Archive - 2012

Hello, my darlings! It is currently after midnight in the lair of the Angry Freak and I am just starting to realize how hectic my day is going to be today. Needless to say, I probably won't be able to post anything, but I will most certainly be here on Tuesday morning. Normally, I would ask the vagina to post in my stead but I feel uncomfortable letting her run rampant without supervision.

The last time this happened, she set up a webcam and posted numerous pictures of herself in various stages of undress. That is not going to happen again, vagina. Do you hear me? Look at me when I'm talking to you! The last thing anyone needs to see is your naked ass lying on a bag of marshmallows! What was the point of that picture, by the way? It made no fucking sense to me when I saw it. Next time, try lying on a sheepskin rug. At least that shit is somewhat normal.

Lots of Love,
The Greek Girl

PS: A huge thank you to all the decadent hos who stood up to the loons this week! Thank you so very much! You all get extra vodka tonight! Head Troll, you have my permission to confiscate the AV's vodka! And please remember to be careful. I think she keeps a loaded gun somewhere in the house.

Back by popular demand, here is our favorite toddler having a delayed reaction to Eeyore at a restaurant. You know, if I owned property in the Hundred Acre Woods, I would have shot Eeyore in the face a long time ago. Yeah, because everybody is sick and tired of your moping, Eeyore! Look, it is painfully obvious that you don't want to live anymore, so turn around and close your eyes! It will all be over in two seconds!

And on that cheerful note, I also wanted to say a few words about the hot firefighter in the second video. House Bitch, when you're done being a boring loser, would you mind driving me over to the nearest firehouse? I hear they have a very large pole over there, which is wonderful, since I am an excellent pole dancer. Just be prepared to blast Cherry Pie from your car stereo when I give you the signal!

Okay, I seriously have no fucking idea what is going on around here, but from what I can see, Goat Bitch was limping around town yesterday in fucking toddler pajamas. Yeah, and based on this information alone, I am going to assume that Baba Yaga has been using him for target practice again. Yes, in fact, I think it went a little something like this:

As the sun slowly sets behind the trees, Baba Yaga enters the backyard with a hunting rifle held loosely in her claws. Without saying a word, she walks over to the goat pen, lifts the latch, and tosses a pair of toddler pajamas at Goat Bitch.

"Wait," Goat Bitch says, staring up at her in confusion. "What are you - what are you doing?"

"Goat Bitch," Baba Yaga says, slowly loading bullets into her rifle. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. Are you listening?"

Goat Bitch nods, staring guardedly at the rifle.

"You have about thirty seconds to put on those pajamas and run into the woods across the street. After that, I am going to take the safety off my gun and hunt you like an animal. Do you understand me?"

"What?" Goat Bitch gasps, clutching the pajamas to his chest. "But - but why? Why are you doing this? How can you just - "

"Twenty seconds left. And I am doing this because there is going to be a toddler birthday party in the park this weekend. You don't want my aim to be rusty when the time comes, do you?"

"You're - you're using me for target practice?" Goat Bitch shrieks.

"Ten seconds," Baba Yaga says calmly. "Nine...eight...seven...six..."

First of all, if you wanted to recreate this photo of Rudolph, all you would have to do is find a squashed Cheeto on the floor and prop it up against the toaster. And just out of curiosity, since when is Rudolph the hottest bad girl in Hollwood? A cigarette butt is sexier than Rudolph. In fact, I am quite sure that she reeks of old hotdog water and gingivitis. And this is after she has taken a bath.

So that being said, I have no fucking idea what Maxim Australia is trying to accomplish here. The last time I checked, January was supposed to be about hope and rejuvenation. What the hell does Rudolph have to do with either of these things? Okay, she needs her vagina rejuvenated, I'll give her that! But other than that, there's nothing!

Yeah, who the hell knows what's going on anymore. This whole world has gone crazy. My life has no direction anymore. Last New Year's Eve, I was licking frosting out of Foxy's cleavage and asking her to spank me with a spatula. This year, I sat next to House Bitch on the couch and watched A Muppet Christmas Carol until she fell asleep.

