Signalling Intention

Those who drive in this country must notice one glaring error in the ways the driving instructor instructs their students! That is the method of signalling! Or perhaps those cheap Protons or expired Datsuns do not have any indicator levers. That is why some books still show the diagram of you signalling with your arm. How charmingly archaic!

Just earlier, one bedazzled person indicated left and entered right. That was after meandering on a straight road. Or perhaps he had someone or something grabbing his bejeebies and they were being pulled off. The horror of it!

Or perhaps people in this city has the aversion of signalling where they are going. They, perhaps, expect everybody to possess mindreading abilities like Professor X. Well dears, if I do have that ability, I will not want to read their minds. Imagine the amount of moronism that one would have to contend with. Remember what happened to Prof X in the first X-Men? Exactly!

Bossy Hell

Well, our story begins with the "humble" person who got a job as a top manager in a chic, ball busting company. In the beginning all was hunky dory. Before long, she mutated into a serpentine creature complete with flat head, flat face and flat breasts! Her tongue forked and she gnashes her pearly whites with relish. Oh yes, she grew an extra limb in the guise of a snivelling yoakle tightly attached by his nose to her bumhole.

How power corrupts...

Case no. 2: Take the head waitress that became the manager. She reigned hell in her department. Her hair piled up into a bun that towered above the clouds and a spare tyre around her waist the same size as her boobs. Yes everybody, Queen Hell resembles the Michelin Man. Complete with breasts. Her ability? To automatically lower the morale of her staff just by being present.

And what about the "simple" man that became the Director? His ego grew as his hair did and soon no cap, hat or building could contain it. The ego I mean. Could it be the witch behind him prodding his prostate forward or just the lure of more cash and power. He screams for attention and lashes out where he wants while sitting on his leather throne.

Power corrupts and turn some people into creatures that should be thrown deep into some dungeon and have the key destroyed... Become the Boss and you can make anybody's life hell. But don't forget: the path is narrow and the slightest wrong step will plunge you down into some abyss lined with sharp spikes and shards of broken curses...

The Case Of Missing

As I pulled on my new sexy t-shirt, I suddenly got thinking...

Really strange how humans are. Give them something and it's never enough. Take for example shopping. How many times have people lusted for the new It bag even though their budget allows only potato crisps and sand for breakfast, lunch and dinner in the next three weeks. No matter that we are dying of starvation, just give us the new handbag. Perhaps the starvation was intentional.

Anyway, enough digression. What the topic is about is missing what we don't have. The ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, ex-wife, ex-lover, ex-cat... The list goes on and on...

Have it, we take it for granted. Not have it and we whinge and howl like a banshee on speed. The reason is we are never thankful or happy with what we have. Those extension freaks, the emasculated men, the freakazoids... Us, me... All have the same thing in common. Just can't appreciate what we have.

Just the other day, I was panting after minor exertion - the reason was an onset of a cold. Yes, health. You have it and you don't think about it like peeing without excruciating pain and blood spurting as a kidney stone tries to find its way out. Or like not missing water until the champagne you were guzzling suddenly made projectile vomitting a sport and your body a desert of dehydration...

Have it, appreciate it; admire it and love it. You might just miss that earlobe you think was too big when it drops off one day.

Now that I rant and rave, I think I shall go online and get some new tops...

Friday Night Blues

Once upon a time, there was a little boy called J. He would travel the world and the seven seas looking for fun. Some would use him, while others abuse him. He would wallow in misery and sorrow but always thought to himself that sweet dreams are made from these experiences. One day his prince will come and sweep him off his feet and they would ride off into the sunset in the prince's Ferrari.

That was twenty years ago and now the little boy is not so little. Yet he still behaves like his shoe size and cycle through use and abuse, Touch n Go etc etc. You know how it goes...

Alienating friends one by one became his professional job. Soon his castle crumbled and he moved from a cardboard box to another. Both physically and mentally... Yet he presevered to look for that elusive thing called love...

If Mother Goose had his way - yes, Mother Goose has to be gay - then J would live happily ever after. But the world is a cruel place and you turn into a bitch. Or else you become the victim of some sad mascara streaked soap opera which in the end devours your soul as well as your wallet.

So J prowled the bars and the clubs on a weekend marathon which starts on a Friday night. Many have observed and noted how sad life is when you are in those shoes that J wears. Well, expired Bata shoes the wrong side of chic IS bad...

