So I’m furious. FURIOUS! I am positively devastated because Reznor has gone and gotten himself engaged. ENGAGED! To a stupid, gorgeous, hot, French chick! *Sigh.* And you know my unwavering rule about not freaking on other people’s men. I know, I know. He’s probably been someone’s man off and on throughout the years, but I never had any confirmation. I always just assumed that he would forever remain my backup plan and wait in the wings for me to decide that we should totally get married in black drapey robes and have truckloads of adorable, angsty, goth children, BUT NO! He had to go get all antsy, that fucking fuckity fuck fuck French fry fuckwad!
Ahem. So basically, I’m hosed now. Backup plan officially ABORTED, bitches! But at least I didn’t know it during the last show (though in retrospect, damn him for leading me on and letting me travel four fricking times to see his stupid married ass.) We had the Best Seats Ever last time in Kansas City and I enjoyed every sweaty minute of it. I could have literally thrown all of the total TP that was stuffed into my bra and hit him right in the nostril. Bastard. And you know what? He totally didn’t even look at me. Bastard. But you know who did? Mr. Jeordie White. Bastard?!
Jeordie White, a.k.a. Twiggy Ramirez, is not a pretty man. Nay, sir, in fact, at best, he looks somewhat ill and/or possibly deadish. Still, somehow, some way, I maintain that he can be kind of attractive. This is likely only due to the fact that he was standing mere feet from El Rezbitch and making sweet, sweet love to his bass, but still. I'll admit that I checked him out. And the check was returned, my babies! Mr. Whiterez drooled over me like Britney juicing herself up for pork rinds. God, I’m SO hot. Anywho, he kept lurking stage right and lustfully watching me boogie to songs that are now DEAD TO ME.
Ahem. Not I’m not saying that I am now crushing on Señor Ramite, but honestly, Rezwhore just doesn’t do it for me like used to. There’s something about him pissing all over my fantasy that makes me just not think he’s a cute as I did. I mean, let's all be honest here. He’s short! Once, I would have fervently defended his tinyness and insisted that he was just pocket-sized for easy transportable pleasure! But now, the thrill is gone, baby. The thrill is gone.
Bacon Dress
It's hawter than yours.
