Archive - Dec 2011
My expensive hos! I sincerely hope that all of you are enjoying the holiday season! If you are anything like the vagina, you are probably inebriated and flirting with random kitchen appliances right now. Which reminds me - I need to throw away all the forks in the goddamn house. Call me insane, but eating a bowl of Pubic Hair Primavera doesn't sound very appealing to me.
Unfortunately, this week is going to be an unstable one on my end. I will be driving my father around to different appointments, so I am not sure if I will be able to blog. I would ask my Maman to post something, but she would probably put up baking recipes and talk about what a horrible daughter I am. Actually, that sounds like a lot of fun. If she weren’t such an evil old bat, I might actually consider telling her about the blog.
On a more serious note, I sincerely apologize for my extended absences as of late. You are always so kind and understanding, which I greatly appreciate. I really hate to leave you in the lurch, but I have to be there for my dad. Unlike Baba Yaga, I can't abandon him in his time of need. Nor can I chase small children around with a meat tenderizer.
I love you all, and I hope everyone has an amazing new year! Thank you for taking the time to visit my retarded blog. You are amazing.
Lots of Love,
The Angry Greek
House Bitch keeps telling me to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy Hanukkah, but all I want to do is go over to that foxy table lamp and ask it out on a date. Christmas is coming and I need to bring a date to that stupid dinner over at Maman's house. Knowing my drunken ass, I'll probably overindulge on the mulled wine, makeout with an angel ornament, and eventually pass out in the mashed potatoes. House Bitch, be prepared to perform mouth-to-mouth on me! Ha! You know you want to! I see the way you keep staring at my labia!
You know, when most couples celebrate a birthday together, it usually involves hand holding, wine drinking, and drunk fucking. However, when you are a rotting pterodactyl carcass, you tend to get a bit cranky around the holidays. Which is probably why Baba Yaga got Goat Bitch a toy parrot with the ability to insult him. After all, when you are an ancient crone with brain matter seeping out of your nasal passages, you may need a little help when it comes to abusing your family.
And speaking of abuse, how much do you want to bet that Polly the Parrot came with a record-your-own-insults feature? Yeah, I can just see it all now:
POLLY: Hey, Goat Bitch! You have less meat in your panties than a vegetarian restaurant!
POLLY: Hey, sugar tits! Your asshole has been stretched out more times than a pair of Rosie's panties!
POLLY: Hey, pimple dick! What's the difference between George Clooney and a microwave? Clooney can brown his meat without having to cook it first!
POLLY: Goddammit, my leg fell off again! Oh, shit! Is that thing still recording?
Yes, Baba Yaga, you certainly picked out the perfect birthday gift for Goat Bitch! Jesus God. What did you get him for Christmas? A package of Lit'l Smokies?
"Look, Goat Bitch! If I ever get grouchy and decide to bite your dick off, you'll have a whole bagful of replacements! Now, they're a little bigger than what you're used to, but that's okay. Clooney's only interested in your ass anyway."
Pardon me for being cynical here, but since when does Santa Claus deliver fake tits to bloated bullfrogs on Christmas Eve? Do the elves even know how to make breast implants? Jesus God, can you imagine that conversation?
ELF: You want us to make what?
SANTA: Breast implants!
ELF: I see. Have you been snorting snow with Rudolph again?
SANTA: Good heavens, no! I learned my lesson last year! I woke up two days later with a TV remote up my ass! Disgraceful! No, these breast implants are for a very special bullfrog who lives in the swamp!
ELF: I see. And how the hell are we supposed to make them?
SANTA: Just fetch two plastic bags from the kitchen and stuff them with tapioca pudding. She has cellulite, so we want her boobs to match the rest of her.
ELF: Okay. If you say so.
SANTA: I do. And while we are on the subject, would it kill you to wear tighter hose to work? If you want that promotion you’ve been asking for, Santa needs to see a little bulge! *smacks the elf on the ass*
No, but in all seriousness, Snooki really does want breast implants for Christmas. According to the Swamp Midget's Twatter page: “All I want for Christmas is big knockers like @JENNIWOWW. Thanks Santa.”
For the love of God, Swamp Midget! If you really wanted those breast implants, you would sit down and write Santa a letter like everyone else! Speaking of which, I need to write Santa a letter before it's too late. Yeah, I think it will go a little something like this:
Since I have been nothing but a massive cunt this year, I feel I deserve nothing for Christmas. However, if you happen to fly over Rena Sofer's house on Christmas Eve, would it kill you to take a picture of her taking a shower? If you feel uncomfortable doing this, I understand.
My expensive hos! As much as I would like to be here with you tomorrow morning, I have some pressing issues to take care of. So in my absence, I give you all permission to drink, make raunchy jokes, and comfort Pammykins as she sobs into her ball gown. She has been through so much, the poor darling!