Well, so what of J? He still prowls the streets along with the sad desperados looking for L-O-V-E. For now he still have his youthful looks. But how will he compete with those younger, tighter 20-somethings or those ladened-walleted-Botox enhanced hotties? Not much. Especially when all he wants are Ebony Gods with a million and one requirements to fulfil.

The only thing that will happen tonight: sex, sex and maybe no sex. It is a cruel motherf*&%ing world after all. And there are more Js out there than we really know about...

Land Of The Emasculated Men

Somehow, somewhere along the way, men have lost their way. And in the process of losing their way, they lost their gonads as well. Well, it’s so rampant how they do things and not able to deal with the consequences. Oh, yes, what about the way they suddenly pretend that nothing has happened or thinking five million years about buying the new vacuum cleaner or not. Jeeez..!

Take Marlina for example. Stupid girl that she is, started going out with another woman’s man. And what blissful life they had until he suddenly can’t cope any longer and cut her off her oxygen so she slowly dies of suffocation not knowing what is happening. Ok, so he suddenly came to his senses and want to do the right thing. Is the right thing means stringing her along like a puppy stuck to a leash?

No, people! It’s because he had no balls to come outright to the girl and dump her. Yes it may be painful but give her more credit than that! She’ll cope. She’s young, pretty and rich. So go back to your pimply other half and let Marlina get over you and get a better man. If they exist, of course…

And the gay men are the same too.

Look at the case of Paul. Professional philanderer and liar. When he was spurned, to cover his skinny non-existent arse and pass the shame, he bitched and back-stabbed his naïve lover. And what about Jamal – or James as he likes to be known. Acts like a nice guy; says he’s a nice guy; acts all responsible when his gonads had gone out the window with his brains – despite being in the medical profession. “There’s nothing wrong with us”, he said to his about to be dumped lover about his “steady relationship”. Yeah right! That’s why you spent those nights in another person’s home and have your dick in their mouth half of the time?

The exploits these people are of epic proportions. Maybe one day their physical balls will drop off just as their metaphorical ones have…

Vision O' Death

As many of you are aware, there had been an amazingly drastic number of people having delusional episodes. These so called A-listers have probably lost something like 1 kilo and multiplied it by ten at each conversation they have. Why, some even claim that they are on a 500-calorie-a-day diet. What are you? A famine stricken sicko in desperation for attention???

Okay, let's look at scientific proof: at a certain level of caloric intake, the body actually switches to famine mode: low metabolic rate, fat storage etc. Our temples want to keep fat for future use. It will start to devour muscles to sustain survival. And in these people's cases, their brain matter as well.

Back to our story: this so called slim socialite decides to don a backless dress. Someone should arrest her! The mental scars she left some people with are astounding! Her “svelte” figure proudly exhibited Swiss rolls on each side of her waist. Yes darling, you are SO slim, you make Roseanne Barr look anorexic. Try harder. Maybe next time you'll succeed.

Oh yes, the same socialite was seen prancing around in a fantabulous dress in a glam avenue of a mall the other day! Again I implore someone in authority! Arrest her! She’s got crimes against those designers! Not to mention GBH to those poor clothes. Hey! It's clothes abuse and in some countries it is punishable by death!!!!

Thought of the day: Modern medicine is great! But I think some stupid doctor has altered the Prozac dosage for the deluded socialite and made them feel too good about themselves.

Friendly Complaint

So the phone rings. Oops! It was on silent and the call was missed. Well, it's not a perfect world and so sorry that your shallow excuse for a phone call cannot be entertained. The rest of the world has a life to get on with.

Just because you forgot what size of g-string that would not chafe your cellulite challenged butt, then you drop us mere mortals a line? Or to find if that chicken-neck exposing plunging dress is available in any other colour than the puke vomit green print of some leprechaun nightmare? Hello, who picked up your sorry ass when your husband decided to have a woo-woo-ha-ha orgy with the umpteenth teenage jailbait slut that caught his fancy?

HELLO!!! We are not interested!

So when you receive a call from some "friend" that somehow remembered you because their spouse has flown back to some god-forsaken sorry arsed town in somewhere not remotely interesting or that "pal" who suddenly dialed your number because husband #561 has gone back to the lap of his dragon wife; let the call go unanswered.

