Butt Cheeck's P.S. Weenr fays.

I'm a habitual list maker.  I can - and will - turn any string of events, items, thoughts, ideas, etc into the best list you can imagine.  The ebb and flow of my lists are methodical and well thought out.  To-Do lists are an everyday occurrence in my chaotic life and the bane of my fucking existence.  The problem with these goddamn lists is that, regardless of it's importance, I can never finish them.  Or maybe it's just this one list in particular.  I need an assistant.  Just for this week.  Actually, I don't want to pay anyone to wash the four dishes in my sink or make the jello shots for this weekend or do anything else that's on my list... SO I guess I need motivation... or a slave.  That may be inappropriate.  And neither one of those is likely to happen.  Moving on...

Huffington post has quickly become one of my favorite websites.  While the validity of their "news" stories is questionable, the photo stories they post make me pee just a drop.  The one that made me the happiest today comes to you via some chill-rens.  

Weenr fays = my new insult.

Chill-rens...

That's one thing I always hated about school.  No pulling my pants down.

Drum roll for my favorite one.........

I love everything about this letter.  Especially when she says "How does it feel to have a grave?  Are you proud?"  The only thing I find a little disturbing about this letter is that Heather, the girl that wrote and submitted this letter, was TEN YEARS OLD when she asked her dead grandfather what kind of holidays they have once you die.  I feel like she should have had a better grip on death by that age...


One more thing.  I have a confession of sorts.  I've been dreaming a lot lately.  A LOT.  And they've been pretty vivid.  {Especially the ones involving jihad, grasshoppers and moths.}  But in true sexual predator fashion I've been having some... ahem... illicit dreams about people I shouldn't be.  My older, married, male co-workers, for example.  What makes these dreams all the more titillating {haha I'm funny} is that I don't remember them until I actually see the co-star of said dream.  So naturally I turn 8 different shades of red and usually giggle {because I'm a douche} which makes things even more awkward for me.  I'm hoping that tonight's dreams are PG-13 and don't involve seeing anyone naked.


Hope everyone has a brilliant tomorrow.  Raise your hand if you want to make out with Bob Dylan!  Even though he looks like an awkward lesbian, I'd be proud to carry his love child.