Ever get that feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong?
I had that today.
I thought, maybe it's just test anxiety.
Maybe, I thought, I'm just stressed out.
Bad coffee?

I was settling into my religion class when I started feeling overwhelmingly anxious. I'm not Dionne Warwick, but something in the universe was just off.
I noticed that my cell phone was blinking.
Constantly.
Every 10 minutes, my cell phone was going off.

Now if that's not a bad sign, I don't know what is.
I got up, in the middle of class (which I never ever do, so Prof. Burke, if you're reading this, I am sorry) and went to see just what the fuck was going on.

Here's where the story gets good.

My sister was driving today and some drunk mother fucker hit her car.
Hard.
Fucked it up.

First of all, that's the only twin sister I have. So this didn't leave me happy.
Second of all, what kind of fucking backwards hick mother fucker is shitfaced at three in the afternoon?
Third, what kind of tool drives, shitfaced, without a liscense or insurance?

I'll tell you what kind of person.
A worthless peice of horseshit with no regard for anyone but themselves. Let me spell this out for you, asshat.
You could've killed someone.
You're lucky you didn't.
Now you have fun in that cell for awhile and you tell your new boyfriend that I send my regards.

It was under the advice of an enviornmentalist that the two girls embarked on their journey that night. He was a wise man, knowledgeable in many things, including the conservation of grapes. He sat on the couch, smiling at them, and in his infinite wisdom said "I think you should go".

The enviornmentalist was never wrong, having spent much of his time partaking in spiritual activities such as sampling the juice of fermented grapes, neither girl was in a position to argue with him. The enviornmentalist then turned on his heel and left to go tend to his daily routine.

Sarah and Clare then looked at each other and headed to the car. They had a long journey ahead of them that neither was prepared for. It was cold, the wind was bitter, and it was getting colder as the minutes passed. They sat side by side, quietly contemplating the ramifications of the journey that lay ahead of them.

It would be long. It would be tiring. It would be scary.
And both were up for the challenge.

Beside each other in the car, the minutes dragged like hours, hours seemed to go on for eternities. The miles crept by, and at one point Clare thought she saw a little old lady pass them with her walker.

They went on. The radio cut in and out, the music got increasingly bad, but they pressed on. Nothing was going to stop them.

The wind was blowing harder now as they pulled over to take a break. Behind the glass at the gas station, a prophet, probably named Edna, sat, smoking a Marlboro Red, glaring at the rack of twinkies.
Edna exhaled, a long stream of grey smoke pouring from her wrinkled mouth.
"Joliet" is all she said.
The girls silently got back into the vehicle.

"Well?" Clare asked. She was tired, her eyes were starting to get dry, and her ass had fallen asleep 10 mile markers ago.
"We've come too far to turn back now" Sarah said, with what one can assume was the last bit of energy she had.

They continued on, an eternity later, pulling off onto the Joliet exit.
The roads were dark, and scary, and both girls had a hard time remembering that looking at other people's cars at stoplights was strictly a custom from their homeland, not this foreign place.
The road was endless. Mile after mile of car lot, gas station and strip malls was wearing on both of our protagonists.
They were almost at the end of the road.
And so far, nothing.
Not a single thing.
Were both the prophet and enviornmentalist wrong?
And there, in the distance, they saw it.
It called to them both.
Shining in bright contrast against the sky, it stood, waiting for them.
And it was beautiful.


"We need 20 sliders, 2 fries, and 2 medium sodas".
The girls ate until they could not eat anymore.
The prophet and enviornmentalist were right.
It was a hard, long, tiring journey.
Upon return both girls fell into their beds, stomachs full of the greasiest, most disgusting hamburgers in all of creation.
And they enjoyed every bite.
Some people say it's silly. Other's say we are too influence by the media. Clare and Sarah, however, are simply biding their time until their next epic journey.

An amazing story is on it's way.
Until then, bugger off.

So.
I was dumb. I did a dumb thing.
I let my best friend "stay here a few nights".
With his pitbull, who is adorable.
The problem?
He's still here.
I'm feeling spread pretty fucking thin, and now I get to babysit for a 21 year old and his dog.
I'm broke as shit, I've got 200 pages of religion to study by tomorrow so I don't flunk out, and I'm busy cleaning up after the two of them. For the past three days.
I'm about to go insane.
I've got laundry piled up the ceiling in my bathroom that I don't have time to do.
I feel like my head is going to explode. I actually skipped my classes today to try to get a head start on things.
What did I wind up doing?
Babysitting the 21 year old and the fucking dog.
I am not about to let anyone fuck up my education.
Now's the problem.
He has nowhere to go, and he's my best friend.
Which leaves me in a hell of a spot. Say "Get the fuck out and take your dog that barfed on my rug and find somewhere else to stay, like anyone will take you" or go completely insane, risk being evicted for the animal living here, and probably fail the fuck out of college.
Every time I clean, I turn around and there's a mess.
Every time I vacuum, I turn around and there's more dog fur.
Every time I try to sleep, I get "Wanna watch Harold and Kumar?"
Every time I try to study, I field questions about "What's wrong".

What I need, what I really truly need, is a prescription for Zanax, a pound of fudge, and a 12 pack of beer to drink with Chris.

So, I was sifting through the list of referrers to my little corner of the web here (it beats the fuck out of studying, so shut up), and I've come to the conclusion that you are all a bunch of perverts.
The 5 latest searches that lead to website are as follows:
"Oprah Tossed Salad"
"Gay Tweeker Sex"
"Bitch and Bongs"
"Dirty Bitch Assing"
"Kaustubh Pandav Naked"
And whoever found my site looking for that last one, email me, you are living the dream.

Not much else is going on the life of Clare. Back to school, back to the same old shit. I have 2 huge tests coming up this next week. Massively huge. So instead of studying, I present you with some of my tips for studying.
1.Find a clean, well lit place to study. This requires actually cleaning your house. You will be up until 3 or 4 A.M. doing this.
2.Munchie food is a gift from god. Begin studying. Realize, 3 paragraphs in, that you are lacking Doritos, which are imperative to getting a decent grade. Run to the store. Sit down to study. Realize that you forgot Twizzlers, and you must have Twizzlers. Run to the store again. Do this at least 4 more times.
3.Find comfortable clothes. This means, most likely, jammies. Shit, while you're in them, you might as well take a nap, you know, so you can focus.
4.Sit in front of your computer to help aid in whatever you're reading. Discuss current events, alcoholic beverages, and random other shit with your friends on AIM.
5.Put up an away message lamenting the fact that you have to study and can't talk.
6.Vow to begin right after you check F.U.B.A.R. one last time.
7.Begin studying.
8.Take a nap.
9.Wake up 2 hours before test, and try cramming 4 weeks worth of knowledge in to your brain in that amount of time.
10. Drink the pain away.