Oh, how I wish I could describe the deep and terrible rage that filled my heart as I watched her sleep. That was the night I got out my crayons and brainstormed several ways to get rid of her. And now, for our mutual entertainment, I will try to recreate those ideas:

1) Drown her in the toilet

2) Push a piano off a building as she's walking down the street

3) Tell her the stove isn't working, then turn the control knob as she's bending over to inspect it

4) Drown her in the toilet

5) Tell her that Mia Kirshner is getting married to Rosie. No, Ellen. No, Rosie. Ah, who gives a fuck! As long as she dies of a broken heart, I don’t care!

Just for the record, this sign was put up after Capsie ate a meal consisting of sauerkraut, soft-ripened cheese, and refried beans. Yes, and from what I understand, she blew out all the windows and caused the stainless steel sink handles to melt. It was really quite tragic, actually. A woman was in the adjacent stall and they have yet to recover her body. Goddamn you, Capsie! The next time you have to fart, at least consider waddling into an unpopulated area before you let fly!

Normally, I would sit here and talk about bowel movements and crabs, but I admit that I'm feeling a little under the weather this morning. Life is bleak and meaningless, House Bitch. I have no idea which direction my life is going in at the moment. Last night, I almost picked up the phone and called Foxy, but then I remembered her affair with the glorified garden gnome. And even that would have been okay had the asshole been able to spell his last name correctly! Yeah! That is where I draw the line! At bad spelling!

No, but in all seriousness, life sucks right now. And is it just me or does it look like somebody was throwing poo at the sign in the above photo? I see splotches of brown. I swear I do. I would investigate more thoroughly but unfortunately, I don't give a fuck.

Yesterday afternoon, Old Fogey took it upon herself to write me an email and resurrect this very expensive video from last year. As a result, I have been watching this video repeatedly and bursting into peals of uncomfortable laughter. I really do have to hand it to this woman, though! She got her awkward ass up and danced vigorously in front of a group of people. As a result, I am officially torn between watching the video again or getting down on one knee and proposing marriage. Let me tell you something - if she dances for me like this on our wedding night, then I will officially be the happiest bitch on the planet.

You know, if someone were to tell me that this was a picture of an old lesbian shuffling around a nursing home, I would totally believe them. Actually, no. I take that back. Aside from the facial hair, unkempt bob, and bushy eyebrows, Goat Bitch is far too feminine to be a bulldyke. After all, he has been known to wear strawberry lipgloss and dance around his room to Single Ladies. Did you hear that, George Clooney? If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it!

No, but in all seriousness, I have no fucking idea why I'm even writing about this shit. Actually, no. That's another lie. I do know why I'm talking about it. The loons have been going crazy over this photo lately, so of course I wanted to bring it up on the blog. Because nothing makes me happier than pissing off the loons.

So basically, Goat Bitch has liver spots on the back of his right hand and I have no fucking idea why the loons are drooling over this crap. I could take a shit on the ground and it would probably be a million times sexier than Goat Bitch. Oh, and it would smell better, too. After all, Goat Bitch sleeps next to piles of his own feces in the goat pen every night. And I have a hard time believing that Baba Yaga bathes him on a regular basis.

Yeah, about once every three months, Baba Yaga clips a leash to his collar, ties the leash to a tree, and blasts Goat Bitch with the hose for a minute or two. Good hygiene is not at the top of Baba Yaga's list, you know. She has far more important things to worry about. Last I heard, she was busy planning a dinner party for Satan.

Before I launch into my usual bullshit about yetis and blubbery ass craters, I just wanted to say a few words about nannies. When I was about eight years old, my parents decided to hire a part-time nanny to watch over my brother and I after school. Her name was Cidad and she was originally from the Philippines. Well, let me tell you a little bit about Cidad.

Cidad had very violent gas, and she used to burp all the fucking time. I am not kidding you. You could be carrying on a conversation with her and she would burp right in your face. And not a tiny burp, either. That shit would blow your hair back and make your eyes water.

Anyway, one afternoon, my Maman came home early and started talking to Cidad about something in the kitchen. And right in the middle of the conversation, Cidad burped directly into her face. Jesus God, even after twenty years, I can still remember every detail of that scene! My Maman closed her mouth, daintily fanned the air in front of her, and told Cidad she was fired. Then she walked around the house with her favorite bottle of perfume and spritzed all the rooms.

So, yeah. If you ever needed proof that my Maman is a snobby cunt with a stick up her ass, then this is it! Poor Cidad! She had some major gastrointestinal problems! Wherever she is right now, I hope she is expelling gas in peace and harmony.