D.M. to the mofo V.

I've decided that when people email me "Thank you kindly" I'll reply with "You're welcome meanly". Too crass? Speaking of crass, how crass is this ass?

Aforementioned ass was standing directly in front of me and G at the DMV (doo wop dooo wee) the other day. Sure she was probs wearing a thong, but why even bother? She kept pulling her shirt down as if that would change that fact someone forgot to wear pants. There was this little kid there who must have been no older than 3 who was pimp walking all over the place. This kid was struttin. G and I could barely stop laughing. So I started to imitate him until he came up to me and tried to tickle my stomach and then his mom got all pissed and yelled at him. WHOOPS! Did you know that the DMV is a varitable meat market? If not, and you need your meat marketed, head on over prontissimo. G got hit on by a middle-aged bald guy who asked her if she "did computer repair" (if you know what I mean). I, on the other hand, being the classy broad that I am, got hit on by a homeless guy who first asked me if I was a musician and then told me I had interesting hands while attempting to hold my hand. Mind you I had written 'DMV' in Sharpie all over my hand (like a literal PALM PILOT! Get it!?!?) to remind myself I had to go. . . . so maybe he was just trippin and thought the writing was interesting. . . . anywhoskies, I'll have to ask him when we go out on our hot date this Friday night.

ZIIIIIING!

Go Pho Yourself And The Horse You Rode In On!

We're having Pho (Vietnamese noodle soup) from Pho Hoa for lunch which begs the question:

Hoa before bros or bros before phos?

No?? (sorry)

Dream weaver

Hello internet. What up? Really? SHUT UP, no . . . . WTF seriously?? Oh no he di'nt!! Whatever . . . . I SAID, WHATEVER!!

Ok, so the other night I thought it would be wise to eat an entire package of dried pineapple at 10 o'clock in the PM right before bed. When I went to sleep I had the following dream: I was watching this really rotund man rolling around on the grass at the park and someone was telling me that he was one of the most intelligent guys in the world, but that he kept all his great ideas inside his belly, hence the gigantorness of his gut. Here is an artist's rendering of said dream:

The guy was painfully bloated. . . . . so much so that I could actually feel the ache in his gut, in my own gut. Then I came to the realization that I was this fat man. . . . that my belly was bloated to the extent of severe pain . . . . and then I woke feeling like I was with child and the baby daddy was a dried pineapple.

Internet: That was the lamest dream ever.
Leslie: Look, I don't make up my own dreams. I simply relay them. Maybe if you'd quit pressuring me to write on this blog, I'd come up with some better stuff.
Internet: I'll decipher that stupid dream for you. You're literally and figuratively FULL of youself. You think you're so smart. . . . like you're belly is full of "good ideas". Where are those good ideas now, Les! HMMMMM? Spit one out.

(Leslie in the fetal position under her desk holding her dried pineapple impregnated stomach, rocking herself and weeping . . . . ever so softly weeping).