•February 10, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Yesterday, I very nearly got nailed for homicide. CRAZY Spice was insistent upon signing her CRAZY ass self up for computer time so she could listen to Paster Pursesnatcher and the Pickpockets Choir. This, my friends, is important stuff. Without our daily sermon, the world may yet crumble at our feet as God Himself strikes us down. (I’m seriously fighting the urge to doodle another Devil upon the dry erase board…or, failing that, directly onto CRAZY Spice’s forehead.)

Anyhow, I was busily working upon writing an email to a family member we all know as CUNTS Spice, letting her know, in a very nice and delicate way, how fucking much she’s breaking my heart everytime she brainwashes my Adorable Spice, and feeds her lies about what’s really going on for Mama Spice, (ME). It was a very difficult email to write, and, naturally brought up a bunch of really difficult emotions. As I’m in the middle of this, I feel a presence at my elbow; there stands CRAZY Spice, her face so pinched up it looks as though it’s going to flip inside out at any moment.

“I signed up for this time on the computer…” says CRAZY, her lips bunching and looking, for all the world, as though her asshole has up and moved itself to a most inconvenient location. “I’ll be done in just a minute, CRAZY”, I said, quietly, tears rolling down my cheeks. CRAZY was not to be put off this way, not with Pastor Pursesnatcher’s sermon awaiting her enlightenment.

Off she stormed to COWA Spice, and tattled, as CRAZY so dearly loves to do. COWA Spice, who I’ve really come to both respect, and love, realized I was writing an email to CUNTS Spice, and quickly made me up and leave the computer. NOT, you understand, because of CRAZY…rather, because COWA knows what an email, which can be printed off and used as evidence, might do to me. I am now under email restrictions, NO EMAILS TO CUNTS Spice for two more days.

At 9pm, I had signed up for the computer, and thusly approached CRAZY Spice to advise her that her Sermon time with Pursesnatcher had come to it’s glorious end. “It’s just got about five or ten more minutes.” CRAZY says to me, following this statement with “I’m not going to argue about it.” This puzzled me, as, if CRAZY truly didn’t want to argue about it, why was she still with baggy ass stuck firmly in computer chair? Sighing heavily, I raised my cane to swing gently at CRAZY’s head, thought better of it, and turned to COWA Spice instead.

Now, COWA seems to be the only staff member unafraid of offending CRAZY, whilst the other staff seem terrified that, if CRAZY is made to actually follow house rules, she may well scream either religious discrimination or racism so loudly the world will hear. COWA, on the other hand, feels that the rules, which apply to the rest of us, also apply to CRAZY, whether she wants to accept them or not. As such, COWA Spice advised me to go and tell her to move her baggy ass off of the computer chair, and put her asshole back betwixt her buttocks. (Only when COWA said it, it sounded more like this: “No, tell CRAZY Spice her time is up, and it’s your turn.” But I’m sure, if she could’ve, she would’ve said it the way I just wrote it.

Now, whilst COWA Spice and I were outside, directly after baggy ass decided to steal the computer from me for her Pursesnatcher sermon, FRIEND Spice, who watched the whole thing go down, began to boil. As she boiled and boiled, CRAZY became in serious danger of becoming extinct. I adore FRIEND Spice, she’s a vicious piece of gorgeous woman unafraid of anything, or anyone, and she’ll just as soon tell you to fuck straight off as shake your hand. FRIEND Spice finally couldn’t contain the boiling any longer, and made her way over to the computer, where CRAZY was sitting listening to her “go to hell unless you send money” thingy.

“You’re outrageous.” FRIEND Spice informed her, I’m sure whilst giving her a glare that could melt titanium. “DeeDee is going through some major family shit, which she’s trying to deal with through the email, and you can’t give her fifteen minutes to finish?” CRAZY blinked at her, “It was my turn.” she whined. “And your fucking Sermon is more important than Deedee’s family?” FRIEND retorted, rage now bubbling into puddles at her feet. “Yes.” CRAZY answered, still blinking at her like a damned jersey cow gone terribly, horribly wrong.