This, my friends, is what I will be doing tonight. Hooray college.
Here's some links to look at till next time.
Too Beautiful
Soapbox Network
Erection Warning Chart
Cooking with Cum
How To Argue With A Female
AIM Commandments
The Best Bud Light commercials EVER.

God thinks I'm hilarious.
I got the greatest gift ever for Christmas.
A letter telling me I've been laid off due to lack of work, postmarked on the 22nd.
Merry fucking Christmas, Clare.
So yea, I've not been in the mood to update or change around my links or anything.
The kicker of this entire deal?
I get a letter in the mail saying I'm laid off right before Christmas and how if work picks up they will call me. (By the way, if you are reading this, don't bother).
Christmas is a hard financial time for most people, myself included. So thrilled, I was not.
So I'm sure you can imagine my joy when I got the voicemail that cheerfully informed me that I was still welcome at their Christmas party.
Now that, takes balls.
The problem being, I have to find a job, soon.
I don't want to tell my parents and worry them, seeing as they've stressed repeatedly that things are tight right now.
So if anyone wants to give me a job, like now, I'd appriciate it.
Gah.
To top it off, I spent Christmas alone. Because, suprise, I thought I had to work.
Way to fuck me straight up my ass, guys.
Merry Fucking Christmas.

I know.
It's been over a month.
I've been horrifically busy.
My schedule is something like this:

Research Methods: Sit beside stoner kid who says brilliant things like "heh. whoa" and "What were we talking about again?" in between the occasional boring video about ethics in research. Contemplate throwing self out the window.

Theories of Personality: Sit by same window I debated throwing myself out of. Realize that by throwing myself out of that window, I wouldn't be able to hear my professor say things like "You just want to jump someone's bones. But since no one wants you to do that, we need to find a viable alternative". Occasionally make a tally of how many times she says "penis" during lecture. Start another tally for every time she makes a penis joke.

Dinosaurs and Extinction: Sit by my friend, and wonder why my buddy won't speak to me if his girlfriend is within a 4 mile radius of the classroom. Wonder if Dr. Hammer was hot when he was younger (and had hair). Actually pay attention, seeing as he discovered a dinosaur and is a funny mother fucker.

Religion, Culture and Archeology: Ponder the existence of god for 2 hours, coming to the conclusion that if god does exist, he does indeed hate me.


The rest of my valuable time is spent at work.
I now work with computers, and idiots. It's like data processing, but I'm the one they call if something fucks up.
Which is lovely, but when I'm not doing that I get to do some data entry.
And I hate you mother fuckers.
Seriously.
So now I present you with my guide to not sounding like a douche on the fucking phone.
1. Shut off the fucking TV, turn down the radio, and sedate your children. It is really fucking hard to understand you when you are bitching to little Billy not to put his dick in the dog.
2. Speak slowly and distinctly. And when I say that I mean about as slowly as you would speak to a person that was copying down something. No slower. We work with computers, we aren't retarded. However, if you have an accent in which you can't pronounce most vowels, be sure you spell if necessary. Most of us don't speak "ignorant hick".
3. If the computer asks you for an email, or some other bit of information you don't have, you have one of two options. Say "none" and shut your hole, or simply don't respond. The longer you say 'None, I don't have one, NONE!" the longer the computer will record it before moving to the next field, and the longer I have to listen to you. Don't even think about screaming in to that phone, either, I can easily find out where you mother fuckers live.
4. For the love of all that is holy, pay attention. I can't count the number of times I've asked for an email address and gotten "3928 Harrington Street, MomFuck Arkansas, 40929".
5. If you have an email address, spell it out. People think they are cute and spell them all sorts of cutesy ways that are nothing close to the original spellings of the word. If you fail to do this, I will store your email address in my short term memory, go home, and sign up your email (or any possible variation of it) to geriatric gay beastiality mailing lists, and various online Christian publications. And lets face it, nothing is scarier than a god fanatic with access to the information superhighway followed by Grandpa Moses and his boyfriend defiling Mr. Ed.
6. Remember, there are people who have to listen to your stupid ass, present yourself accordingly. Remember, we are the people who process your refunds, your credit cards, your mail, etc, and you are starting to piss us off.

Random Links:
Pumpkin Porn
Bush Dress Up Doll
A Guide To Offing Yourself Like A Man.
Making Kids Cry Is Fun.

It's finals.
I hate finals.
My entire life comes unglued around finals time.
Seriously. I lose all rational thought because my brain is so full of random other useless shit that I'll never use, like the difference between a one factor ANOVA and a T-Test.
Almost done though.

My trainer has decided that he wants me to keep a food journal.
Now. In the middle of the hell week, right before thanksgiving.
I assume it's going to look something like this:

Monday:
Breakfast: Sour patch kids, coffee
Lunch: Diet Pepsi
Dinner: Coffee

Tuesday:
Breakfast: Chocolate, diet pepsi
Lunch: Coffee
Dinner: An entire pizza

Wednesday:
Breakfast: Icecream
Lunch: Coffee
Dinner: Diet Pepsi

Thursday:
Breakfast: Rum
Lunch: Vodka
Dinner: Beer
Snack: Jagermeister


Moving on. In my combing of F.U.B.A.R. I found the best link ever.
It's about exactly why you shouldn't shave your ass.
I'll give you a snippet, and let you read the rest on your own. (Quit your bitching, all you lazy bastards have to do is click a link). "I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry. "
Horrible.
Vile.
Fucking Hilarious.

Anyway, I leave you with some random links to check out.

This is my Dexxy.

Creepy Bob's Boards.Go here. Look at porn. Sign up. Post witty, relevant things. Post total shit. I don't care.

Science put to it's best use yet. Making alcohol taste better.

Sex Scandal Rocks Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory!

Bruce Lee Crotch Violence Research Institute. Enough Said.

If you ever see my heterolifemate walking beside me in a dark alley...you'd better pray that we like you.
All we need are matching tattoos. Boondock Saints style.
TweekerChickQC: I'll be sure to be like "My heterolifemate doesn't even know you and she hates you, that is how much you suck".
HLM: Do it!
HLM: I want her to hate me back.
HLM: So i have an excuse to cut her if i come across her in a dark alley.
HLM: "She threatened me with her presence and std's officer, it was self defense"

Well, I did it.
I met Ron Jeremy.
No shit whatsoever at all.

He was at the titty bar, I went there with Dawn and Sarah...
long story short.
I offered to make out with Sarah (didn't happen don't get too excited).
We got our picture taken with the Big Dong Dood.
He commented about Sarah's Pimpness.
He grabbed my ass, and told me it was "fabulous". He also told me I had a pretty name.
He proceeded to misspell my "pretty name" on the poster he signed for me.
I suppose you can't win them all.
Oh, and Dawnie got some titties crammed in her face.
But yea, I have a big ego now.
My ass is now what my friend calls "Grade A, Ron Jeremy Approved".