Don't answer their text either. It's not being bitter or bitchy: it's you standing up for yourself to that poor excuse of a pathetic human being who had ingratiated themselves to your life and subsequently relegated you to some distant galaxy when they have something else to occupy their mouth, tongue and hands.

Unless you have suddenly found yourself marooned on some desert island and being repeatedly raped by a 600-pound native while simultaneously being force fed faeces enriched marijuana broth and making shadow animals with your hands, WE ARE NOT INTERESTED!

Tell them to get themselves a shrink. This shop is closed for refurbishment. No one by the title of "friend-in-need" is welcomed when we reopen. So when they quote that to you, tell them: "Some friends in need are full of shit". And if they try to pawn off some freebie vacuum cleaner, you know where to tell them to stick it up to. Or just don't bother and save some sms money...

Attack Of The Hair 50 Ft Extensions Pt 3

Remember when I said they gained the new ability of altering their walk as soon as they don their crown of glory? Heh heh heh. Apparently, they gained multiple abilities. They truly mutate into some X-Men like character complete with gory scenes!

And how does this come to pass? Why from the Source!

While sipping some calorie-enriched cocktail disguised as some healthy concoction, my partner in crime at that time was prepping up her hair in that tic I told you about. Then she laid the whole portal open. Bared the story open wide!

“Darling! The hair makes you sexy babe. You feel sexy, you look sexy, and you are SEXY! I mean men like it! My husband can’t live without me having them in. When we went to Spain last year, I fell into the sea on one of our champagne trips on his yacht. And the bloody salt in the sea damaged the glue. And tangled my hair. I cried when I had to take them off. I thought I’d rest my scalp and all – like Victoria Beckham. But our sex life suffered!!! Tremendously!

“My hubby likes to run his hands through my hair and he likes me to whip him with it. So I got Fanny to put it back on for me. Within hours I was having the best sex of my life! Hahaha! And to think what these women are missing! I mean, what is more sexy than a woman with sexy hair.”

I rest my case!

Probably the word brains or IQ never entered their minds, right? All those hair extensions tugging at your head probably leeches all the brain power they have. Not that there’s much to begin with. One can only come to this conclusion: Too much hair = too little brain = bored life = let’s bitch about other people; backstab them; listen to some cranky old fag; turn into a makeshift daybed of social cesspit = thinking you have such a sense of style = emotional train wreck masquerading as some high flying socialite.

Antidote: There’s none. These people are beyond help. Cyanide can’t help. They are too well preserved with chemicals, they make Chernobyl look like your neighbourhood playground! All they can do is wait to wither and die. And when they do, they can donate all that hair to the next hapless victim. Jeez!

Zone Of The Freakazoids

Working in such a fab company is so rewarding. But any perfect sculpture or situation would have a flaw: the black sheep of the family; the bad apple in the crate; the sandwich with the least filling; the choc chip cookie with no chip; the Manolo Blahnik stiletto with no heel… The department staff with no soul…

Especially when the skipper of the yacht is as barmy as the one sitting idly in the office grinning like a Cheshire Cat about to suck on a litre of cream straight from the cow's udder. Urggh! Lord help us unfortunate ones whom you have blessed. Maybe we Lesser Gods should not frown in disdain at the lesser insects but we just can’t help it. I mean, is it too much to ask for some semblance of personality???

Working with some va-va-voom people is great. You get to hang with the cool Baileys Cream de la crème. But when you have to deal with some automatons with no obvious design of humanity (we are not aiming high here, okay?), you suddenly come crashing down to earth. Crashing and burning!

What does P&C mean to you? Well, to our Cheshire Cat it probably means Poppy n Cock. That would explain why creatures that have divorced themselves from our company somehow has knowledge of who ate the last piece of cookie in the jar and who was the final person that changed their tampon in the unisex loo. Jeez, thank heavens above the Cheshire Cat was vetted, neutered and sent to the pound for gassing. Good riddance!

Still, it does not explain why there are more than one crawling critter in the department who could stand naked on a pole while being branded and still not attract any passer-by's attention! Is it why they are placed at the far reaches of the office? Well, let's just be thankful that we are spared visions of über-horrendous red shirts and flashes of not so pearly whites in desperate need of a good Chlorox session.

Some of us may be bitchy but we get the work done! And still have time to cartwheel and schmooze in the evenings and break a few hearts in the process. So what is these freakazoids’ excuse???