“You’re fucking unreal, you know that? You are the most self absorbed person I’ve ever met. It’s all about you, all the time.” FRIEND said, disgusted, and then walked away, leaving CRAZY to finish her Pastor Pursesnatcher and the Pickpockets sermon.

I hate CRAZY Spice. I really and truly do. We have another new lady, who we shall call Alcoholic Beverage Spice, or AB Spice for short. AB and I tried to be nice to CRAZY, to make her feel a part of, however, both of us got bitten by the CRAZY bitch in one way or another, and as such, we’ve both had to stop trying with her. It’s actually kinda sad, when you think about it. CRAZY is, with the help of certain staff, who are allowing her privilages no one else is given, ostrasizing herself completely from the group, and driving each of us mad whilst doing so.

How do you tolerate a person so intolerable? How do you show compassion to the compassionless, and how do you explain that her victim mentality, and propensity towards bursting into sobs or defensiveness the minute anyone  says  anything, is likely to get her struck with a cane shaped object??

CALM Spice knows I’m ready to hide behind a door and leap out at her naked, save for the upside-down cross hung suggestively from my genitals. (As I’m female, I shall have to tape or glue the upside-down cross to me, however, if it gets CRAZY to either stop completely, or leave this place, the loss of skin that will inevitably result will have been well worth the rewards.)

Today, CRAZY has begun by making  a series of long, drawn out phonecalls to Abbotsford using the office phone. I really hope someone takes her out into the middle of the woods, opens the car door, and yell “You’re  free now girl. You’re  freeeeeeeeeee!” at which point the driver will simply lock all vehicle doors and drive casually away, as though he never in his life would even consider releasing CRAZY back into her natural habitat.  Moreover, the driver will have positively no idea why all the forest animals in that area are suddenly fleeing their homes, apparently agitated and annoyed  straight of out of them. 

God love a duck, I really, really hate this woman. I haven’t really hated    someone in years; though CUNTS Spice has definately come close to experiencing my true hatred and rage. I’m confused as to whether this is an honor to CRAZY or not.



The Post Wherein I Cry Uncontrollably

•February 9, 2009 • Leave a Comment

My daughter, Adorable Spice, visited me today. She visits each weekend for a couple of hours, and is accompanied by Social Worker Spice, who was hired by CUNTS Spice (Sister) due to her decision that I might be “inappropriate” with Adorable Spice. Let us define what she meant by “inappropriate. My daughter is 12 years old. For 11 and 1/2 years, she resided with me and only me, never once being visited by child welfare, the ministry or any other form of government organization designated to the protection of children.

When I phoned CUNTS Spice and asked her for help, as I had been using crack cocaine since November 2007, and it was now April 2008, she agreed to provide Adorable Spice with care whilst I was in recovery, and swore upon her life she would return her immediately following my completion of a program. I have now been, to date, in four different recovery houses. When I was one month away from graduation from the last one prior to this, CUNTS Spice went off to the court, and claimed all sorts of bullshit about me shooting oxycontin (yet magically obtaining positively NO needle marks, as proven and documented by my doctor), not feeding Adorable Spice (although my daughter is still the precise same weight she was upon arriving in BC six months ago) and threatening to flee with her back to Alberta. (I was broke, had no vehicle, and no housing in Alberta to flee to…so unless we were levitating there on a magic carpet that would magically transform itself into suitable lodging upon our arrival, no…I was fleeing nowhere.) In so doing, she managed to obtain interium guardianship of Adorable Spice, and, after obtaining this, she went on to lie about me having “adult conversations about court with Adorable Spice when we had visits.” The truth behind this was that CUNTS Spice was telling Adorable things about court, which Adorable then had serious questions about and therefore asked me. Somehow, it was okay for CUNTS to create the worry in my daughter, but not okay for me to answer the questions and attempt to alleviate those concerns.

