Monday Bear

So as Matthew was driving me up here the other day, I realized that I don’t have to say everything that I think.
But I do have to blog it.

That said, Holly Holly Holly . I have a really good impression of her now.
I love how she tells Steve what he likes.
Matt tells me what I like. Matt = Holly, Steve = Liz. That’s why we all married each other the other night.
Right after Holly and I made out.
Just kidding, Holly’s hot dad.
We really did drugs, and lots of them.

She and Steve decided to come to Nashville for their pre- anniversary. They came and hung out with us in Matthew’s basement. Matt and I had the rest of Uncle Bob’s wine. We didn’t let Heve have any. They didn’t want any.
Matt’s mom just told me I was going to have a baby in 2- 4 years. Dear God no.

Anywho, we went downtown. Matt had his third chocolate ice cream of the day. Nana’s, Wendy’s, and that place down town that has the creepy smelly skinny hairy dirty guy with the ponytail.
The homeless one, not Matthew.
I had a sprite. With a capital S. Sprite. Not a mythological creature. A more different S.
Anywho, we went to one of those touristy Nashvillian stores. Among the throng of Elvis glasses, Johnny Cash keychains, and t-shirts that read “Redneck Woman,” I spotted a chicken hat. Oh, snap.
I put the chicken atop my head, wings and legs dangling about my ears, and Holly and just about pissed ourselves with laughter. She took me by the arm, and it was time for puns:

“Now Steve, don’t chicken out and leave the store.”
- Holly
Matt seemed a bit embarrassed:
“Matt, stop being such a cock.”
- Liz

Alas, I did not buy it. I only have $20 left over after all of the gasoline and things that I’ve bought, and I mustn’t waste it on chicken hats.

Whew. I just pooped for the first time in over a day. I was getting worried. I timed it and it took about 26 seconds.

I still got it.

I was afraid I might have had a ruptured bowel. Like Alley Jo’s kitty, Flower (the one from a few blogs ago and that myspace picture). Alley said she was thinking of my the whole time it was dying. I felt honoured.

So I was afraid I might have had a ruptured bowel, like Flower or that porn star. Except the porn star lived through it.

Speaking of pr0n, I’m really craving live eels.

The first time I came here, I only pooped twice, and I was here for 5 days. Now I’m pooping almost as much as I do at my mom’s house. The more comfortable one gets somewhere, the easier it is for one to poop there.

In most cases, Pooping has to do with comfortability. Here is my mathematical theorem for poop:

Pooping is directly proportional to comfortability, if and only if both parties are the poopin’ type. Matt and I are both the poopin’ type. That’s how we knew we were in love. Steve and Holly are both not the poopin’ types. That’s how they knew they were in love.

Liz: You know how you guys said you will never poop in front of each other? Matt and I are way past that stage in our relationship.
Steve: It’s not really a stage for us. It’s a barrier that we won’t cross.
Matt: That’s just because you’re not in love.

There’s this big billboard that says:

Stop Litter.

Tennesse’s Had Enough.

Welp, dear old Steve thought it said:

Stop Litter.

Tennessee’s Bad Enough.

Damn right, Steve.

And while we’re I’m at it, there was this big ass tent revival (Not a big “ass tent” revival, or a “big ass tent” revival. Just a “big ass” “tent revival”) in Hermitage. I wanted to go, but they were ascared. If we went, we really could tell Holly’s hot dad that we were at bible study.
Oh well. I guess we’ll rise abobbit.
Holly’s hot dad. I call him Daddy.

Update: Nobody’s eaten Larry yet.

One time a friend of mine, let’s call her Billy Mo, and I were watching a porno, White Chicks Black Dicks, and this skanky chick loogied into her own vag. That really grossed me out. And not many things gross me out. This chick had a garter tattooed on her leg.
Then the other day, Matt showed me this thing Justin sent me where this girl loogied on her own ass. That was even nastier, because it was greenish greyish yellowish. Like a sick person’s loogie.
Well, I guess you would have to be pretty sick to let some ugly whore fist your asshole.

There is a fine line between spitting and loogie. Spitting can be creepy hot (see two blogs ago) if used at the right time and the right place, but loogies are never hot. Just nasty. And not nasty hot. Just nasty.

I’m going to be legal in exactly one month. That’s of no use to you, I just thought you might like to know.

I’m craving a nutty buddy.

“I love your butty!”
- Lizzie Liddell. Gah, I miss her.

Zephyr has a boyfriend. Like a really really really freaking hot boyfriend. I don’t have all the details yet, but I saw a picture of them K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

And just for the record, he’s no Matthew : )

But I’m so happy for her. This is the first one that I’ve ever approved of.

Matt has a job at the airport now. He’s a pilot.
We went to Cookville the other day taking baggage (both literal and emotional) to people, and he said, “We’re just like Favee and Nana. Just younger.”

But in this small town of Cookville, I saw the dirtiest establishments. Like the kind that you would normally find on an Abercrombie t- shirt.

• Greasy Beaver
• Big “O” Donut Shop
• Cream City Icecream Parlour
• Stump Grinding Service
• Subway

Okay, ’so Subway isn’t so dirty. But it could be if you tried hard enough.

Oh ye’ah, and Greasy Beaver? It’s a plumbing service.

When Matt came over and fixed my mom’s toilet, her gross boyfriend called and asked me if Matt was going to check out my plumbing. He checked it, and everything is in workin’ order.

Steve’s brother’s twelve year old girlfriend is extremely fertile. Oh noes! *grabs cheeks*

Holly “Podunk” and Liz “Snarly” strike again.

Oh, and just for the record, we didn’t get her pregnant. Her brother did.

And people watch way too much TV. I say this because there are TV shows about TV shows. Books about TV shows. TV shows about books. I bet people watch the TV shows about books more than they read the books about TV shows.
“He doesn’t eat food that’s good for you. He just eats pot. And drugs.”

Thursday = gay rainbow bear.

Friday = Angry boot bear.

Saturday = Jesus Saves Shoney Bear

“I’m an eighteen year old Psychology majour who’s saving herself for marriage. PSYCHE!”
- Some chick on NEXT.

What a whore. ! She wears too much makeup. And she’s acting like a whore.

Whore.

“I cock- a- doodle- don’t.”
- Some lesbian on NEXT.

But about this gay rainbow bear, once upon a time, my friend, let’s call him “Stan,” found Bear porn on his dad’s computer. Not animal bear, but gay hairy man bear porn. On his dad’s computer.

“Well those things just keep popping up out of nowhere, you know?”
- Matthew

So in conclusion, I can do the backstroke very very well. Holly’s dad is great at the breast stroke. OHHH SNAP!

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 at 4:30 PM and is filed under Breasts, Nasty, Pooping, Secks, Television, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.