I made the mistake of watching The Departed again recently and so now when I walk around the apartment mumbling to myself, which is pretty much every second of my life, I'm saying everything in a badly overdone Boston accent and I'm calling everything "a qweah" or "retahded" and that is not only insensitive but also annoying because maybe the front door has gay feelings but was trying to sort them out and that's why it got stuck and not because it is being beligerent. I don't know what the door's problem was, but I called it "a qweah lace curtain motherEffer" anyway(s), and that was totally not nice and also I'm not even sure what that means because if I had to hump your mom and there were lace curtains up, I would think that she was being very thoughtful and fancy and that maybe I should be wearing a monocle as I violated her. Because that's the kind of gentle, thoughtful lover I am.
I am always willing to crack out the monocle and tophat when things get fancy. Like when my brother shows up for zombie movie day and insists that I "at least put on some underwear for Christ's sake" and then I realize it's going to be a fancy day and then POW! Monocle and tophat and cane. And then he's all "Seriously, Man. Cover your shit." And then I'm all "Don't be retahded!" and I break into a dance number from Chicago and then I hurt myself. Those $1 "exercise poles" they sell with that Flirty Girl Fitness© Video I
bought found are not as sturdy as they look, especially when they are only attached to the ceiling with your son's forgotten-about Silly Putty©. I think Silly Putty© misrepresents itself because even though it never claims to be an industrial adhesive, I think we can all agree that pulling pictures off the newspaper pretty much implies that.
Silly Putty© is such a feckin qweah.
Also retahded is Flirty Girl Fitness© because no matter how many lapdances I give to the kids I can't seem to lose a single pound, and that means trouble because how else am I going to ever be a stripper with a heart of gold if my halter top won't even cover my belly? That's pretty much the Riddle of the Sphinx around here this summer.