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October Birfdays, 10 days late and several trillion $$$ short…

Posted by Anntichrist S Coulter on October 10, 2011 – 7:34 pm

Yeah, I know, I suck.  It’s been one of the shittier months of my entire wasted 41 years, so y’all don’t have to bitch me out, I’m already in HELL!!!!!!

Annnnndddd, on THAT loverly note, here goes teh belated birfdays, along with a caveat and a fantasy…  the caveat is BOYCOTT SEPTIC FUCKING *POPEYE’S* BECAUSE THEY SELL **RANCID** CHICKEN!!!!!! —  and the fantasy is of someday owning a MAARTI portable microwave-broadcast unit, so that I can sit here in my apartment to the left of Satan’s hemorrhoid and melt the circuitry of every single bass tube and car “stereo” in the vicinity of here.  Hey, a woman can dream, right??!?!

October 1st was our dearly-beloved Maria of Maumee, one of the biggest-hearted, knock-down, drag-out hilarious broads to ever grace this earth.  May the universe be a helluva lot kinder to her and her sister, ’cause they’ve been through some SHIT.

October 9th was the equally-beloved Dan of Dan & Tammy bookstore fame, a truly good dood if ever there was one.  I hope to hell that he drank one for me and carved-out a big hunka Amazon’s ass while he was at it!!!

October 16th is Miriam, the ex-roommate from UNO who has been holding my Godzilla doll HOSTAGE for THIRTEEN FUCKING YEARS, THE UNREPENTANT HUSSY!!!!!!  May she finally start to look her AGE, dammit!!!

October 23rd is Cynthia, one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in pursuit of housing, and hopefully someday she’ll help me escape THIS fucking HELLHOLE!!!!!! And yeah, a  year of peace & joy & a winning lottery number, all that rot.  For her, too.

October 25th is our magnanimous & resplendently obscene Democommie, a man brave enough to survive winter in fucking OSWEGO, for fuck’s sake!  —  and who can also castigate every lowlife republicunt back to their first ancestor to slither out of the primordial ooze.  I wish him a lifetime supply of heating oil, a carful of hookers, and much lower blood pressure.

Lastly, but hardly leastly, on October 27th, we have the adorable & delightfully-evil Scott of World O’Crap fame.  May he sell a screenplay to one of those blockbuster-idiot-director types, and also sell one to Martin Scorcese, and soon!!!

Yeah, yeah, I’m going to be officially fucking ancient tomorrow @ 12:12P, but that’s hardly something to git nekkid and holler about.  Wheeee, I’m officially antique.  How thrilling.  Anybody besides me ever been in need of a PESSARY?!?!?!  Yeah, yaaaayyyyy AGING!!!  Whoopeeee!!!  My guts are falling out, the ones that aren’t trying to KILL ME.  Pull me up a chair.  What do I want for MY birfday??? A HALLOWEEN COSTUME!!!!!! And a small-caliber rocket-launcher.

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4 Responds so far- Add one»

  1. 1. Terrible Said:

    “small-caliber rocket launcher”? DAMN! I knew I forgot to put something in that package. ;-)

  2. 2. Anntichrist S Coulter Said:

    Don’t tease a broke-ass, desperate woman, Terrible… I’ll settle for a few grenades if need be.

  3. 3. gappy Said:

    Or a few quarter sticks of dynamite…….

  4. 4. Anntichrist S Coulter Said:

    I wouldn’t be pissed about that… hell, at this point, I might give a handy to whomever can show up with a handful of blasting CAPS!

    …*sigh* Times like this that I really miss my late great-uncle John… Navy vet from WWII who brought the cool toys HOME WITH HIM and set about changing his prior engineering/construction gigs into a really fun career in DEMOLITION.

    I just wish that he’d have lived a little longer after Tater’s funeral, ’cause he DID promise me the equipment to rid the planet of the little cocksucking drug-dealing closet-case white-trash-with-money PUNK-ASS LITTLE MOTHERFUCKING DOG-SUCKING ***BITCH-BOY*** who PULLED THE FUCKING ***TRIGGER*** when they AMBUSHED my nephew. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after that, that Aunt Bea (shaddup, that’s Uncle John’s widow’s real name!) got real sick and then there went Uncle John. Bless his heart, he’d been taking care of her big ass forever and a day, plus two batshit-crazy sons and in-laws, etc. (well, he DID marry a YANKEE, after all…) Finally, working himself to death really did catch up with him, before he even had a chance to actually ENJOY his retirement at age 84. A lot like Teh Dick, worked (on or off the clock, don’t matter) up until the minute when he sat the fuck down and croaked.

    I wish that y’all had known Uncle John — he was one of the coolest, craziest old coots you would’ve ever known, smarter’n hell and able to blow up more shit by 9 a.m. than the Marines do all fuckin’ day!!!

    And if you ever hit the Powerball or the scratch-offs, throw a few bucks in the direction of your local V.F.W., ’cause when Uncle John died, a literal fucking WAR HERO, because he was planted out in the semi-sticks, at a small family funeral, and he didn’t suck-ass on fucking POLITICIANS for a living, all that he had by way of a “military” funeral were two gold-hearted ol’ fellers, aged at least 95 each, with a rickety little tape player warbling out “TAPS” like an emphysema-riddled greeting card. Not saying that Uncle John deserved a fucking ORCHESTRA, dammit, but a real fucking BUGLER wouldna fucking KILLED ANYBODY. But if it weren’t for the devoted ol’ coots @ the VFW, nobody would’ve folded that precious flag that they handed to our heartbroken Aunt Bea.

    I know, I’m way the fuck off-topic. Sue me, I’m pre-menstrual and in serious need of serious weaponry. You have been warned.

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