RILEY: I'm completely bummed about Joanna's situation.
MOONDOGGIE: Me too. I'm bummed too!
MOONDOGGIE: Yeah. I mean...I have my cheek on your bum. Although I guess in America we'd say I'm "butted," or "assed."
RILEY: Okay, it's really important that you shut up until further notice.
MOONDOGGIE: I can hear the ocean!
Via fellow Crapper, the Minx, who received an email sent on borrowed hospital wifi, we've learned that Annti was indeed evicted, and is now living the vagabond life so eloquently evoked in the 1971 Cher hit, "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves." What's more, she's come down with pneumonia -- not surprising, as homelessness seems to be a fecund breeding ground for disease -- and was forced to blow a substantial portion of her dwindling funds on ER treatment.
Mary and I have squeezed the bank account for everything we can -- which admittedly wasn't much -- and I'm sure many of you have done the same. But if anybody has a few extra bucks, Annti could really use it right now. She has no mailing address, alas, but if you're not adverse to Payment by Pal, you can click the button on the right side of her blog here.
On a less depressing, but equally mind-bending note, check out this testimony to the Lincoln, Nebraska city council by a woman who can't pronounce the word "intestines" properly. I'm fairly convinced it's Pastor Swank in drag:
The word Winning in powerpoint block letters conic sans font needs to flash across the screen of this video every 2 seconds!
Well that sucks... just shot Annti $20.
I just got some cash for selling books & Art mags. Sending it Annti's way.
On a separate note, it seems that Riley's tuchis is a favored place for Moondoggie's head. Not that I'm judging, but it seems to tie in with the Jockey For Him fetish.
No, no, it's RILEY who's got the hang-up about Mary's underthings!
I must say that I am thoroughly honored and touched and damned near cried out in public when I saw that I'd been given the Riley & Moondoggie treatment. The pneumonia's 'bout gone, though the fever keeps recurring. I don't know how OR why I can ALWAYS find the greatest guy FRIENDS on earth but only attract the LOWEST FORMS OF NEMATODES ON THE PLANET when they're wanting to pry off ye olde chastity (ha!) belt... Wouldn't be this broke, have gone five days with NO PAIN MEDS WHATSOFUCKINGEVER, with THREE MORE STILL TO GO 'TIL THE DOCTOR'S APPT. --- OR have gotten pneumonia if I hadn't trusted another sub-par CON-MAN. How can I possibly be this stupid? I somehow am almost always truly, truly fortunate in all of my platonic friendships, as, after all, y'all are my FAMILY... And yet, when it comes to that thing formerly called "sex" and men OR women who claim to be interested, NOTHIN' BUT ROCK-BOTTOM BOTTOM-FEEDING SLIMEBAG PARASITE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!! Oh, it JUST makes me feel SO SPETHIAL!
Can't type a whole helluva lot, lucky for y'all, in so much fucking pain, but I knew that I hadda make it over here tonight, if only to issue far-belated and pathetically-inadequate thanks to one & all, Crappers, referrals, MOBsters, etc. I promise y'all, those thank-you letters WILL get written, when I can once again get my fingers to co-operate. That hit-and-run in October really conflagrated the neurological problems/losses that I've suffered since 1998, when Morris Bart, THE most-evil ambulance-chaser on earth, tried to FINISH-OFF what was started in destroying me on April 3, 1986. Sorry, brain's REALLY not up to snuff tonight, finally had my first solid food in 3 days and NO BARFING! YAAAAYYYYY!!
BTW, when I tried to play the freakazoid old lady video, the damned embed player tells me, "THIS VIDEO IS PRIVATE." Oh REALLY, motherfucker?!??! Then why is it one of the most-promoted clips online right the fuck now?!?!! Arseholes. But, uh, thanks for the, uh, thought(?), Scott there... I haven't heard the rant/raving-lunatic ancient battle-lizard bitch yet, but thanks EVER so for that warm and loving association... heh heh heh...
Shutting the fuck up now. Fucking skeeters eating me alive, like the flying 2-lb. cockaroaches aren't enough, or our yearly invasion of FLYING FORMOSAN FUCKING *TERMITES* (Yeah, THANKS FOR *THAT* ONE, JAPAN! *AND* for the kudzu AND the motherfucking NUTRIA!!! Okay, the Nutria aren't necessarily JAPAN'S fault, but fuck, what in the HELL did WE ever do to deserve these TERMITE SWARMS?!?!?!), and even though I didn't leave this roach motel today, I'm fucking wiped. And if ONE MORE motherfucking DRUG DEALER comes up to me (fellow denizens) and offers to "help me," and I fucking quote, "kill dat PAIN, baybee," y'all are SO gonna see me on the national news. Yes, I've been so sick & in so much pain that I've begged people to loan me a .357 (like I was SUPPOSED to inherit from Teh Dick, but of course the Psycho-Cunt of Montana MADE OFF WITH IT BEFORE THE ASHES WERE COLD!) so that I can take the aforementioned LOWLIFE MOTHERFUCKER WHO JACKED MY MONEY *AND* MY MEDS THE FUCK *OUT* **WITH** ME..., and I'd happily donate what's left of my shriveled tits to any charity that'd have 'em for just a week's worth of Ultrams (baby aspirin, compared to the shit that got stolen), so that I could finally STOP wanting to rip my flesh from my bones with my own fingernails... but drug dealers? FUCK THAT SHIT. They ain't makin' a fucking profit off of THIS Medicare ho!
Shutting the hell up now, fer real. I love y'all, I would not be ALIVE if it were not for y'all, and I think of you always, even when I can't get online nor type for shit, know that I am missing y'all always. And extra big hugs & kisses & snuggies to Riley & Moonie for loving me, too!
Oh holy shit.
Just got to see the batshit-crazy woman doing her frothing-at-the-mouth gay-hater fit.
There's a tattoo artist in California who would happily dispute her fake "science" about tossing salads, I know THAT for sure... heh.
And that's all ye needs ta know about THAT.
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