See....What Had HAPPENED Was

Yeah, that's my girl Christina. She got an applebottom now, but shit, who doesn't??

LISTEN. At one point in my barely adult life, I thought it was a good decision to smear cake on a wall because I was mad at someone. I was also drunk at the time (not that I am making excuses), which translated into me rationalizing this insane behavior, and thinking it was an appropriate outlet for my emotions. As I laughed maniacally, finger-painting with a chocolate on chocolate bund from Whole Foods, I also cried. Mainly because I was drunk on cheap vodka and champagne, but also because I knew I would get caught the next day and that I would have to deal with this in the morning. I cry a lot when I’m drunk. But shit, who doesn't?

Less than a minute into the spreading session, my friends at the time opened the door and saw me, hands covered in icing and an empty bottle of champagne sitting on the floor. I hadn’t prepared for this, and if I had I probably could have found something other to say than what I did. The conversation that ensued went something like this:

Slut 1: “What the fuck are you doing to the wall?”
Drunk Me: “You’re a fucking asshole!! You are MEAN!
Slut 1: “No Bill, you’re the asshole, you are smearing cake all over my foyer!”

I literally threw the rest of my art supplies to the ground and ran as fast as I could, down the stairs, and to my Volvo station wagon parked two blocks away. As I hauled my applebottom down the stairs all I heard behind me was slut number 1 screaming…

“Come look at what this drunk idiot did! What the HELL is going on tonight? WHO is going to clean this shit up??”

Whatever. This bitch don't give a shit.

At this point I was prepared to leave the city if need be. The fact that I was completely obliterated meant that once I finally found my car, I subsequently fell asleep in the passengers seat. Thanks to my education, I knew that if any police found me in the drivers seat I could be up for a DUI, whether I had driven or not. I do make SOME good decisions.

When I finally woke up, there was cake all over the radio controls. I must have had a dance party. And for the record, the champagne was awful. I won’t be buying it again.

See....what had happened was that I had fucked up. But you know what? That't not the only time it has happened. And it's probably not the last time. When bitches we trippin' I ain't got time for shit. If I have to smear cake on a wall to prove that I am a better person, then that's what I have gots to do!

Bitch, you have gots to go.

Even Though I Has Diabeetus, Diabeetus Don't Has ME.

Shush gurl, shut yo lips. Yeah that's right. Shut it. I have somethin' to say about Diabetes....also known as the 'betes, the diabeetus, and "The disease that every person in North Philadelphia will get and end up being a patient at LaSalle Hospital where Erica Lehman will clean yo diabetic toes and or lack thereof (toes)." Now, I do not officially have diabetus, but I am self-diagnosed and all I have to say is diabeetus, YOU HAVE GOTS TO GO. I am sick and tired of being tired after I eat, sweatin' all of the damnnn time and angry. My blood sugas be outta control fo serious. As I now have 'betes, I will be the new face of diabeetus. First I will replace Wilford Brimley's where I will pimp the shit out of LIbery Medical. See below, and pretend that the big fat old man is in fact a big fat me.....



Next I will organize a diabeetus dance-off. This will take place in tha streets of Philadelphia where I will challenge anyone to show me what dey gots, cause even though I has diabeetus, diabeetus don't has me! See the video to watch a sneak peakaboo. P.S. I come in at 12 seconds with the black tie on....



All In All, Diabeetus, YOU HAVE GOTS TO GO!

The Not So Elusive FUPA

You probably first met a FUPA when you had a substitute teacher with pants pulled up so high that the zipper was right under her boobs. Well the FUPA was that lump or pouch that sat comfortably right under that zipper and right above her vag. The FUPA often looks best on middle aged women with short haircuts and penny loafers (who tend to be substitute teachers).

FUPA is an acronym for Fat Upper Pussy Area. Contrary to popular belief, the FUPA is not a roll of fat hanging over the vaginal area. Rather, it is the area directly above the vaginal area which has become enlarged to the point where I want to vomit. Anyone living in Philadelphia has witnesses at least five FUPAs per day since they have moved here...as they are an ever present problem due to huge amount of ginormous, hippopotamus shaped women in this city. 4 in 5 people have reported working with a FUPA at some point in their lives.

The FUPA has strange effects on its victims. Primarily, those that suffer from FUPA are completely oblivious to its presence. Furthermore, the FUPA has the strange ability to cause its host to wear their jeans up near the belly button, which further accents its glory. (Some scientists have come to believe that the FUPA has a rudimentary intelligence). Another trait of FUPA oblivion is when women with FUPAs wear tights, which accentuates the FUPA, provides little support, and makes it look like they stuffed their pants with jello which is now hanging below their stank ass vagina.

Other names for the FUPA include the GUPA- Giant Upper Pussy Area, HUPA- Huge Upper Pussy Area, and lastly CHALUPA- Can't Have A Larger Upper Pussy Area. There are no specific weight classes identified yet.

Why am I writing all of this? Oh yeah, because FUPAs, you have gots to go. I don't wanna look at you anymore and I don't want you jiggling in my face on the bus anymore. Get out. Leave. You have gots to go.

Gums McGee

Miley Cyrus you is ugly. You is ugly and yo teeth be too small. You need a gum transplant bitch. Shit. Did your cousin, oh wait I mean mom, drink too much when she was pregnant with your dumb ass? Hello, I would like an order of mouth, light on the teeth, heavy on the gums. Besides the fact that you look worse than Sarah Jessica Parker without makeup, you are just awful at life. You can't sing, you can't act. The fact that you sell more records than infinitely more talented people solidifies the fact that...... you have gots to go. What has 20,000 legs, 20,000 arms, 10,000 heads and an average IQ of 23?...10,000 people at a Miley Cyrus concert.

Bitch Has Gots To Go.

Drippy Ass Pumpkin Loaf

Ew. You nasty. You have been in that pan for two weeks. Nasty ass Krispy Kreme bitch....you have gots to go. Why have you been sittin in that pan for so long? How can you be an old ass pumpkin loaf thats dry and drippy? I felt you. You were moist on top. How can that be? The fact that no one has eaten you doesn't surprise me. You scary. Scarier than any Halloween costume. In fact, you look like you are about to grow legs and crawl out da house. Shit.

Mmmmmm.....

As it is my first post, I think I should talk about something very personal to me. Geisha women, you have gots to go. Walkin' around with your pasty ass skin and snaggle-teeth smile. Don't you have braces in Japan? Now I know why you cover your mouths every time you smile. Shit. Listen, I don't know why you think you can wear a robe around all day, but last time I tried to do that people stared at me. I was uncomfortable. I don't even know how uncomfortable you feel. All I have to say is don't be goin around with your Geisha pussy hanging out all up in my face. Close yo robe, and cover up them orangutang titties too. I don't even know what to say at this point. Rachel, you know how it goes. Oh and if I said it once, I will say it again......You have gots to go.