Mongrels and ketchup

So, I suppose you’ve been thinking I was either dead, or simply a dead-head. Well, truth be told…I am a dead-head. I am lazy, irresponsible, and amazingly fickle with my commitments…but that’s only when I’m not being hyper-active, compulsive/obsessive, and reasonably neurotic/psychotic. I bet you’re relieved that I’m so damn normal!

Anyhoo, last you knew I had Molotov banging at my door and ready to knock my delightful lights out for flooding the damn yacht with sewer water (he is SUCH a baby!). I managed to survive the onslaught of his exceptional temper tantrum with flying colors, and we eventually went topside for drinks and cigars with Mr. A. while the hired peons cleaned up the big mess I made.

As I’m sure you are aware, Molotov has quite a crush on me (as does Mr. A, which I’m convinced is due to my polite white-trash charm with a delicate twist of lemon…as well as my ever so perky Yo-busters), and I have guiltlessly manipulated these smokey bad-asses whenever possible. We gals must use our gifts without shame or flinching in order to keep our little world in tact. Do NOT apologize for this! Ever! (Amen yo-sista, Dirt!)

On another note, it came to my attention that Zynga followed my lead and started producing mafia and police items in a jealous attempt to get you to stop following my blog posts. Please note: it’s just a matter of time before the Yoville Witness Protection Program is also picked up and abused by these multi-millionaire Moguls (or should I say, Mongrels?), and alas, I will not get the royalty’s I so righteously deserve for coming up with this nonsense! Yes I’m totally pissed, but I will get over it!

…Hmmm, this would probably also be a good time to inform you that I went against my better judgment, as well as abandoning my heart-wrenching plea to you to boycott Pete’s Pet Store (see Tractor Pull: July 1, 2009), and I paid the $2000.00 for the goddamn goldfish – Shame on me, I know! Regardless, I named him ‘Flipper’ and would really appreciate y’all feeding him whenever possible, as I would prefer to spend my hard-earned yo-coins on decorations and a totally kool, super-slut wardrobe! Thanks!

OK, where was I? Does anyone really care? I know I don’t! I’d like to just get on with this blogging business rather than doing a bunch of recapping on the virtual yo-past! My God, this is why I lack commitment! It’s because of accumulated virtual clutter and a warped sense of responsibility, virtual or otherwise! I hereby release myself from this self imposed prison of ‘catch up’ (not to be confused with ‘ketchup’) Bottom line is: I’m still dilly-dallying in Cuba, and I no longer give a shit about helping with the YWPP! If Zynga is determined to riddle your walls with bullets, and your floors with chalk outlines…so be it (rhymes with ‘Soviet’)!

Alrighty, well, I’ve had enough of my own yo-bullshit for one day (Besides, Mega Man will be waltzing in soon and I need to turn myself into a sex-goddess so he doesn’t divorce me for having the chronic ugly’s!)

*Chow, my lovely Yovillians!

(*Yes, I know I spelled it wrong!)

PS: I don't know why the links are so freaking BOLD, it was not a deliberate act on my part!

Floods & Tugboats: July 10, 2009

I languished in bed pondering if Hell would be like this: where I would be surrounded by untold riches and beauty; engulfed in the calming gentle sway of lullaby waves; satin sheets caressing me out of the lavish sleep of Queens and Fair Maidens; my every need attended to with the push of a fiberglass button. Every need seen to and accommodated…every need, but for one. One lousy need would be willfully and torturously withheld from me: the need to have the freedom to leave. That deliberation caused me to ponder further, wondering if perfectly beautiful people live in quasi-hell because they can’t escape the beauty they’re trapped inside of, and if perhaps that’s what aging is for: to open the prison of perfection and to allow one to live without the support of push-button ego crutches. Then that particular pondering caused me to further ponder if perhaps the Heaven everyone’s trying so hard to get a membership into, might in fact become Hell after about, say 5 or 10 earth years (sooner for me, since I’m hyper-active). Is this shit mind-boggling or what?

I arose nimbly and sensuously; with a soft angelic radiance glowing from my pearl and rose-petal skin; the morning sun glinting and dancing like glitter-stars off my golden, touchable locks that were gently kissing the edges of my dewy fresh face. NOT! I actually made a graceless scamper for the john looking like Cruella Deville after an all-nighter (trust me, I know this from former experience and bed partners), tangled up in make-up smeared bed sheets, with a record breaking wedgie (white with yellow smiley faces) gently yet firmly embedded in La-la-land.

I nearly took a major header as I slathered my way to the toidy with eyes opened just enough to navigate the location of my much longed for goal. Alas, success! I plucked, peeled, peed, patted, flushed, and immediately got my yo@ss sprayed by Yellowstone National Parks famous geyser, Old Faithful (mental note: don’t pee in the bidet ever again!). I washed my hands (only because I know you’re living your life vicariously through me at this moment, and I want to set a good example), and dried my yo-buns with a virgin-white hand towel, hoping to leave tell-tale tracks of spore, or a well placed dingle-berry.

I proceeded deep into the interior region of my illustrious chambers and nabbed the bowl of fruit that was nestled temptingly on a big-ass bureau. I looked the delectables over carefully, grabbed a ‘Red Delicious’ apple, took a bite, and headed back into the bathroom. I took another bite. Truly delicious! I plopped it into the toilet and flushed. The damn thing actually went down, so I grabbed a smallish ‘Gala’. Bite, plop, flush. It too went down, though the water stubbornly refused to follow. Oh, joy! Moving right along, I peeled an orange, removed the stopper from the sink, and stuffed the drain along with the overflow cavity with succulent orange pieces and bits of waterproof skin. I turned the water on and smiled at myself in the gilded mirror (the face in the mirror was really scary yet hauntingly familiar, so the trauma was quite mild and it didn’t prevent me from enjoying the moment). I meandered over to the tub for a look-see…

…I think you get the picture...