On another note, Shawn is back, so I've been busy entertaining him.
He's my best friend. He's got the attention span of a coked up chimp. It's been hard.

Pop over to
Creepy Bob's Boards.He gave me power to abuse.
But shit, give the man some money, would ya?

I looked through my referrals.
And almost all of the people here lately are looking for the pictures of Tara Reid's boob.
Who am I to deny you?
To FUBAR you go.
Perverts.

I love my male friends.
They really know what matters in life.

TweekerChickQC: I've missed you lately hon!
TweekerChickQC: I thought you left me with someone with a small
head or social retardation or something.
NapalmMage: LOL Nah, things have just been heavy lately.
NapalmMage: There is one plus to having a chick with a small head
TweekerChickQC: What's that?
NapalmMage: My dick looked friggin HUGE in her mouth.

Hooray!
A new Tucker Update. I live for this shit.

My favorite site, Lowbrow is back up, I will update my links soon enough.


Now, on to the goods.
I didn't write them.
Walter Sobchak from F.U.B.A.R. recently graced our boards with a guide on giving good oral.
He is a god among men.

"Licking is cheating. Don't get me wrong, though.... it's an essential part of closing the deal.

Most guys that lick pussy are just afraid to get "hands dirty". They like to spread the upper labia exposing the clit, and lick the poor fucker to death. The main problem with that is that you can over stimulate the girl. Not only does it illustrate a lack of interest and creativity, but it can become uncomfortable for the girl. Think of this as the nitrous button on a car in the movies... you have to get the RPM's up until it's the right time to hit the boost.

Eating pussy is what it's all about. Get your fucking face in there, man! Don't just lick the clit. Stick your tongue IN THE PUSSY. Repeat after me: IN-THE-PUSSY. Lick the alphabet, pretend your in a poorly dubbed kung-fu movie, speak Japanese, etc.. Listen to your girl's moans and pay attention. Learn to respond to her body, not your own.

When the tea kettle's going "ooooooohhhhhhhh".....

RED ALERT - RED ALERT - LICK THE CLIT - LICK THE CLIT.......

....and BAM : Karate Explosion"


And they say guys don't know what they're doing.

My heterolifemate rocks.
Why? She says exactly what I'm usually thinking.
God help us if she ever decides to let her id lead her one day.

HLM: Yay orgies!
HLM: I mean...
HLM: Yeah, I mean it. Yay orgies.

I know. I've been a bad bad blogger.

I was inspired to make a brief update by Chris, who is in fact, not dead. I've also heard from a very reliable source who shall remain nameless that he got more buff (I always thought he was anyway). But regardless, this is something I demand to see for myself! He owes me drunk time!

Also, Jon Stewart is my hero. He wins for the bowtie comment.

I started working out again, seeing as prednisone has made me gain more weight than Roseanne on an icecream bender, and I kind of want to die. And by "kind of want to die" I mean, I really want to die. Muscles hurt that I didn't even know I had. If I lift my arms, they might fall off. My thighs burn, and I may or may not have a cramp in my butt. I didn't even know that was possible.
Apparently this guy knew all about it.

On another note, I put in my two weeks at my job. One might ask why I would do that when I love my kids as much as I do.
The answer is simple my friends. I adore my kids at work. I'd do anything for them at any time. They are my babies. They make me feel like I make a difference in the world, and I love spending time with them.
However, my direct supervisors are complete asshats, and I can't subject myself to one more moment with them for fear that I will wind up on top of a water tower with a rifle.
It all started when I got chewed out for not showing up to a shift that I wasn't scheduled to work anyway. Schedule me on my day off all you want, my fat ass still isn't coming in to work. This old bitch chews me out for ten minutes, in front of my kids and staff. I'm not one to apologize, even when I know I'm wrong, so the chances of me sucking it up and apologizing for something that I didn't do are slim to none. My habit of doing this really tends to piss my superiors off.
So, I get shipped off to go to the Haunted House, Hardees and Church with a group of kids. Gone for upwards of 7 hours. During this 7 hour time one of the kids back at the shelter flooded the upstairs toilet. It was a goddamn disgusting mess, I'll spare you the details.
That old bat of a boss that has it out for me not only waits 7 goddamn hours to have someone fix it, she makes, surprise surprise, me do it. Not the other staff that was there when it happened (although its their responsibility).
Being the 'team player' I am, I give it a whirl. And promptly almost barf all over everything. I pull the old bitch to the side to tell her that this isn't going to happen, as it's company policy that we don't have to do anything that makes us uncomfortable.
She looked at me and said, I swear to god "The longer it takes for you to clean it up, the longer it'll take for you to go home". Now, knowing that she can't go home until I do, I decide that not only am I not going to clean it up, but I'm going to take a shitload of time not cleaning it up.
During the time that I was busy faking cleaning it up (and trust me, I wouldn't step in that bathroom again, ever), that Geritol popping lazy eyed cunt sent the rest of the staff home, and forced me to stay after and do the laundry, which again, another staff could've easily done.
I gathered up the last shards of my dignity and I punched out that night almost two hours after my shift was supposed to end.
I also wrote my letter of resignation.

Dear Bill:
Effective November 1, 2004 I am resigning from my position as Youth Service Worker at Valley Shelter Homes.
I thank you for the opportunity to work here, and the knowledge I've gained will be valuable for my studies and future employment in the field.

Clare

He sends me a note, saying he wants me to stay, as I'm the best and the brightest staff he has. Bless his heart, he tried to be accommodating, but I just can't stay.
My response:

Bill:
I have carefully considered your offer, and regret to inform you that nothing short of firing half of your staff and promising me vacation time, a Lexus and $38 an hour will get me to stay at this institution. I love the kids, and the staff, but your senior staff coordinators are nothing short of petty assholes who need to be shot in the forehead. I pray someday that I will run this bitch and they will clean my toilet.

Clare


So as you all can see, I can't stay at the job anymore. However, he did promise me a shining reference. And maybe that last HALF isn't EXACTLY how things went, but you get the idea.
Oh and Myrlene, if you're reading this: Fuck you and your mom.

Tucker Updates, hilarity ensues.

There will be more later, I'm just in the middle of the mother of all papers, and I'm about to curl up in the fetal position and cry.

I've never been one of those girls to make myself look beautiful to go to class. Normally, I throw on whatever T-shirt is clean, slap on some mascara and run out the door.
I was in the elevator in the library, looking a hot mess as usual. Red hoodie, hair looking like a small animal had nested in it, no makeup, baggy pants. Real goddamn sexy, I know.
The only other person in the elevator was one of the most gorgeous guys I've ever seen. Tall, muscular, green eyes...amazing looking.
And he was staring.
At me.
Great. I probably had something hanging out of my nose or stuck in my teeth or something, and here I am with this amazing looking man.
No sooner had I thought "Well God thinks I'm fucking hilarious", I realized that this man was talking. A quick look around the elevator reaffirmed the fact that he was indeed talking to me.


