kiss my grits

I would rather shit barbed wire than have to work this coming Saturday, but it looks like I can't get out of it.

Ma says she's coming to visit.

Sister Christian says he's coming to visit.

My only hope is that I don't get my period until Monday. That's one visitor I could do without. Can I get an amen? Speaking of me and my unusually heavy flow...I noticed that someone, I forget who, thinks that I'm a woman. At least they eluded to such on their profile page. So this is for you, whoever you were:

Just because I bleed out of my vagina once a month does not mean that I am a woman. DON'T LABEL ME!

So anyway, I have to work. And that ain't right. Christmas is supposed to be a time of giving. It's not supposed to be a time of shoving me around like a Playskool Corn-Popper. That, my friends, is NOT the way Jesus would've wanted it.

Unless I were Jewish...which I'm NOT!

You know what I miss? No one ever calls their penis a ding-dong or a ding-a-ling anymore. I'm gonna have to start using those words again. Even when the conversation doesn't call for it, I'm just gonna pop in and say "Uh-oh...Excuse me. I have to situate my ding-a-ling. It's getting pinched. AAHHH! That's better. Carry on."

And from now on I shall refer to vaginas the world over as a Hoo-Ha.

November 29, 2001 | 5:26 p.m.

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