Pete Burns Files for Divorce after Simpson proves unfaithful, assaults Burns in his home

•April 11, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Pete Burns, who only ten months prior to their relationship ending, was publicly declaring his adoration and devotion to partner Michael Simpson on channel 4’s Richard & Judy, has recently been quoted as saying that gay marriages don’t work because men are too predatory. The Dead or Alive singer dressed as a japanese geisha for the civil ceremony, where the couple were photographed looking very much in love.

Pete Burns & Michael Simpson at their Civil Ceremony celebration, showing no indication that ten months later, Burns would be citing infidelity as grounds for filing for divorce.

Pete Burns & Michael Simpson at their Civil Ceremony celebration, showing no indication that ten months later, Burns would be citing infidelity as grounds for filing for divorce.

Looking back on the time the couple spent in matrimonial bliss is hardly a pleasant event for Burns, who admits he loved Simpson very much, but simply hadn’t forseen that his husband’s vision of married life would differ so starkly from his own. Burns is quoted by The Mail as saying: “Surely marriage is throwing anchor and saying, ‘This is where I’m staying, I’ve made my choice and this is all I want because I’ve been on the up and down escalator, through the revolving door and I want to stand still.’ That’s what I expected.”  Clearly, Michael Simpson had an entirely different take on life as a married gay man.

Burns describes gay marriages as essentially dysfunctional, narcissistic and compiled of troubled individuals seeking a father figure or a source of validation. Summing up the difference between heterosexual marriage and homosexual marriage, Pete describes the former as “the whole movie” while deeming the latter a “commercial break.” It should be noted that Burn’s marriage to ex-wife Lynne Corlett lasted 28 full years, and that in their union, it was Pete who cheated on Lynne with none other than his current soon to be ex, Michael.


If nothing else, Burns union with Simpson was passionate, both in love and in war. In fact, last May, police responded to a call from Pete Burns’ residence, learning, upon arrival that the Dead or Alive singer was allegedly attacked by Simpson, who broke Burns’ collarbone directly after breaking into his estranged husband’s home.

With Pete Burns feeling the sting of both his soon to be ex-husband’s infidelity and his alleged physical assault, he did the one thing we’d all likely at least think of doing in his position; he sought revenge. Anyone who is fimiliar with the eccentric singer’s style and temper is unlikely to be completely shocked by his chosen methods, either. Pete Burns leaked a home done porno video of himself and Michael by posting it on XTube, coming to his senses and removing the video a few hours following the x-rated post. It is reported that the video showed Burn’s getting “rimmed”, and describe the scene as follows:

“Pete has a big hairy crack and gets rimmed, and a real ugly cock with overhanging forskin and huge dangling bollocks.”
How positively marvelous for him!! Now, if you’ll all be good enough to excuse me, I have to go and bleach my brain briefly…


Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson Break-up, Restraining Orders and Changing Locks Follow…

•April 9, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson have finally called their tumultuous relationship quits, according to the twenty-two year old actress, who claims the DJ cheated on her. Shortly after the break-up, Ronson held a family function at the Chateau Marmont, and spared no expense in ensuring her ex-girlfriend would arrive to a surprise. And, I imagine Lindsay was, at least in part, surprised when she showed up at the hotel to attend Sam’s function only to discover extra security had been hired for the express purpose of keeping her out. Lohan did not take the news in good spirits, rather, she rushed to her Blackberry and “twittered” at Sam, calling her a “cheater”.

Ronson responded the following day by changing the locks on the home the couple shared in Hollywood Hills, and was making noises about getting a restraining order put out against her former lover, Lohan. Shortly after the news of the DJ seeking a restraining order hit the media, however, Ronson rushed to explain that there would be no such order, and that this portion of the incident was misunderstood. (I think it’s more likely that Samantha Ronson sought the order, and found herself being laughed out of court by the judge. “Wait, you want me to issue a restraining order against Lohan because you fear she’s going to sneak in and what? Perform cunninglus upon you without your  knowledge? Well, I’m not issuing any such order, namely because I want to park outside your house now and watch, it’s ridiculous. Lindsay weighs what? T hree whole pounds now? You can take her!!!” )

Ronson and Lohan before Sam changed all the locks and had security wrestle Lindsay away from the family function. AKA: The time before Ronson figured she'd gotten enough publicity out of Lohan to start charging 30K a night to DJ.

Ronson and Lohan before Sam changed all the locks and had security wrestle Lindsay away from the family function. AKA: The time before Ronson figured she'd gotten enough publicity out of Lohan to start charging 30K a night to DJ.