Fluid Efficiency

Somewhere in the night life of our convoluted city lies a street that masquerades as a hip and hap place where the young and desperate crowd to party and be seen. Night after night soulless social desperados crowd to get their fix. Be it to drown the day’s sorrows in a bar or a knees-up on a dancefloor – all are available! Sometimes at discount.

In the midst of the bargain basement joy-making, uniformed men – and women – of the same bland moustachioed look (and that’s only the women) would descend on what they describe as a raid. Word on the grapevine is: no dowry had winged its way to the lap of the Gods. So since the offering altar is empty, the wrath of the Gods would be to send their cronies to cleanse the world of drugs! Or so they say.

It seems that these people are so short brained to see that scaring people off only reduces the revenue of these places and in turn lower the blooming tax income from selling all the unclean beverages. Their excuse: to eradicate drug use.

Hahaha, I say. Look down the road from the (slightly) upmarket heaven to the cheap and cheerful ambience of the stalls. Just beyond the skin-tone-unfriendly fluorescents one can see dopeheads skulking in the shadows probably waiting on a hapless victim: ready to pounce and devour anything they have or not to offer. And why may we ask? Not worth the time, methinks. Since those shadow-skulkers cannot afford the bail as easily as those stragglers ordering Dom Perignon or Jack Daniels by the bottle!

So, enough of political ramblings. The story here is the dopeheads IN the bars. When the raiders descend on the bar, people can’t leave unless they pee in a pot. To scan for dope! For drugs. But since we are a polite society, one can pee in the toilets instead of in the open. Therefore, a myriad of urine exchange suddenly transpire just beyond the short-sighted vision of the raiders.

A confession from one raided “victim” is that he used another’s person’s bodily fluid in place of his. Of course the authorities are not going to check since they have to check a million pee cups in one night. Some ingenious people plead “can’t pee” and were given water to drink which in turn were passed off as their own urine. Hmmm, none of those moustachioed men are going to voluntarily sniff the cups of pee less they are branded perverts for their fetish. Hence, masses are released and free to fly the raided land and head for virgin territories.

So much for government efficiency!!!

So tip of the day: Put the pee in the cup and substitute it with another if you have sinned. Just make sure that that substitution wasn’t made with a bad one…

Smarter Than Computer?

It just had to happen, didn't it? Just when you have piles and piles of work and files to clear up, the darn PC decides to pack up and die! Couldn't it decide to go back to the microchip heaven when there's no deadline looming like an alcoholic over a bottle of whisky.

Anyway, after throwing a diva fit for Sir Elton, I got a temporary machine for today which incidentally was used by the company bimbo. I'm glad that the IT Department had cleaned up the memory less there is something scary lurking around in the hard drive.

In this day and age, it is surprising how many people are computer illiterate. And these are graduates. The look at the PC and it must be like small pox to them, To use it will compromise their magnetic field and cause severe hysteria in one form or another. So when I proposed a computer course for new poeple coming into the company, people scoffed at the idea. Hah! Now it's proven I'm right. Like always.

I mean, there's a woman in the company with the newest, latest laptop and she doesn't even know how to connect to the net. I'm surprised she found the on button and not used the 7k laptop as a doorstop or weghing scales. Scary stuff huh? Hey, even those hair extension freaks knows how to use PCs and not those graduates! Now, that's scary!

Cinema Unbound

It's Monday and the whole day sort of sucked as one by one the work piled on the table and all memories of champagne and chimichangas are relegated to some dark vault deep in the recesses of my mind...

Trying to escape the drudgery of work and the monotonous dribble of Monday Blues, I booked a seat at the plush Premier Class of the nearest cinema. An evening watching the latest superhero movie while tucking into a tub of caramel popcorn, hot dog and diet cola was so seductive and that was just what yours truly set out to do. That is until Elephant Girl came in with her Weasel bf.

They had to have the seats behind me!!!! Of all the empty seats in the hall...

And to think that the hall was made to be spacious and comfortable. Well, Elephant and Weasel managed to kick and bump into the back of my seat for like 5 millions time before pseudo-settling into their seats. And then the sounds... I dare not turn around less I get the view of them smooching - or worse! The thought turns my stomach. She may have even been eating the seats for all I know...

