Mitch better have my bunny

DAMN!

Having a new house built then telling the people who are building said new house to take that new house and place it delicately in their rear ends and then signing a contract on a different new house the same day you sign the paper to break the contract on the first house and then making arrangement to move in two weeks and pack everything up and get everything sorted out really takes a lot out of Fu-Fu.

I've never bought anything from IKEA nor been to an IKEA in person and lately I find myself on their website looking at all the cool shit and wishing I was a Swede.

I've been trying to come up with a new way to house our 1600 strong CD collection other than having them take up a whole wall of our computer room, and IKEA seems to have the cheapest solutions but they charge an arm and a half for shipping.

I ordered this one tiny CD box for $7.99 thinking I'd check it out and if I liked it I'd order 25 more...well, the shipping on that one tiny box would've cost $28.00 so I told Nicky, my friendly IKEA sales associate whom I talked to on the phone, to delicately place it in her rear end and to give me a call when they figure out the many fine advantages offered us by the US Postal Service.

"It would only cost you a couple of bucks to ship it to me using them. What about a 2 pound package cost 28 bucks to ship from Houston to Norman?" I queried.

"I'm not gonna take sides on this argument, Mr. Fu-Fu.....I'm Swedish" she replied.

Neutral bitch.

Also, added to my already healthy addiction to all things Trading Spaces, is this growing desire to watch nothing but channel 58, Home and Garden Television.

I'm all about renovatin'.

I've already learned seven clever designs for a lamp made out of dried cat dookie, dental floss, and catfish bones.

Those fuckers will use anything to make anything.

They oughta rename that one show from Design on a Dime to McGyverin' Shit Up.

I got three more pans and a glass baking dish to wash up before I go to bed. And if all goes as planned, they will be the last thing I ever have to wash again forever and ever amen.

The new house has a dishwasher.

And that pleases me like you could never ever believe someone could be pleased.

I know. I know. You're thinking "But, Fu-Fu, just tell Cristi to wash those dishes" but that's fucking sacrilege in this house of mine.

Cristi doesn't wash dishes. She will not even entertain the thought. Plus, she has this really weird fear of wet bread.

The funniest (to me) and most horrific (to her) thing you could do is toss slices of bread over the shower door while she's in there in the morning.

You will hear a scream so blood curdling you would think the gates of hell just opened up in the bottom of the tub.

And that's one of her excuses for not doing dishes.

"What if I go in there and stick my hand in the sink and I feel some wet bread?" she asks while fighting back vomit at the thought of it.

"Okay, Jessica Simpson, go watch TV and leave it up to me" I say in return.

Have you seen that Newlyweds show? That girl is so fucking spoiled she doesn't know whether tuna is a fish or a chicken because the can said Chicken of the Sea.

Poor Nick.

September 06, 2003 | 10:46 p.m.

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