Lohan, however, is failing to realize Ronson never loved her fire crotch, rather, only loved what the fire crotch could do for her career, take the break-up well, and reports feeling abandonned by all of her friends. She states:  “(I feel) so alone. Everyone’s turned on me. I’m a f**king 22-year-old girl who’s in love. I felt like I was in Mean Girls, but worse: Mean Girls was a movie. I’m just really hurt! The whole situation is sick.” 

It’s quite clear that Ronson used Lindsay for her name in an effort, (which was sadly successful) at boosting her own name and thus career. Frankly, I think it’s rather a poor reflection upon society that we lap this shit up, and, in doing so, allow people like Ronson to use someone who, for all intents and purposes, is really just a kid herself. Granted, this may have been puppy love for Lindsay, but one has to bear in mind that puppy love is still real to the puppy. Lohan even went as far as to deny rumours of the break-up were true, instead saying that Sam and her had opted to take a break to allow her (Lohan) a chance to work on herself.

In my humble opinion, when someone goes to the trouble of beefing up security to keep you out of a family function, and then following that, changes the locks on the home you both shared, it’s NOT, I repeat NOT a “break” they are looking for. Rather, they are looking for complete and utter freedom from ever having to look upon your crotch of fire visage again.

Now as the trouble bubble begins to form, Ronson starts to point her scary lesbian fist in Lindsay's direction...RUN LINDSAY!!! RU-UUUU-UUUUN!!

Now as the trouble bubble begins to form, Ronson starts to point her scary lesbian fist in Lindsay's direction...RUN LINDSAY!!! RU-UUUU-UUUUN!!

As far as her so-called “friends” go, let’s face it, no true friend would ever abandon you in a time of need like this. Lindsay, honey, it’s time for you to drop the hangers on and the wannabe’s and get yourself a real, true blue, group of friends who like you for you and wouldn’t let that change for anything. Friends that you will see through tough times, and, in turns, friends who will hold you when you’re crying, and feel your pain when  you’re hurting. Friends who will love you until you can truly get to know and love yourself.

Addicts who double as Circus Performers, or: As Monkey to the Organ Grinder, She danced the night Away

•April 7, 2009 • Leave a Comment

In recovery, particularly residential recovery facilities, there are certain “types” a person gets used to seeing again and again. There’s the agressive type, who will inevitably tell you, at one point or another that she used to do collections, has hidden bodies, and watched better than you die slow and painful deaths, so steer the fuck clear, thank you, kindly. (I’m proud to say this is usually my role…) Then there is the passive agressive type, this person will bottle up all kinds of emotions until they bubble up from her insides in a murderous rampage. Crazy Spice used to be my all time favorite for this role, but I’m afraid she has been de-throned by “Smile-to-your-face Hauls-ass-to-staff Immediately-when-you Turn-your-back” or SHIT Spice, for short. Later on, we shall get further into SHIT Spice, and how she has her own horrible little things about her, too, but for tonight, I’d like to focus on “Doing Undesirable-things-just-to Make-you-pay-attention-to-me Because-I’m-an-Idiot Spice” or D.U.M.B Spice for short.

DUMB Spice is one of these individuals who likes to pretend she knows all, has seen all, has done all, and therefore can tell you all, despite the fact she knows NOTHING about ANYTHING, and has a cerebral capacity unable to hold it’s own attention, let alone any vast amount of knowledge. DUMB Spice reminds me very much of an addict circus performer who has fallen from the high ropes a time or twenty too many. She is perpetually attempting to be the center of attention, and, when given the floor in group, thus gifting her with a captive audience, is clearly unable to stop talking under her own power. She rattled on for several minutes this morning about some stupidity or another LONG after she was finished speaking from the heart. Finally, in an effort to avoid leaping over the coffee table and wrestling her to the floor, I poked Mama Spice, (my BF in this place, and someone who reminds me so much of my Mama J it’s like having the world’s best blankie living with me) and we did our “bunny kissies” at each other.
Bunny Kissies are not anything drastic, rather they are when we kiss our pointer and middle fingers, and touch them to each other’s fingers, and then move our fingers like bunny ears.

