Indeed...
If I Could Kick Any One in the Junk…
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It would be Trent Reznor.
He Don't Love Me, He Just Love My Doggy Style
For those of you unfortunate few who are not acquainted with T-Rez, he is the lead singer of Nine Inch Nails, a raging sex beast, and The Only Man Who Is Truly Worth My Time. However, none of these facts negate my complete and utter fury at El Rezzenator for his dickalicious behavior as of late.
Seriously, I’ve been all, “I hate you! Quit calling me and buying me lavish jewelry and Mercedes convertibles! I will so reinstate the restraining order on your ass." And he's all, But baby, “you are the reason I stay alive!” And I’m all, “Well FINE, then why don’t you stop being a total cocksucker and play the show in the United States on my frickin’ birthday, you a hole!” Then he gets all puffed up like, “My lips may promise but my heart is a whore.” And then I hang up on him. Same routine as usual, right?
But this time, The Rizzel has taken a flying squirrel leap over the mother effing line, babies. On March 31, 2005, he will play two exclusive shows at a bitchin' club sized venue called The Astoria in London. Happy. Birthday. To. Me. Can you believe he's ditching out on the glorious day that marks my dazzling entrance into the world? Whatever!
Anywho, upon hearing this exciting bit of NIN news, I became flushed with the titillating glow of confusion. I was initially elated that Riggity Rez was indeed still alive, then overjoyed that he was going to play a show for the first time since God was a boy. Shortly thereafter, I felt myself getting all percolated and a little faintish at the thought of him wearing eyeliner. Sometime a bit later, it finally sunk in that the gig would be across the flippin' Atlantic. I mean, how could he possibly have convinced himself to play a show for which I can't be present?
I promptly commenced working myself into a complete lather in which I insisted that I needed to go even if I had to start selling Tupperware door to door with Uncle Rico to make it happen. I even went so far as to foam at the mouth a bit and obsessively check air fares. Just as I had myself convinced that it was a perfectly reasonable idea to fly to England for a Nine Inch Nails show, the tickets sold out.
All I'm asking is for Trentastic to simply play the show here at home. Preferably at The Madrid. With only myself in attendance. Then, I'd be able to go, rock out for my 24th, and ogle him like the piece of Grade A North American meat that he is. Is that really asking for so much?
God, I'm pissed. Just look at him. So smug and gorgeous. Lying prostrate on his Tim Burtony log in a billowy, fake forest. Staring off angstily whilst tugging in a provocative and naughty manner at the suggestive tear in the danger zone of his pants. That white hot, perfect, delicious son of a bitch.
He Don't Love Me, He Just Love My Doggy Style
For those of you unfortunate few who are not acquainted with T-Rez, he is the lead singer of Nine Inch Nails, a raging sex beast, and The Only Man Who Is Truly Worth My Time. However, none of these facts negate my complete and utter fury at El Rezzenator for his dickalicious behavior as of late.
Seriously, I’ve been all, “I hate you! Quit calling me and buying me lavish jewelry and Mercedes convertibles! I will so reinstate the restraining order on your ass." And he's all, But baby, “you are the reason I stay alive!” And I’m all, “Well FINE, then why don’t you stop being a total cocksucker and play the show in the United States on my frickin’ birthday, you a hole!” Then he gets all puffed up like, “My lips may promise but my heart is a whore.” And then I hang up on him. Same routine as usual, right?
But this time, The Rizzel has taken a flying squirrel leap over the mother effing line, babies. On March 31, 2005, he will play two exclusive shows at a bitchin' club sized venue called The Astoria in London. Happy. Birthday. To. Me. Can you believe he's ditching out on the glorious day that marks my dazzling entrance into the world? Whatever!
Anywho, upon hearing this exciting bit of NIN news, I became flushed with the titillating glow of confusion. I was initially elated that Riggity Rez was indeed still alive, then overjoyed that he was going to play a show for the first time since God was a boy. Shortly thereafter, I felt myself getting all percolated and a little faintish at the thought of him wearing eyeliner. Sometime a bit later, it finally sunk in that the gig would be across the flippin' Atlantic. I mean, how could he possibly have convinced himself to play a show for which I can't be present?
I promptly commenced working myself into a complete lather in which I insisted that I needed to go even if I had to start selling Tupperware door to door with Uncle Rico to make it happen. I even went so far as to foam at the mouth a bit and obsessively check air fares. Just as I had myself convinced that it was a perfectly reasonable idea to fly to England for a Nine Inch Nails show, the tickets sold out.
All I'm asking is for Trentastic to simply play the show here at home. Preferably at The Madrid. With only myself in attendance. Then, I'd be able to go, rock out for my 24th, and ogle him like the piece of Grade A North American meat that he is. Is that really asking for so much?
God, I'm pissed. Just look at him. So smug and gorgeous. Lying prostrate on his Tim Burtony log in a billowy, fake forest. Staring off angstily whilst tugging in a provocative and naughty manner at the suggestive tear in the danger zone of his pants. That white hot, perfect, delicious son of a bitch.
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Working Girl ... Um, But Not That Kind
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I Have A Job. Me! A Job! Can you believe I just said that? Yay! But I’d actually be more worried right now than overjoyed if I were you, because the world is clearly ending. I mean, can there be any other possible explanation for my sudden employment? I’m thinking that the severity of the situation is such that you all might need to seriously consider heading for the nearest bomb shelter if I should happen to meet a guy that isn’t a total ass bleeding hemorrhoid in the near future. I don't know kids, but it sure seems like signs of the apocalypse to me!