The transcript of our conversation went something like this:

Amazingly Sexy Guy: I'm sorry..

Tweeker Chick: ...huh? Good start, Clare. Make sure you're not drooling, too.

ASG: I know this sounds really dumb...

TC: It's ok if your dumb, as long as you get naked.

ASG: But you remind me of someone.

TC: I hear that a lot. Who? If he says his sister, I'm faking a seizure to end this conversation.

ASG: I told you this was weird...but there's this website...

TC: Oh fuck.

ASG: And the girl who writes it is hilarious. She's this cute little thing...

TC: Well you know THAT'S not me.Really?

ASG: She's hilarious. You look just like her. I wish I could remember the name of the site.

TC: What does she write about?

ASG: Everything. She's the coolest chick alive, she's even got the Paris Hilton tape linked up.

TC: Shit. You really don't remember the site?

ASG: Something about "Say My Name"...it's crazy how much you resemble her. I guess she lives around here.

TC: That is really fucked up. That is REALLY fucked up.

ASG: I was pretty sure you weren't her.

TC: I guess you never know, right?

ASG: I guess not.


You never really do know, do ya?
What can I say. It has been awhile since I've fucked with someone, and I needed some new material.

Check out my links, people. I just added one for perhaps my new favorite site, Tucker Max.
I thought my life was fucked up, but no, this guy takes the cake. But he's fuckin hilarious and pretty good looking to boot. I recommend the Blow Job Follies.

I love my heterolifemate. She always says what everyone thinks.

Here's her take on Emo.

HLM: she's out there and rather emo.
HLM: so i don't know
TweekerChickQC: Blah. Emoness.
HLM: i agree with poole. its a way of being a drama queen without admitting it.
HLM: they're like the pussywhipped cousins of those with real angst.

It's been a rough couple of days for this blogging chick. One of my friends passed away.


Sandra "Bo" Glines
1965 - 2004

Funeral services celebrating the life of Sandra "Bo" Glines, 38, of Bettendorf, will be 10 a.m. today at McGinnis-Chambers Funeral Chapel, Bettendorf. Burial will be in Davenport Memorial Park Cemetery. Bo loved motorcycles and friends with motorcycles are welcome to join the procession to the cemetery. Visitation was 2 to 4 and 6 to 8 p.m. Monday at the funeral home. Memorials may be made to the family.
Bo died Saturday, Sept. 18, 2004, at University Hospital in Iowa City following an extended illness.
Sandra Dawn Patterson was born Nov. 20, 1965, in Davenport, the daughter of Richard and Sally (Shaffer) Patterson. She grew up in Bettendorf and attended Pleasant Valley High School. She married Kenneth A. Glines on May 27, 1987, in Bettendorf. She had worked in childcare and operated a window cleaning business.
Bo's wide interests ranged from "Little House on the Prairie" to professional wrestling; porcelain dolls to Harleys. She was outspoken and strong minded, liked verbal sparring, and could trade barbs with the best. She participated in softball and volleyball, and played to win.
Those who knew Bo will remember her humor and quick wit, along with her colorful style of expression. She looked forward to any holiday, and her family's celebrations have created many lasting memories. She had a special way with children, and was especially fond of her grandson, Tyler. Bo was a truly unique individual. She approached all that she did with great passion and tenacity, and these qualities remained strong during her battle with illness. She will be dearly missed by family and friends.
Those left to honor her memory include husband, Ken; a daughter, Kimberly Dawn Glines, and her companion, David Rose, Bettendorf; her mother, Sally Patterson, of Davenport; her grandmother, Martha Shaffer, of Davenport; her sister, Bonnie Davidson, of Pleasant Valley; her brothers, Richard Patterson, of Davenport, and Michael Patterson, of Moline; her grandson, Tyler Rose; her mother-in-law, Thelma Glines, of LeClaire, Iowa; nine nieces and nephews; and a large extended family.
She was preceded in death by her father and father-in-law, Glen Glines.

I'll miss you Bo. Give em hell.

I'm immature. I know this. I found a site that turns websites into 80s slang. Never being one to leave well enough alone, I went surfing on CNN with it. So I'm going to leave y'all with a good one, and try to pass it off as a real update.

"Dork falls 500 feet in Grand Canyon
GRAND CANYON NATIONAL PARK, Arizona (AP) -- A dork was like, you know, scoped croaked after falling from a trail in Grand Canyon National Park and landing like, you know, about 500 feet below, a park spokeswoman said Monday.

Efforts to recover the dork's body using a helicopter were hampered by high wind Monday and park spokeswoman Leah McGinnis said an attempt would be made Tuesday.

It was like, you know, an unclear why the dork fell while hiking Saturday, McGinnis said. His wife totally had been walking in front of him and didn't see him fall.

Authorities didn't release the dork's identity"

I'm having a bad day.
One of my favorite coworkers passed away.


Michael Pollard
1955 - 2004

Michael L. Pollard, 48, of Moline, died Thursday, Sept. 16, 2004, at his home.
Funeral services will be 11 a.m. Tuesday, Sept. 21, at Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church, East Moline. Visitation will be on Monday from 6 to 8 p.m. at Esterdahl Mortuary Ltd., 6601 38th Ave., Moline. Burial will be at Riverside Cemetery, Moline. Memorials may be made to establish an eductional fund for Nathan.
Michael was born Sept. 26, 1955, in Davenport, the son of Lawrence and Annette (Leavy) Pollard.
Michael was an officer for county and federal institutions and also a residential counselor for Valley Shelter, Davenport.
Michael enjoyed practicing the martial arts, and being in the outdoors. He was also a news and history buff. He was a member of the Jesus Church of the Quad Cities, Silvis, Ill.
Survivors include son, Nathan McCray Pollard, Chicago; father, Lawrence Pollard, Moline; mother, Annette Pollard, Moline; previously married to Judith McCray, Chicago; sisters, Devra Pollard, Tampa, Fla., and Michele Pollard (Edwards Nunn), Woodbury, Minn.; cousin, DeWitt Pollard; and special friends, Chris Jenkins and Jerrlyn Crabtree and Aaron Arrington.
He will also be missed by many aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins and friends.
He was preceded in death by a brother, Duane, and his paternal and maternal grandparents.

Now I don't know who's going to be ready with a flashlight, pen, or quick wit when I need one.

Hey y'all. This is just a quick blurb because I have a stats test to flip out about.
But here's a new link for you guys.
She emailed me and asked me to link her up, and after reading her content she seems pretty ok. Even if she is a girl.
So here you go.

A New York Escorts Confessions

This is update 1 of 3,492,325 as soon as I get them written. It?s been a really bad few days.

The one thing about college that drives me nuts is that although there are all sorts of new people, most of them are douchebags. So I present to you, the defining characteristics and ways of identifying these asshats.