DUMB Spice was horrified, however, as it was clear by our actions we weren’t hanging upon her every retarded word, and immediately said “That was rude.” Fortunately, as breaking her monologue to chastise us pushed the siloquay for idiots out of her mind, she had to relinquish the floor almost immediately thereafter, which made it all worth it. Once outside, however, DUMB had to explain herself to me in an effort, I assume, to invoke a heartfelt apology from me. (Clearly, no one has informed her that I am Agressive & Homicidal Spice, and would only apologize to the likes of her if I was allowed to wrap said lamentations in a quick shot to her head.) I listened to her attempts at sympathy for all of three seconds, (which I felt I deserved commendation for because it was three seconds longer than it would have normally taken me to give her a shot to her stupid blonde head…but, alas, not one soul came running out with a medal) and then cut her off by telling her I felt she was rude in what she’d said inside, and was not in the mood to listen to her  self-justification for such at the moment, thank you.

DUMB Spice was clearly shocked, evidenced by her wordlessness for a full four seconds, after which she did the only thing that could have possibly made my fists itch with desire for her head. She whined. “But I’m talking about my fee-eelings!!” DUMB Spice said, obviously expecting that I was going to slap my forehead in shame and yell “Your feelings?? Oh NO!! I’ve interupted you talking about your feelings??! Please, DUMB Spice, let me sit here at your feet so I can properly beg you for forgiveness for interupting your monologue about your feelings with a silly thing like telling you to shut the fuck up.”  Instead of saying any of those things, I simply regarded DUMB Spice coldly, now indulging in a full fledged fantasy about causing her serious bodily harm. I inhaled deeply upon my cigarette, “I don’t care.” I said, letting the smoke drift out of my words towards her. DUMB Spice got up and went inside, and inwardly, I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of out and out glee.

Later this evening, DUMB Spice, clearly feeling that we hadn’t paid her attention in the last thirty seconds and needing that situation rectified, parked her baggy ass at the organ in the hallway and began to play loudly. Two individuals asked her nicely to stop, DUMB Spice ignored them both, in fact playing louder for each request to be quiet. “I think I’ll suddenly find myself with a burning urge to play the organ whilst DUMB Spice is watching one of her shows.” I said quietly to Mama Spice. Instantly, the organ grew silent. “Why would you say that??” Demanded DUMB, “Because I meant it?” I answered, wondering briefly if this was some manner of trick question. Why else would I have said it? Certainly not so I could bask in the glory of a conversation with this neanderthal. “That’s revenge!!!” DUMB Spice cried, as though I’d threatened to burn all the hair off of her head and rub her scalp with alcohol.

As an individual to whom revenge means cutting out a tongue, shaving off a finger, (or several), or shooting up a house, I couldn’t help but wonder what my friends in addiction would think of the collector bitch they knew suddenly standing up and playing the organ in a red faced revenge invoked fury. The image cheered me considerably. Rather than bothering with the formalities of listening to DUMB Spice’s certain hour long complaint about how I’d hurt her wittle feelings, I smiled gleefully at the mental image her whine had imprinted upon my mind, and walked away with her still balefully whinging at my backside as it waddled past.

Who the hell says you can’t have fun in recovery???  I’m having a fucking blast!

The Post Wherein I Rip The Recovery House Racket Apart: Today’s Scam—StepinStone in Abbotsford BC

•April 6, 2009 • Leave a Comment

It’s nearly a year ago now since I first began this strange and difficult journey of addiction recovery. A journey that started back in Alberta with a telephone call to my big sister, a call during which promises of a new life were both made and believed, back when trust was still more than a word spoken with no small amount of longing, and family love was something I still believed in, even if  the only biological family that loved me was my edler sister and my daughter. My daughter’s love alone would have been more than enough, my elder sister’s love was just a nice bonus. The plan was for me to move to BC with my then eleven year old daughter, Adorable Spice, and, once here, I would enter a recovery house entitled “The Glory House”, Sister Spice (AKA: Fooled-me. Instead-of-love-it-was-just. Betrayal-sister. Spice, or FIBS Spice for short) would care for Adorable Spice and Pets Spice whilst I completed their program and then I would get my little girl back and we’d find us a place close by to FIBS and FIBS In-law’s house, and we’d all live happily ever after. Amen.

Instead, although I was told by then director, Debbie Renyolds, that I could enter and stay at The Glory House with my pain medication due to the fact it was perscribed by a doctor for a very real physical malady, five short weeks after my arrival, new director Denise Kennedy was informing me that I had to leave the facility because the pain medication I legitimately needed was triggering the other girls. Scared, upset, feeling totally unwanted, and questioning now why on earth I came to BC to begin with if this is how it was all going to go, I called my sister. Surely, she’d help me, I thought. After all, I hadn’t done anything wrong, and wasn’t getting kicked out, it was just a matter of my medication being more of a problem than the new director was willing to handle.