Amazingly, it took approximately 3 hours before the water finally made its way under the door to the hallway. So be forewarned dear friends: anyone wishing to attempt this trick when held in captivity, allow for plenty of time if time is going to be an issue for you. You may also want to consider not eating the fruit while you wait for the flood, as you will need the toilet if you do so, and hello, it will not be available. Personally, I would rather die of a toxic implosion of astronomical proportions, than to send little brown tug-boats bouncing and skipping merrily around my room!

Well, I can hear Diddle-ass cursing and thrashing outside my door, so it’s time for another WWW event – TTYL!

The Gorilla & the Gazelle: July 4, 2009

(I continue where I left off last time: Molotav entering my suite on July 2, 2009)

“What do you think of when you hear the word, mutilate?” Molotav asked me calmly and quietly, as he casually sliced the palm of his hand with a gleaming knife, drawing a wee-thin line of blood (Way too dramatic, don’t you think?)

I said, “Mmmm, makes me think of raw liver, or maybe spaghetti. Yeah, spaghetti, or no, wait, pigs-in-a-blanket. Yeah, that’s it. Now you’ve made me hungry, Numb-nuts, I think you should get out of my way so I can forage for sustenance and legal pain killers,” I attempted to shoo him from blocking the doorway. Didn’t work. He continued to look at me with the way–over-done dark intensity thing, and made no reply which I found unforgivably annoying. It inspired me to adjust my vocal chords to accommodate a voice much akin to ‘monotone alien’ and I began to chant, “Hungry (short pause), hungry (short pause), hungry (short pause), hungry…” while staring at him like a zombie.

He yelled sharply, “Enough!”, raising his arms in the theatrical manner that I call ‘swanning’, due to the fact that it is a standard defense maneuver of swans that are getting ready to beat you senseless with wings that span six freakin’ feet! (How cool is that?!) So, obviously, this guy’s intention is to be very threatening, you know, like it’s all the bonehead can do to keep from thumping all 100 pounds of me into next week. I need to be fully aware that he’s just this side of out of control so I better not push him by God, or I’ll be really sorry. Yadda, yadda, yadda, ooh baby, ooh baby…(yawn)(fart)

I tenaciously persisted, “Hungry (pause), hungry (pause), hungry (pause), hungry…”

“You will stop that this instance!”

I sought to immediately correct his faux pas, “Instant, not instance. Instant. I-N-S-T-A-N-T. Instant. Meaning immediately, or without delay. Like, NOW, Toad-boy!” I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes. Well, that pissed him pretty good because his face turned magenta and smoke barreled out of his ass…oops, I mean his ears (I’m lying. Neither orifice did anything unusual or mind boggling in any fashion whatsoever. Isn’t it great that I still possess my sense of humor despite the perilous situation I find myself in?)

“Silence!” he yelled in a decidedly louder voice than before, perhaps hoping the bellowing volume would cause me to cease and desist from my obnoxious behavior- Yeah, right, sorry, but you’ll have to kill me first...

“Hungry (pause), hungry (pause), hungry (pause), hungry…”

The next portion of our heated social exchange went something like this:

Molotav: I shall cut out your tongue!

Me: Oh give me a break, Butt-breath! Either start chopping me up or chop me some veggies or something! You really suck at this! If you’re going to threaten people you need to be able to follow through! Don’t you know anything?

Molotav: You are itty bitty evil woman! I want to hurt you very badly!

Me: Oh, you do not, Mouse-terd. You like me.” (I smiled engagingly while batting my luxurious yo-lashes. I noted a slight hesitation pass behind his chocolaty peeps, which was an automatic 2 points for me and my womanly attributes as far as I was concerned – The fact that he had the looks and charm of a gorilla are irrelevant to the test results, as any righteous woman is fully aware).

Molotav: Your Mojo be messed up greatly. You are clazy!

(I generously chose to ignore his latest mispronunciation…)

Me: I don’t have Mojo, I’m a white gal. I have Jomo. I have Yo-Jomo! Tons of it! Gallons of it! Piles of it! I’m friggin’ amazing, Monkey-shit!

Molotav: You will stop calling me the names!

Me: No, I won’t.

Molotav: Yes, you will!

Me: NO! I! WON’T!

At this inevitable impasse Molotav sighed and his body sagged like a flaccid…balloon. It was beautifully perfect to behold. Without hesitation I rocket launched myself at him, screamed, ‘Hi yah!’ in my best oriental warrior imitation, and kicked the knife squarely out of his hand. I then clamped down on the disturbingly large anatomical protuberance jutting from his butt-ugly mug (e.g. his nose) with my impeccable, Colgate-white teeth. (Note: This aggressive and enthusiastic action had the ability to produce upwards of 170 pounds of pressure per square inch to his sensitive flesh and delicate cartilage!)

He screamed like a girl.

Convinced that I had briefly incapacitated him, I dislodged my fangs from where they had embedded themselves into his snout, and fled like a young gazelle. My gazelle image was but momentary, as I was forced to spit several times due to the salty brine absorbed by my tongue from his schweaty schnoz. While earnestly attending to the cleansing of my much offended taste buddies, I ran headlong into a glass partition. Time seemed to stand still for a foggy, though somewhat pleasurable in a weird kind of way moment or two, and then I collapsed into a dizzy heap on the floor (I’ve seen that in movies but never believed it could happen to me!). Needless to say, that is where Diddle-ass caught up with me, and unceremoniously drug me back to my suite. Rest assured he did not remain unscathed for his manhandling. I have the broken nails to prove it.

…more tomorrow (I hope). Let’s all try to stay positive…OK?
Happy 4th to you all! Embrace your freedom!