What a haven for sinners the cinema is. Seemingly religious girls coming complete with head gear, demure demeanour and a man draped on their arm. And booking the back most seats? Hahaha, who are they kidding? Those giggles cannot be the humour they find in the violent scenes of the movie or the fact that the main character was sprouting extra arms - just like their bfs!

The cinema management is also in on this! They switch the air-conditioning to arctic proportions and give these so called cinema-goers an excuse to warm up cold fingers in the solace of someone else's trousers. For heaven's sake! There's a hotel upstairs!!! Oh that's right, they may get caught by the authorities if they did. Not in the dark cinema though. It's a public place. Yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh riiiiggghhhhtttttt!!!!!!!!

Survival Tip no. 247: Next you are at the cinema and you see a couple coming towards you, throw thumbtacks at their seats so they'll get a poking they deserve!

Attack Of The 50 Ft Extensions Pt 2

Now that things are back on track...

Darrrliiiing!!!!! More on those hairzies. Out last nite chugging my pint of bubbly and who walks in but the next Barbie don’t-want-to-be-but-became-anyway of our lovely little city. I mean Dolly Parton and Lolo Ferrari are one thing but one day you are definitely a 747 runway and the next week you have mountains fit for scaling? Pur-lease! Anyway, let’s leave silicone valley talks for another day but return to the topic.

Barbie came in and her Everests were quickly followed by this mass of hair. Curled, teased and whatever else to the point where it looks like a Kavadi burden. Goodness, her scalp must be screaming for the last millimetres of its life. I mean she had enough hair to make 50 toupees for Phil Collins.

And how her walk has changed under that cloud of dead keratins!

There is now and undulating movement which is decidedly serpentine with a touch of Beyonce. Hmmm, Beyon-sial is more like it. But let’s not get bitchy. Back to our observation.

It is a highly demanding job to have that much hair. When Barbie was followed in by her similarly adorned friends, they have a ritual movement of constantly prepping up their curls with their hands to the point where it is almost a tic - or Parkinsons. Someone should film them and put it all to music. The Blue Danube comes to mind…

Well, with bionic ears, eavesdropping is a breeze. These hair extensions causes less space on the scalp since they attach to your own hair. Therefore, washing is not easy and has to be done gently. The result is a biologically challenged scalp-health – dandruff! Yes peeps, these people with all their gorgeousness have dandruff! Albeit kept in check with chemicals. Wow, with all the alcohol they consume and the amount of chemicals they apply to both scalp and skin, no wonder they look good. It’s embalming brought to a new height!

Oh yes! Let us not forget the hairspray! The budget for that is enough to keep a small third world country fed for a month!

An experiment for tonight: Try to stealthily light up some hair extensions. See the pyrotechnics beat any New Year’s fireworks!

The Lost Days 2

Saturday: So after a debauched Friday night where desperate gatecrashers made fools of themselves at our party, it is a wonderful thing to lie in and pamper oneself at the dermatologist having your face zapped by the pretty assistant, carbon layer popping at each shot of the laser and your doctor telling you that you are losing collagen... Great!

While having my skin heated up, it was great to reflect on the night before...

The club was heaving with bevvies of sweaty bodies dressed in the latest fashion. The women were gorgeous and the men were butt ugly. Hey if the womenfolk can make an effort to put their face on and swathe themselves in fab tops and bottoms, what are them menfolk's excuse? Oversized polo tops? Shirts where the shoulder seam falls down to their waist and trousers under their chins? What the...? Oh yes, that's how the men in this country dresses!

It's no wonder many women complain too many men are gay. That's because they don't notice construction site labourers next to the groomed fags. Puts the "REAL" men to shame. And no wonder many women would just die to "turn" a gay man straight. Let's get the bull dykes turn the straight women gay! But from the word around the mill many have tried. Women have more balls than men! They'll try anything once - even if they don't admit it!

So the pretty assistant zapping me says she'll never go with a woman. Until the right woman comes along that is, my mind added. Especially when her Air-Force man just dumped her unceremoniusly on her skinny behind. Mental abuse over the years. A kind touch from the right woman may just turn her...

But hey! Not all the gays in this country are gorgeous and fab. Some of them wears those armpit high pants and circus tent shirts and walk with their belly ten-miles in front and their greasy face grinning like they are God's gift to men!

Women, you can have these! I'm sure the Fag-Kingdom returns them to Straightland with no strings attached. In fact, they'll probably pay Women-dom to turn these guys "straight"!