FIBS did not react at all as I anticipated. In fact, now, some ten months later, I still remember her exact words to me: “Well, what are you going to do? If I were you I’d be calling the Salvation Army and other shelters around to get a bed.” And, I also remember my heartache and horror in that moment. My sister didn’t care about what happened to me at all. She had my daughter, the grand-daughter of my parents, and the only part of me that my family has ever seemed to feel is worthwhile. With Adorable Spice firmly in hand, what I did or didn’t do in respect to finding a safe recovery facility was entirely beside the point. That was the night I first realized what a fool I’d been to believe any member of my biological family truly loved me enough to want me living close and visiting often. What FIBS really wanted was Adorable Spice living in her house, hers, with Mama cut neatly out of the picture.

I finally found a place to go some five days later called StepinStone in Abbotsford, BC. You can see the link to the Abby411 listing for StepinStone here:  I was naive back then, and really believed that all recovery houses were created equal. StepinStone was my first course in an education I never wanted, and will never forget. The recovery houses consisted, on the women’s side, of three houses in a row on ClearBrook Drive. The house in the center belonged to Christian and Isha Roux, owners and operators of StepinStone. The two houses on either side belonged to the program, and housed between eight (8) and ten (10) women each. There was absolutely no staff in either of the houses, instead one of the addicts/alcoholics staying in the recovery house was appointed “house mother” and got the privilage of supervising the rest of the residents in that house as though she was staff, only unqualified and without any pay. The house I was in had a house mother who did have 18 months of sobriety under her belt, however also had a boatload of other issues preventing her from being truly effective. The second house had a house mother who was all of nineteen (19) years of age, and only in the house due to a CSO from the judge demanding she be there as an alternative to serving jail time. Rats and bed bugs infested both houses, though oddly did not infest the owners home despite it being situated directly in the middle of the two infestations. Christian had, apparently, brought a company in to spray for the bedbugs, however had neglected to let them come back into the house and respray two weeks later to ensure all eggs and any missed bed bugs were properly eradicated. The reasoning behind Christian Roux’s refusal of the second spray was that he hadn’t yet paid the exterminators, and thus, by refusing to allow them back into the houses for a second spraying, he also neatly avoided the bill; and in the process, completely avoided fixing the health hazard invading both homes, allowing them to multiply to a point of unbearability.

One client, we’ll call her Dawn, was allergic to the little critters, and thus had been developing enormous welts on her face and body that were then becoming infected. A trip to the physician left her with the advice of exiting the premises immediately and not returning until a proper and through extermination had been completed. Unfortunately for Dawn, she too was on a CSO, and thus had to stay at StepinStone despite the rats and bedbugs creating a cesspool breeding ground for all sorts of bacteria.

In addition to the bedbugs and rats, the two owners of StepinStone had their own glaring problems, problems which crippled them completely against being effective drug and alcohol counsellors or facilitators. Christian Roux was still frequenting hookers and using crack cocaine whenever and whereever he could get his hands on it. During my stay at the facility, Mr. Roux actually went missing for a period of about a week, due to being out on one of his frequent binges. Isha Roux, on the other hand, suffered from such severe bouts of depression she would flatly refuse to remove herself from her bed prior to eleven (11:00AM), on a good day. On a bad day, Isha wouldn’t remove herself from her room at all, refusing to deal with any problems which may come up during that day. Marg, the lady Christian and Isha Roux hired after Marg completed the program, but who had absolutely no formal training in addictions or addictions counselling, not to mention management, was left to fix whatever issues came up whilst Isha was hiding out in her cave of a room refusing to be a part of the world and/or deal with any one of it’s inhabitants.

In addition, though StepinStone is supposedly a facility which provides its clients with room and board, in all actuality, only six meals a week are provided to residents. Supper is provided Monday through Friday, and a brunch is provided on Sunday. Beyond that, residents are to fend for themselves. Not to worry, however, because few residents were going to stay all that long. The plan was as simple as it was fraudulent. Christian and Isha Roux would wait until roughly five days after everyones welfare check had made its way into their hot little hands, and then, they would look for reasons, any reason, to kick residents out.

Once a resident was kicked out, Christian and Isha Roux refused to return their welfare check, citing a contract you were made to sign in order to be granted entry into the recovery house in the first place as their iron-clad reason for doing so. Once they had the kicked out client convinced they were allowed to be doing what the Ministry strictly forbades them from doing, they refill the now empty bed with another client (who is also made to sign the “you can totally abuse your position and pretend it’s legal for you to keep my welfare check” contract) thus, essentially getting paid double for one single spot.