CUNTS also, without Adorable or I knowing or consenting, taped our private conversations with one another. She then went through those tapes and extracted excerpts which, on their own, sounded negative. Let me give you an example: During one conversation, Adorable told me CUNTS had decided she had to have a counsellor, and she was worried about this. She asked me if it was safe to talk to the counsellor, and I affirmed it was, and then queried what she was supposed to talk about. I answered that she should discuss anything that bothered her, and cited some examples she had given me about CUNTS limiting her toilet paper use to 6 squares for a pee and 12 for a poop, punishing her when she said she wanted to come home to Mama, and attempting to bribe her to stay with them. I also said that if she had any issues with me, or anyone else for that matter, the counsellor was the person to tell, closing with “Basically, a counsellor is a person who is there to help you sort out your problems, so any problems at all, or even good things, that’s what you talk to them about.” CUNTS Spice wrote only the part wherein I spoke about the issues Jaimie was having with her, leaving out the part where I mentioned me, or anyone or anything else. So, of course, it comes out looking as though I’m busily attempting to turn Adorable against CUNTS, which I was not.

Since my sister has gotten me supervised by Social Worker Spice, she has really gone to town in lying to Adorable about me, telling her that I had a relapse, which I did not, that I went to the hospital on an overdose of oxycontin, which I did not, and telling her “Mom’s pills are more important to her than  you, honey.” Which is UTTER SHIT because, guess what? I’ve been off that medication for MONTHS, shortly after arriving here. AND the meds were for pain, not for getting high. Twist and turn it anyway you want it, and make it come out sounding like Mama’s  a fucking monster.

So, when Adorable visited today, I jokingly asked her if she had told Marzeela Spice, our cat, that soon he would be free to wander about the counters and table again. Adorable regarded me as though I had just burst into flames, and said “No, I haven’t because he’s not coming to live with you, and neither am I. CUNTS Spice can buy me designer clothes and stuff, you can’t. I want to stay with CUNTS.”

I had to leave the room for awhile and cry…eleven and a half years, Adorable has been my world. How did this happen? How is it that I’m losing my baby as a result of coming into recovery?

I collected myself and returned, by which point Adorable was on the computer playing on her facebook, which I personally don’t think she ought to have, but I’m only her mother, so why the hell would I get a say? Anyhow, I asked her to bookmark it for me so I could send her notes and things through it. Adorable regarded me as one might regard a cat turd stuck firmly to the fuzzy buttocks of the family pet. “NO!” she said forcefully, as if I had just informed her I wished to eat her brains. “You have to send me email through CUNTS because CUNTS says she needs to check them to make sure you aren’t inappropriate with me.” I walked away a second time, and realized I couldn’t contain the sorrow and anger and helplessness building up inside of me. I called Social Worker Spice over and asked her to take Adorable back, which was the hardest thing for me to do, but I couldn’t allow her to see her Mama break down, no matter how disgusting and worthless she thinks her Mama is. It’s hard, you know, to go from being adored and loved and wanted by your 11 and 1/2 year old to being nothing she wants, loves, needs, or even values. To being unloved, unwanted, and worthless…when all I want in this world is to have her home with me again, and the only reason I asked for help was because I felt she deserved all of me, not just a part of me, the rest eroded by crack. And I used for only 7 months, and at that, not ever daily…

How did this go from a positive life change to the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my life? How does it happen that someone can just demand your child and get interium guardianship, based upon lies and bullshit? How is it that my baby doesn’t remember how much her Mama loves her, and how Mama always, always put her first, even in my addiction? How did I become worthless and unlovable to my sweet little baby blessing? What kind of God would let a person suffer like this for seeking a better life for their child?  How do I fight CUNTS Spice? I’m putting together a plan, I’m calling my lawyer in the morning, and I’m requisitioning my papers from Alberta that prove I was a good Mommy, and that my family, my biological family, weren’t good parents, and only wanted Jaimie, not their daughter…but God…please don’t let them win. I need my baby. I need my darling girl…without her, what is the point in all of this? Without her, what is the point in recovery at all?

If someone had told me that I’d have to chose between recovery and my child, I would have chosen my daughter, every time, even if it meant my life, by God, I would have chosen my baby. How does seeking a better life for your child equate to losing her? What do I do to get by while we gather our evidence and create our case, each day knowing CUNTS is poisoning my angel a little more against me?