The Lost Days

I think it's time for a double entry!

Friday: Being somewhere where you thought you'd never be again allows you to see things through fresher eyes. I was walking the floor and what I see are caricatures of humanity.

1) Men seem to think that growing a moustache suddenly makes them look all distinguished and matured. Somehow the mirrors that they have at home must be like those circus ones. Can't they not see that the largest moustache in the world cannot distract the way you walk like the Hunchback Of Notre Dame; the five-size too big shirt; the oh-not-sexy belly first swagger (ok they have no choice here - either walk that way or liposuction) and not to forget "Oh I have a title so I'll rub my nose and sniff because they will care if I got the sniffles" gesture.

2) Women seem to think they're all encompassingly gorgeous and attractive. You greet them and being lost so far up their butthole, they cannot hear you. So they ignore you. They think you look at them because you fancy them. Purleaze!!! My maid look better than half of these so-called professionals. Us viewing them is akin to watching prancing baboons at the zoo...

3) Somehow if you have children, all the world should celebrate it and no matter how much they jump up and down and create a nuisance, it's okay. The children are there to be seen and heard and no one can tell them otherwise. So let's all not care about other people because we have CHILDREN! We have copulated hard for it and the women-folk has shat them out so it gives us all the right to let them run amok and spoil the rest of the world's day. Right? Because we have children!!!!!!!!!

Attack Of The 50 Ft Extensions

Whiplash? Must be! Don’t these scrawny things realise that their skinny necks can’t handle that bundle of hair! And who started with the idea of adding some impoverished Eastern European spinster’s pit hairs to your own crowning glory. Yeah, right!!! Crowning gory is more like it.

Peepz! Next time you decide to paint the town black, blue or some glorious shade of pink, have a look around. Those kilograms of hair made heavier with hairspray needs to be under lock and key. How fabulous it would be for them to light up their own hair while swishing around their locks around candle-lit tables. Personally, moi would be helpful and put their inferno out with some vodka…

It must be an illness that is catching. Like malaria – or even small pox. One person decides to “try” it and before you know it – presto! – an epidemic of epic proportions has descended on the scene. Women with nice enough hair suddenly sprout extra locks that are decidedly taking a life of their own. The virus jumps from one woman to another until the whole club is lined with an array of hairsprayed curls – lovingly tended by their hairdressers who are gleefully rushing to their new mansion on the hill.

And why not? Each lock of hair costs a harem’s worth of camels. I have personally seen these uptown girls rushing to go to some god-forsaken place in the middle of some freaky industrial estate to buy cheaper – at cost! Lug it all the way home and invite their personal hairdresser to attach those hair to theirs amidst showers of champagne and wine. Lo and behold! The new decadent Rome! All in the front room of your favourite socialite.

When you are out and about tonight, there’s a new game: Spot the hair-ess!

Blog Virgin No More

Pop! There goes my cherry! Blogging-ly speaking, that is! The other thing is a long gone memory. What IS the other thing anyway??? Amnesia...

So here’s my first entry into the world of blog: where it is the equivalent of walking down the road with your tits hanging out. Somehow, blog-ging has the essence of exhibitionism albeit on a higher tech specifications. Call it what you want: online diary; memoirs; thoughts of the day; a day in the life. The bottom line is: it’s a bottom baring thing. Only difference is your face can be totally hidden until some smart alec decides to dig for worms. So here’s me letting my mammaries hang out with poison spurting out of the nipples.

Now, comes the point where certain criteria have to be set for choosing the victim –oops, I mean the topic! Yes, dearies: whose pound of flesh shall we barbeque until it is bien cuit and whose bucket of blood shall we vampires suck dry. Well, they say that every dog has his day: so every one can have their moment of glory basking in the glorious light of my bitchy sun – which incidentally shines out the crack of my pert behind.

This vampire so achingly wants to be in a coffin during the day and go feeding at night but certain things like W-O-R-K keeps popping out. Maybe all should be packed in and traded for the night life. Oh the night delights of this city. How tempting it is for yours truly to go on and on about the delectable juiciness but appetites needs to be whetted and bottoms needs to be whacked. I think the next thing I have to watch is for those hair-extension freaks…

So honeyz, here’s the thought of the day: Bitch about someone before someone bitches about you, coz life’s a bitch and the best thing is to be one too!!!