I. Future sorority girls. These are the most easily identifiable by their use of words such as "like" and "ohmigod". They are normally found leaning against the wall outside of the popular dormitories. Not because this is cool, simply because they are normally too drunk to figure out the intricate workings of the door. Their distinguishing characteristics include abnormally tall shoes, heavy foundation and the chronic inability to dress appropriately for the weather. You can often find these girls crying in the bathroom mumbling phrases such as "he promised he'd call" and "he said he loved me".

II. Future fraternity boys. These are the perfect compliment to the girls above. They are normally very good looking, with perfectly styled hair. They wear Abercrombie shirts, with cut off khaki shorts, and flip flops even in 3 feet of snow and sub zero temperatures. They contribute very little to conversations, but can make a hell of a beer bong. They spend a lot of time with their friends, comparing notes about the future sorority girls.

III. Future hate crime victims. Every college campus has these, however, being a liberal arts campus, we seem to have the monopoly. These people are often openly gay or bisexual, and feel the need to share it with the world. They walk around with shaved heads, rainbow clothing, cut off army pants and Doc Martens. Their faces are constantly pierced, and most of them drive cutesy SUVs with vanity plates that state things like "ieatit2" which are barely visible beyond the many rainbow stickers. If you hate them, it's not because they are douche bags. It's because they are gay. If they get a speeding ticket, it's not because they were going thirty miles over the speed limit in a school zone and ran over a small child, it's because they are bisexual. Their sexuality is a badge for the entire world to behold.

IV. Hippies. You can't miss them. They spend most of their time in the quad, laying on their backs, polluting the air with the sounds of New Age music and phrases like "Man". The males are easily identifiable because most tend to look like Jesus in a tye-dye shirt and ripped jeans. The hemp necklaces are a dead give away.

V. Women's Studies Majors/Feminists. These people scare the crap out of me. If not for the lack of personal hygiene (yes, shaving can be considered personal hygiene) or the lack of necessary undergarments (Bras. Please) the lack of any common sense seems to do them in. Everyone is sexist. I'm sexist because I'd rather hang out with males than females. You're sexist because I know you're only reading this because it's written by a somewhat good looking female. Society sucks because women wear bras and makeup, and men get to run around like Neanderthal slobs. At least, that's what they think. Not only do women deserve rights, they deserve more rights than most men. Men are Neanderthal pigs that are inherently rapists and only good for fixing my car. These are the females who oppose words like "Mankind" or "Postman" for "Humankind" and "Postwoman". They also like to conjugate in large groups and scream like wild banshees about "Taking back the night" with their sisters.

VI. Stoners. Gotta love the stoners, because the stoners love you. Technically, they love everyone. These are the ones that sit next to you in philosophy in a tyedye shirt with a bucket hat pulled down over their eyes. Sunglasses are a necessity, even at midnight. These are the people who truly understand the wonders of green koolaid, how cool philosophy is, and why Bob Marley really is god. They are not to be confused with Hippies. Hippies don't like the man, Stoners could give a shit about the man unless he's bogarting the blunt. These are the guys to chill with, as they are normally the funniest people alive.

VII. Sluts. Every campus has one of these. I will spare the noticeable characteristics of these creatures, and instead give you a story (with fuzzy details, seeing as this was years ago). It was the first night on campus and I was lucky enough to go home with a certain good looking Frat Guy who lived off campus. After laying in his bed and talking about random shit, we decided it was time to pass out. He handed me a pair of boxers to chill in and a t-shirt. Little did I know that the girl who went through the fraternity in almost its entirety had used those shorts. I spent the rest of the night convinced that I was going to catch ghonnasyphaherpelypse from the goddamn boxer shorts he lent me. This is why we don't like sluts.


More later, when I get mad, get done with this paper, or feel like it.

Jesus christ. I've been called a bad friend before, but I think this guy wins the award.

I would've atleast picked up the head.

Guess whos drunk?
Oh it's me. Thus, this post isn't going to be spell checked.
Thanks Adam, Jen, Bouge, and my Heterolifemate.
It wa ssuper fun. Pictures soon, I hope.


Anyway, here are some links for you guys until I sober up:
And here I thought it only made you go blind.

An old favorite.

This guy is just the shit.


Yay for alchohol. Now, if only chris woulf come give me my snuggles, I'd be happy.

This is just a quick update because I promised Mike I'd pound something out before work.
Not a lot to say. Either FUBAR is down, or I was suspended (still deciding, got a nice little message about it).
So, until then, check out Chris's blog. He's the guy who makes this one look as pretty as it does, so be sure to give him much love.

Sorry so short, more updates about life, love, drugs and why the song The Perfect Drug is stuck in my messed up little head.

The last few days have been so fucking bad fucking ass that I can't even believe it.
It all started at Ozzfest, when I got to chill with the Black Label Society guys, meet Dez from Coal Chamber, see Rob Halford, talk to the guys in Slipknot, and chill with Down.
Awesome FUCKING show.
Little did I know that the Metallica/Godsmack concert would out do them all.
After suffering endless hours in the beer line, Sarah and I make it to our seats...directly behind an entire row of some of the most attractive looking guys I think I've ever seen.
Long story short because I still ache...
They bought us many beers, much alcohol was consumed, tattoos were shown, butts were grabbed and I found out that the entire row was not just some random good looking guys, they were actually Jabher Box.
I promised them a plug on my site, because Jason stole me flowers from a planter and sang Master Of Puppets to me (who can say no to that?!)
So there you are! Click the link, check em out, they fucking rock.

More random rants and ramblings later, I'm still worn out.

I'm getting ready for Ozzfest, then Godsmack/Metallica for a girls night out.
Hooray.

Let me fill you all in on a little bit of background, first. Jeremy and I were together. He was also together with one of my best friends, Deanne. Long story short, the entire thing blew up, almost broke up the friendship, and Deanne and I now hate his fucking guts.

I get a call from his friend.

He was arrested. Public intox and harassing an officer.

And to this I have only one thing to say.

"HA, HA!"





Oh yea, FUBAR is back up and running, I'll get my links going again as soon as I'm not being a lazy bitch.

Apparently, my really gorgeous heterolifemate was playing capture the flag or hide the salami or something in the woods and got poison sumac. She's now on prednisone (a steroid that makes you emotional, and hungry, and crazy). I'm on that shit a lot for my asthma, but finally we have an outside perspective:

HLM: I always believed you, but at least now I know first hand how you
feel
TweekerChickQC: Isn't it awful?
HLM: haha I better go to bed. I found the jar of pickles in my fridge
that look way to appealing
TweekerChickQC: How many mgs are you on?
HLM: I dunno. something really low, but I'm a pussy when it comes to
those kind of drugs.
HLM: like 4 or 14 or something per pill, and I started with 6 a day.
TweekerChickQC: 5 or 10?
HLM: umm. oh, maybe 10
HLM: its far away. I'm not getting up to look
TweekerChickQC: Lucky shit.
TweekerChickQC: Last time they gave me 40 mgs.
HLM: yours is like five hundred
TweekerChickQC: I was nuttier than a fruitcake.
HLM: yeah, see, mine's for a rash, not asthma.
HLM: and seriously, aleve makes me tweek, so I would die from that
HLM: I can drink like a true irish girl, but my ancestors were obviously
too poor to do drugs.

