Ten pounds of nothing in a five pound bag

Man, it has just been a pigfucker of a week. Lambchop had to suffer business travel, and I had to recuperate from illness and deal with a client that told me “wooden” is spelled with a double “d.” It was all I could do to refrain from lapping from a bowl of beer at 10 a.m. yesterday. Then I realized “You work at home, idiot, go nuts.” Ha! I am a little slow on the draw.

This shot proves that children are vampires. Can you hear the hissing? That’s two inches of my sexy hip in that shot. The paparazzi doesn’t miss a damn trick around here.

Why are there children everywhere? I had a baby over again, and I let him play with the hairdryer in the tub and make fajitas. Everyone’s all “when are you going to have the sex and get the pregnant?” And I’m all “why, you want to watch?” They probably do. Perverts. I prefer children on a time-share basis. But, like going to an actual timeshare, someone is always waiting to pounce on you and make you go to a seminar on why you should invest further. I am the best Auntie ever, because I let the kids have all the coffee they want, and I never met a repetitive game I didn’t like. I honed this skill by taking drugs. Ask me what I can do with glitter putty.

Be sure to tune in on President’s Day, when Lambchop and I launch spirited campaigns for President of Vomitola! We promise to assassinate each other’s characters and woo you with false promises and titillating images. Then you’ll vote, and one of us will be left crumpled and whimpering on the bathroom floor as the other begins eroding civil liberties. OK, I am off to pluck my eyebrows in preparation for the evening gown competition.

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