Little did I know that my sweet dreams of a blonde, dreadlock flowing Jeremy London would leave me waking to a total nightmare. . . (dun, dun, DUN)

The mayhem began when I awoke the next afternoon to the putrid smell of body order and an overextended bladder.  My anxiety immediately heightened –public restroom use would be required. There was no getting around it. Gross.

It makes perfect sense now.

As I stumbled hurriedly out of the tent, I was surprised to see our hippy friends closing up shop.  But before I could inquire, I noticed a bright orange sign taped to our tent.  It said, “GET OUT YOU MUTHA  FUCKIN HIPPIES EVICTION NOTICE.”

Our hippy friends had received one as well. Apparentlah our new friends’ kindness was not appreciated by the campground owners so we were all booted. Karma, bitches.

Because all the other campgrounds were sold out, it was decided that our only alternative was to find a spot next to the van down by the river. Suddenly public restrooms didn’t seem quite that bad.

After packing up our shit and flippin them bitches the bird, we headed to the box office to purchase our tickets for that evening’s show.  Regrettably, and not surprisingly, it was sold out. 

We weren’t worried though, there’d be plenty for sale during the parking lot “pre-show.”

Including cool posters like this! 
Whoa . . . trippy.

In fact, when we rolled up to the lot late that afternoon we felt confident that tickets would easily present themselves. We moseyed up and down aisle after aisle – passing by the didgeridoos and the grilled cheese sandwiches – but were unsuccessful in finding tickets.

As darkness grew we became increasingly concerned. Until, finally, we found a dude with two tickets. There was a catch though. It involved a drum circle . . . and a winner. Although I was much more fluent in tambourine, I decided to give it a go.

But before we could even get started, our drum off was interrupted by police on horseback and a shitload of pepper spray. Hippies were all like “Ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh!”  It was messed up.

Needless to say we ran our pussy asses away like lightening.  And, although the concert was a lost cause, the fun was just beginning!

In fact, the night ended with a mix of some military folks and a dash of dreadheads. Random, I know – kinda like me. 

To be continued . . .

Unfortunately, this means my Inbox was infiltrated with an abundance of spam and 419/Nigerian scams. You know, the ones that . . . → Read More: Scammers Gosta Scam.]]> So, remember when Capitol One, City Bank and, oh ya, Play Station Network were all hacked and customers’ email addresses were compromised? Well, I do – cause I happen to be a customer of all three!

Unfortunately, this means my Inbox was infiltrated with an abundance of spam and 419/Nigerian scams. You know, the ones that offer you a ridiculous return if you allow them to deposit millions into your bank account. Usually it entails some “tug at your heartstrings” type scenario or a ridiculous attempt at business negotiations.

I could be down with this . . .

_____________________________________________________________

These scams are annoying for most . . . but not me! Nope, they drew me in – captivating me! Deleting them with no reply was not an option. I had to respond! So here you go . . .

Disclosure: The email of the non-scammer has been changed to protect the rights of the innocent.
_____________________________________________________________

Weinergate, Part Deux

From: contactmsft01@aol.com
To: Uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: ATTENTION Loteria Winner

Euro Million Loteria
Tel +34-693-958-213So
Fax +34-933-961-852

Dear: Winner,

The entire staff of Euro Million Loteria situated in Madrid wish to congratulate you for being one of the lucky winners in this season’s lottery promotion.

You are hereby advise to fill-in the Euro Million Loteria claim form and return back to this office by fax or via email attachment that will enable the Legal department file for the release your won prize.

Best Regards
Mr. David Gomes
Euro Million Claim Department.
——————————————————

From: Uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To: contactmsft01@aol.com
Subject: ATTENTION Loteria Weiner

ATTENTION: I HAVE A HUGE PENIS. TRUE STORY.

__________________________________________________

 The President of Spain Likededed This Shit

From: garciahernan@ozu.es
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: Risk Free Investment

ABOGADOS GARCIA HERNAN
Calle de Atocha 112, Pta 9
28012 Madrid, Espaсa.

Hello,

This is Attorney Garcia Hernan of the above named law firm.Due to an emergency I have on behalf of my client, a politician from Africa, I searched your contact through the International email directory and decided to reach out to you.

He wants to move the sum of Nine Million and Ninety Thousand (9,090,000) US Dollars (a fund he deposited here in a bank in Madrid, Spain) into a private account  in your country so as to keep the money away and safe for two years only. After this period, you will transfer the money back to him.

