Just ’cause I walk with a limp like an old-school pimp don’t mean I’ll slap ya.

But If you wanna talk tough and you wanna puff up then I might just have ta.

But I didn’t come here to clock your mouth, I came here to rock the house.  – LMFAO, “We came here to party”

It’s a damn good thing Sugardaddy’s auntie made us a chocolate sheet cake that we put in the freezer when baby was in the hospital and I just found it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I ate that whole motherfucking sheet cake over the course of three days, assholes. That’s right. AND maintained my weight from a week ago. Eat it.  Sure, I feel like shit. But I felt like shit BEFORE I ate the sheet cake, so it doesn’t matter, right? Thank you.

Moving on… So what’s with people eating each others faces? Any takers? Dan Mitchell? Doodoomamajuju? I’m sure you have insight. I mean, I’m sure it’s been happening for thousands of years, but it’s just now getting publicity on the news and causing thousands of ignorant little crackas to freak out about zombies.

Another question I have for you is– how the fuck do I get hooked up with a bartending job??? That’s really what I want to do right now. And I’m pretty sure I could make some BANK doing that happiness. I LOVE getting people drunk and happy. To get PAID to do it? Genius.

Here is a list of skills and/or talents I have that I think might warrant someone paying me a full-time salary:

  • Touching my baby’s chubby leg-rolls.
  • Listening to 90’s rock.
  • Hair-flips with my luscious long black hair.
  • Putting on mascara. I’m really good at that.
  • Writing random phone numbers on parked car windows with lipstick.
  • Eating raw cookie dough.
  • Saying “Let’s get crunk!” to 15-year olds.
  • Picking out shoes I like.
  • Parking directly next to the cars parked way out in the weeds at the drive in.
  • Suggesting to douchey men that their fathers are probably really disappointed them. And then patting them on the back when they start crying in public.
  • Explaining awkward things to my 4-year-old in ways that might bring shame on my family.
  • Doing the robot.
  • Going up to Black people and touching their hair in that special creepy white-person sorta way.
  • Going to high-end boutiques in my mom-sweatpants and making the people there wait on me.
  • Speaking in a fake British accent.
  • Making fun of people who drive the BMW 300 series.
  • Eating nachos.

If you or someone you know is looking to hire someone with one or more of the above qualifications, by all means, let a hooker know.

10 thoughts on “Just ’cause I walk with a limp like an old-school pimp don’t mean I’ll slap ya.

  1. Well, my insight would just be regurgitated from an awesome article I read on Cracked.com, so instead of faking the funk that I’m this smart, I’ll just give you the link:


    But in a nut shell, yeah, crazy shit happens all the time – but the media tends to fixate on the things that we fixate on, so they show more of it down our gullets. Also, you’d make a great bartender. You could take a class, or you could just wear something low-cut in the chestular area and go ask a place if they’ll hire you & train you. If you aren’t willing to showcase the ‘vage (as in cleavage, not vagina, although that would be a HELLUVA bar) then you probably won’t profit from tending bar – in my experience, most women bartenders really make bank by giving me the mistaken and booze-fueled impression that maybe, just maybe, they’re into them.

    On that note, Doug would have be cool with like a dozen-dozen drunken dudes hitting on you and looking down your shirt. But as the dinosaurs on the Flintstones always say, “Eh. It’s a living.”

    • Also, when I said “giving me the mistaken and booze-fueled impression”, I actually meant giving MEN a mistaken and booze-fueled impression.” I do not want to start the rumor that my drunken oogling is supporting the female bartenders of the United States, nor that they are “making bank” off of my wandering eyes. I am a gentleman.

      • A good water bra will upgrade that quantity, too. Or perhaps a Renaissance-Faire-style corset. Those things will give a ten-year-old boy tits up to his chin. Since you already have the goods to start with, wear one of those and you’ll have to pear over your chest just to see the person you’re giving the gin & tonic to.

  2. I forgot about the drive-in, you dirty bee-atch. That is nothing to be proud of. The rest of your qualifications rock. I say that b/c I have most of them as well. (Except for the british accent). I can penis dance like a big ol’ ho though.

  3. I can recall many such occasions in which I fantasize about eating a person’s face off. Honestly, there is very little holding me back. very….little…..just sayin’…..watch…..your….back.
    On another note, you could add “bein’ a badass bitch” to you little list. Be sure to drop that ‘g’ at the end, cause thas reeeeaaalll classy you see. Puckerin’ assholes since 1981.

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