Suggestions, guys…I need all I can get. That, and if you’re a praying sort, a couple of those couldn’t hurt right now either.

Lots of Love and Tears,

Dee Dee

Vanessa Paradis (Horseface) is TOO Good for Johnny Depp’s Engagement Ring

•February 8, 2009 • 2 Comments

Vanessa Vagina with HUGE Crooked Teeth face Paradis has returned the engagement ring her long time boyfriend Johnny Depp bought for her. Apparently, Vanessa Vagina with TEETH Face Paradis didn’t believe Johnny Depp’s ring was good enough to distract people from looking at her horrid face to grace her skeletal finger.

Johnny got Vanessa a drop-dead gorgeous engagement band but she returned it to the jeweller. She wants her ring to be absolutely perfect.” said a source close to the couple. Well…yes, that’s exactly the way you act when someone as gorgeous and seemingly sensitively sweet as Depp buys you an engagement ring. You certainly DO NOT jump into his arms, kiss him passionately, and thank the fucking GODS he actually seems to want your disgusting facially challenged bony ass…Nooooooooooo. That’s no way for a Vagina with Teeth Face girl to behave.

How the FUCK did FUZZY Haired UGLY Bitch Teeth Eat Face Girl get her hands on the most Beautiful man in the Universe?? And how can I make her disappear without being charged???

How the FUCK did FUZZY Haired UGLY Bitch Teeth Eat Face Girl get her hands on the most Beautiful man in the Universe?? And how can I make her disappear without being charged???

What you really do is look critically at the ring Johnny Depp Whose still mine, Skeletor!! spent hours picking out for you, and go “Eh…I’m not loving this Johnny. So, I’m going to return the ring you spent 50K on, and get myself one that costs 400K instead, okay?” Because THAT’S not going to hurt his feelings AT ALL!!

Regarding the above photographic evidence of Vagina with Teeth Face Paradis and Johnny Depp, one has to fight the urge to throw up and then break into tears at the injustice in the world a sense of rising bile confusion. How one earth did Johnny Depp see this feral faced Vagina with Ears across the room and go “Hey, you know what? I have always wanted to marry a woman with a face like a Vagina with crooked, horrid taking over her Crotch-face teeth. Yeah…that’s the vagina face for me, man. Let’s get it on!”

And clearly, he didn't fall in love with her "breasts" either, because apparently she's had them surgically removed....

And clearly, he didn't fall in love with her "breasts" either, because apparently she's had them surgically removed....


Okay, so, regarding the photographic evidence that her teeth, at some point in her life, consumed both of her breasts, we now know Johnny Depp didn’t fall in love with her body, either. And, we’ve eliminated the possibility of Johnny falling in love with her face, unless he really does have some vagina face with HUGE teeth fetish we don’t know about. Now, we can also apparently firmly eliminate “falling in love with her gorgeous breasts” from the list of possibilities as well.

Given her insistence on returning the ring he lovingly picked out for her, we can also draw a line through “loving and caring personality” on our list of possible reasons for this insane union.  All of which is leading me to believe Vanessa Vagina with HUGE Crooked Teeth Face  Paradis excretes some manner of intoxicating “makes Johnny Depp take leave of his senses and actually see this thing as beautiful despite the obvious and STRONG evidence to the contrary” from her pores, which appear to be large enough for a small boat to dock in.

What the hell? I think we, as Johnny’s loving fans, need to form a plan of some kind here. I’ll charter a plane, and a group of you go to the house in France, wrap Vagina with HUGE-UGLY- TEETH-WHICH-ARE-EATING-HER-VAGINA,  FACE Vanessa in saran wrap to thwart her pore seeping “No, Johnny, Really, I’m beautiful” love potion Number EWWWWWWWWW, and yell “RUN JOHNNY, RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!”

I’ll scoop him up in my massive butterfly net, and air lift him to safety…which, of course, means I’ll take him to the recovery/treatment centre I’m currently in, and hide him discreetly in my bed, and perhaps in one then very joyful part of my body.  Then I shall go about the long and arduous process of deprogramming him, holding him whilst he crys about seeing it naked, and being confused as to why it had three crotches.

