Saturday, October 08, 2005


"Sweet Lord, motherfucker! We ain't no muffin stump!" HaiPhia and I screamed on the street while getting continually slapped in the face with the impotent corner of her umbrella.

"Sheee-it," she continued, "If I had to describe my relationship [with Andrew], I'd say it was the Titantic. We sailed along, sure, but then it hit a goddamned iceberg and he fell into the water, holding on to that door and froze to death. I sure as hell ain't gonna save him because, boy, that ship has sailed." (So that's where that phrase originated from ...)

It was my turn to speak because when women vent, we vent (think of it as anger by osmosis with aneurysm preventative properties):

"I don't know what came over me! That fucker has so much emotional baggage, he has to go to luggage claim to get more! And telling me I needed to lose weight? The nerve! I tip the scale at just under 110-pounds: I must weigh as much as his balls! 9-inches? Ha! More like, 9 centimeters, imperial measuring prick! Pun intended!"

She and I scared off a lot of happy couples. Almodovar would've been proud.


Narcissists only look human; inside, they're emotional invalids.

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