Thursday, January 04, 2007
yo Quiero Taco Bell... o.O
Few things are more catastrophic, more wretched, more dire than having to go back to work after a rare break from the grind. Although 18 days of doing absolutely nothing seem like more than enough time to sufficiently recuperate from the tortures of the hellhole aka “the office,” it’s not at all enough to make up for the multiple near-heart attacks and aneurysms on “the job.”
Indeed, this is one of those moments when no matter how totally gross Paris Hilton’s crab-infested coochie may be, I’d seriously consider trading places with the world-renowned celebutard and consequentially inherit the offending baby-making factory if it means a lifetime of being rich and famous albeit for being a bumbling idiot.
Heck, I’d gladly don those tacky skin-tight leopard dresses and expose my love-flaps to mydisgusted adoring public every chance I get. Knickers are overrated after all and could be gawddamn costly. The money saved from total abandonment of those flimsy overpriced undergarments could instead go to supporting aspiring porn stars starving orphans everywhere.
I’d even date her revolting boyfriends in all their puke-inducing glory. Seriously now… Nick Carter? Brandon Davis? Travis Barker? Stavros Niarchos? All that money and all she could find are horrid asshats with a built-in aversion to soap and water? But heck, I’d kiss them all if it means not having to work another day.
Gaaaah…
What am I saying wanting to be Paris Hilton? See? See how work is messing with my brain right now? x.x I’d sooner feast on mangrove worms doused in an icky concoction of ground exotic organisms but first lemme just find a chihuahua to stab work with… o.o
Powered for Blogger by Blogger Templates
Indeed, this is one of those moments when no matter how totally gross Paris Hilton’s crab-infested coochie may be, I’d seriously consider trading places with the world-renowned celebutard and consequentially inherit the offending baby-making factory if it means a lifetime of being rich and famous albeit for being a bumbling idiot.
Heck, I’d gladly don those tacky skin-tight leopard dresses and expose my love-flaps to my
I’d even date her revolting boyfriends in all their puke-inducing glory. Seriously now… Nick Carter? Brandon Davis? Travis Barker? Stavros Niarchos? All that money and all she could find are horrid asshats with a built-in aversion to soap and water? But heck, I’d kiss them all if it means not having to work another day.
Gaaaah…
What am I saying wanting to be Paris Hilton? See? See how work is messing with my brain right now? x.x I’d sooner feast on mangrove worms doused in an icky concoction of ground exotic organisms but first lemme just find a chihuahua to stab work with… o.o