Vanessa Vagina with Teeth and Elfin Pointed Ears which prove it’s not human Paradis, will, of course, be donated to science so they can study it’s Johnny Depp Love Potion Number EWWWWWWWWW capabilities, and, of course, the three crotch thing.


The Post Wherein I demand a Salary from The Treatment Centre

•February 8, 2009 • Leave a Comment

I am having a small nervous breakdown…my nana used to call them quiet nervous breakdowns, however there is seldom anything quiet about my breakdowns, so I minimize them by calling them “small” instead.

As always when one is in a treatment centre, chores are distributed amongst all the residents, supposedly in an even and fair manner. This week, however, I have been on “Kitchen duty” every fucking day but Thursday. Allow me to break this down for you, on Monday, I am on “Kitchen Helper” which includes helping our cook prep food, set the table, wash the prep dishes, load the dishwasher, and clean up after the meal, loading all dishes into the dishwasher, putting away placemats, wiping down the table, wiping down the kitchen counters, and sweeping and mopping the floor. On Tuesday, I was on “Night Clean”, which involves putting all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher (after rinsing them off, of course, which creates for me a deep reflection on the real purpose of the fucking dishwasher if one has to wash the God Damn dishes before putting them in there…but I digress) wiping down all the counters, unloading the dinner dishes (this really should be done prior to putting the newly dirty, but rinsed so you can’t tell dishes in) taking out the garbage and sweeping and mopping the floor. FRIEND Spice helped me with the dishes part on Tuesday, and as such, I offered to help her with the sweeping and mopping on Wednesday, when she was on “Night Clean”.

The staff member I shall refer to henceforth as Can’t Originate What She’s About Spice, or COWA Spice, told FRIEND Spice, on Wednesday night to remind me that I was sweeping and mopping the floors, which she did…Twice, at COWA’s request. Silly me, I assumed that meant that all I had to do was sweep and mop the fucking floor…but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…I get into the kitchen and am told by COWA that I need to do the entire night clean, dishes, counter, floor, etc. (Imagine my delight.) So, I did…whilst gritting my teeth, and thinking about how nice it would be to bake meat pies with Mrs. Lovett.

Can I pick the people, Mrs. Lovett?? Please?? I have a few flavors I'm sure would interest your customers...COWA, for example, which, I'm told, tastes just like chicken...

Can I pick the people, Mrs. Lovett?? Please?? I have a few flavors I'm sure would interest your customers...COWA, for example, which, I'm told, tastes just like chicken...

None the less, I managed to get through it. Thursday passed without incident, and thus, I figured, foolishly, that I didn’t have to post a cot in the kitchen for myself after all. Friday, however, after dinner, COWA informed me I had to clean up after dinner. Without thinking, I just made a joke about how many damn times she had me in the kitchen this week, and COWA said she’d made a mistake with the scheduling…then said, I assumed jokingly, that actually, she was doing it to see what I’d do. Calmly and gently, I smiled lovingly at COWA and said “I hate you.” COWA informed me that she loved me, and I went into that fucking kitchen again and cleaned up.

Imagine my surprise and delight then, when tonight, ASSKICKS Spice tells me I’m on FUCKING NIGHT CLEAN. Being the rationale and calm individual I am, I rationally and calmly told ASSKICKS where she could store that idea. ASSKICKS felt understandably confused, as, upon producing the ACTUAL FUCKING KITCHEN SCHEDULE, we discovered I was ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE ON THERE ON MONDAY AND TONIGHT. Not on Tuesday, not on Friday, just kitchen helper Monday and Night Clean tonight.

My fiance informs me that I am not permitted to kill or bake anyone into a pie just yet. He also informs me that I am going to have to just do the FUCKING NIGHT CLEAN, or F.N.C for short, because it is written on the schedule for tonight. The schedule, of course, being something that, once prepared, has the power of the Lord Almighty himself.

