Pissing In Cheerios

Don’t look at me like that.

I mean, they fool you, those fluttery little bastards. But butterflies, they are evil. Horrifically evil in the most unspeakable of ways. But I’m going to speak about it anyways, so maybe that last part isn’t as true as I led you to believe. But, just because I lied about it being unspeakable does not mean I’m lying now. Trust me when I say what I’m about to tell you is the absolute truth. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask my good friend Kyle, of My Nuts Itch fame, who happens to subscribe to the same belief.

Butterflies are maniacally malicious and here to kill off mankind. Yup, it’s true. Don’t ask how I know this, for my sources ask to remain anonymous, but I can assure you that there are covert operations underway as we speak to protect the human race from those evil, fluttering terrorists.

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Menstruation.

Gross right?

I remember back when I was hanging with this chick Antoinette. She was like 11 or 12 and I was 7. She had her period (early bloomer) and was telling me it was so wonderful. She lied straight through her slutty teeth. Man, I hate that girl. But I couldn’t wait to get my period. Then I got it. I really, really hate that girl.

So, I bet you don’t want to hear about my menses. [Too bad]

All that ooey, gooey poon plasma. Yum! Who wants cherry cheesecake?

Okay, okay, so… I rarely get Ms. Flo. But when I do, woo, look out. She comes out of hiding faster than a pedophile dressed as Barney at a kid’s birthday party.

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Sometimes when I’m alone, I play this game with myself.

Then I take my fingers out, lick them and play this other game.

I make up my own definitions for regular old words. Then I use them in front of people and giggle to myself when people look at me funny. Then I take my fingers out and lic… oh wait, wrong memory.

Here are my dirty birdy word translations:

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They bobbitted me.

Cut off my cocks, er, cox, those dirty pirate hookers. (Mmm, dirty pirate hookers)

I’m now blogging to you from a contraption I finagled using only an empty soup can, some string, tin foil and an old calculator hooked up to a pay phone. (I’m the female MacGuyver, Jayne!)

I have to keep putting quarters in the pay phone though, so that the internet will stay on. I don’t know how long I have before she comes on demanding more money. She’s worse than a pimp on 42nd St.

“Please deposit 25 cents. Please deposit 25 cents”

Greedy bitch. Give a sistah a break.

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This whole becoming a lesbian thing is great. I can say poon all I want, and when strangers look at me funny, I just lick my lips and tell them I like to eat the poon, and then do the wiggly eyebrow thing so they know I’m a dirty little lez.

I think poon has to be my new favoritest word. EVER. I have decided I’m just going to greet everyone with the word poon.

I can’t wait for the phone to ring tomorrow!

Brrrring.

Me: Hello, International House of Poon.

Caller: [Hesitates slightly] Uh… hi this is Egbert from Cox. I’m calling about your cable bill. It’s past due.

Me: Cocks? No way! POON!!

Caller: I’m sorry?

Me: Not me! Woohoo POON!!!

Caller: Ma’am, I’m calling about your cox bill.

Me: I don’t pay for cocks!! POON all the way baby.

Caller: Um, ma’am, please, if you could just pay your bill. Your service is in danger of being cut off.

Me: [whispers] Poon. [Louder] You’re going to cut off my cox if I don’t pay you?

Caller: Yes ma’am.

Me: [Maniacal laughter]

Caller: [Click]

The moral of the story: Poon trumps cocks!!!