I wish the bad news about this place stopped there, but I’m afraid it doesn’t. Although they state they offer group counselling, and a rigorous work through of the twelve (12) steps of AA, along with a strong Christian background, the truth is far less uplifting. The group “counselling” is delivered by a lady by the name of “Sandra Mason” who, although two (2) plus years clean, does not possess any degree or certificate in drug and alcohol counselling. These groups consist of a chapter being read out of the 12X12 or AA Big Book, with each lady reading a paragraph of said chapter and then sharing on “how that paragraph makes (her) feel.” This group takes place ofr one hour four times a week, preceeded by one hour of silent “step work”, wherein the ladies sit quietly outside smoking their brains out and writing  down answers to the questions they are provided on each step. If one is at all literarily inclined, one can easily finish all twelve (12) steps two months into their  stay, at the most. These steps are flimsy excuses for the real thing, and deny the recovering addict/ alcoholic a real opportunity to work the program and get well. Furthermore,  the complete lack of qualified staff makes accurate referral and diagnosis impossible. When you add the fact the owners are still very much entrenched with their own personal demons and fighting their own personal trials with little time for anyone else, and the sad state of disrepair and substandard, condemnable nature of the housing offered the ladies, to say nothing of the lack of proper nutrition due to only receiving six (6) meals a week, you have a recovery house that, due to lack of municipal governance, is being allowed to essentially suck women who are battling a  disease that WILL take their very lives without PROPER HELP, into it’s clutches for the sole purpose of making as much money off of them as humanly possible.

How can we, as residents of British Columbia, allow this type of thing to go on? During the course of this series on recovery houses, I will tell you all the haunting tales and experiences I’ve had with these horrible places in my short time within this province. Like StepinStone, most of these stories are hard to read and hard for me to remember and write about. This said, the real purpose behind this is to open the eyes of the BC public so we can band together and demand our municipal government take responsibility for checking out and licensing these houses to avoid this manner of horror. Addicts searching for recovery have lived through more than enough horror, and one hopes the reason they seek recovery is to end that part of their torturous existence. To have one so beaten down by life enter a facility which cleans her out whilst operating under the guise of being there to help, really, what’s happening is the signing of that ladies death warrant. Why? Because the chances are incredibly high that, not getting the things she needs physically, mentally, emotionally and/or spiritually in the house, she will simply say “fuck it” and go back to the  streets where, at least, she knows what to expect. It’s time we, as a people, told our government we aren’t going to stand for this substandard treatment of our fellow humans and that it’s high time our municipal government stopped putting it’s head in the sand and started shutting these horror shows down and open some more like Ellendale, which is government licensed and a wonderful place to do your recovery.

God Bless and Stay Safe Ya’all!

Dee Dee

Vanessa Paradis in Depp’s Shadow…also still very ugly.

•March 30, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Here it is, folks…the post wherein I actually capture what may well be the proof we need of Horseface Pencil Bitch Vanessa Paradis actually being the missing link in the evolution chain. Sort of like God decided to create the skeleton first, with enormous chiclet teeth, as a prototype prior to actually adding muscle, curves, attractiveness, any hint of gender beyond sequins or long hair…that sort of thing. Here it is…please, remove the children from the room before viewing this image. It’s enough that it will give the likes of us adults nightmares for weeks…..I mean to say, can you imagine sleeping away in your bed on the second floor, only to hear a tap tapping at your window. You creep out of bed, and draw back the curtain, thinking logically that it must be a stray tree branch creating the noise. Instead, you find this floating outside…

And to make it all worse, she's actually fucking standing in Johnny Depp's about perfection meets putrification!! My eyes, my eyes!!

And to make it all worse, she's actually fucking standing in Johnny Depp's about perfection meets putrification!! My eyes, my eyes!!


I’ve also just noticed how unusually long and ostrich like it’s neck is. Do you suppose God opted to fix that because this thing looks like a bobble head, or does its head actually droop onto its shoulder when its not in public? I’m really very concerned for Johnny’s health here, meeting this thing in a dark hall at night, its head slick against its bony shoulder like sharp angle. Do you suppose it hisses at him when its angry? Is he only staying with it out of fear it will eat the children if he attempts to leave? Its enormous teeth must wake him at night…poor thing!! Rolling over innocently only to find your head enveloped by your pet prototype’s (which, by the way, God promised he wouldn’t leave in your backyard and then did anyways because He’s got a sadistic sense of humor like that…) teeth? Then having to inch his gorgeous head out of its mouth bit by bit to avoiding waking it, and being hit by it’s enormous almond shaped lazer eyeballs.