Speaking of the LORD ALMIGHTY, another new girl arrived today, she looks to be about fourteen, but is, in fact, thirty-one. We shall call her CRAZYSIDEKICK Spice. CRAZYSIDEKICK Spice is, as CRAZY Spice calls her, a “sister in the Lord”. Oh VOMIT, Oh PUKE, OH FUCKING NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! No sisters in the fucking Lord, please. Find yourself another crutch, would you? This one is annoying and creating homicidal thoughts amongst the natives. I think that CALM Spice is going to burst forth with a carving knife at any moment and attempt to cut the crazy right out of the two of them.

Of course, I really hope to be there to watch…and perhaps even cheer a wee bit.

And maybe provide an alibi for CALM Spice, saying she and I were quietly reading the Satanic Bible when it all happened, and fear that perhaps we mistakenly summoned the Dark Lord. Damn that Dark Lord, anyways…cutting up Christ Crispies like that…

I really hope God is having a gay old laugh up there at my expense, because I’m planning to beat Him to a pulp for this when I die.

That is all.

As you were.

Save me Johnny!!! Er, Sweeney…Er Johnny Todd?

•February 7, 2009 • Leave a Comment

I am having a very hard time deciding today if it’s Johnny Depp that I need to save me, or Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd… I mean to say, Sweeney comes equipped with a straight razor and homicidal temper, which I have to tell you, would definately be useful for many of us in the house.

If only that razor was making it's way across certain necks...

If only that razor was making it's way across certain necks...

I feel it’s important that I take this time to point out that Mr. Todd’s motto is “Never Forgive, Never Forget”. I feel this motto is both apt, and useful in Recovery House living.
Now, if only I could get me Johnny, a straight razor, and an alibi…(I would like the alibi to be that I was making mad, passionate monkey love to Johnny Depp when the horribly tragic accident took place…)

The Group Wherein CRAZY Spice Self Destructs

•February 6, 2009 • Leave a Comment

This morning, due to the entire clientele save CRAZY Spice wanting to cause CRAZY Spice bodily harm, things were somewhat tense. After a chat with ASSKICKS Spice, however, I had opted not to bring up any of the multiple issues with CRAZY in the group setting. As such, I settled for simply addressing the issue of people leaving coffee cups about the house and not pushing their chairs in when they get up from the table.

This led to FRIEND Spice having a few words to say about herself, which due to confidentiality, I can not really discuss here, but suffice it to say she addressed a personal issue and was speaking from the point of view of letting the group know, if this issue comes up, it is her issue, and not to take it personally. At this point, our other new girl, Brainy Rail Aquired Total-directness Spice or BRAT Spice, for short, attempted to clarify what FRIEND Spice was talking about for the benefit of the group.

CRAZY proceeded to get up and head out of the room to use the washroom. Upon her return, she had to visit the water cooler in order to refill her cup. FRIEND Spice addressed the fact that she found CRAZY getting up and wandering during group very disrespectful, particularly when one was sharing something important to them. CRAZY huffed and puffed and blew her brains down by saying “I have permission, thank you very much.” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Needless to say, she did not receive a “you’re welcome.”

Upon returning to the group, BRAT began attempting to clarify the issue once again, however, by this point, CRAZY had a pen and paper out and was quickly jotting down each and every word that came out of anyone’s mouth. BRAT made a comment about it being pointless to attempt to discuss something when someone is writing instead of participating in the discussion. CRAZY then informed us that she felt attacked and threatened, because it was clear to her that everything we said was all about her…even though it was not.

CRAZY then went on to say she was not going to share unless a staff member was present as she felt unsafe and threatened (2nd time saying almost precisely the same thing, I’m assuming because none of us patted her on the head and cooed “Poor CRAZY…” the first time, which she assumed must have been because we just couldn’t properly hear her…) and that was all there was to it. Caring Attentive Listener Marvelous Spice, or CALM Spice, for short, attempted to ask CRAZY why she felt unsafe and threatened, only to be snapped at  with “I’m not going to talk about this now, I already told you I’m not getting into it without a staff member present.” At which point the pen and paper reappeared, and CRAZY continued to fervently record every word we spoke. Now, I’m sorry, but I do not believe that writing down the things I share privately about myself in group is, in any way, acceptable, a concern I then expressed to staff.