In the grand scheme of things, birthdays aren't that important. I learned that lesson the hard way this year. My sister is in Texas with her boyfriend, my friend Deanne was busy being an ass thus I refused to hang out with her, Chris got too busy to come visit, my parents are in Minnesota, and my best friend is off hiding with his demented and sadistic girlfriend.
I don't expect a national holiday every August 12th, although I think I deserve one, but let me tell you this, eating cake all alone in your apartment sucks a big fat nut. To top it off, FUBAR is no more and I didn't have anyone to play with. Fuck that shit.
My sixteenth birthday sucked a lot too, but at least then I had my dog to chill with. I didn't even have that as two of them died and the other one now lives in Minnesota. I'm in a bad fucking mood, so here are my list of demands for next year which I expect to be met in a timely manner, in no particular order.
1) Vin Diesel, delivered to my apartment in a very large chocolate cake with rapsberry filling and purple icing. And not that lavender color, either. Purple.
2) My friends to actually plan on chilling with me, for more than a 3 hour period.
3) A very large, very attractive male to carry me home from the bars. This person cannot be Vin Diesel because Vin will be otherwise occupied.
4) A very fast, very expensive car, somewhat resembling the batmobile, to cruise around town with. No fair having it stolen, I want the title, bitch.
5) I want my best friend to come play with me without his psychotic girlfriend.
6) I want a million dollar shopping spree, and to look like Angelina Jolie, all without the inconvenience of exercising or actually working in any way shape or form.
7) Finally, I want to own the world.

Is that too much to fucking ask?

It's good to know that you always have your friends around to help you make good decisions on your birthday.
TweekerChickQC: Hmm. Its my birthday. Think they'll let me just run around naked?
PacManJesus: sure
PacManJesus: give it a shot
PacManJesus: if you get arrested it sure as hell wont be by a guy

It's been a pretty eventful couple of days. I'm getting my apartment ready for Chris to visit (if he still is, haven't heard from him). Which entails a few things. Picking up all of the underwear I leave strewn across the apartment and vacuuming. No biggie. I felt the need to start a few of my projects, you know, that list everyone has of shit they would do if they had all sorts of time. Mine was painting the insides of my cabinets white. So I got started. Turned on my rickety old fan, got me a few cans of spray paint, and had myself a hay day.
Until my doorbell rang.
I walked downstairs, white powdery paint across my nose, to see two cops standing there. Apparently, the neighbors had called the cops. Complaining of my odd hours, chemical smell, and unusual noises. I let them up to look around (yes, without a search warrant. Spare me the legalities, I'm not doing anything wrong). Finally Barney Fife looked at me and announced "The unusual noise is from your fan, the chemical smell from your spray paint, but what about your weird hours?" "I'm in college, and I work 64 hours a week with children".
He looked at me, smiled and said "Well, your paint looks nice" and left.
It was then I noticed the white paint all over my nose.
Thank god the paint was still wet, I would've had a lot of explaining to do.

I hate going out.
Well, thats a lie. I like actually being out. It's the getting ready to go out I hate. Seriously. The guys I know take a shower, get dressed, throw on some deodorant and shave. Maybe throw a little bit of gel in the hair if needed.
I wish it was that easy for me.
I normally start with a shower, in which I have to choose between 4 different conditioners so I can decide what I want my hair to smell like. Then comes the shaving of the legs. Not only is it impossible not to miss a spot, it's time consuming. Atleast 15 minutes. It normally takes me longer because I always nick this one spot on the back of my leg (I have a scar there from it) and spend a good 20 minutes trying to stop the bleeding. It's like hitting a fucking artery, I damn near bled to death in my bathtub once.
Once out of the shower, its a choice between lotions. Flowery or fruity? Shimmering or regular? Once I choose one, and slather it on, I spend about 15 minutes writhing around in pain because I'm a dumb fuck and just put lotion in that one spot I always nick on my leg. It hurts like a bitch. If you don't believe me, try it.
When I regain conciousness, it's makeup time. The goal here is to look as good as possible without having the makeup wear off a half an hour into the night. This is impossible without looking like Tammy Fae. I've given up. Once I have a beer my eyeliner just runs down my face anyway. I just pretend its a trend. Lipstick is pointless, too. All it does is show off how perfect my teeth are, because thats where it always ends up. On my fuckin teeth.
Then there's clothes. I'm a chunky ass, thus making dressing difficult. Try finding something sexy that covers your fat ass at the same time. It's almost impossible. I've taken to lowcut shirts and anything dark enough on the bottom that helps hide the fact that my ass is so big it looks like I'm trying to smuggle two midgets into the club.
Technically I should add a paragraph on purses. I don't do them. It's just one more thing for me to lose when I get shitfaced drunk. Thus, I wear pants with pockets so I can shove my ID, credit card, cash, cell phone, lipgloss, compact, and inhaler in them. I was thinking of investing in a tool belt.
On to shoes. There are 2 options here. Slut boots that are damn sexy but kill my feet and make me look taller than everyone else, and the heels. You have to be damn good to wear heels. Heels were designed by Hitler as a form of torture. I have a ton of them, I'm still not brave enough to wear them to the club. Too many exposed toes. Not to mention, running in heels doesn't happen. Try running from the skeevy guy in the club in a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels. Actually, try standing in Manolos. I dare you. So it's the boots. Which are actually damn sexy, but come up to my knees. Thus my legs are sweaty, sticky and itchy the entire night. Which is fine. They add so much height that I can ask someone else to scratch them for me, they are about at everyone else's arm level.
The hair issue is my biggest downfall. I can leave it curly, and let it do it's own thing and look like Don King for half of the night...or I can straighten it and weigh it down with shine serums and straightening balms so it can get curly and look like shit for the other half of the night. No matter what I do it ends up the same way. In a messy bun that I sculpt out of a hair tie, a little bit of lotion and the beer that every idiot seems to spill in to my hair. I'm like MacGyver when it comes to hair.
This getting ready shit is supposed to be easy, right? Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Does any one else almost bleed to death in an attempt to go out to the club? Perhaps I just frequent the wrong places. Give me a place where I can throw on some ripped jeans and a t-shirt, and throw my hair in a ponytail. I'll probably be much nicer.

Updates are coming, I promise. Been busy.
Until then, here's a little bit of why I adore this guy.

TweekerChickQC: And by cute I mean, damn you look hot there.
PacManJesus: i was horribly hung over
TweekerChickQC: Awww. hangovers are cute as long as I dont have one
TweekerChickQC: Ive never had one, would like to keep it that way
PacManJesus: i used to not get one
PacManJesus: then i started drinking


He's good looking, too. I think we can keep him.