Regardless, I now work for a flight chartering brokerage that caters to super rich dudes who need to reserve private airplanes...can you say hello, Daddy Warbucks? Here comes Mama! Grrr! Anywho, I am currently serving as the business development facilitator where I start up the company by trade marking, reserving names, kissing copyright lawyers’ asses, tenderly watering it, and ensuring that it gets plenty of sunshine.
Later, I will serve as the liaison between the Sugar Daddies and the planes that will serve us Champagne during our intimate flights to Vegas. There, we will be married in a drive thru by Elvis after signing a conveniently faulty prenuptial agreement which will entitle me to half of what they are worth. After that, I will use the charter service to fly us all to Greece where we will island hop and have endless Full Greek toga parties. God, I’m brilliant!
I hope I’ll have tons of funny stories for you in the coming weeks as wealthy business men foam at the mouth over me and buy me pretty sparkly things...well, as far as you know, anyway…
Regardless, I now work for a flight chartering brokerage that caters to super rich dudes who need to reserve private airplanes...can you say hello, Daddy Warbucks? Here comes Mama! Grrr! Anywho, I am currently serving as the business development facilitator where I start up the company by trade marking, reserving names, kissing copyright lawyers’ asses, tenderly watering it, and ensuring that it gets plenty of sunshine.
Later, I will serve as the liaison between the Sugar Daddies and the planes that will serve us Champagne during our intimate flights to Vegas. There, we will be married in a drive thru by Elvis after signing a conveniently faulty prenuptial agreement which will entitle me to half of what they are worth. After that, I will use the charter service to fly us all to Greece where we will island hop and have endless Full Greek toga parties. God, I’m brilliant!
I hope I’ll have tons of funny stories for you in the coming weeks as wealthy business men foam at the mouth over me and buy me pretty sparkly things...well, as far as you know, anyway…
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Four Peas
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Well, the most recent jobby job prospect isn’t working out. Boo friggity hoo. I’ve been in negotiations for like, ever with this new little ad agency in Lenexa that lured me in with the promise of being a writer for their company when they actually were hiring for a sales rep. F-ing liars. But I ended up really grooving on the people as well as the general idea of being employed, so I’ve been trying my damndest to work things out with them.
Thus, I'm sad to report that they just can’t pay me enough. $18,000 a year? *Psht.* I know I'm not exactly loaded, but if I'm going to be making a third of what my peers make, I'd rather work at Wally World for the phatty discount. I mean, where else can you get TP, ammunition, and patio furniture in one stop, ya know? I’m clearly going to have to tell them to stick their minimum wage offer straight up their cheap asses because I would end up pumping every crappy little cent I made straight into the gas tank of The Obscene Green Disco Machine just to get to work and back. There would definitely be no extra cash left over for clothes, apartments, or gigolos.
Besides, I was wiggity way hot for my potential boss, Mr. Gray. I kept drooling during our interviews, lustily thinking about James Spader, who was also Mr. Gray in Secretary. (Coincidence? I think not!) Then I would gratuitously fantasize about after-hours office frolickings that usually involved his desk. As you can see, this would have been extremely bad in frequent bouts because:
A. He would have been my boss…not that it’s ever stopped me before, but
B. He’s married
C. To a fifth degree black belt in Tai Kwon Do
Perhaps it’s for the best that we merrily parted ways. Tee hee! So once again, I hope that you all will keep your rosy little ears to the ground for job openings and that you will consider recommending me for any available positions. Please feel free to tell your employers the following:
“Hey, Mr./Ms. Boss! I heard that the (insert sugarlicious job in which I would clearly be spectacular) is vacant. I have this friend who would be perfect for it! She is wicked hot and really funny and could totally rock your world in the Tenth Position of The Perfumed Garden like nobody’s business! She is a literary genius and brilliant in communication. Plus, if you hire her, I will personally give you some serious oral pleasure!”
Aww! You guys are the best!!!
Thus, I'm sad to report that they just can’t pay me enough. $18,000 a year? *Psht.* I know I'm not exactly loaded, but if I'm going to be making a third of what my peers make, I'd rather work at Wally World for the phatty discount. I mean, where else can you get TP, ammunition, and patio furniture in one stop, ya know? I’m clearly going to have to tell them to stick their minimum wage offer straight up their cheap asses because I would end up pumping every crappy little cent I made straight into the gas tank of The Obscene Green Disco Machine just to get to work and back. There would definitely be no extra cash left over for clothes, apartments, or gigolos.
Besides, I was wiggity way hot for my potential boss, Mr. Gray. I kept drooling during our interviews, lustily thinking about James Spader, who was also Mr. Gray in Secretary. (Coincidence? I think not!) Then I would gratuitously fantasize about after-hours office frolickings that usually involved his desk. As you can see, this would have been extremely bad in frequent bouts because:
A. He would have been my boss…not that it’s ever stopped me before, but
B. He’s married
C. To a fifth degree black belt in Tai Kwon Do
Perhaps it’s for the best that we merrily parted ways. Tee hee! So once again, I hope that you all will keep your rosy little ears to the ground for job openings and that you will consider recommending me for any available positions. Please feel free to tell your employers the following:
“Hey, Mr./Ms. Boss! I heard that the (insert sugarlicious job in which I would clearly be spectacular) is vacant. I have this friend who would be perfect for it! She is wicked hot and really funny and could totally rock your world in the Tenth Position of The Perfumed Garden like nobody’s business! She is a literary genius and brilliant in communication. Plus, if you hire her, I will personally give you some serious oral pleasure!”
Aww! You guys are the best!!!
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