This whole occurance, by the way, was on the heels of my, at the beginning of group, requesting that the flourescent lights, which were hurting AWESOME and I’s eyeballs, off for the duration of group. CRAZY then said no, because she needed the light, wherein it was gently pointed out to CRAZY that she was sitting not a foot away from a lamp, which was in the “on” position, and thus throwing light. Clearly frustrated that she was no longer given the power to burn all of our retina’s straight out of our heads, CRAZY started to object with “So I’m going to have to lean over like this” (Demonstrates a lean of all of three centimetres) “to see?” and, upon discovering no one had sympathy for her three centimetre lean plight, ended with “Fine. I’m willing to do that for my recovery…” Implying, quite clearly, that we should all be willing to have our retina’s deep fried for our recoveries.

Staff did talk to CRAZY after group, and I’m hoping ASSKICKS Spice was able to give CRAZY the much needed dose of “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND PUT YOUR BIG GIRL PANTIES ON” required at this time.

Just now, as BRAT and CRAZY were looking for games of some kind, they were discussing words that began with “F” suitable for valentines day. Instantly, I offered my, I think, very valid and reasonable suggestion of “Fuck me harder.” CRAZY, however, failed to see the rationale, and instead ran to ASSKICKS and promptly tattled. I think I may have to take her to the taxidermist and have her stuffed, as it’s beginning to come clear to me that this may well be the only way she will ever find a place within our group that isn’t “Client we ALL want to Kill.”

God help me, I can’t stand that woman.

AWESOME….balcony throwing time, babe…hop to!!

Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis To Wed?

•February 6, 2009 • 1 Comment

Let me start by saying I find this nearly as distasteful as I find CRAZY Spice, however, the rumor mill is grinding out two separate rumors about the Depp + Paradis Wedding.


  1. Johnny Depp (Who is mine, I might add) married Vanessa HorsefaceParadis in a private ceremony on June 14th, 2008.
  2. Johnny Depp (Who is still MINE) is going to marry Vanessa Skeletor death FaceParadis next spring or summer.

Depp’s rep has out and out denied the first rumor, stating flatly “There is no wedding.” Whether this is confirmation that the second rumor is also untrue, or whether the rep is simply as nauseated by the thought of someone so beautiful daring to consider engaging in matrimony with someone so incredibly horrifying to look at that penises wilt and shrivel at the very sight of her face, I don’t know.

For my part, I’ve opted to perform a study on Paradis, addressing each one of her facial challenges in a fair and unbias manner. To begin, we will require photographic evidence of our specimen.

Exhibit "A" in Study of Extraordinary Ugliness

Exhibit "A" in Study of Extraordinary Ugliness

Paradis is shown here in contrast to her gorgeous husband, where one can easily see the discrepancy betwixt the two. Of special interest, I direct your attention to the flat chest, complete lack of womanly figure, and squinty, hollowed eyes. I also think it’s important to address the sharply pointed elfin ears which create the illusion of Spock like lineage.

Wherein my Eyeballs Melt from An Overdose of Ugly

Wherein my Eyeballs Melt from An Overdose of Ugly

Oh God, where does one begin? Deep Breath. Okay…let’s start with the teeth. Oh Dear Me, the teeth. First and foremost, they appear to be taking over the woman’s head, and perhaps they are. Perhaps Paradis has some manner of teeth-consuming-face virus which is slowly eating the rest of her head. Which is all the more reason for her not to marry Depp, because I would have to commit homicide if she gave him her horrid teeth eat face thingy, and made him less perfect and incredibly beautiful than he is. Moving on to her nose, it’s fat and ugly. End of. Now the squinty eyes….they remind me very much of the eyes of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome suffers. All together, this creates an issue of complete and utter hideousness.
All of this said, NO marrying Johnny there Ugly. You go marry Lyle Lovett and leave the gorgeous men to woman who aren’t afflicted with such a raging case of teetheating feral face.
That is all,
As you were.