Please, this assistance is legitimate and risk free and my client is willing to reward you with 30% of the amount for your help.

If you are willing to assist in this transaction, contact me on my private email or phone so as to provide you with more details.

Regards
Garcia Hernan (Esq.)
—————————————————-

From:uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To:garciahernan@ozu.es
Subject: Risk Free Investment

Good afternoon, Attorney Hernan. Let’s be frank shall we? You and I both know your assertion that you located me through the International email directory is pure bullshit. Clearly, your trusted Presidento Zapatero provided you with my highly confidential information.

I had asked for his discretion, but, apparently, he felt my services could be of use to you. Therefore, due to the urgency of the matter of your client and my trust in the President of Spain, I would be willing to offer my assistance.

I do, however, charge a base fee of $1.5 million and require at least 45% of the Nine Million and Ninety Thousand US Dollars for my services (I could throw in some sexual favors as well). If you are agreeable to these terms, please advise. I look forward to working with/on you and your client.

Sincerely,

Ms. Ura D. Magouche

—————————————————-

From:uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To:garciahernan@ozu.es
Subject: Risk Free Investment

Attorney Hernan,

Time is money. Are we doing this or not? Also, I am willing to negotiate, but not if it includes anal – which apparently is the new oral according to Marie Claire.

Sincerely,

Ms. Ura D. Magouche

I told ya!

[Source: www.adhocmom.com]

—————————————————-

From:uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To:garciahernan@ozu.es
Subject: Tick Tock Bitch

Yo, Garcia,

This is it! This is the last time I am contacting you about this business opportunity! If I don’t hear from you by Friday at noon, United States of America time, this partnership is OFF!

Sincerely,

Ms. Ura D. Magouche

—————————————————-

From:uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To:garciahernan@ozu.es
Subject: Jerk

Well, it’s Saturday and no email from your punk ass. You know, I don’t appreciate your wasting my time . . . making me wait around for you and shit.

Just yesterday I stayed home from work in anticipation of your reply. All day I refreshed and refreshed and refreshed my screen – and not a word. You bastard! I never want to talk to you again!

XXXXXXXXXX

If the shoe fits . . .

—————————————————-

From:uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To:garciahernan@ozu.es
Subject: Sorry

Dear Garcia,

Sorry about the tone of my last email. I just really wish this could work – you know, between you and me. I really feel like there’s chemistry here, and I think it might be worth exploring. Don’t you?

Love,

Ura

—————————————————-

From:uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To:garciahernan@ozu.es
Subject: Risk Free Investment

Fuck you Garcia! I’m done with you. Don’t ever ever try to talk to me again!  I am deleting all of your emails to me and x’ing you out of my mind FOREVER!

XXXXXXXXXXX

That’s the last time I ever let anyone in!

__________________________________________________

Can I Take Your Order Please?

From: Favour Omah favour_omah@yahoo.com
To: Uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: Re: I am now in Togo

My Dear,

How are you i am now in Togo  and i have submit your information to the Bank. I only need your assistaning by claim this fund S$7.500,000.00 Million Dollars which is my only inheritance i got from my late parent Mr.and Mrs Ernest Omah. According to my findings from the bank holding the funds, due to the status of the deposit in a SUSPENCE ACCOUNT, I am prohibited from having access to the account.,

They told me that I will get in contact with you and i am in the hotel. So waiting to hear from you whan the Bank will contact you , my sincere and excellent greetings

Yours faithfully

Ms.Favour Omah.

———————————————————

From: Uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To: Favour Omah favour_omah@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: I am now in Togo

You’re at Togos?!? Can you get me a Pastrami Rueben . . .  I’ll pay you back! Oh and some cool ranch chips and a large Dr. Pepper, not too much ice ok?

———————————————————

From: Uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To: Favour Omah favour_omah@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: I am now in Togo

Bitch where’s my food?

In case you can’t read,
here’s the ASL sign!

What Chu Gonna Do With All That Junk Inside Yo Trunk?  

From: Avelin Regato  aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: Trunk Box

Dear Respected One

My name is Madam Avelin Regato . A complete citizen of the Philippines,widow to the late Mr Desmond Regato who died of ulcer and he has been buried.

I inherited a total sum of 12.3 million dollars from my late husband, this money which is concealed in a metallic trunk box is deposited with a security and finance company in Cote D’ Ivoire Due to the instruction that he needed maximum security/safety and no body nor government organization can trace it.