This is going to be a quick, short bitch.  I hate my landlord. With a passion. I was planning on doing laundry and shit today, but no. I'm inside cleaning. Why, you ask? Because he's around the building. I don't owe him money or anything, I just think he's a chump. I've actually contemplated crawling down the fire escape with my laundry just to avoid speaking to him. I may need therapy.

It's been a long time.
I know. Bad Tweekerchick. But I've been busy, and honestly I haven't had a whole hell of a lot to say.
Still thinking of a post for ThatsJustNotRight. Any suggestions that don't involve nudity on my part are welcome.

Ignoring previous warnings, I saw Catwoman today. Not that I had a choice, I was one of the lucky staff chosen to take the kids at work to go see it.
I want those 2 hours of my life back. Regardless of the fact that Halle Berry looks hot in leather, the movie sucked my left tit. Seriously. The diolauge was horrendous, the fight scenes looked staged, and the plot...well...finding Waldo is easier.
Save your eight dollars. Or better yet, send it to me so I can go treat myself to a movie that doesn't suck ass.

I'm a happy Tweeker Chick. The Single Man Of My Dreams is coming to play with me the weekend of my birthday (I hope). Hooray! I can't wait. It'll be a good ol hedonistic free for all. Haven't had one of those in awhile. In all honesty, I can't wait though. I'm finally old enough to legally drink with Chris! It's about damn time. He owes me drunken time since before he packed his bags and moved away. Hrmpf. I don't hold a grudge, nope. Not me.

Well I feel shitty leaving such a short post, but I feel like royal shit and I need to go to bed. So check out Ask Pud. I think I'd marry this guy.

 

It is human nature to be upset when someone calls you a name. Most normal people allow it to slide off of their backs and go about their merry way. But there is always that one phrase, that one name, that one little jab, that makes even the nicest of the nice go completely berserk. I found mine today. My boss, lets call him...Dave...decided to take it upon himself to call over my friend/supervisor...who shall remain nameless...to discuss an issue involving me and the (false) idea that I gave my work keys to one of the kids. His little girlfriend, lets call her Evil Claire just to shake things up a little bit, decided to call him on his day off, to feed him this line of bullshit. When the Nameless Supervisor explained what really happened, his response was simple. "Well, Clare's a liar".

Now, mother fucker. I am a lot of things. But I am not a liar.

I lie about two things, and two things only. The drugs I do and the people I have sex with. And anyone who tells you they don't lie about those two things is lying to you. Now. In all fairness, lets break this down.

Example 1: Although against policy, Dave continues to have a relationship with Evil Claire outside of work. Seeing as he is senior staff coordinator and she is just a staff, this is a big no no. When confronted about this, Dave claimed to have nothing but a working relationship with the staff. Maybe they discuss work over the pitchers of beer in the seedy places they hang out.  

Example 2: When asked if he fraternized with any of the staff, Dave said no. Earlier this year he attended a kegger at a staff's apartment, and helped carry Evil Claire home. Maybe he was unclear on the definition of "fraternization".  

Example 3: When asked if he had any relationship other than a professional relationship with Evil Claire, Dave stated no. However, she calls him on his cellphone during her cigarette breaks, and numerous times during the shift. Staff is not permitted to have cell phones, and one would assume that having the bosses number implies more than just a working relationship. Maybe she's trying to "work" her way up the corporate ladder.  

Example 4: Although against policy, Dave continues to call staff in on a one on one basis about rumors that involve Evil Claire. He claims never to have done this, although when the rumor was going around that Sandra got suspended, he all but did a little dance and make a goddamn sign.  

Example 5: Although he claims never to play favorites, one time I saw him kissing Evil Claire in the parking lot. I am open to the idea that I may be mistaken. He might have been giving her CPR while standing up, or trying to eat her face, but it sure looked like a kiss to me.  

 The logical conclusion that one can draw is that not only is Dave a liar, he is also a miserable little asshat. Not that I can blame him. He's 40, balding and makes less than $8 an hour. I'd be a dickhead too if my wife made more than I did, I had a beer belly, a little dick and a shitty car.  And on a side note, buy bigger pants. Nut-cutters are not attractive. It must be rough having to try to dick the 23 year old bleach-blonde meth addict at work to try to get a piece.  

It's okay, Dave. Everyone has things they suck at. Yours just happens to be life.

Bitch.    

Check out the link to Bad Ass Chicks. Somehow, Im ranked #3 on their websites. ROCK THE FUCK ON.
Their site kicks some ass, so check it out.

I just got asked to write a guest post for a website way more popular than my own. Check it out. Tell me what y'all think.
Should I do it? Topic suggestions?   Not that I listen to you all anyway. But I like to make you feel like you are involved.

I just took this cute quiz.
20 Questions To A Better Personality

This is what they came up with for me.

Wackiness: 42/100
Rationality: 36/100
Constructiveness: 50/100
Leadership: 42/100
You are an SEDF--Sober Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes you an evil genius. You are extremely focused and difficult to distract from your tasks. With luck, you have learned to channel your energies into improving your intellect, rather than destroying the weak and unsuspecting.Your friends may find you remote and a hard nut to crack. Few of your peers know you very well--even those you have known a long time--because you have expert control of the face you put forth to the world. You prefer to observe, calculate, discern and decide. Your decisions are final, and your desire to be right is impenetrable.You are not to be messed with. You may explode.
 
It sounds alot like me. Except for the sober part.  

I'm sick as hell. Bronchitis, sinus infection, ear infections and pink eye. So really, no updates until I can function again. Sorry. It figures. But the GOOD news is that Chris is coming to visit soon, so I can stop bitching about it. YAY.
So, until I feel better, there's some porn on the left. Cameron Diaz, Pamela Lee, Gena Lee Nolin, all that good shit. Enjoy.

Here. Y'all can play with this while I work too much and want to die of tiredness. Updates later.

Yes, I know they are still broken. But thanks for the 12,000 emails I have received. Gee. I didn't know the graphics to my own fucking page are broken.

Anyway. I thought I'd be nice, and add Fucking Fred to my list of links. For all of you who missed the Paris Hilton Sex Tape deal.

I think I might move to Canada. I was reading through my Yahoo news, and I see President Bush, claiming that he has made America safer. I also found a story about his opposition to gay marriage.
I for one, would just love to thank President Bush for making our country a safer place to live in. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if gay people were allowed to marry? I thank President Bush for not giving them the chance to be treated equally under the laws of this country, and I would personally like to shake his hand for his attention to this very serious issue.
People in Iraq are having their heads blown off because he can't tell his ass from his elbow, but our President is smart enough to know the real danger...gays getting married. It would be a travesty if those queers had the same opportunity to be as miserable as the rest of us.
Thank god we have a President who understands what's really going on.

