You Sir

Are a beast. You are a monster. You are a gentleman. You are a liar.

Deb Fazio

READ MY LIPS: NO NEW SCREENS

Round the clock calls. Everyone needs to call and email once a day.
Shock and Awe.

Notes on a Scandal

By Marion Cobretti
I suppose, in a way, I find myself begrudgingly coming to terms with my woman hooking up with a man that can only
be described as "troll-ish".
It's like giving away your dog, but to a little kid with cerebral palsy.
Or meeting someone that actually won the publishers clearing house sweepstakes.
It re ignites the hope in all of us.
Sometimes the little guy, the underdog, the douche bag, gets the prize.
Dreams sometimes do come true, and every time a bell rings an angel does in fact get its wings.
Or perhaps
being the Mensa candidate that she is
the only true key to her heart is a deft knowledge of quantum physics.
Perhaps his name is Finklestein, heir to the mechanical throne of one Stephen Hawking, summering from Oxford in sunny Malibu.
Or further still
I should like to submit what is in my humble opinion the most accurate hypothesis on this terrifying anomaly:
Laying claim to a supermodel of such caliber can be likened to owning an Enzo Ferrari.
It is the stuff of boyhood dreams.
It is part of the consumeristic "me generation" laced media we've been raised by.
They look amazing. They make you look rich and powerful.
But they are also incredibly expensive. They are bitchy and constantly require excessive amounts of maintenance tuning and attention.
And most importantly they are in essence, paper tigers.
You can't ever truly enjoy owning and driving an Enzo Ferrari. They are so rare, so expensive that no matter how much you've accrued in other
endeavors or really really really are a good guy,the very fact of their rarity and expense makes you reek of douche bag, tainting the experience of driving it, riddling you with self doubt and conflicting class warrior type demons and jesus i can't even look my old friends and family in the eyes anymore and whatnot.
Unless
Unless of course
You are in fact an actual
card carrying le deux frequenting skull embroidered clothing and fedora wearing but meaning it blood in blood out grade A certified as God as your witness
Douche bag.
You live in an Irony free world. You drive an Enzo ferrari through 5pm traffic because thats who you are. You deserve it.
Trendy stylings are not armor for your weak attention starved personality. They are your actual Skin.
Hats off to you douche bag.
Your soul is pure.
You are rare indeed.
Or maybe I should just buy a purse and I can fuck supermodels too.

Lucky number 7

in the house.

My master plan worked.
All i had to do was fly my mother to LA
to visit and insist she stayed with us.
Then steal lizzys bed and shazam.
It was great. Violent. She's limber.

Definatley pregnant though.
We will name the primodial dwarf
child willow. We will give her a large pencil
and a small small notepad.
She will live in one of drawers next
to lizzys bed. She can ride the cats.

SEXY TIME

Have fun on your hot date, Maxy! Wear your hair up in a beautiful bow and let him wine and dine your sweet ass.

Abandonment Issues

I have them. They are severe.
Max, remember when I forced you out of your slumber the other night and made you move to your room from the couch? That's because I didn't want you to wake up scared and disoriented at 330am which is EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO ME LAST NIGHT YOU DICKHEAD SHITBAGS!!
And what do I find when I move...still scared...back to my bed? A sleeping bed-less DJ under my covers...who even after i shook him REPEATEDLY and loudly insisted he "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!" did not budge. I know you were just pretending to be asleep, you cad.

So 2 things to take away from this post, my darlings:
1. Don't leave the sleeping baby on the couch.
2. DJ and I had sex.

Happy Birthday Joe