My main purpose of sending you this mail is because of the way I found you and perhaps trustworthy to give you this priority of shipping the box of money to any address that you think is very secure and save in your country with your percentage of which we shall chat on soon.

In fact, since the death of my husband, his brothers has been seriously chasing me around with constant treats, trying to collect all his propertiesand bank accounts.

Out of fear of my late husbands family, I decide to look for a trustworthy person who could assist me retrieve this box of moneywhich they are unaware of, from the security company for onward lodgement into his account for the purpose of future investment.Consider my situation as a widow and come to my rescue.

I give thanks immensely for your co-operation as I look forward to hear from you soon.

All the best,

From Madam Avelin Regato.

———————————————————

From:  uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To: Avelin Regato  aregato72@yahoo.com
Subject: Trunk Box

Dear Avelin,

Oh my goodness! This story is outrageous and intriguing! I’M IN! Also, I am very trustworthy. You can trust me. I can get the cashier at the Circle K to provide a reference to my trustworthiness if need be.

So when should I expect delivery of the family treasure? Do I need to hide it, like under a blanket just to make sure your greedy family members don’t find it and take it and spend it all and then blame it on me? Because that’s a real scenerio that we need to consider. I mean, I don’t want to have shit go wrong and then have to take the rap, you know? Hope you understand.

Sincerely,

Ura D. Magouche

I’ll hide this shit so good!

———————————————————

From: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: PLease send me your details, and try to call me 0022545863437

My Dear,

Thanks for your email responds confirming your total readiness to help me in this business and for me to invest with you .

Please I need you to know that I know you must be a very honest person and I prayed to God before i contacted you So i have faith in God through you that you are going to help me.

Please I hope there will be utmost confidence in this transaction? as it will benefit both of us because I’m willing to offer you 25% of the money as long as you can assist me soonest, I also mapped out 5% for any of your little expenses that may be incur by paying for the security company to ship the trunk to your address.

I will like you to send me your full details like your full name,Telephone number ,your work, and address were you will like them to ship this trunk box to.

Once I confirm this from you I will go to the security company to submit your details as my late husband foreign business partner and after that i will send you the deposit certificate which the security company gave to my late husband the day he deposited this trunk box so that you will use this information to contact them.

Yours

Madam Avelin Regato, Hope to hear from you

From: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
Subject: PLease send me your details, and try to call me 0022545863437

Madam Avelin Regato:

I do my best to help out those in need and your situation sounds dire.  You need to tell your husband’s family to pound sand. Fuckers. I am glad you trust in me because I am very trustworthy even though some people don’t believe me (i.e., my friends and family).  But not you, Avelin, you are a GREAT friend!  You don’t know the truth and don’t care about my criminal history. I really do love you – you must have been sent by God herself!

I’m so excited we’re BFFs now!

[Source: www.nataliedee.com]

Before providing my personal information to you though, I need to know that I can trust you as well. I mean, I do. But . . . first off, I need to know that you are not shipping drugs. It needs to be cash because my probation officer has ensured me that “the man” is watching. If a truck full of coke shows up on my doorstep one of two things will happen – 1) I will clean my house, and 2) I will sell the shit out of it and likely go back to prison. So pllllease promise me there are no drugs involved!

I only accept cash and tacos, okay?

Also, this trunk box sounds super cool and like all James Bondy and shit. That being said, how I am to know that I am “talking” with YOU and not your husband’s scummy money hungry brother who hacked your email? I think we should use code names for now on – just to make sure.  I would prefer to be called K-Dizzle 5000. What should I refer to you as?

Lastly, I need 45% plus 10% for expenses. I don’t mean to rip you off, it’s just this shit sounds internationally illegal – no offense.

Can’t wait to hear from you Avelin!  Hugs and kisses my friend.

K-Dizzle 5000

———————————————————

From: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: please am still waiting for you

My Dear, Good day and how are you today

thank you for your mail, please do not be afried of this trunk box ok, there is nothing like drug in it, my late husband deposited this trunk box  as family belongings so i  promise to you that you can never regreat why you help me out.

I contact you, for you to stand for me as my late husband foreign business partner so that the security company will release this money out for us, please try and send me your details so that i will submit it to the company, and once again i want you to know that once you receive this trunk box i will becoming to meet you in your country to invest the money with you please come to my rescue.