I think someone really should alert the authorities about this. Or, at the very least, inform the National Geographic.

Johnny Depp to take on Another Hunter Thompson Character as “Paul Kemp” in “The Rum Diaries”

•March 29, 2009 • Leave a Comment

My lover who has yet to be informed of the fact he’s my lover,  Johnny Depp is currently working on an adaptation of yet another Hunter S Thompson work of wonder, The Rum Diaries. The autobiographical novel was penned in the late 1950’s, prior to Hunter coming into his own via his invention of “Gonzo Journalism;” and finds freelance journalist Paul Kemp in Puerto Rico virtually saturated by the plethora of lost souls surrounding him.

Not satisfied to simply star in another challenging and thought-provoking role, Depp is also co-producing the film with Graham King, who secured the rights to adapt the book to film for both his production company, GK Films, and Depp’s, Infinitum Nihil. This project sounds like a lot for the actor, who has been seemingly working non-stop these past few years, to take on. Personally, I believe the actor has matured and grown a great deal through both his cinematic successes and failures, and bringing that knowledge to this film, is likely to hit all the right notes with his target audience.

Now, if only  I could hit my target of sitting on Depp’s nekid lap with  my nekid self… interviewing this amazing star instead of just reporting as per press releases, which is annoying, because no press release is going to help me carry Johnny Depp’s love child… so I can expand my journalistic and literary grind and hip roll techniques.

Yumyum the mouth watering movie star of my dreams...

Yumyum the mouth watering movie star of my dreams...


In other news, Crazy Spice continues her bid to outdo her insanity a little more each and every day, creating a certain sense of dread within my heart each time she prays on by. The other day, I also distinctly heard her use my name whilst chatting in punjabi with a relative, leading me to believe she may be attempting to blow dart me during the dinner hour and drag my remains into the woods out back. I’ve attempted to share my fears with staff, however they all seem to think I’m terribly amusing and just trying to be entertaining. Not one of them has bothered to check Crazy Spice’s room for a blow gun, poison darts, or lye, which I have to tell you, I find just downright neglectful.

No one who includes your name in all prayers beginning with “Lord, please strike down the following barriers to my righteous place as sultana in your oatmeal cookie of love” can be up to any manner of good, in my humble opinion. If I suddenly stop blogging, please, one of you, contact the police and tell them I’ve been blowdarted for standing in the way of Crazy Spice being celestially turned into a raisin and baked into Jesus’s oatmeal cookie of Luuurve. They’ll know what to do…I know they will.


When Good Sarcasm goes bad…

•March 28, 2009 • Leave a Comment

To all my readers:

I would like to apologize for my decided lack of posts for the past month and a bit. Unfortunately, something I am not permitted to speak about at this time occurred, necessitating that an individual higher up in the food chain moderate and implement fair ruling. That has now occurred, with the result being my return to the treatment center, and as such, all of my lovely readers. Again, my sincerest apologies for my lack of posts. We shall get back to discussing how horrid Vagina Lips  Erm…Vanessa Paradis is shortly.

In the meantime, a brief update on Crazy Spice is required. I have ascertained information from a reliable source (also known as “my eyeballs”) that Crazy Spice is now trolling the Christian Dating Sites looking for a man. *Shudders* I must tell you all now that although perhaps Crazy Spice is able to pass for Less Crazy Spice on the internet, I simply cannot conceive of her ability to be anyone but the fucking certifiable self-centered whimpering victim that she is, in person. As such, I am feeling a great deal of fright for all men currently looking for love via the Christian Internet Dating Sites, and feel the need to warn them to steer clear of any woman claiming to “be going through a lot”, “be fighting spiritual battles” or “be a wounded woman currently working on healing those wounds inflicted upon her by life.”  None of these statements are what they seem, and, in fact, all say precisely the same thing: “I am a victim. I will always be a victim. As a victim, everything that happens to me is the fault of someone else, which also means I’m helpless to stop or control my victimization. As such, I am looking for a man who will ride up on his gallant steed and save me once and for all. I promise to be extremely demanding and clingy, and will cry on a dime should you ever threaten to so much as urinate without taking me along. Also, I will fall in love with you after the first two minutes of meeting you, and will then hassle the living shit out of   you, and stalk you, proclaiming my love and not understanding why on earth you would want to call the police on me.”  Be afraid, fellas, be very afraid.