Still dealing with graphics problem, hold tight folks.

Chris, help me! I'll show you my boobs.



Even I can't make this shit up.

Hey kids. I was planning to update and write about the meaning of life and all that shit.
But I pulled up my pages, and all of my graphics are broken.
Thanks for the emails, kiddies. I'm working on the problem right now. Ok, well, I'm debating calling Chris and offering him sexual favors to fix it, but that is besides the point.

Until then, I'm reviving this link. Yup. Good ol Paris Hilton fucking, sucking and answering the cellphone.
This is for you, Shanda.

At the top is a banner that says "Enter your email address" and "are you 18?" then "JOIN". Enter your email, click yes, and click join. They will send an email, click on the hyperlink in that email. You have to sort through some smut (below all of the pictures is some text, look for the link about Celebrity Videos). The Paris Hilton tape and the new Cameron Diaz tape are all there. Enjoy. I apologize for the run around, but I don't have the space to host the video. Enjoy. And whatever you do, don't register your credit card or anything else. You can get her for free, just like the guy in the video.

Seeing as I try to keep my readers happy...I have found this link.
What is it, you may ask? A link I found from the Gorilla Mask website, linking to the Cameron Diaz Sex Tape.
Yup. A link to the very legit tape of Cameron Diaz, nude naked and otherwise undressed and 20 years old.

No idea how long the links will be active, so enjoy while you can.

Before I go off on my rant, check out The Time Killer. I'm mentioned in it quite a bit. Nothing like The Tweeker Chick, Tijuana, Moms I'd Like to Fuck, the Olsen twins, pony play and tequila worms.
Moving on.

I was perhaps slightly unclear. I am not at all upset with my status of "single". What set me off was the bruise on my arm. So please, stop emailing me cute stories of why it's ok to be single, and why boys suck.
I was emailed a little gem from this place that got my blood boiling.
It's all about how guys suck. I don't have the time, nor will I subject my readers to the entire post, but I will take a minute to single out a few that really got to me.

This chick writes: "Boys don't open the door for someone with breasts anymore. Even worse, the elderly no longer qualify to receive this small act of politeness. Boys will not carry your books from class to class, in a cheap, albeit sweet, effort to move upwards in your esteem.Boys will not allow you to copy the answers to that damned pop math quiz. Of course, thinking of it now, who wants to copy off of some idiot male anyway?
Boys no longer automatically opt to walk between the street and their woman protecting us from cars splashing in puddles, flying bullets and other things. Boys no longer endeavor to learn about the woman they are choosing to spend time with. It seems to me, that ages ago, when men ordered dinner for their women, that the women never got offended. Or scoffed at his incorrect choices. Instead, her palate was sure to be pleased, since said man had taken the time prior to find out what the poor girl liked to eat! Here and now, in glorious America, in the year of someone else's Lord 2004, a woman would spout of some seriously feminist objections to having a man order her meal. I say it would be one less decision I had to make.
Any elderly person, or woman, is now forced to remain standing on the bus, train, etcetera. Regardless if she is weighed down with a million odd packages and three screaming children, a man will simply sit, maintaining his comfortable seat and no doubt rolling his eyes at her tortuous predicament.
A boy will no longer be thankful that he go to hold your hand on the first date,rather he will complain to his friends that the prudish woman did not put out."

I would like to make it known that I think this chick is a complete moron. Lets start at the beginning, shall we?
1) Since when do the presence of breasts have anything to do with my ability to open a door? Although I am a fan of someone opening the door for an elderly person, or a person with their hands full (male OR female, thanks), I am not a fan of a male rushing ahead of me, damn near shoving me out of the way, and standing with the door open while I feel like I should walk faster to get there because he made the effort.

2) Walking around campus, I don't know ONE single guy who would carry my books. Why, you might ask? He's not a pig. He's not a jerk. His hands are full of his own books. The chances of you going to the same building on campus at the same time are slim, so you might as well get used to hauling your own shit, sister. You'll be doing it your whole life with that attitude.

3) Being chivalrous does not constitute being dishonest. Maybe old boy won't let you cheat cause he has a conscience. In my school, cheating is grounds for expulsion. And as cute as you might be and as perky as those tits are, it's just not worth it. Anyway, you have no room to be calling him an idiot, you are the one who needed to cheat in the first place, remember?

4) I don't give a shit if he walks between me and the street, me and the buildings, in front or behind me. It just doesn't fucking matter. If you are close enough to the curb to be splashed by cars driving through puddles, you are a twit who deserves those flying bullets Prince Charming is supposed to be shielding you from.

5) Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and men ordered dinner for their woman, the woman didn't have the option to be offended. It simply wasn't socially acceptable for women to have an opinion. The idea that it's one less thing for you to worry about worries me. Should men dress us, as well? That's one less thing to worry about. And that pesky right to vote? They should abolish that as well. Another thing I won't lose any sleep over.

6) Why should a man give up his comfy seat because a woman is stupid enough to go shopping with 3 screaming children, 17 shopping bags and no car or taxi? I agree that exceptions should be made for the elderly and the handicapped...But I don't see you moving your self rightgeous prissy ass, do I?

7) I've never found a guy who complained about not putting out on the first date. Because I have opinions, and can carry on a conversation, they want me for more than just a cum rag. Try it sometime. Take a look. Most of the girls who get the shit for not putting out on the first date are the ones with nothing to offer. Maybe getting her to put out is easier than listening to her ramble about chivalry.

This chick needs a serious reality check. If I ever met her, I think I'd punch her in the head. Until then, I'll be opening my own doors, carrying my own shit, doing my own work, walking on whatever the side of the street I feel like, ordering my own food, happily standing wherever I want, and putting out or not putting out as I see fit.

I am on strike.
No more updates from the Tweeker Chick.
Why, you ask?
This is why.
On May 24th, The Single Man Of my Dreams had this to say:


"The "Single" Man of your Dreams:
I love drunken posts. Sorry I wasn't there to see the tweekerchick in action. Next time take pictures (wink…wink).

P.S.- I had a dream about you last night (hehe). I will tell the juicy details later."

I have yet to hear one sordid, juicy detail. Thus, I am on strike until Mr Hottie shoots me an email or calls my phone, and whispers all those dirty little secrets to me.
So there. Blame the rabid eskimo.

Happy 4th of July. I know its a bit late, but I was busy drinking keg beer and watching people's hair get lit on fire. (No, I am not kidding).


What Pulp Fiction Character Are You?
I'm Mia.
"You're known for starting trouble. But you play it cool. Besides, no one can resist your sharp eyes and quick wit. *They* eat from the palm of your hand. Though you have weaknesses, which may have deadly consequences, you, are resurrected, as if the gods themselves breathed immortality into you."
Take it, and tell me how you guy's turned out.

Enjoy. Also, check out Gorilla Mask. It's got a lot of information on Tara Reid's boob job. And let me tell you, those are some monster hooters.