Thanks and hope to hear from you

God bless you

———————————————————

From: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To : Avelin Regato  aregato72@yahoo.com
Subject: please am still waiting for you

Hi Avelin -

Thanks for reassuring me about the trunk box situation. I’m thoroughly convinced there are only hundred dollah bills in there. No snakes, or coke – which is good news.

Just wondering though if you think your late husband’s spirit is connected to it in any way? I mean, I am NOT down with ghosts haunting me and shit. However, for an additional fee of $12,000, I can facilitate the channeling of your late husband for some “Ghost” type action.  You know, the movie where Whoopi Goldberg channeled Patrick Swayze and made out Demi Moore!  Eww, okay maybe I’m not down with that.  But anyways, think it over and let me know.

As far as my details, here’s a basic rundown:

Height: 6’4″
Weight: None of yo biznass
Occupation: Mamba Instructor
Favorite Movie: Water World
Favorite Song: When a Man Loves a Woman, Michael Bolton
Favorite TV Show: Greatest American Hero

Also, I am an avid fan of the furry culture. In fact, I often dress up and attend conventions where I’m sure to get some squirrely action!  *wink* Here’s a pic of me in my favorite costume! 

This is why, this why I’m hot.

HEY! You should send me your details too and a picture so we can feel more connected and trustworthy!!  Also, WHAT IS YOUR CODE NAME? Talk to you soon!

Love,

K-Dizzle 5000

———————————————————

From: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: Re: please am still waiting for you

Avelin? I hope I didn’t scare you off . . . not everyone is very accepting of my interest in furry fandom. I hope we can still be friends.

K-Dizzle 5000

—————————————————-

From: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: yes e are friend

Thank you for your mail, no i like your picture, yes we can be friend.

—————————————————-

From: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: Re: yes e are friend

Oh good!! YAY!! : ) So, when should I expect the trunk to arrive?

—————————————————-

From: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
To: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
Subject: Thank you so much

i thank you all your elfort to help me and get this trunk box out, but i discover that this is not what you alone can handle,because this is not a childshi isuue ok, and i will like you to know that this is not a joke, and i did not contact you for a joke ok, I will look for another person who is wiiling to help me out, but i promise you that once another person help me out, i will still rember you as my good friend ok, so i know that God will show me who will help me.

—————————————————-

From: uradouchemagouche@gmail.com
To: Avelin Regato aregato72@yahoo.com
Subject: Thank you so much

Hi Avelin – Okay, now I officially feel shitty. I am sorry if you think I am childish, but this is who I am. I have fought tirelessly my entire life to feel just moments of acceptance. And with you, I truly felt that, for once, someone wasn’t judging me. I guess I was wrong.

And now you tell me that you’re going to find someone else to help you like I am that incompetent. I can’t help my past, but I was willing to help you with my future!

Whatever, Avelin. Have fun with your money. Maybe one day when you’re at the Louis Vuitton factory, you will think of me and feel bad for not giving me the opportunity to help you as I carry around my generic purse from Kmart. Peace.

K-Dizzle 5000

So anyways, I really felt like I made some wonderful new friends while corresponding with these scammers.  Although, they have caused me some apprehension in my dealings with alleged non-scammers like my accountant, lawyer and manicurist.  But, I’m sure it’s all good. Until next time my friends!

The end. xoxo

First you must visit a medical marijuana, m.d. whose information can easily . . . → Read More: Snoop Dogg Ain’t Got Nothin on This Green.]]> Since Earth Day was last month, I decided it would be fitting to write a little something about how you can implement a “‘lil bit of green” into your daily lifestyle with little to no effort. Oh yes, it is quite simple.

First you must visit a medical marijuana, m.d. whose information can easily be found in your local independent news rag.  Their ads are usually discrete and classy; although, this one – advertised by a Sacramento local, Dr. William Poirier – is a bit dull, in my opinion.

So now you may understand why I’m just getting around to writing this post . . . and you thought I was procrastinating! Ha ha ha.

Disclosure: The stories contained herein are based on fractions of real life that may or may not have actually occured and cannot be used in the court of law or in any sense other than pure unadulterated entertainment. Maybe.

So anyways, this post really isn’t about weed.

*My whole family just sighed in relief.*

No, it’s about being aware of the repercussions of a neglected planet. One of which, in my opinion, equates the human race as somewhat of a cancer. We multiply and multiply and invent detrimental technologies because we are so fucking smart and totally awesome. But we’re not that smart. The dollar bill rules us. Politicians manipulate us. And we destroy one another and our planet . . .