However, barring any unforeseen circumstances, the vagina will be here on Friday morning. And speaking of the vagina, I thought I would go ahead and put up her favorite Christmas carol. Hopefully, she'll listen to it and fall asleep within the next hour or so. At this point, I am sick and tired of hearing her bawdy Christmas jokes. Vagina, nobody wants to hear about your chestnuts, okay? Even if they happen to be roasting on an open fire!
To all of my beloved hos, I am wishing you all a safe and wonderful Hanukkah! If I could reach out and hug each and every one of you, you know I would! Vagina, no! That did not give you carte blanche to grab my ass and frantically hump my knee! No, I said! Get the hell out of here! And if I catch you spiking the Manischewitz again, I will ground you for the next two months! Do you understand me? Show some respect! Twin, I am so sorry. If we have to, we can lock her in the liquor cabinet like we did last year! Goddammit, vagina! I can’t take you anywhere!
Before I begin this post, I simply want to take a moment to address Capsie and the events that transpired yesterday. Capsie, I don’t usually interfere in the romantic lives of others, but Pammykins is my friend and I feel obligated to speak on her behalf.
Yesterday, Pammykins got up at the crack of dawn to bathe in chicken grease, coat her skin in breadcrumbs, and put on a ball gown made out of pink cotton candy. She waited for you all day long, Capsie! All day long! And as the hours went by, I could see her face starting to crumble – and not because of the goddamn breadcrumbs! Because she was devastated by your poisonous indifference!
So please, Capsie. If you have a kind bone in that blubbery body of yours, please find it in your heart to wish Pammykins a Happy Halloween. And if you can’t wish her a Happy Halloween, simply wish her a Happy Arbor Day. Okay? That is all I have to say to you.
Anyway, on to the subject of the medical school cadaver. Baba Yaga recently did an interview with Starpulse, and once again, she was gushing about her family: “On what makes her happiest: ‘Being a mom. We had a moment, often I’m happy whenever I’m with my children, but there was a moment where we had just finished work in New York and Brad and I were piled in the car with the kids and we’re listening to Christmas songs and we were laughing and playing games in the car and I looked at Brad and I said, “This is one of these moments, isn’t it? This is the moments we live for.” And so it’s that. You just catch yourself sometimes and you look around. I’m so fortunate; I love my family so much. And they’re such a funny, interesting group of people.’”
For the love of God, Baba Yaga! The last time I checked, we were living in the real world, not a goddamn holiday card! And just for the record, the editors at Starpulse changed what she really had to say. Fortunately, I got hold of the unedited version:
First of all, I know I am going straight to hell for making fun of a toy drive for sick children, but goddammit – it is just so easy to make fun of Khloe! I can just picture her lumbering onstage with twigs in her fur and dried blood under her claws. And for some reason, I can also hear the raucous applause as Khloe picks up the microphone and turns to face the audience.
“SHUT UP!” Khloe yells, causing the applause to cease immediately. “Thank you! Well, me Khloe and tonight, Khloe honored to host toy drive for sick tots! Earlier in evening, Khloe lucky enough to meet little tot with spina bifida. Bring tot out here! Everyone clap!”
As the audience bursts into applause, a little boy is wheeled onstage by a smiling nurse.
“Okay, shut up again!” Khloe bellows, causing the audience to fall silent. “What your name, little tot?”
“Um, Brian,” the little boy says, gazing up at Khloe.
“No!” Khloe barks. “Khloe no like that name! From now on, you Bog-Bog! Okay?”
“Please don’t eat me,” Brian pleads, trembling in his chair.
“Bog-Bog sick with spina bifida!” Khloe yells, turning back to the audience. “In order for Bog-Bog to get well, Bog-Bog need money! Now on count of three, everyone throw wallets onto stage! Okay? One...five...seven...THREE!”
A cloud of wallets flutters onstage, causing Khloe to snatch one up and study its contents.
“What the fuck?” Khloe asks, staring at the wallet. “This some kind of joke? There only five dollars in here!”
“This is a toy drive!” a member of the audience calls out. “We’re supposed to be donating toys to the hospital!”
“Khloe no give a shit!” Khloe yells. “What good toys gonna do for Bog-Bog? Toys no cure spina bifida!”
“The toys are supposed to cheer the children up!” another audience member calls.
The sexy and delectable Evan Rachel Wood is back by popular demand, although I do have the sneaking suspicion that the vagina was sending me multiple emails using her different hooker accounts. This has happened once or twice before, so I wouldn't be surprised if it was happening again. And vagina, please refrain from sending me large pictures of yourself lying naked in a box of kitty litter. For the last fucking time, it does not look like the beach! The flowered wallpaper in the background gives you away every single time! Jesus! You would know that if you actually lay off the booze every once in a while!