Scccrrrrraaatch! (à la Beastie Boys) That just got way too fucking deep.

____________________________________________________________

Anyways, I just wanted to talk about some simple ways you can reduce, reuse, and rectum. Just kidding! RECYCLE! Here’s some of my favorites!

1.  Become a nudist. I recently came across an article entitled, “50 Fun Ways to Reduce Your Personal Carbon Footprint,” by Jay and Julia Online (which I don’t think is their real last name, but whatever).  It is packed full of fantastic energy saving tips including a call to kick it in yo birfday suit. 

You see, according to Jay and Julie, you can save hundred dollah bills ya’ll if you, “[u]se fans during the summertime, and consider becoming a nudist in your home so that you do not need as much air conditioning.”

And also, they suggest that you:

“Don’t sleep alone on cold nights, save water and don’t shower alone, and become a nudist in your home . . . save energy, water and the cost of detergents. How about that – Nude Patriots for America and Mother Earth!”

This may seem a bit extreme for some. So, might I suggest taking baby steps? Start by buying a flesh colored unitard and a sharpie. Then let your imagination run wild! Fuckin bedazzle that shit if you want!

____________________________________________________________

2.  Cloth Toilet Paper.

Ever since Sheryl Crow recommended using just one square of toilet paper per numbers one and two, I always wondered what ply that bitch was using. And now I think I know. It’s called reusable cloth toilet paper. It’s the latest thing, and you should be wiping your ass with it!

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not feeling completely comfortable with this concept.  However, I could warm up to the idea if they offered them in more visually pleasing designs. Like:

You’re so not fired!

or,

Watch The Situation get tanner with each wipe!

*Custom orders available upon request.*

I know, most of you won’t be rushing out to buy this . . . so maybe just be cognizant of how big of shits you are taking and try to eat less. Reduce!

____________________________________________________________

3.  Vampire Electricity.  Once again I must quote from Jay and Julie for their nudity activism, and, of course, their excellent energy saving tips! For instance, here Jay explains vampire electricity and provides usefeul tips to combat it.

‘The second best place to work out in the nude is in my own personal weight room where I have a TV, a DVD player, a stereo system, and an audio receiver. These are “vampire” electronic devices that still draw power and generate heat, even when turned off. I plugged them all into a surge protector strip. . . and with just one click I can turn them all off when I leave the room. Look around your home for all the appliances and electronics that run all the time and consume electricity and generate heat whether or not you use them . . .  unplug seldom used appliances and machines when not in use.’

Hope you guys caught all that, cause I couldn’t stop thinking about Jay doing power snatches.  Balls to the . . . .

Like this you know, except in what nudists wear.

____________________________________________________________

4.  Give the Gift of T&A

Jill Thomas raised breast cancer awareness when she showcased braziers as hanging flower pots in a flower competition which challenged the contestents to use unusual containers. She ‘wanted to send a message out that people should check their breasts regularly because of the risk of breast cancer.’  So do it, even if you’re a dude.

In keeping with the 3 R’s though, make your brazier flower pot outta your old ish and give it to the next lucky birthday haver. Oh, no brazier or bro? Then, try recycling a pair of whitey tighties for colon cancer awareness!  Here’s hoping you don’t use reusable cloth t.p.!

____________________________________________________________

5.  Ditch the Plastic Bags

Did you know that four to five trillion non-degradable plastic bags are used worldwide annually? And that these same plastic bags kill about 100,000 whales, seals, turtles and other marine animals each year? If that doesn’t make you want to put one over your head . . .

Anyways, if you haven’t done so already, switch to reusable bags and save a baby seal, okay? And hey, I know it’s difficult to adapt to new habits, and sometimes it’s all about convenience. So, here are some items that will assist you during your transition.

Hey ladies! It’s your lucky day! Introducing the No Regi-bukuro (No Plastic Bag) bra which is made of recycled polyester and transforms into a shopping bag when not holdin up yo girls!  You never have to worry about leaving the bags in the car again!

Pros:
1.  It’s practically a transformer.
2.  It’s two times reusable.
3.  Adds padding to small ta-tas.
4.  Could potentially get your groceries paid for by some perv.

Cons:
1.  Could potentially get your groceries paid for by some perv.

* * *

And for the gentlemen  . . .  Everyone knows the best place to meet the ladies is at the grocery store. Inspire conversation with this witty little number. Clothing optional.

Yes, it says “Stop Staring At My Tote”
But I couldn’t take my eyes off the bread! 

Pros:
1.  It’s an exceptional conversation starter.
2.  It can hold up to fifteen loaves of bread.
3.  Women are totally not creeped out by naked guys carrying reusable bags with amusing catch phrases.

Cons:
1.  It’s only funny if your naked and I can slap that ass.

  ____________________________________________________________

6.  Line Dry Yo Shit

Instead of wasting precious energy using your clothes-dryer, how bout you take a few moments and line dry yo shit? Not only will you save money, but your clothes will look newer longer! And, don’t fret about wearing old threads, fashion always comes back around. For instance, I’m still wearing my hammer pants from 7th grade. That shit is authentic. Young hipsters are fuckin jealous!

And don’t feel limited to line drying just your clothes.  You can also save money by line drying your:

Kid.

Or,
Weave.

  ____________________________________________________________

I hope these tips help motivate you to reduce your carbon footprint so as to ensure a happy healthy planet is enjoyed by future generations.  For more information on how you can help fight global warming, visit www.carbonfootprint.com.  

The end. xoxo

KTBL Artist of the Month: Mike Tyson singing In The Air to Night via The Hangover

Click here to view the embedded video.

Mike mutha fuckin Tyson, ya’ll! Back in . . . → Read More: Mike Tyson is Tho Thexy.]]> Have you ever met a celebrity? Specifically, a heavyweight champion, rapist and Hang Over cameo-extraordinaire?  Well, I did. Ah huh. And it got personal too.

KTBL Artist of the Month:
Mike Tyson singing In The Air to Night via The Hangover

Click here to view the embedded video.

Mike mutha fuckin Tyson, ya’ll! Back in the day, homie rolled up to my work-hood to mediate some shit. Yup, and I wanted to kick his ass. Rapist! But also, I really wanted to get his autograph for my now husband who has always enjoyed watching people beat the shit out of each other for money.

At first I was gonna be like “What up bitch? Autograph this shit right neow!” But I favored my ears so it was more like “Hey, ah, would you mind signing this for my, ah, financé, ah he’s a big fan and, ah, ya, please don’t rape me.”

Then Mike was all like, “Oh, you have a fiancé?”

And I was like, “Yup.”

Then Mike was all like, “Oh, is he a good kither?” (i.e., kisser)

And I was like, “Are you for real, yo?”

________________________________________________________

And then I was like, “Can you just sign here? And initial here, here, here, and here?” What?  Autograph/written contract – a girl’s gotta secure her future!

But nooooo, Mikey had to keep going. He was asking about tongue or no tongue and how could we be kissin before we got married. And I just kept thinking, I wonder if he’d let me punch him in the face. Just one time. I could have videotaped it and sold it to the some shady news outlet where it’d be replayed for all to see – in slow motion. Jaws would drop as Iron Mike fell to the ground . . . knocked out by the skinny white bitch who stood triumphantly over him with arms raised high! FIST PUMP!!

Unfortunately, I was only granted an extremely random and uncomfortable conversation involving his bizarre fascination with my lip locking practice. No role play, no shenanigans, just a measly autograph. Bor-ing.

However, it would not be the last I heard from Mikey. In fact, several months later I received a scrapbook from him outlining his undying loveth for me. I have to admit, the kid’s got mad skillz with scissors and tape.

Coincidently, my initials were K.O.
It was like it was meant to be.

Can you blame the man?

___________________________________________________

Um. Not telling.

___________________________________________________

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I like bananas! 

___________________________________________

Someone got whooped!
_______________________________________

This is starting to feel a little stalker-fetish-ish.

 _________________________________________________________

I think he’s getting me mixed up with another ho.

______________________________________________________

Happy Ending? I think so!

 _________________________________________________________

The guy sure has a way with words, doesn’t he? I was absolutely swept off my feet. But alas, I was already engaged and so I politely declined his advances and enrolled in the witness protection program.

Although our timing was off, there has always been a part of me that wonders if we could have made it work. So sometimes – reminincing - I bust out old photos of Mikey. And, that’s when I remember why it never would have . . .

 He likes to eat babies and other things!

And also there’s this:
 

Click here to view the embedded video.

 The end! xoxo